It was entirely possible that Chrom was responsible for Lucina's poor fashion sense, yes. But he had nothing to do with the artistic stylings of his current outfit. He nodded in greeting to his roommate, impressed that the youth was up even before Chrom. Like mother like son, he supposed.

"I did," he sighed, understanding perfectly why Morgan was giving him that kind of stare. The uniform was beyond impractical on the battlefield. Was a bullseye to be painted on his back as well? Still, Kulevi's plea had been effective enough for him to don the gear, and now here he was.

Santa Chrom.

"You may have it as well, once your Moogle arrives to inform you of the changes. Be forewarned; you might get a beard too." He smiled a little, before going to the fridge. He needed milk.