Frisk, casual outfit soiled with dirt and ripped in several places, gives an exaggerated sigh and leans against the wall as well, blowing a loose lock of brown hair out of their face. They look at Kuja, eyebrow raised. How on Vaikuntha did that man keep his clothes clean? Probably through either a supernatural with his pick of Satan-analogues, or very, very carefully. Frisk was burning with curiosity. "How did you manage it? Keeping your clothes clean." They look Kuja up and down appraisingly. "Especially with an outfit like that. Holy crap, that's some style."