...Gods. He's glad when the tongue disappears, as it robs him of his ability to do anything but stare in something between disgust and awe.

He's starting to regret having begun this conversation. He considers making his excuses and bolting, but he still hasn't bought what he came for. He wrenches his eyes away from the troll's face and clears his throat with pointed urgency at the stallkeeper.

"Are the bees so different where you come from?" he asks the Psiionic, and save for the too-casual half-step away from him he's taken, there's no reason to believe the question is meant any way but politely.