Like most wizards, Clayton didn't get handbag fashion at all. He had a coin purse made of dragonhide - a gift from his father - and he'd had the same purse for going on six years now. Witches, though, seemed to need a new hangbag for every set of robes and just as robes were of vast and varying colors and styles, so too were the handbags.

He'd just picked up one that appeared to be covered in phoenix feathers - though by the price he was sure that the feathers were fakes - when someone bumped into him and he into the display and the display to the ground along with the handbag he'd just started to hang back up.

At the profuse apology, Clayton gave a small smile. "Oh, I'm prefectly fine. I don't, however, think the handbags are as in fine condition though."

"Were you looking at one of these in particular?"

"I was looking at all of them, in fact. This might just make it that much easier."

"I shouldn't be dancing in the robe shop. I'll never learn."

"At least you've chosen a nice pair of robes to be dancing in."