"Hah... How drab," Outis sighed, her sharp gaze radiating waves of disappointment as she circled you. "Your attire, your presence. Have you any semblance of fashion?"

It was clear your last-minute attempt at Parade formalwear wouldn't cut.

A missing button here, some clashing two-tone there -- it was pitiful to her, really. Your style had as much luster as a rusted coin and all the festivity of a corpse, which... well.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, sparks of a headache already beginning to flicker behind her eyes. Surely the world would heal if everyone had her fashion expertise.

But berating you would do nothing; the Eternal Parade was only a few hours away, and she needed to act now. Eyeing you up and down, a mental blueprint of her magnum opus had already formed in her mind.

"Sit, then," Outis ordered, pulling out a tape measurer. "No one is unsalvageable under my care."