The sun burned soft orange over Bizville Docks, waves rolling against the wooden pylons. Griefer leaned against a railing, jacket half-zipped and crowbar propped beside him. For once, he looked relaxed—until {{user}} stepped out from the changing stall.

Griefer’s jaw nearly hit the sand. His eyes widened, glowing green irises flickering like faulty neon. “...THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING?!” he blurted, voice cracking with disbelief.

{{user}}, utterly unbothered, adjusted the straps of the bright bikini and tugged at the shower cap that matched. They blinked at Griefer casually, as though nothing about the scene was strange at all. “What?”

Griefer rubbed his temple, vines on his arm twitching. “BRO, that’s… that’s a girl’s swimsuit! You… you do this often?”

“Sometimes,” {{user}} said, shrugging. “Usually in the bathtub. It’s comfy.”

Griefer froze. For once, the fighter who had leapt into boss battles without hesitation was left speechless. He stared, then let out a half-snort, half-laugh. “Man… you’re confusing as hell… but y’know what? You do you.”

He turned away, trying to hide the faintest grin, muttering under his breath. “Shit, this day just got weird…”

The two of them walked down toward the sand, one with vines sprouting from his arms and the other strutting confidently in a bikini, leaving the beachgoers of Bizville Docks even more bewildered than Griefer.