Oh no, she's annoyed. Faro's eyes widen and lips purse into something of a remorseful frown as she approaches. There's no protest as she takes the shears, he's focused on finding the right words to apologize for bothering her (though how, he's not sure, which makes scripting it even more difficult).

Stay or don't, she says, and returns to her grindstone. To Faro, that's... that's perfect. She doesn't need him to chat about his work or ask about his. By the time she's turning around, his frown has reversed into a relieved smile.

Except he's got more than just those shears that need sharpening. Farogil hastily fishes his coinpurse from his belt and counts out two coins per item, plus two for the shears, and a couple extra to serve as tip or if the price would be variable. It takes him a few seconds, then he follows after her to deposit the basket within arm's reach of her station. The coins are on stacked top of the small collection of cutting instruments (another pair of fancy shears, a large kitchen knife, a short blade similar to a barber's) so that she needn't fear doing all this work without him being able to pay.

Farogil gives her a thumbs up and turns about to head back to where he was loitering before.