bardische | (Reply)

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No. Yes. I don't want to talk about it.

[ Oh, Basch.

He sees the shirt enter the stall, grasps at it long enough to process that it's cropped, but the moment it leaves Olivine's hands, it simply disappears.

He makes a strangled, defeated noise. Is this this place's commentary that he hasn't selected acceptable clothing? ]

Would you...find an attendant?

[ Olivine doesn't get a chance, though, because a length of leather loops around his neck, snapping shut as the lead pulls him into the stall, the handle sliding into Basch's hand. There is absolutely nowhere to hide, and his eyes are wide, equal parts embarrassed out of his mind and staring at what Olivine has dressed himself in.

That's before he realizes that he's holding a lead now attached to the other man's neck. ]

I --

[ He's so red. ]

Is there someone who can assist us? [ he calls, hoarse. He'd rather one person see them than...walk out like this. ]