Early mornings are always difficult for Leo. Of course, at 21 years of age, he ought to be used to them — yet somehow, he still shows up to briefings with his clothing inside-out.
Today is laundry day, so he shuffles through his routine with lidded eyes and copious yawning. He dearly misses the servants back home, who'd dutifully cook and clean long before the prince ever cracked an eye. Alas, Garreg Mach's egalitarian principles mean that every man must do his own laundry, whether he likes it or not. He tosses his clothes into a hamper and hauls it back to his room, shivering a little in his smallclothes. Thankfully, it's early enough that few people are around, none of whom would care if he does his chores half-naked. If he's got to do his own laundry, he may as well be efficient about it, Leo figures.
It isn't until he's back in his room, carefully examining his shirt to make sure it's right-side-out, that he realizes with a jolt: This isn't remotely my clothing! Did I grab someone else's laundry partway through?! He rifles through the basket: a diviner's garb, white and pure as snow, with a soft, silky feel. It feels heavenly... Their owner must be someone of great status. G-Gods, I hope they aren't praying some divine curse over me for this...
The worst part is, Leo has nothing else to wear. In his efficiency-centered efforts, he ensured that every piece of clothing he owned went to wash, save for the briefs on his bottom. The prince pales. If he wants to return these clothes to their rightful owner, he must do so... wearing them.
"Please, spare me," he mutters, as if some benevolent god might hear him. There's no reply, save for the tolling of the church bells for morning prayers. He's only got an hour or two to right things before class, or else he'll have to spend the day traipsing around in another's clothing. It'll be fine. All I've got to do is find a diviner who was also washing their clothes this morning. There can't be that many in the monastery, right?! Leo sets his jaw, tosses on the unfamiliar clothing, and rushes out the door.
If the prince had taken a moment to examine himself in the mirror, he might have realized that his new threads were not only inside-out, but backwards. Alas, he only knows how to wear his own clothes — though even that could be up for interpretation — and his foremost concern is fixing this gaff as immediately as possible.
He all but runs to laundry area, scanning for anyone he could speak to. Composure! A prince must always remain composed. Leo approaches the nearest person as calmly as he can, albeit a little stiff. "...Excuse me! Have you seen any diviners washing their clothing this morning? They should have been dressed —er, well, s-something like this..."
