ZZZZIIIIIPPPPP! The description wasn’t kidding; it was like an announcer starting a wrestling match. No rogue would ever wear this bag. He half-expected Beau to shout “Slay!” just for the acoustics. Gingerly, fearing it might bite, he reached into the utility pouch. His fingers brushed something soft. It felt like a rope, which would be super useful. He wrapped it around his hand and pulled. What came out of the bag wasn't a rope. It was a novelty scarf. The kind sold at flea markets at Christmas time as the ideal holiday gift. The fabric was black polyester, too shiny in the light, and it had scattered grammar marks: commas, semicolons, question marks, em dashes, quotes, all the structures, from the reflective to the exclamatory, graced the tie.

  This was his scarf. Bea gave it to him when she was nine. She had been so proud of it. Exactly what her English teacher uncle would need. Dodo had encouraged her, saying that a scarf was very European and that Remi would love it. The truth was, he did, wearing it occasionally to parent-teacher interviews. It was funny, and disarming. Remi flipped it over. Sewn on the back was even the tag she had cross-stitched herself: For Uncle Remi. Love Bea. This was his scarf for sure.

  He flipped it back over, but now the punctuation marks were moving, bouncing gently across the fabric. Well, this was sort of his scarf. The marks converged to form a large interrobang. What!? It was exactly how he was feeling. The mark glowed purple and then disappeared, breaking into its component marks once more.

  Beau saw the tie before Remi could hide it. "Yasss! We will need the rest of the outfit too." He rushed to his wardrobe, rummaging through the racks of clothing. A white shirt appeared first, flung into the air, only to fold itself neatly in front of Remi. “We can’t have you in that mustard monstrosity anymore.” The shirt had a collar, and although it looked breathable, its neck was open. Remi was not sure how much he liked that. “You will also need some pants.” A pair of charcoal grey pants appeared. They were cargo style, with pockets. But the fabric was wrong. These were more dress pant than a khaki.

  A closer examination of the pants revealed they were:

  Adventure-Cut Utility Trousers: Standard Issue

  Somehow, Beau had managed to re-skin them to look more business casual than dungeon commando. Then came a practical belt. It was dark with a secure-looking buckle. And some field issue Crucible boots, probably because it's tough to adventure in loafers. “Okay, try these all on, and I will get your accessories.”

  Having no actual option, Remi went behind the screen, disrobed and put on the new gear. The pants fit him exactly, which was disconcerting. Shirt and belt were similarly perfect. The boots had a satisfying leather creak as he shifted from foot to foot. And knowing he would not get away with it, he sighed but looped the scarf around his neck.

  When Remi reappeared from behind the screen, he saw a practical-looking dagger in a sheath and a small bag that clinked as he picked it up. He fixed the dagger onto his belt. Upon examination, he saw that the case was a basic scrivener’s set, and held a few vials for ink, a quill which he could sharpen with his new dagger, a charcoal styles a few pieces of parchment and a cleaning cloth. By the time he had safely stowed the kit in his murse, Beau had returned.

  “Diva! that's giving reluctant hero with a tragic hemline. It’s giving brother issues, but we can stitch that arc later. I would say I had outdone myself, but it's missing something. It doesn’t quite scream Remi Page yet.” He stood, reflecting, hand rubbing his chin. “It needs a signature piece! The murse, while fabulous, is simply too utilitarian to be your go-to look. I have just the thing. It’s a bit damaged, like you, but I could fix it up right quick.”

  Beau returned to the racks and walked all the way to the wall. He reached into the void and pulled out a slightly formal-looking academic vest. It was black. There was an obvious flaw—a large tear in the front, where the fasteners should have been. He set it beside his sewing machine. Then went to a nearby drawer and started rummaging around. “Oh, this one will do. And this one. I need one more. There you are queen.” Beau came back to the machine with three brass buttons, which he set beside the vest. He then went behind the screen and returned with Remi’s old pants. They were black, like the vest. Beau smiled, “I might need to upcycle these a bit; can’t ruin any of my garments, but these will do.”

