I’ve never given a thought to my clothes. Okay, not entirely true, but I don’t give the kind of thought other girls do. I don’t care about what’s ‘in’ or the latest fashion, or what the cool kids are wearing. I personally don’t run in to a lot of cool kids, not being in school and all, so I have no one to compare myself to. However, I do have some criteria for my clothes. They have to be A) cheap B) good quality (as good as cheap can be) C) practical and D) help in my pursuit of invisibility.
So of course the first place I look for a superhero costume is none other than my bedroom. I dig around my closet for about an hour, committedly pulling out every dark colored piece of clothing I own, which is the majority of my closet. When every t-shirt, blouse, skirt, jeans and leggings are strewn across my bed and floor I finally stop and just stare. Nothing screams superhero to me. I have no eye candy jeans or magnificently fitted t-shirt. No glorious cape or knee high boots. Boots. The word rattles through my mind and I drop to my knees, digging under the piles of tossed clothing. When my hand closes around a smooth suede object I rest, bringing to the surface my priced possession. I’ve been the proud owner of a beat up, worn down, pair of suede boots for as long as my feet I have fit them. They’re nothing special, nothing to be proud of, nothing glamorous. But they have been a constant in my life since my father started down his dark path. In a second they are the center of my new persona. It seems to make sense to me that my play costume would contain boots whose exterior mirrors their owner so perfectly, so secretly.
Suddenly inspired by these boots, these beat up boots, I start digging again even more furiously. Now I have a picture. I pull out one of my thicker but more fitted black shirts, a personal favorite being the most comfortable thing I own that isn’t at first sight an obvious thrift store grab. Next I dig through my pile of jeans and legging finally settling on a pair of worn but fitting leggings, and an old worn pair of black jeans shorts to go over. Lannis will perhaps be somewhat scandalized, but I’m for practicality and comfort solely, so therefore modesty must suffer at times. And besides, skirts in my line of work would end up being a fire hazard.
Shoving a pile of shirts and my looser fitting pajamas off the bed I spread out my new uniform. All black, except for the shoes. A tiny corner of my mind is a bit disturbed at the traditionally evil colors for what was supposed to be an outfit for humanity’s defender, but I shove such worries aside. I’m no villain, and the colors will only serve to help me stand out less at this ridiculous photo shoot. I should be able to blend into the shadows, let Lannis and the others do the talking. I’ve spent almost my entire life working to be invisible, I wasn’t going to move out of the shadows in one night.
And besides, black is such a comforting color, for people like me at least.