Page returns on her trek to the hotel

Page presses through a few halls, carefully keeping tabs of her dozen rips along the itchy dress that once was her bodysuit. She felt the remains of her thong dangling, shifting lower and lower along her inner thigh.

Her thong!

Could she do something about it? It was cut, after all, but certainly it still had stretch to it. Then she could have underwear! Something about that thought both compelled her and caused her to flush in the crowd of people mulling about their business. She had no underwear. Each person she brushed past her right side was feeling her pantyless hip. Her side with no defense. She rubbed her legs together and made her way to a restroom.

There was one stall open. She took it and grabbed the snipped ends to the thong. She tied them in a knot on her hip. She did not want to dwell on the mirrors outside - other ladies would see her checking out how her underwear was displayed past her dress. Not the message she wanted to send. She could see, though, that her thong knot was visible, sure, but it somehow sent a message - at least to her: I have underwear. She sighed and began to leave the stall, but saw a hand reaching under the wall.

She was startled at first, but a voice chimed, high and meek. "Um, hey, can you help? There's no paper here..."

"Oh." Page took the spare roll and knelt down to give it to her.

"Thank you!" Came the reply, and Page stood up.

There was a rip.

Kneeling down, she stepped on some of the longer scraps of her dress. Her reaction was to shift her weight, which only caused her to trip, slamming the stall door open. The rip alongside the left (once safe) side of her dress was now up her her ribs, maybe even higher than the right.

She grabbed both sides and ran out of the bathroom, feeling her grip's pressure to keep the dress in line straining against the failing threads and seams.

She was back in the hall, breathing hard and feeling the gaze of everyone upon her - no one was looking, but still, it was there. The anxiety caused her to walk - it was the wrong way, she realized at first, but then she noticed her error and began to turn, when she felt a breeze.

It was a colder breeze - she was close to an air vent keeping everything cool despite the thousands of people in the center. She felt, then, heightened pressure on her chest. A sort of piercing alertness. She looked and saw the tiniest of bumps under the strained cloth. She was nipping. The pasties must have fallen off sometime ago - likely because of the cleaner way back when.

It was not hugely noticeable, but with people like that Will staring her up and down, tracing her hips and looking at the bits of her exposed ribs, definitely it would be seen. She needed to do something - but what? She barely had anything left, and yet even scissors or tape would fix so many issues.