Rachel's attire did not shift and change, but her bearing did. The eye and mind tended to gloss over clothing when the woman wearing them could simply be regal, dancer like upon Yrael's arm.

And there were little things to handle, such as a few coins making it into the cash box of the fig seller after a child ran off, a thief or two stumbling and finding their targets out of reach, a particularly wealthy looking snot of a boy losing the expensive threading in his pants and money belt...

But the merchant, ah, the merchant managed to get her attention, though he paled slightly as Rachel's full gaze fell upon him, an emerald and depth to put any jewel to shame "Shall we?" she asked Yrael graciously.