Zenyatta looks at his clothing. Yes, they have seen better days, but they are still intact. Mostly. His fingers find their way to the scrap of white fabric around his waist. There's a faint geometric pattern woven within it. His touch is gentle, almost like he's lost in thought. Truthfully, the scrap is what's left of his Shambali robes. He could be convinced to give up the rest, but this last bit of his robe is like a security blanket. Ah, but it's not like he would be ridding himself of his previous outfit either. This isn't a makeover.

"Could I truly wear something skin tight if I do not have skin?" He jokes, but Rico. If he wears something skin tight, he's going to look more twiggy than he already is. Still, he goes into the closet and begins looking around. He... might be a while. It's part not knowing what to wear and part wanting to put together a fun costume.