"Dance," Rico mutters under his breath as he searches. "Yeah. Living in the moment, isn't that what it's about?" It's an unwelcome reminder of exactly what they're avoiding like this, and he shoves it to the side almost immediately.

He finally tracks down his shades, a subtle jewel-encrusted number, and fishes it from underneath the couch. Settling it on his face, he finally feels like he can properly meet Zenyatta's eyes. Face. Sensors. Whatever.

"It's always midnight somewhere," he states. He feels unsteady, and if he really wanted to party, an appropriate time would have been several hours ago. But... this doesn't feel like a bad idea. "Specifically - I know a place. You're not going out in that, though. Nobody will let you in through the door wearing that potato sack. I might have something in your size. Check the closet and get into something more skintight if you're serious about learning the Mega-City macho mosh."

The walk-in closet that's surprisingly intact, actually. And fully staffed with items of clothing that are either flamboyant, neon, or patterned or structured in some strange way. Along with a pull out cabinet full of jewelry, and what appears to be kneepads.