Calling Enfys's plan for the shared birthday celebrations of herself and Hasi a 'plan' in the first place is giving her a little too much credit. It's more of a declaration of intent, where the intent she's declaring is 'shenanigans'; an observer would be forgiven for wondering what exactly about that is different to any other day. (Being daft
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Hasi is dressed mostly in light colors, in impressively high-heeled brocaded boots and a jacket with a furry collar - she doesn't know if she fits in stylistically, but that's not really her concern right now, anyway. It's strange to think she's lived for over a century, and she keeps reminding herself that her birthday doesn't mean she's expected to suddenly have an increase in knowing how to not live life as a trainwreck.
As it is, she's less dragged than she is a willing explorer, observing the scenery.
(She brought her camera, for the record. That'll end well.)
"Starving," is Hasibe's enthusiastic response, "I could do with a drink, too."
She could basically always do with a drink, in fairness.
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Speaking as a person who owns more than one kind of romper (...she's wearing something that's sold under the title 'playsuit', for christ's sake), Enfys is in no position to comment on anyone else's stylistic choices. Luckily for Hasi, neither is much of the small city they're presently in, where clearly meaning to have done that counts for a lot.
"Food first," Enfys decides, tucking her hands in her pockets.
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Hasi's dress is mostly lace and therefore mostly sheer (she has a slip underneath, blessedly), but it's also hidden below the coat, so: she feels they're doing just fine in regards to fashion. "That's probably best - I have a ridiculous tolerance these days, I feel like such a lush."
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"I still have a piss-poor tolerance," she says, thoughtfully, "but since I have a fucking insane metabolism, I sober up again right quick anyway."
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