"I don't think this tie is the right colour."
"Shut up, Adolin." The aforementioned tie is straightened by one pair of hands, then another. Adolin's interfering hands are slapped away. "Stop touching it," Shallan said.
"I've got other ties. I don't have to wear this one. I just mean, like, a red shirt, a tie like this-"
"Adolin, I'm a Lightweaver. Colours are kind of my thing."
"Jackets," said Kaladin, holding up two.
"Left one," Adolin said immediately.
"Your left, or mine?"
"Not that one," Shallan said.
"The left one," Renarin said quietly. He nodded when Kaladin waved the coat-hanger in question.
"I can do this by myself," Adolin said, taking the jacket. "You don't all have to crowd me."
"What was it last night?" Shallan asked. "Something like 'I dunno you guys, maybe I'll just not go, it's really not my kind of thing, blah blah blah'..."
"And then after another few glasses, 'I just don't want to do it, okay, what am I supposed to wear, they're really intimidating okay, almost all the interview is like, the first impression anyway, and what's the point if they're just going to decide they don't like me the moment I walk in!'"
"I didn't sound like that," Adolin said. He paused in buttoning his jacket to shoot Kaladin a dirty look. That falsetto had been unnecessary. Just because some people had alarmingly gruff and deep manly voices didn't mean they had to take it out on him.
"No, you were sort of slurring by that stage," said Shallan, dusting imaginary lint from his shoulders.
"And crying into my shoulder," said Kaladin.
"I was not," said Adolin, and then, "you can't prove it, anyway."
"Be that as it may," said Shallan, who had taken several blackmail photos and Memories and had a number of sketchbook pages dedicated to Adolin after the point when he had decided to unbutton his uniform shirt, "you can't worry about what they'll think you're like from your clothes, at least."
"You do look good," said Renarin.
"You're my brother, you're obliged to say that," said Adolin. He directed a pleading look at Shallan, who shook her head.
"You're fishing for compliments."
"I am not. Okay maybe a little. Yes, I'm fishing for compliments."
"You look great," said Kaladin.
"Was that sarcastic?"
"You storming- no, it was meant to be a genuine compliment, you idiot."
"Whatever." Adolin paused. "Thanks?"
"Whatever."
"Adolin," said Shallan, "hair?"
"Crap, yes." He had been running his hands through it all morning, and considering the amount of hair gel he was wearing his hair was no longer artistically tousled, but vertical. "Um..."
"Sit down," said Kaladin.
"I can do my hair myself," Adolin said, before sitting down at the desk he never used and letting Kaladin and Renarin fuss over his hair.
"It's like cardboard," Renarin said.
"There's way too much gel in this," Kaladin said. "It's going to be on my hands for weeks."
"Maybe if you washed your hands on occasion," Shallan said, sitting on the desk. She rested her chin on her safehand. "Do you two know what you're doing?"
"I know what I'm doing," said Renarin.
Kaladin looked across at him seriously. "We're trying to stop him looking like an angry whitespine, right?" Renarin started to giggle.
"Mm," said Shallan. "Impossible. The 'angry whitespine' is one of Adolin's signature looks."
"I have a terrifying appointment in an hour and my best friends are making fun of my hair. It's cruel."
"Your hair will be the most terrifying thing about the appointment."
"Relax," said Shallan. "You're dressed well, you've been trained since birth to not be a moron in delicate situations, and your hair is sort of less..." she gestured helplessly, "...on the y-axis now."
"You'll do fine," said Kaladin. "And, of course, if you don't go fine, we have a squad of slightly superpowered bridgemen to back you up."
"You did eat chicken, right?" Renarin asked.
"Yeah, but it sort of felt weird. I don't want it to turn into a fight."
"And you talked to the sword?"
"Yes," said Adolin. "And pretended I couldn't hear all your spren calling me a murderer, obviously." His three fashion advisers suddenly found the roof, the floor, and a small cremling incredibly diverting.
"It's not your fault you have a dead spren sword," hazarded Renarin finally.
"And I'd prefer that you didn't go without," Kaladin said. "Besides, if the Knights Radiant are returning..."
"If my sword starts talking back, I'm going to freak out," Adolin said firmly. "Like in a major way. Complete freakage."
"You'd get over it."
"Yeah, eventually." Adolin checked his hair in the mirror. "You didn't do a half-bad job, you two."
"And..." Shallan prompted.
"Are you fishing for compliments, Shallan?"
"Blatantly," she said. "Tell me the tie is starting to grow on you."
"The tie is starting to grow on me."
"There we go."
"You've got everything? Spheres? A knife? Your resumé?"
"Yes, you great big mother axehound."
"Just checking," Kaladin said. "It is kind of important."
"Big interview," Adolin said, and laughed. "With a big interviewer."
"How's your trumpeting?"
"Average."
"Mr. Kholin, what would you say are your greatest strengths?" asked Shallan.
"My hair," he said
"Hmm. Maybe work on that one on the way to the Oathgate."
"What makes a great customer service experience?"
"Leaving... with your life."
"What's your greatest fear?"
"Being eaten by a Chasmfiend in the next hour."
"Yep. Fair enough. How do you mean to conquer that fear?"
"By getting the storming job," said Adolin.
"Good." Kaladin clapped him on the back and then self-consciously straightened his immaculately tailored suit jacket. "You'll kill it."
"Hopefully not literally," said Shallan.
"But maybe literally, if things go wrong."
"Just keep in mind that they're an endangered species," she said. "And important to the ecosystem."
"I'm important to the ecosystem," said Adolin.
"Nobody is denying that," said Shallan. She began gently pushing him towards the door. "Come on, we've got to get you to your interview."
"Remember, Chasmfiends can be your Chasmfriends," said Kaladin.