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This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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"There's a place upstairs that has clothes we can just take." They might get hassled by the people who work there but he can brush them off easy enough.

"But are they any good?" is her first and most important question.

She works on tying the flannel tighter, and wrinkles her nose at the knife in her boot.

"It's got to be better than this," looking down at himself, his linen button down shirt, his cargo pants which hang loose on him now. "These boots are hammered."

"Mine too," she agrees.

But she still has her doubts about a lost and found bin on a space prison.

Well. Needs must. "You know where it is?"

"Kind of," his brow furrows with thought. In the future he'll know every cabin, every door, every lock on this ship. But right now it's like trying to remember something from a dream. "C'mon, we'll find it."

It's not hard to find, at least.

She's kicked the boots off by the time they're halfway up the stairs. They don't fit adult Rosita as well as they should and her teenage self is even more slender, even lighter.

She also leaves the knife stuck in the boot as she carries them. She has no idea what to do with it no matter what she half remembers is in the future.

"Are you having the same thing I am? Is this a - a flood?"

"Yeah. It's a weird one." He remembers what his warden item is, at least. "We can have some fun once we're not dressed like we picked our clothes out of a dumpster."

"Good," she answers, because she's fucking ready for some fun.

She needs to shake whatever this funk is that's trying to latch into her.

"I want to see the deck."

The deck. He knows what it is but, again, it's with a certain haziness. How could it possibly be real?

He grins. "Let's hurry up then. Hey--look at this!" Awful pants, orange corduroy, so terrible it makes him laugh. "This is worse than what I'm wearing."

"See, I told you," she huffs, but he's making fun of it so she leaves it be.

She's sorting through hangers on the other side, and that's where she finds a sweater she thinks she can make work, and a slightly larger one beside it.

"Here," she offers, yanking it clear. "Try this."

He takes off the big linen shirt he's wearing and pulls on the sweater instead. The fabric feels more familiar--heavier and well worn cotton, more like what he was wearing before he came here.

"How do I look?" He wants to look nice for once, but not in a dorky way.

The clothes are mostly going to be big on them, she's already resigned herself to that; but it hangs nicely on him, and she smiles.

"Good," she answers, considering the pants, going back to the rack. She comes up with a pair of pants that are, yes, loose - but they can work with that, and she tosses them to him.

"Here." And then she strips off the shirts she's wearing to pull her own finds on.

He turns away but it's not out of shock. He's comfortable with Rosita, something bleeding into his thoughts from the sense that he knows her very well in the future.

"Hey I don't look like a hippie prepper anymore!"