I no longer wish to live...
"Could I get one of these? One of these? Maybe this one? Which do you think I should get?"
"I like the red one... I wanna have one like that. Can I?"
"I like maybe this darker one...It's almost purple. Purple or black, it's hard to tell like this. Could I get it?"
"Well... Ooh, OOH, this! This is so perfect, if we can get this and then that red pair of sandals I-"
"No," said Crimson in thunderous emphasis, eyes looking rather tired or bored, yet embers of frustration clearly visible. "We came here for clothes, just clothes."
"These are clothes," corrected the older of his two people-he-has-to-watch-over-now-that-he-found-them, the twelve or young teenage-looking girl that was thrown at him to begin with, motioning to the coloured stocking-nylon things Crimson didn't understand in question. Crimson narrowed his eyes.
"I meant things like shirts, pants, long skirts, maybe a hat; something to keep you from the elements," Crimson replied, to which the girl raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in that snotty pre-teenage way he loathed and despised to the core of his very being.
"What, doesn't your whole organization have the slightest bit of money?" She had actually made that sound convincingly innocent.
"...That's not what we spend money on," Crimson replied. He was in a market area, seated on a bench near a large display of unneseccary women's clothing, staring at both it, the girl, and the younger girl he was alsforced to protect who seemed to have taken an interest in the clothes as well, to his disgruntled-ness. "We spend money on equipment, kid, not... leggings."
"...There should be axes," the littler girl said, her attention moving from the clothes to Crimson now, tugging at a buckle on his leg. "I want an axe..."
"Hmm... Maybe I'll get one too," the older girl said thoughtfully. Crimson's head sank slowly.
Oh sweet mercy...