"I already suffered that hat, I don't know if I can handle another," he says, padding barefoot across the house to his room. The squall outside hasn't let up--if anything it sounds worse, hail striking the roof with the force of a hammer, rain hissing and wind howling. It's strange to think they were just outside in it, that they were really that stupid.

"I don't know how Bodhi's special tea set really works, and I don't think he'd appreciate us touching it either way, so you'll have to settle for what I can manage with the kettle." When he returns, he has Casey's grey scrubs, which might at least fit Ravi in the waist, if not much anywhere else.

The sweater won't be much better--he's pretty sure it was left in the collection pile by a woman who happened to be taller than himself, but nowhere near Ravi's height, but it's bulky and warm, and the knit can stretch. "You're going to look a mess, but you'll be dry."