"Well it's definitely unique," Stiles gets out, smile widening briefly, before he turns his attention back to the crowd. As far as fashion goes, he's always favored comfort over appearances, so he's the last person to judge. And how Jack isn't boiling with the jacket under these lights is beyond him; and that's not even considering the dress code.

And twenty-five credits, while low, has opened up the floor for a bloodbath; with bids (all three of them,) coming in hot and fast before the jump: Two fifty. In what is clearly Lydia's voice, somewhere among the masses gathered next to the stage.

"Two-fifty from Ms. Martin, that's the number to beat," he says, squinting against the brighter stage lights. "Do I hear a call for three hundred? Because I agree, we can do better than that."

And there they go, hands in the crowd shooting up again for attention.