Quilts are some kind of blanket, he was pretty sure about that. It might be a better use for all the little bits than trying to make some kind of multicolored monstrosity of a shirt, no-one's ever going to be able to identify tribe colors when every color's being worn.

Heat watches as Jack rummages through his cloth, unsure what to actually expect. And as the towel is shaken out and held up, the redhead is dead silent for a solid thirty seconds.

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever seen," he concludes after a long, long moment. "How much do you want for it?"