Oh— oh, he sure is trying too hard, that's sweet in its way. Palamedes magnanimously doesn't point it out, simply gesturing broadly over his desk like, actually, this paper is crucial— for him, anyway. He's particular.

"It probably doesn't, you're right. But— I've been told, nay, criticized about my personal aesthetic," One might here glance and clock that he is dressed head to toe in various shades of gray and gray only, that aesthetic. "And so the question is now: uniform cream, or complete nonsense chaos?"

He gestures to each pile as he names them, then looks up from the desk pointedly. It is time... to choose.