Last night. Now that I looked back on it, I could’ve groaned out loud. If I’d beaten Chora in that race, I would have defeated her, like in a battle, and probably gotten another Level out of it!

But this next competition I had in mind? Maybe it would make up for it. I was going to find a way to duel her in a less dangerous, lower-stakes way. I would challenge her to…a clothes-off.

And I mean like a competitive fashion show, not strip poker.

But before I could get to all that, I had to navigate Outlast’s tricky streets.

I darted from one corner to the next, following Chora’s slow progress along a crowded street. Few spoke to her—few even focused on her—so busy in their livestock, their lives. The occasional goat that turned toward me and brayed was beckoned back to the road, either with a word or the pull of a leash.

Outlast in daylight was in some ways a terrible place to hide, because even the alleyways were flush with sun. But the crowding made up for it! It sure did make following Chora a hassle, though.

Which had given me the thought that this would be so much easier if I were in humanoid form, and if I had clothes, to avoid, like, scarring the public.

I meowed a bit, looking past a cart wheel. Gleaming of a metal undercarriage caught my eye—I turned away and just hoped Chora was keeping an ear out. She wasn’t.

So be it! I charged, not quite Leaping, not quite caring whether I bumped into any ankles by accident. Such is the risk you take when you hide in broad daylight. Scraping past a donkey’s hoof, I bumped my head into Chora’s ankle.

She stopped cold, whirled around. “What was—”

But she looked down and found me, and she saw I was pointing, and she looked all the way over to a boutique.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight.

But ultimately she shrugged her shoulders. Incidentally, the lady driving that wagon with a carrot lure hanging from a stick was crying out for her to move.

Chora rushed away, and I followed suit. My heart was sinking, because her hesitation could only mean one thing: she was not fashionable. Meaning I was probably going to make as much Experience off of her as off a duck.

But we’d come this far. Plus, either way, I could get clothes! And clothes that I could make sure fit, clothes that wouldn’t make me feel guilty for borrowing someone else’s! Besides, maybe Reed was about my size, but Bayce’s fitted dresses would look like curtains on me. Chora’s pants would be shorts and her bra would be a prison.

We opened the door to St@rs. Having gulped in the smell of barnyard creatures for the past few minutes, I’d forgotten what I’d learned just an hour ago: that Outlasters could actually be chic, if they wanted to. St@rs was a whole ‘nother world. It was like a costume shop and a rave in one. Ambient thumping music and walls that either seemed to pulsate or literally did wobble like gentle jelly ushered us in, and the natural lighting was broken up by flying silver beams.

…I hadn’t thought this through. In a hyperilluminated mall, there were no shadows to hide in.

Quickly I spotted what could have been a fortress of half-price pants all folded in stacks and mounds on the floor, and jumped in. Peeking out, I saw Chora bend down to her ankle, then rise, put on shades, and insert earplugs.

It would take me a solid three minutes to figure out she was probably blocking out light and noise. In the moment, though, I panicked. I might not win this: shades made her look cooler.

Then she hovered in the doorway for a few seconds more, and I hovered behind the pants. Fortunately, Chora came up with a plan to get me further inside so that I didn’t have to. She picked up a bunch of pairs of pants with me inside.

It was clunky as heck, but it got mildly better when she dumped me in a shopping cart.

Wait, I thought, clothing stores have carts in Vencia? It truly is a perfect world.

As she strolled past reams and rows of outfits—clothes for pirates, adventurers, slackers and harlequins—I began to gather ideas…and when she stopped after a full, twenty-minute tour, squatted by the cart, and quietly asked me if I wanted to grab anything, I snuck my paw out and started to point. Not at any clothes, but at her.

She was taken aback. “I don’t want anything.”

“Meow,” I said insistently, thinking, Well, you’re gonna want something if you want to win!

“You…want me to have something in particular, spirit?”

Close, but not quite… “Meow-w,” I said, with less conviction.

“You’re saying you want to pay for it?”

Crap! No! I did want to pay for it, but I forgot about that part too! I vigorously shook my head and pointed harder. Every piece of clothing I got today, I’d just have to get on loan, and pay her back later.

