It has to be "smooth" but not "slippery" and "cool" but not "windy".

"...Tell you what, you can feel the fabrics we have" - he points them out - "and if you hate them I’ll look up other options and see if I can make them for you."

She dutifully pets all the fabrics and eventually identifies some modal as appropriate.

He congratulates her on finding something that works.

And what stories will these things be bought for?

The eldest child is attempting to buy their entire shopping trip with an enthusiastic rundown of every theatrical production he has ever been in, as he was apparently the best child actor in his town.

He listens raptly to all of that. He really likes theater but doesn't want to get into a situation where he enthusiastically praises all but one story or something, but it's probably still obvious he really likes these ones.

Once the family notices that the kid has a real head of steam going they circle back for a few more items but when they're heavily laden they will tug him away.

He waves goodbye, grinning.

Around him the new city grows. People come in for mops and buckets and explain that someone threw up on the train, they aren't used to trains. People come in for books on rewiring their electricity. People come in for healing-song music players and sewing machines and countertop dishwashers and little wagons to haul it all away in, and they repay him with personal drama and tall tales and badly remembered serial newspaper fiction and gossip.

He wrinkles his nose a little at stories involving vomit, and mentions that electricity can probably kill you if you're killable and careless, and does not even attempt to call people on their tall tales, and tries very hard not to judge their drama, and provides them books and appliances and cleaning implements and wagons.

He's allowed to work shifts as long as he wants, since he doesn't need sleep, but he can call in for relief if he wants to go do something else for awhile.

Yeah. He could work forever but he can’t stay excited and focused on making sure everyone gets what they’re looking for forever. He’ll let someone fresh handle it while he goes for a walk nearby to see how things are shaping up. (He'd go flying but it seems like a bad idea to be conspicuously literally unapproachable and show off in ways that no one here could reasonably be expected to even try to match.)

There's a big lost-and-found for items dropped or misplaced in the shuffle of the mass exodus. Lots of signs up reminding everyone that disappearance magic is no longer necessary for this long list of applications. A locksmith bustling in to get apartments opened up that aren't admitting people like they're supposed to. A big pack of children swarming around the park.

He notes the location of the lost-and-found in case he finds anything and reads the sign out of idle curiosity.

Children are weird. He's not unfamiliar with them, it's just conceptually weird that some people go through a phase of being miniature weirdos right after their appearance. These ones are in the park and the park is otherwise likely to be the most interesting area so he'll brave the horde.

Their parents are around, sitting on the benches and in the little stone amphitheater someone thought was a good idea to install. (Some of the children are pretending to be putting on a play in the amphitheater.) Some of the trees are labeled "Valian - Edible" and people are tasting them. One girl halfway up such a tree has denuded the whole branch she's sitting on.

Cute. He watches the amphitheater long enough to figure out if the goings-on manage to have a plot or anything.

No, despite the exhortations of one of the more narrative-driven children they have completely different creative directions at play.

Reminds him of a few attempts at neighborhood aesthetic cohesion he's seen.

He takes a guess based on similarity of appearance and apparent attention as to which adults are associated with whichever child has the coolest creative vision and if they don't seem too busy he'll tell them he's noticed the kids are adorable.

The grandma he is addressing beams at him. "Aren't they just! That's my grandson, in the red, and his sister in the yellow."

"Cool! They seem creative."

"They are, they're just full of stories, though half of hers are just bits of the Legend of Hayu mixed up."

"No one’s tried to sell me that one for a dishwasher yet but it’s only a matter of time. Maybe she’ll be the first."

"You don't have the Legend of Hayu? Oh, you should ask for it, it's lovely."

"Thanks!"

"No problem. This planet is so nice, did you help with making it?"