“You got at least one nice outfit for me to wear to the ball, right?” Cormac asks, raising an eyebrow.

Irving laughs as they adjust the ballast of the balloon. “Of course I do! And I’ve still got some of those old, really nice looking legs that you used to use.”

Cormac hums, looking away from Irving and watching intently as Irving ropes his little ship onto their large one. His ship is by no means cramped, but it looks so small compared to Irving’s ship, which is almost luxury for just one person. Cormac’s ship doesn’t even have sails on his masts. They aren’t necessary to keep on at all times; sails on spaceships unless landing are impractical and simply for looks, and Cormac is always one for frugality.

Irving’s ship has rather nice sails on right now, Cormac notes. They don’t have some on all the time, despite what their attitude may seem they are not by any means wealthy, but perhaps it is to fit in with the nobility going to the ball.

A tap on the shoulder startles Cormac from his daze. He looks sluggishly at Irving.

“Come on, my dear,” Irving says. “Let’s get you out of this old thing.” They pat the shoulder of his coat.

“Hey now,” Cormac retorts without any heat. “It-”

Butting in, Irving comically lowers their voice. “It’s real cow’s leather, do you know how long it took me to find this?” Their head bobs as they do their poor impression, and Cormac cannot help but chuckle despite the throb it elicits from his skull.

“Please tell me the party isn’t today,” Cormac says. “If I have to deal with society with this bad of a headache, I literally might die.”

Irving’s laugh is unguarded, an unflattering sound. “Don’t worry, my dear, it’s in two days.”