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Rep snorted. "Its about respect too. How the s**t am I meant to take orders from a guy who can't follow them himself without bending them because he's self concious." He /did/ feel weird about taking his own off and not having thought of the avoidance tactic himself, but like ******** he was going to admit that. "But whatever, clearly you /are/ too scared to."

He shot a glare at Clerise. "Stay the ******** out of this."

Before doggedly looking back to Jordan, tenacious as ever. "Everyone else has on the division." He assumed at least.

That was probably about as close as he was going to get to an admission of insecurity. "If it'll make you feel better," Jordan said, shrugged, and set about the process of changing, casual as he could manage. He finished tying the belt and looked back over at Rep, eyebrow arched, wearing a faint smile of amusement. "There you go. Happy now?"

Rep blinked. Had he just.. Had he just /won/ an argument? Really? He was dazzled. Not by Jordan. Just winning.



He nodded, smirking. He put on a very hokey fake Japanese accent. "You are sun, my son."

And shot a wary glance at Simon, just in case.

"I - alright, yes, that's true," Davey sighed. Despite his best attempts, he had no counter for the terrible Christmas jumpsuits that Marcus was referring to. They would look weird in these robes, but they wouldn't be inflicting mental trauma on anyone who saw them.

"I fear for everyone what will happen if this guy and Julie ever join forces, though."

Davey shuddered. It would be more of a train wreck than the two trainees still going at it (sooner or later someone bigger - or at least one of the older Hunters - was going to get sick of them and lay a proper smackdown on the brawling newbies).

"Thanks, guys, hopefully not necessary," he told Marcus and Eva. Appreciated, but Davey would like to be self-sufficient enough to dress himself. Which wasn't a problem, except when weirdos handed out strange foreign robes. "Better just get it over with."

That decided, Davey began stripping down to his boxer-briefs. Most of Davey's outfit was easy enough to remove. He'd had as much as possible switched out for zippers and metal press-stud buttons - things that could be managed with just one hand. It wasn't that undressing in front of others bothered him - he'd been in the army, after all - and he wasn't wearing joke underwear like some others and, again courtesy of the army, his body wasn't anything to be shy about. It was just that he didn't like drawing attention to the bandaged stump of his upper left arm, and, well, he really didn't appreciate an audience when trying to work out how to do things one-handed for the first time. It was awkward and there was fumbling and sometimes Davey lost his temper and walls ended up with dents. Nothing that Davey liked people to see.

So those were the reasons why he was as quick as possible about getting into the new outfit (not any sort of modesty). Eventually he thought he had it on.

"Does this look right?" he asked the other two. Sure enough, the belt was not happening one-handed. Instead Davey held it in place and turned to Eva. "D'you think you could...?" It seemed slightly less embarrassing than asking Marcus to tie it. At least he and Eva wouldn't have to reassert their 'threatened masculinity' afterwards.

Oh, this girl. Thiiis girl. Sasha was her favorite, because the redhead could TELL that her and reality were far from being in touch. Her and reality were like a couple after a bad divorce, with the dude gone to Jamaica with his Secretary and the gal stuck with two kids and a mini-mansion's mortgage she couldn't afford.

Or maybe Clerise was watching too much bad daytime television.

"Darling, I hate to break it to you, but no one is naked. I see not a single girl's n****e. There is not one dong swinging in the breeze, and there are most certainly no vaginas basking under these fluorescent lights."

Taking charge, Clerise smacked at Sasha's hand, clicking her tongue in the back of her throat. "You and Ofie are HOPELESS." Clerise spun her around by the shoulders, sliding the black cloth over Sasha's shoulders, tying the bits and pieces of it--

She made a note to buy Sasha some cute panties and leave them in front of her door in a box that said something like being from someone official. Maybe Clarice would help her.

"There," the acrobat crooned, smoothing the scratchy fabric. These were nothin' compared to the outfits some of the clowns used to wear-- one thing that made her glad to be an acrobat. A leotard and some makeup-- wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

"Oh for chrissake, girl. BREATHE."

"I /intend/ to." he stated, wanting to strut just because, but resisting it with all his might. Besides, whenever he moved he was reminded of this ******** outfit.

He gave Simon another curious look. "Eh. Simon man. Can I like walk around and s**t? I'm wearing the dress see? "

Sasha did as Clerise commanded, inhaling in short, hiccupy breaths. It was probably way too obvious that anyone standing around in their underthings was naked as far as Sasha was concerned.

<Mmm, this one, Sasha. This vivid thing. You could learn some things from her. Listen to Nona. Or ignore Nona and listen to this pretty ghoul.>

Sasha wheezed again when Clerise said the word v****a. She felt like a fish that was completely out of the water, drowning in a sea of unmentionables. Was this what her papa had tried to protect her from all of these years?

"Thank you," Sasha whispered beneath her breath, lifting her cool hands to press against her burning cheeks. "I think I'm going to be okay."