[Honestly...how did this boy get clothes like that if he didn't make them? Trish supposes she can believe in a world that horrendously unfashionable, but that's painful!!

That being said, this guy just gets stranger and stranger...at least the commotion from before has abated, if only because people are starting to disperse now that they've gotten their shares.

Trish crosses her arms over her own, hugging it to her chest.]

No, I guess it's not.

[Her mother always made them with pizzazz in mind, which is entirely inappropriate here. Although picturing this dead-eyed man in something that practically blinds with glitz is a funny, unbidden thought.]

I wonder if we weren't brought here for that reason...because we have something this place needs. [She shakes her head. She's mostly thinking to herself...] But it still feels like an accident.

[Abruptly, she frees a hand to point a finger at him.]

Hey, I change my mind. What I want in return for that shirt is for you to bring it to me if you ruin it so I can fix it. I still feel responsible for it, so do that and we're even.