I've been learning a lot about Ryo lately, as I try to make a concerted effort to write him more often, but one of the things I still hold to is that he isn't very fond of crowds. Big parties. Places where he's expected to deal with strangers.
I think Ryo is a private individual, and he likes spending time with people he's chosen.
In other words, a Very Public Party would be … the precise opposite of a good time for him.
.
Ryo Bakura never looked more ill-at-ease, more like he wanted to defenestrate himself out of whatever building he was in and go running for the nearest sewer to hide in, than when someone else was buying things for him. That said, of all the things he hated, attending a gala was probably highest on the whole list, given that he didn't even enjoy parties without a dress code. He hadn't stopped fidgeting and muttering under his breath since getting into the car with Noa and his brothers.
"I'm honored that you'd ask me to join you," he said, more than once, "but are you sure all this is necessary?"
"It's all principle," Noa said. "You know how it works: we're all representing Aniki at this thing, so we have to adhere to protocol. It's nonsense, yes, I agree. But it's ironclad nonsense." He patted Ryo's shoulder. "Stop worrying so much. Just let me handle things. This is literally one of the only things my parents actually trained me for."
"He makes a good point," Seto said; given how rarely he gave Noa unqualified praise, this was a noteworthy event.
Mokuba followed Noa's lead, and patted Ryo's other shoulder, when he threw his head back and groaned theatrically. "Can anyone explain the difference between a suit jacket and a dinner jacket?" Ryo asked, fully exasperated.
"Satin," all three Kaibas said at once.
"Look," Noa said, as Seto pulled into a parking space, "you're gonna be fine. Okay? Just let me do the talking. Dinner jacket, matching trousers. Bow tie, pleated shirt, cufflinks. Vest or cummerbund, it's up to you . . . although, given the way you just looked at me, I'm going to recommend vest. Black patent leather shoes. That's it. It's simple. The part that sucks about this whole situation is the money, and we've got that. So . . . just breathe."
Ryo looked at Noa like he'd just recited Klingon poetry.
"You'll be fine," Seto said, glancing at Ryo and giving him a little nod. "This is the best tailor in Domino. You're in good hands. This is rich-people nonsense. Let the rich people handle it."
"I just don't see why I can't wear my clothes."
"I couldn't care less if you wore swim trunks and fake tattoos," Seto said, "but Noa's right. This is about tradition and principle. We're all expected to look a certain way, and sometimes it's just . . . easier to adhere to that. Let them see what they expect, and they won't ask questions. It's less of a headache that way. You're going to be given a drink you don't want, and insultingly little food, and you're going to be expected to gush over how wonderful it is. Pretend you're enjoying yourself, smile and nod in the right places, and Mokuba will let you know when he finds an opportune time to leave."
Mokuba winked. "I've got a feel for this stuff."
Ryo sighed, hanging his head low. "I don't know why I agreed to this."
"Because Noa said he'd buy you a VR headset if you did, and you're no less susceptible to bribery than any of us."
"Ugh."
"Should we get him a suit, too?" Noa wondered. "For less formal occasions. I mean, since we're already here."
"That's a good idea," Mokuba said.
Seto nodded.
"Stop spending money on me!" Ryo whined.
Noa wrapped an arm around Ryo's shoulders and pulled him close; Ryo blushed. "I'm getting a new 3D printer next week," he said. "Let us get you kitted out, and I'll give you my old one." Ryo's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Noa leaned in closer and whispered: "I've got 500 designs for tabletop minis."
Ryo gawped.
". . . A suit, you say?"