[Even though the vague whiff of that cocktail has Koby's nosy scrunching, his mouth watering with a perverse sort of desire and revulsion, he still smiles at Nami's pose, at her braided-back bright hair and her tipsy grin. He's got his phone in one hand, both arms wrapped around an armful of fabric, primarily patterned or pink or glittery. He looks both excited and deeply nervous, as is tradition at Nami's girl's nights.

Though most of these events don't have so many sharp objects involved. Koby drops the armful of clothes, thinking briefly of another place, another room, another stack of clothes and Nami's hands on his shoulders, the scent of citrus.] Hello to you too. That's a lot of needles.

[The clothes are dumped, one slippery-silky cherry-patterned top almost slithering to the ground before Koby catches it. His glasses are up in his hair, keeping it back -- it's grown long enough now to curl a little at the ends, at the nape of his neck.

Then, making a face:] I'm not going to flirt with Shanks. We don't flirt. I ask questions and he says nothing and smiles knowingly, mostly. [From beneath the stack of clothes, Koby unearths a couple bottles of Smirnoff, because White Claw isn't a thing yet.] Are you piercing him too?