"You just need to get better at laundry," Lambert fires back companionably. He gets his clothes covered in worse than blood and they get by fine; admittedly, it's also usually made of tougher stuff than just plain cloth, so maybe he shouldn't expect much there.

Still, since he's here anyway, he's also looking at things curiously. Some of it's familiar to his eye, some of it he knows he would have been likely to wear back in Portland, some of it is just ... plain bizarre. He completely tunes out Strange's prattle about budgeting to eye one of the bubble-encrusted bustiers with a shit-eating smirk, hooking a finger into it and holding it up to his chest while Strange's eyes are directed elsewhere.

"How about this?" He asks, innocently, cupping a hand over one very synthetic breast ... cup ... whatever this is. "I think it really flatters my figure, don't you?"