[This was meant to be voice only, but you know how the community gets. There's a familiar nightmare milling around the nearly bare room wearing
not so familiar clothing, looking for something or other. Not that the room leaves very many places to hide things.]
Rose. Witch. If either of you see someone hauling my clothes around, I want you to skin
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Who the hell's Hector?
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Hello. Hector is the guy whose clothes you've got, and he's got yours.
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Friend of yours? Where is he, I'd like my own clothes back.
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No one can take them off, ya ding bat. They're stuck on. I bet when the virus is over they'll just go away and you'll be in your own again.
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