((He's not in their weight class anymore. His home reality has run very short on magic, and while the noble fae once sculpted reality to their whim, they now skulk on the edges of society and mooch imagination from the few mortals who haven't been ground down by the crapsack world in which they live. He's got a big bag of tricks, and is good for maybe two or three big spells of his own, but he mostly gets by on careful deployment of magic items and bartered favors.))

"Trixie it is, then," he agrees genially, sweeping his hat from his head and hanging it atop his cane, which he leaves standing on its own as he steps toward a more conversational distance. The tip of the cane scrapes quietly against the ground as it follows him, a couple paces distant.

"Ah! A few of my favorite things. I should be very interested indeed to peruse your stock--as well as to ask what you might be looking for in life."