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The jacket was green. Not the dark, dusty green that had been fashionable last season, a muted almost-black that had gone out of style within a matter of months; instead it was sliding into a hunter, a shockingly bright color usually reserved for womens' frocks and fancy hats.

As the tailor pinned the back of his jacket, Paul smoothed both hands down the front and tipped his head, considering the flash of bright green out of the corner of his eye. His expression was bright, his cheeks flushed. It might just have been a new jacket to some, but to him it was an act of daring, a breath of defiance.

Coupled with his eyes, it would certainly turn heads. Even if some of the reactions he got would be negative. Paul turned slightly, hissed as one of the pins pricked into him, and looked down at the tailor.

"I will tell everyone where I got it." And the tailor didn't look exactly pleased.

There was an uncomfortably long moment of silence, bright eyes lifting onto Gabriel, when it seemed Paul had no idea who he was. Perhaps, instead, Paul was trying to decide if he wanted to pretend he'd forgotten the artist, the half-finished painting under a tarp somewhere, the hours of sittings -- and the social engagements that had sprung up afterwards. Trying to decide if Gabriel's name was worth remembering, or --

A smile bloomed, sudden and overtly charming, the green of his eyes suddenly very noticeable. He moved, and the tailor bit down on a curse, pins shifting against his side. "Gabriel! My good man, I haven't seen you in months."

Paul, no, did not bother standing still, and the reason was clear enough: to him, the tailor was little more than furniture, his movements more annoyance than service, the pinning and the measuring only what he should be doing and nothing special, in that regard. At this moment [and, perhaps, at any moment] the man wasn't a person. He was his task.

So Paul shrugged, fabric moving as he did, and smoothed curls back out of his eyes. His expression still bright, and convincingly so. If that smile was fake, it didn't show.

"Oh, yes, well. I've been spending a considerable amount of time at the country house. Your letters are probably in the pile on my desk." Along with bills, with warnings, with other acquaintances. At least the others, though, would know not to expect a speedy reply.

With Paul, at least, any compliment is a good one -- and since this coat in particular was designed to be daring and draw attention [any attention was good attention], Gabriel did not make a faux pas with his choice of words. Instead it made Paul grin, halfway turning back to look at his reflection in the glass, the tailor finally giving up and straightening and, with a soft word, moving to get the jacket off of Paul. Good enough was good enough, perhaps, or perhaps he was just good enough that he could make due with what he'd managed to get. Either way, he was going to send the young man off with the promise that it would be done soon...

"Well. I don't know about that. And I don't know how long I'm in town now, either." He hesitated, shifted, peering across at Gabriel as if considering.

"...but. We could perhaps get some supper and sort out a time." A pause, and his grin widens a little, some thought striking him. "Or, if you want to come to the country estate, I might have more free time then..."

Gabriel's luck wasn't with him, apparently. The suggestion of dinner made Paul's eyes brighten, had him turning and tugging his watch free to check on the hour. Too early for dinner, perhaps; certainly too early for fashionable dinner. And fashionable was, naturally, important for Paul.

"We could walk around for a bit, then perhaps get something." Paul reached for his own jacket, the black so tame after the brilliant green he'd been sporting. At least he wore it well, tugging it in around a narrow waist, and gestured for Gabriel to lead the way. "I know a place."

"Of course not." Paul's reply was cheery, quick, with a raise of his eyebrows, and also totally unconcerned. Gabriel should, perhaps, have worried at that. Their disparate ideas of what was 'terribly expensive' could result in trouble down the line, as Paul didn't usually even think about money, or the bill, or budgeting, or...

Perhaps, if it was expensive, Gabriel's panicked expression would evoke from him a sudden fit of generosity. Maybe he'd pay. Or maybe he'd be too self-centered to even think of it.

"Move, man." It came with a hand at the small of Gabriel's back, low, nudging him out of the store with one last wave back to the tailor.

"We'll go for a brisk walk down to the Hatter's, perhaps, to see what he has in the window, and then around the block, as a bit of fresh air is good for you." His hand lingered, but only briefly; not long before he let Gabriel move under his own steam, his own fingers flipping hair casually out of his eyes. Gabriel had probably never seen him in a hat, and with good cause: Paul never wore them. But that didn't mean he couldn't look all the same.

"Anyway, it'll incite appetite, so when we arrive for supper we will be well-ready to eat." His tone was bright, cheery, long legs stretched out and a look shot to Gabriel. "You've looked better, I dare say, so I think you could use it."

"...oh, I'm not going to buy one." It came with a faint laugh of his own, both eyebrows raising as he thought about that. No. Paul wasn't fond of hats at all, not on himself. That didn't mean, though, that he couldn't admire.

As Gabriel fought down the laugh, he shot the man a sideways look, haughty expression touched with something curious or confused or maybe a bit of both. He couldn't imagine what was going on inside the man's head. "You could sport one, though, perhaps. Give it a go."