[ He can't say he disagrees, getting a look at what the stranger is wearing: it's a brief flick of his gaze, cursory, up and down the length of him, before he shrugs a shoulder, like he's leaving that comment up to the stranger's discretion. It definitely isn't the sort of style that he's seen others wearing around here, but it's also not a style that's particularly popular in the city back home, either.

It feels slightly--dated, in a way that he can't explain. Perhaps something that only the wealthy would wear. The way the stranger talks seems to back up that assumption for him. ]

I'm not. Just doing a job.

[ The fact that he was able to assert it so easily, comfortably, makes him wonder if he should be doing a better job of blending in--then again, if he wants to make money here, then he needs to at least have a reasonable reputation. With a nod of his chin to the scarves, he then tilts his head back to the side, as though gesturing the stranger closer. ]

They've got some others in the back here. ...That probably sounds like I'm going to rob you.

[ There's a faint twitch of his lips, almost like he's attempting to hold back a smile--he's frustrated with himself for not sounding quite as cool and calm as he wants to. ]

What's your style? This?