4chan, stuck somewhere between freezing his balls off and being somewhat glad the carnage from the previous weeks was pretty much over and done with- threw on a t-shirt, some jeans- the only pair that happened to be clean and not laying on the floor at the time, and a heavy jacket. Not exactly the pinnacle of style, but he wasn't concerned. After all drinking- especially with someone who seemed mildly amused by him and, well, wasn't telling him how stupid he was or how he needed to shut up was hardly an occasion to whip out anything nicer than what he usually wore. When he 'dressed' up and started drinking, he'd more often than not find himself fiddling with the buttons on things and taking clothes off anyway.
Ploutos, as it seemed, had a very nice place. Much nicer than 4chan's little apartment with his cat, which boasted a messy bedroom, a living space full of wires and porn, and a kitchen. Still, the polite thing to do once he got to what he had to assume was the right place, was knock on the door.
Which he did, though not without an obnoxious vocal outburst of "'AY, SEXY!"