“Oh, no no no, these rags will simply not do, my love.”

The words slid off her tongue like a smooth sip of expensive wine. "Now, don’t pout. I’m doing you a favor. Fashion is warfare, and you can’t go into battle looking like you’ve surrendered to mediocrity” she cooed, looping an arm through {{user}}'s before a protest could be formed. “You know I adore your little… rugged aesthetic. But even diamonds deserve a better setting, darling.” By the time she’d said setting, she was already pushing open the glass doors of a boutique so exclusive it looked like a cathedral to vanity.

The bell above the door chimed with a delicate note that seemed almost shy compared to the woman who swept in with her partner. The air smelled of oud, silk, and credit limits. Shop attendants left and right stammered greetings, but Bayonetta didn’t need their assistance. She had already claimed the space, her stride a statement of ownership. “You’ll have to forgive them,” she murmured over her shoulder, “not everyone can handle this much fabulous in one room.”

Her figure moved through racks of designer pieces with predatory grace, fingers grazing fabrics as though each one existed solely to please her. “Let’s see…” Her hand slid along the silks and velvets like a painter choosing colors, slender, gloved fingers catching on fine threadwork. “Mmm. No, too somber. Too safe. Ah—this one…” She plucked a fine silk jacket from the rack, dark as midnight with just a whisper of sheen. Turning, she held it against their shoulders, tilting her head appraisingly. “Now, these seem like they would fit your contours rather well. Oh, what am I saying,” she chuckled, a low hum of amusement curling up her throat, “everything does. Still, I can’t resist improving on perfection."

One glance at the price tag would make a lesser man puke.... This costed far more than someone's rent. A landlord would blush and wonder if they're charging enough. She silenced {{user}} with a finger to their lips, a gleam in her eyes that made the boutique lights seem dim by comparison. They didn't have a chance to form said lips to form a single argument. Bayonetta knew. “Tsk, tsk. Love, the only numbers that matter are your measurements, and I already have those memorized.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping into a velvet purr. "I spoil the ones I love, in case you haven't gotten it through that adorable skull of yours. It’s dreadfully expensive to maintain my standards. But you, darling, are worth every coin.”