Mostly she just feels kinda dumb how she's dressed up. But he said white robes, whatever that meant - and a crown type thing. The latter made her feel a little too much like Aurelia, and fuck that bitch. But she has tried because it mattered to Ivar, and that was as good a reason as she'd ever had to do most things. So where no, nothing is fancy. It is neat, and clear that she's made some kind of effort.

Rhys wasn't using this shirt, anyway. Lucky that dude was a giant string bean, so his white shirt falls easily to the top of her legs, everything covered where it needs to be. Her belt tied around her waist to try and give her some shape ( sue her, she didn't care about impressing anyone, but she cared about looking her version of good ), but mostly so she could holster the knives and hammer off the leather loops. The diadem, in this case, is just wires and weeds, tied around to make a loose circlet. Hair out for once, bright orange and messy.

Waiting by Honir's Temple, fiddling with the buttons on the middle of the shirt, tapping her metal finger on one, that absent habit that made it impossible to stay still. Scuffing a boot, tugging the black stockings she'd put on underneath. Just odd, and not very tall, little in a way that doesn't match just how much she can and does run her mouth. If it weren't on closer inspection the medley of cuts and scrapes and bruises, bullet wounds and buzz axes and that sharp grin when she catches sight of him, lifting a hand to wave him over. "Hey buddy, sup, it's me!"