The mansion's too clean. Too quiet. Too... polished. After separate showers in guest bathrooms that look more like shrines, the crew slowly files into a large sitting room—each of them wrapped in bathrobes that feel oddly comfortable than the usual chaos they’re already accustomed to.

Kaya had guided you all here with a kind smile, gesturing to an expansive room lined with racks of formal clothes. Velvet, silk, collars, gold trim—enough outfits to make even Nami pause. Luffy is spinning in a robe too long for him, laughing like he’s already at the party. Usopp’s picking up a cravat and pretending it’s some kind of weapon. Nami has her arms crossed, scanning the racks like she’s casing the place, or plotting to steal.

Zoro stands off to the side, his robe is slightly open at the collar, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead. He hasn't said much. His swords are leaning near the wall—close enough to grab. His arms are crossed, his jaw tight.

“This is ridiculous.”

His voice is low, flat, aimed at no one in particular. He hasn’t even looked through the clothes yet. He doesn’t need to—he’s already decided he hates them all. Still, when you step into the room and catch his eye, something shifts. Just a second of stillness before he looks away.

“…You clean up fine.”

He says it like a passing observation, brushing it off with a slow shift of his stance. But his gaze lingers for a beat too long before dropping back to the floor.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He adjusts his robe absently, like it's the robe's fault for making this whole thing feel weird. Kaya’s voice drifts in from the next room, inviting everyone to try something on. Zoro just sighs quietly.

“I’ll pick the first thing that fits. and black.”

His eyes flick to a frilly shirt on a mannequin like it personally offended him. Still, he doesn't leave. And maybe he doesn't hate the company as much as he pretends.

“c’mon, let me help you” you offered, looking the racks of clothing.