Yapping

It's not that Sinclair is a stranger to fancy parties, exactly.

Granted, he wouldn't claim he's as familiar with them as say, Hong Lu (whose entire life sounds characterized by wealth) or Meursault (who has hinted a couple times at unusual life experiences.) But he has donned a suit a handful of times- for holidays, for educational milestones, for his father's business meeting- which is certainly more than some other sinners ever have.

No, it's not that Sinclair is a stranger to parties, or being fancy, or anything like that. The issue is much simpler and more embarrassing; it is, merely, his first time wearing a dress at all.

"Been a while since I've worn anything like that..." Heathcliff comments idly, smoothing the crease of his skirt.

On his left, Rodya hums out loud. "Are these tailor-made?" She tugs on Gregor's sleeve- clearly made much looser to hide his bug arm. "This must have costed a pretty penny."

Meanwhile, on the right, Ishmael is asking Faust for additional information, not in the slightest bothered by their mission attire.

Honestly, Sinclair would feel a lot less ashamed about the whole situation if he weren't the only one struggling to put the dress on. All his coworkers, including Don Quixote, including Outis, seem perfectly at ease with their costume, while Sinclair is still fighting for his life against that side zipper. Seriously, why did it have to get stuck on him of all people-?

A puff of tabacco smoke, blown straight to his face, interrupts his train of thoughts. "... Ryoshu?"

And indeed, it is Ryoshu, dressed up as all the others are. Her gaze goes over his body, from head to toes- then she nods to herself, hands reaching out. "Stay still."

Sinclair complies, because not angering Ryoshu is a basic survival skill even he has acquired. The older woman takes hold of the zipper, then yanks it up with no apparent effort.

"O-oh. Thank you?" Well that is... unexpected. Of all the people he expected to receive help from, Ryoshu was... not actually at the bottom of the list, but maybe fifth or sixth. Still highly unlikely in his eyes.

Ryoshu only shrugs in response. "I used to do that all the time." She grumbles in her cigarette, eyes glazing over for a second.

"Do... what? Help out with dresses?"

Ryoshu frowns, annoyed. "YAPPER." You're asking about private personal experiences, runt. Or in clearer words: fuck off, that's none of your business.

"Alright, alright! Just, know I appreciated it." A few months ago, he would have cowered in fear. But he's starting to understand Ryoshu, against his will. If she had wanted to hurt him, she would have done so. If she bothered to warn him, then he should be safe so long as he backs off.

She blows through her nose, then quickly ruffles his hair, like one praises an obedient dog. That's probably how she feels about him- like he's a fun pet she doesn't need to take care of herself- but, when he felt the warmth of her fingers in his hair...

For a moment, it reminded him of his sister.