Gilda growled as she shoved her left foreleg on an opening of the crow-begotten clothing they called a dress uniform. She had spent almost half an hour trying to make her wings fit at the provided openings and now she realized the foreleg sleeves were coming up too short. The damn dark-blue vest was supposed to spruce a griffin up, making them look presentable, but all it did was make her angrier by the minute. Once she finally secured both her forelegs, she had to secure it using belts (colored in a darker shade) that were looped around in strategically placed straps, tightening around her shoulders and even annoying the base of her neck where her flight muscles extended. 