  Beau cracked his knuckles like a concert pianist as he sat before the sewing machine. He laid the vest out with reverence, smoothing the torn fabric with both hands. The tear in the chest was jagged, a violent rend in the fabric. He refused to sigh. Beau didn’t sigh. He smirked, enjoying the challenge. From beside the machine, he took the three brass buttons, and lined them up along the edge of the tear. Each one was slightly different: one smooth and heavy, one etched with faint radial lines, one shaped just slightly off-round like it had been dropped and stepped on more than once. They did not match, but that was the point. Then he took Remi’s old pants, the ones worn soft from years of sitting, teaching, crouching to fix classroom projectors. The shears shone in the light, a lens flare as if it were a J.J. Abrams movie, and cut from them without hesitation. Two long strips from the legs and a panel from the seat, even a small narrow band of waistband trim. He rapidly and methodically repurposed the fabric into reinforcement patches, a lining extension, but most notably a replacement for the torn button panel. He stitched fast, and clean, and confidently. It was like watching his grandmother when she used to make him his Halloween costumes. One year he had wanted to be Superman, and it was magical to watch how she transformed an old tablecloth into a cape. Beau, like Remi’s grandma, did not miss a seam; there wasn't a single thread wasted. The machine hummed as if in approval. Beau didn’t repair the vest; he remade it. It looked a little softer yet a little heavier; it was a juxtaposition in fabric form, and even from this distance Remi could tell that it was undeniably his.

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  When it was done, Beau handstitched the last button into place with a satisfying CLICK!, snipped the thread with his teeth, and gave it a final once-over. “There,” Beau whispered, mostly to himself. “A garment worthy of us both!” He held it up to the light. The brass caught it perfectly. The shadows around the repaired seam didn’t hide the past; they seemed to cling to it.

  “Put it on, mon etoile,” he said. “Wardrobe is destiny. You don’t just dress for the fight, you dress for who you will become.” Remi complied without a word and without further protest. He knew he would never have picked it for himself, but who was he to deny something crafted just for him? He took off his bag, put on the vest and did up the buttons.

  [NEW EQUIPMENT: Adjunct’s Mantle of Benjamin’s Buttons]

  Profession Garment: Narrative Utility Class

  Status: Soulbound to Remi Page

  Slot: Torso (Overlayer)

  Description:

  A refitted academic vest constructed from multiple fabric sources, including remnants of the wearer’s former wardrobe. Black wool-blend base reinforced with panelling cut from upcycled trousers. Lined for mobility. Repaired with visible seams and deliberate asymmetry. Three mismatched brass buttons are visibly affixed to the left chest panel. This garment carries a history. Some of it's yours. Some of it's stitched in without asking.

  Bonuses:

  Lore +10% (active while worn)

  Agility +10% (active while worn)

  Button Slots (3 currently active):

  Buttons grant powerful onetime tactical effects. To activate a button, it must be visible and securely sewn into the garment in order to be pressed.

  - Activated buttons may detach when used

  - Buttons must first be sewn onto the Mantle in order to function

  - All previously worn buttons become single-use only

  - Only one button on a garment may be activated during a singular narrative conflux.

  Current Buttons:

  Button of Displacement | “Move. Now!”

  An etched brass compass on an oval shape, with thin directional lines radiating outward from a central point. When pressed, you can blink to any visible location.

  Button of Anchor Point | “Not yet!”

  A gear with ridged outer teeth clearly visible. When pressed, it creates an anchor point, where you can rewind to once with a second press or death.

  Button of Second Strike | “Double up. Don't think.”

  Two thin disks pressed together, with a rivet through the centre, faint engraving of // is visible across the face.

  When pressed, the next offensive action triggers twice.

  Beauregard St. Lueur de Vervaine looked Remi up and down again. “Yasss, Diva!”

  Remi couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Queen!”

  Beau’s returned smile was genuine. “I just have one final question for you. Are you saying yes to the vest?”

  His responding laugh came as a sputter. “I guess I am.”

  “Well then, mon etoile. Sashay away! Until next time.” And with that, Beau returned up the stairway from where he had come. One last turn to mog the unseen camera, and he disappeared.

  Remi looked at himself one last time in the mirrors before he left. He looked good, and so with a little swagger in his hips, he left fashion studies, certain he would win best dressed in detention where he planned to be a real stitch!