Of course Chora would do it, she had some kind of weird religious adoration thing going on. “Understood. I brought my wallet. Don’t worry, spirit, I’ll pay for everything.”

And to try and tell her she could have anything, I jutted both my paws out and gestured to the whole sweep of the store. She could have aaanything…

Then, pushing my face way up to the holes in the shopping cart, I looked around the store as well as I could. A few customers were ambling about, maybe a clerk.

Taking a pair of cart-pants in my mouth, I jammed my head out the top of the clothing mound—then spat the pants on Chora. And then I streaked out of the cart, aiming directly for the most piratey-looking outfit on the upper row. I cleared significant air and snatched a whole vest and tunic!

I could complete the outfit on my way to the dressing room using my extendable arms.

Poof!

“Hey!” someone not named Chora cried out.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Hopefully they didn’t have super film-recording-vision powers (unlike everyone on Earth), because otherwise, I would just be a mystery blur of a humanoid who suddenly appeared before everyone’s eyes. I ignored them, sticking out one hand and scooping many pairs of pants and tights off the rack before slamming the door of a fitting room.

Then I leaned against the door, pulse high, skin cold, breathing heavily.

I am a genius.

Wary of my time, I changed fast enough to warrant a world record, nearly busting a vest one size too small, rolling up the waist of pants that were just vaguely too big. There’s nothing to build dexterity like time-sensitive challenges! Ow, my wrists were cramping.

A quick glance in the changing room mirror told me I was a fashion plate. …Well, maybe not. In fact, certainly not. But whether this would pass for avant-garde or just mismatched trash was beyond my feeble understanding. My little scarf-kerchief thingy was wonderfully askew, and halfway in my mouth. The striped green-and-orange tights had no shoes to go with them, resulting in a basketball-shorts-and-footie-pajamas look. But the red coat with its brass buttons did make me feel a surprising verve of something…was it power? Did I really feel—just a little—like a seafaring soldier?

Hold on…were my ears a problem? I tried changing up my hair, maybe that would hide them. I balled positively all of my hair up and lumped it on top of my head. But it just slid off in every direction.

Hold on again…my tail was the more obvious problem. I had just jammed it awkwardly down one pant leg, where it dangled right next to my footie-pajama shin. Not even “dangled.” Stiff and beyond unnatural, it moved and felt like a terrified wallflower.

But all this…it would have to do. Since I was bleeding SP.

SP 61% (178/293)

Flattening my ears as well as I could, mussing my hair kinda-sorta back into place, I opened the door just a crack…

Chora was nowhere to be seen.

Agh, this sucked, she was probably changing! I shut the door again and my heart started pounding. How could I possibly keep this transformation up for long enough? I didn’t wanna have to undress and redress all over again, and I probably didn’t have that kind of time!!

Um, wait, maybe…

With a poof, both my other form and my outfit disappeared.

I poofed again, and the clothes came back, same way they were before.

…Oh, ohoho. You know what I really should’ve been doing? Shoplifting. And reselling the proceeds so I could buy everyone in Reed’s Cabin a college education and a backyard pool.

As I returned to cat form, I pondered other nagging questions. Like how shoplifting could be prevented at all if normal people could have Inventories. Was there, maybe, another sort of magical protection that could see others’ items? Like spyware, but works on back piercings and ankles? And then anti-spyware cantrips? Was there a magical-thief magical-store arms race going on?

I had gotten absolutely zero epiphanies by the time I heard a door unlatch to my right.

I Morphed, sped out, and stood face to face with—some random dude in a leather jumpsuit?! Aw, darnit.

He took a glug from a dark glass bottle, then cracked an awkward smile. Bless his heart. I backpedaled and closed my door again.

This would take a while.

***

Chora came out looking restrained, yet appropriately fashionable. An orange turtleneck over slim black pants that seemed to actively absorb all the light in the room paired well with her shades. Just looking at her seemed to be imbuing my brain with a new fashion consciousness, a theory of simplicity in aesthetics.

It’s a good, simple look for you, I caught myself thinking. And with the shades, you really look like you could beat us all up.

