“Ina, could you get the red and purple dress ready? With the sequins? She changed her mind again—”

The door to the hotel suite, currently in a state of organized chaos, bursts open to admit a distraught Bon Clay towing a misanthropic Sir Crocodile in his wake.

“I thought,” a voice comes from the corner, “that this was going to be a private corner, but it seems like everyone’s had that same idea.”