Sabrina's nose wrinkles. Having a date to a dance isn't a mistake she's likely to have again. Which is fine. They're at child soldier minor mercenary school, they need to focus on what's important.

"I'm offended you think I'd need someone else to handle my inventory," she scoffs, obviously overcompensating. "I always have a hip pack with first aid and snack provisions." She's not even lying; strapped to her thigh under her cocktail dress is an emergency pack, just in case a rift opens mid-dance.