[Well, Palamedes can say with certainty now that he's never met anyone more prone to moodswings than this. Frustration into interest in record time, good god, take a breath.

He hums, briefly moving aside to like, exchange a cool rock for this cloak or whatever. He's getting the first one he picked up and that's that, it'll be good enough.]

Sure, I'll show you the ropes. [No, he does not need a bag, he's going to put this new cloak on over everything else, right now--] That said, if you're going to wallow about how I was born lucky, or whatever your ancient lineage crap is, I'm going home. Being born a necromancer and being a good necromancer are two different things, and I really can't stand people who assume.

[So, like, those are his terms, delivered pretty blandly, all things considered. He arranges the hood of the cloak, flips it up, flips it back down, then holds his arms out at his sides. Look, behold the fashion.]

What do you think?