Seyli's hair is in an approximation of a military braid, which makes sense, because they are a military person. That's the only thing about this situation that makes any sense at all. It's not that Sasha has never encountered a person wearing a dress like this--though, technically, she has never seen a dress quite like this, it's a fucking signal beacon--it's that she has never met someone wearing a dress like this whose companionship was not billed by the hour. This is not that kind of party, stars of hell, why can't someone run a nice relaxing denial-of-service attack on her fucking brain.

She nods to Seyli and shoves her hands in her jacket pockets, wondering if she should manufacture an urgent message.