He'd felt out of place in the shop, never having bought a suit before; luckily, the lady who helped him knew what she was doing. He tried a few styles before landing on /the one/, and no sooner had it been tried on than checked out, ready to ride to its new home in a garment bag that must have cost half the price of the whole damn order. It was a thing of beauty: coal black and straight-legged, tailored for a perfect fit. The crisp white dress shirt underneath, the silver cufflinks and the bright green tie - a focal point, where he could let his own style shine through - finished it off in a stark contrast to the individual who wore it. The thing took nearly twenty minutes to put on; the salesperson had failed to mention that with any good suit, there was some assembly required. It was a little intimidating, all that /different/ wrapped up in one outfit. Of course, he pushed that nervousness back quickly. The occasion was important; he had to look the part. Piece by piece it went on, each one seeming to sharpen the rough edges a little more, make something refined out of something that hadn’t exactly started that way. Thread to gold. Water to wine. The final act of tightening the tie, zipping it all together in a bundle of black fabric and tastefully polished shoes and closing the lid with a perfect, shining knot (he’d had the salesperson tie it, just to be sure) sealed the deal. Just as he shimmied the silk for the last time, he turned on his heel, nodded to the mirror and said,

“Well then; let’s get this party started."