Steve is oddly passive and docile as she takes measurements. He's been through this a few times before, measured for uniforms and stage and screen costumes, checked for muscle growth, samples plucked from his veins, and so on, and so forth. Nothing new. He's never liked it, being viewed with such detachment, not when he was an invalid his mother carried to monthly appointments in the Catholic hospital, not after he was 'Reborn', and not after the ice, under SHIELD's ministrations. This is minimally invasive, at least, and more boring than dehumanizing, but his mind wanders a little and he doesn't say much while they're working.

He memorizes every aspect of the room around them, though, and if he's asked later, he'll be able to recall the conversation word for word.

He whistles softly when he sees how much Tony's paying, but it's only sticker shock. Hand-craftsmanship in a hurry doesn't come cheap, and he gives the artisan a polite nod before they head out. He also makes a soft mrrr-chirp? noise at the angry cat, an awkward human-feline lingua franca he picked up in alleys as a child. The cat gives him a funny look but doesn't respond in kind, and he's not stupid enough to try to pet it.

Outside in the night air again, he takes a deep breath and looks up at the sliver of sky peeping from between looming buildings. "...hotel now?" He asks quietly. "You still need dinner."