As she pondered whether they could be altered to fit given the tools at hand a faint buzzing static washed over her legs. Having noticed that this feeling typically meant something arcane was at play she tried to pull them up again, and a barely-visible amount of Fog rose from the fabric as they stretched to fit - even though they were slightly loose in some places, and rather tight in others. The waistband in particular had only stretched far enough to fit, and the belt that was inside it hadn’t become even a little longer. “Limitations, limitations...” a thought crossed her mind as she reached for the other belts, trying them one after the other - somehow, they were all too short to tie around her waist, apparently having been cut short near the ends at some point. They were, however, long enough for her to better secure the trousers around her thighs, and that’s what she did.

The boots were all too big, with a substantial amount of empty space around the foot. Nevertheless, she expected they would self-adjust similarly to the trousers, and waited for a few seconds to let the effect take place. Her expectations were met when the buzzing came again and the boot squeezed down and molded itself to fit, accompanied by the squeaking of leather against leather as a small amount of Fog came off it. Even the metal plating deformed with a loud creak, though unlike the leather it didn’t change volume - only its shape - the massive shin-plates having become even bulkier as a result. The last piece was one of the armored bracers, which fit as it was.

It was all in all rather comfortable, enough so that she wasn’t even annoyed at the absence of a shirt. “Binding’s good enough,” she thought, the living forest’s humidity and lack of constant wind having made the ambient temperature quite a bit higher. Her left arm’s wrapped state was much more obvious without the cloak to partly conceal it, but she wasn’t too concerned about it. Just as she finished up, she heard heavy, violent footsteps approaching the transport, followed by three forceful knocks on the wall.

“Y’done?” the Swordsman asked, his voice filled with the same aggression as Wire’s.

“Yeah,” she answered, prompting him to step in and beeline for the sink without giving her so much as a second look. His forearms were drenched in what she at first thought to be blood, but it was far too red. He ducked down under the sink and grabbed the seal-covered bottle, ripping out its cork and placing it to his mouth. Only, he didn’t drink.

He just… Sat there, holding the bottle to his mouth with his left hand while he did strange gestures with the right. The Rubedo coating his forearms was absorbed into his skin, his tattoos having turned the same shade of bright red, two thirds of the way from his elbows to his wrists.

He suddenly balled his hand into a fist as if to crush something, causing him to retch into the bottle as he reached up to hold his nose closed, holding the cork between his fingers.