When Rayner showed renewed interest in the namana-yellow trousers, Jeryd suspected mischief. What kind of ulterior motive drove him to such a sudden change of heart? He did as instructed, of course, but his guard was up. Had Rayner presented him with face paint and a pair of comically large floppy shoes, he’d have scarcely been surprised. As such, he did indeed find himself surprised by the sound advice his companion had to offer.

In light of Rayner’s words, he regarded the overalls afresh, and tried to picture himself dressed like a greasy spanner-turner, hanging out with drunken locals who spent the night complaining about their jobs, gambling on the nuna races, and talking about… whatever poor people have to talk about. The weather, probably. It was true: he really had no idea what he was getting himself into. Whatever objections he had were put to bed in favour of resuming his search through the densely-packed clothing racks. Idly, he nodded along with what Rayner had to say.

“Zepp came from money. He knew nothing about the lower classes. Poor people, I mean,” he quickly corrected himself, but it still didn’t feel right. His hand hovered, as if he could pluck the correct words from thin air, “That is to say, the less economically fortunate.”

From a tight cluster of fancy shirts, he untangled a long-sleeved emerald green shirt, it had a casual round neck and was covered in a subtle hexagonal pattern that caught the light. Go big or go home, he told himself, committing to the choice. He glanced at Rayner, recalling his old friend with a glint of amusement in his eyes:

“He made it his life’s work to disappoint his old man; the more expensive the item, the fancier the occasion, the better the target. He was a complete fucking delinquent, man. And when the rest of us left for the academy, he did a stint in juvie then fell off the radar. Let’s hope we don’t bump into him down here, eh?”

With a smirk, Jeryd gave Rayner a nudge. For a fleeting instant, he felt oddly at ease, even in his presence. Rayner, with whom he had a strained and antagonistic relationship. Talking about his old mate made him forget that. Hells, for a second, he even forgot that Kyle Rayner was no longer a peer, but his superior. It was enough to give him pause for thought. This tactic of his, of adopting a familiar persona to hide behind, it might actually work. And then there were his backstory suggestions: dodging military service? Check. Escaping a disapproving family? Double check.

Rayner was good at this subterfuge thing. And Jeryd was not above leaning on his expertise.

“Won’t I stand out like this, though?” he said, through a wince, as he held aloft the obnoxious garments, “I thought the whole point of this was to not draw attention to ourselves.”