The outfit. Party looks around for a few seconds before plopping right down on the ground, curling his legs up tailor-style. He figures one paranoid Killjoy and a cat burglar would be able to hear if something--or someone--catches up with them, and he's too tired to scope out the rest of the area.

"Well, it's pretty slaughtermatic," Party points out, motioning to Gwen with a flourish of fingers that's reminiscent of jazz hands. "I got stories, yeah. Seven years in a desert with my brother, a demolitions expert, a mad scientist and a 9 year old little girl'll do that to you. This one, it involves three Waveheads, a junkpunk, us, a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W and 8 Exxies. That's when I found that rocket launcher, anyway..." There's a smile on his face--a grin, and then a thought occurs to him.

"Say, Tumbleweed. If you're a thief, what kinda stuff did you steal?"