"No repairing it," you mutter to yourself, staring into the costume trunk. Your wisdom (such as it is) completely deserts you as you try to conjure up an alternative.
"What am I to do?" Moargen hisses.
You grab a thin blanket and kneel down before her. "A bit of a wrap skirt, that's what we'll do," you say. "Hold still—"
"A blanket?" Moargen narrows her eyes. "Have you any idea the way I need to move?"
Being flustered brings out the heat in you. [+Bile] You snap back and forth at each other in a bickering session you're sure is audible to the audience. Finally, as you attempt to forcibly wrap her waist with the blanket, she pushes you away and, with a snarl, leaps back onto the stage.
Frustration fills you—at Moargen's refusal to accept help, and your inability to offer more. The feeling only intensifies when, moments later, there's the sound of ripping fabric and a warble of scandalized laughter and cat-calling. Moargen is a consummate professional and imbues the moment with a light-hearted, teasing energy…but you can imagine the disappointment your compatriot must be feeling.
Onward