The third to arrive, somewhat surprisingly, is... Frisk. Somehow, the twelve year-old child managed to make it to Bumfuck Nowhere, that signature shit-eating grin on their face as they open the door. A party was a party, after all, and they had a feeling that Kuja threw amazing parties. Plus, he seemed like a pretty cool guy overall.

The first thing that's apparent is that Frisk has taken Kuja's fashion advice to heart. Unlike in the mines, their current outfit doesn't scream "city slicker," and instead somehow blends in with both the small populace of the community and the flora surrounding it. The second thing that's apparent is that they have champagne of a very fine vintage delicately carried in a velvet-laden basket in one hand, and two rods in the other. They're both obviously high-quality, but one is for black magic, and the other white. "Heyo. Sorry, didn't bother wrapping the rods since it'd be pretty freakin' obvious what they are even if did smother them in festive paper."