As he reached midship portion of the upper deck, Ember casually snapped a finger, and the bubbles and sparkles abated. It was then he noticed the poor wheelchair bound fellow waving at what was most assuredly a very wealthy, if not noble patron-- if her attire and her escort were any indication.

Instinctually, he took in her (and her entourage's) clothing, sizing up the competition. It wasn't all together terrible, but it was your typical provincial seamster's fare, just with nicer fabrics.

The smug smile curled on Embers lips again.  He would surely have to get this woman acquainted with his designer fashions.

Discretely, he made mental note of her approximate measurements about the waist, bodice, length of torso, how leggy she was, the style her hair was in, -- even her choice in colors and textures-- before hardly skipping a beat and continuing his glide toward the lower deck.

This would require some discretion; A change of clothing would be in order, then some light conversation to introduce himself and his business.  Surely, they knew of him, even out this way. His panache was legend back home...