[Lucille can understand. As a human, she doesn't often engage with human celebrations either. They are often too loud, and too vibrant for her, and the expectations to engage with people in mindless chatter is exhausting. She would much rather be at home, playing her music or reading books. The only time she ever saw a point in attending such celebrations was when she thought she could be useful. Playing the piano was useful. So was tailoring clothing.

She looks at him with no expression on her face; her aloof mask is very much in place and shows no sign of slipping. A regal nod -- acknowledging his question -- is all she can give him. She straightens her back, standing as tall as she can, hands folded in front of her. She's still as a statue. Almost eerily so.]

I offer assistance because I think the citizens of Trench ought to take more pride in their appearance. However, these costumes are ghastly, and no one could possibly wear them without looking ridiculous.