He retreats a short distance, not wanting to alarm her too much with his unconventional means of transport, but when he does return he has a small stack of square baskets with lids. They're smallish, only the size of soup bowls, and probably manufactured in some sweatshop in China, but they're woven from some kind of flat straw or wicker, natural materials that he hopes wouldn't raise too many eyebrows in her world. He's not even sure if that's an issue for her or not, but better safe than sorry.

The rocking limp is distinctive, more an issue of balance than a leg that won't hold weight, and his left ankle doesn't bend. It's a kinder world, that he's from, but not one without its share of injurious circumstances. He offers out the baskets with a gentle smile, though. "I'll help pick. You... won't have any trouble, I hope, bringing home unexpected gifts? For some people this place is too awkward to explain, back home..."