When she touched her hand to her shades, I actually gasped a little—as if I was seeing some movie star deign to glance at the plebeians like me.

But as she lowered those shades just enough to take in my look, she…actually had the same reaction as I did. Whuh? Why?

I looked down at myself. Suddenly my body looked and felt gangly, and I could sense every jitter along the whole. The colors looked gaudy, the shapes looked gaudy, they clashed. I knew they looked exactly like the random grab-bag they were.

“I don’t know how to put this,” she said. “I-I think that…what I’m seeing is…that red, brown, and gold look really good on you.” She paused. “Also, you’re beautiful in general.”

It hit me that I’d never spared a moment to look at my nekomata face.

Suddenly I dashed into the changing room again—slammed the door, pulled off all the clothes, not because I was overcome with emotion but because I didn’t want to shoplift without planning to. And I un-Morphed just as my SP timer ran out, surrounded by the puddles of clothes.

And just before I could kick myself for having no way to open this accursed door, I heard Chora knock and ask if I was alright. After some more back-and-forth, and me pawing, she unlatched the door for me. I came out crawling underneath the brass-buttoned blazer, as if that was going to make my cat form any hiddener.

There was no point, because the secret had to be out. That dude in the jumpsuit and a couple of other folks were looking our way—doing that looking-but-I-swear-I’m-not-really-looking thing. The dude sipped his drink.

Chora sighed, purposefully making it loud. “Yes, I brought a peaceful spirit here,” she boomed. “We’re just here shopping and having fun. Sue me!”

“Man, I love dogs,” said the dude with the drink. “That a real magic dog, or just an anatomagus having fun?”

“Man, I love humans,” she said with venom. “Are you real? Is your hair real?”

He raised his hands. “Point taken,” he said. For the record, he did have lush reddish-brown locks.

I was so sure that Chora would tell me we’d be on our way—and if she’d decided to storm out without buying anything, after all this chicanery, I wasn’t sure I could blame her. But there were a couple more surprises to be had.

“Come on,” she told me, “I put together an outfit that…I hope maybe you’ll like. But if you don’t, that’s fine. It’s the least I could do, at any rate.” She tilted her head, cast a glance at the blazer atop my back. “But you may want to keep that piece. I mean…it’s a good color on you.”

Hm…

Shaking off the blazer, not caring where it fell, I decided I’d give it a few more minutes of thought. I trotted behind her, excited—for now—for nothing but whatever she had in store for me.

Victory! EXP: 29% (645/2250)

…Alright, if the numerical reward was this small, I probably wouldn’t challenge her to a look-off again. At least not like this.

***

Fittingly, the outfit Chora had chosen for me struck me as simple yet effective. It consisted of:

A plain white T-shirt.

Brown short shorts.

Athletic black shoes.

Ankle-cut white socks.

A brown over-the-shoulder dual chest lump protector.

A simple black headband.

And just when I was wondering how the pants would work with my tail, she picked them back up, held both sides with taut knuckles, roared, and tugged.

Er…I guessed that as long as she paid for damaged merchandise, the store was fine with it.

Anyway, I had some quibbles with this ensemble, but I felt Chora had gotten the spirit of what I wanted out of clothes down—and that was, namely, that I kinda didn’t want to wear clothes at all. I mean, playing dress-up had been surprisingly fun, but that was just it for me: playing dress-up. The most exciting thing about wearing stuff regularly was the idea that my nekomata form could actually be seen in public. The second most exciting was getting fewer goosebumps.

So I ditched the headband (that form likely wouldn’t be running for her life for more than twenty seconds anyway, at this stage) and swapped out the socks and constrictive shoes for these huge chunky sandals that made a clacky sound when I grabbed one by the strap and puppeted it against the floor.

I also opted for a way larger T-shirt. Sure, maybe it would be like a curtain on me, but—again thinking of goosebumps—I preferred to think of it as a blanket. Long sleeves were for nerds, though.

After all was said and done, when everything I wanted was stacked in the cart above Chora’s own new outfit, I thanked her to the best of my ability. And then, in the store, I curled up as if I was going to sleep…

And then I actually went to sleep.

I needed the SP, and she needed to feel how I felt when she conked out on that rug.