"What the hell is that?"

"Why Link, are you so uncivilized that you do not recognize a shirt when you see one?" Lance teased his incredulous friend.

"You call *that* a shirt and you call *me* uncivilized?"

"Touché," Lance conceded, holding the scrap of see-through material up to his bare chest in front of the mirror, "But if all goes according to plan, it’ll be the female populace that forgets civilized thought in favor of more carnal instincts upon the sight of my body sheathed in this *shirt*."

Link eloquently rolled his eyes, the gesture perfected over years of friendship.