Today had been bright and sunny throughout. The best kind of day - the kind of day where one could forget about traumatic events like losing the majority of one's casting crew to a supernatural phenomenon, or being subjected to the chill of literal fucking death in psychologically-projected landscape form. The sort of day where, normally, Phil would have been practicing his board tricks all day, likely to an audience that could appreciate them.

Instead, he was out shopping, because that was what the guy assigned to look after him was doing. Something about keeping up with fashion trends? But the thing about trends is, if you follow the trends, you aren't setting the trends. And how did you set trends? Consistency. Phil wasn't much of a shopper for that reason: his outfit had been relatively the same as it had been for about the past six months. Sure, it wasn't literally the same items the whole time, but the majority were only slightly different throughout, maybe changing the designs on his cap and shirt, or from time to time the colour of shirt, cap, pants, shoes, or any combination of the above.

Because of that consistency, though, he had a Look - an iconic appearance, something people could glance at and recognise him, and say "Hang on, are you Phil Jaegger?", or say to somebody else "Hang on, are you taking inspiration from Phil Jaegger?" to which the recipient could reply "Yes. Hell yes. Hell. Fucking. Yes.", offering all due credit to the man who had first inspired the Look. Or, if the situation really needed it, he could spend one day in a different outfit, shock and awe the viewer, then return to his Look as if he hadn't just broken the mould like the coolest cat in town rubbing itself up against a mould, then hitting it with a hammer to shatter its frozen-over and newly-brittle form.

The point being made was that inspiration of idolatry was a tough business to manage, but Phil had worked it out to a science, he felt. Therefore, clothes shopping didn't greatly appeal to him, not least for the aforementioned reasons, but also because everyone was too preoccupied with their own shopping sprees to keep an eye open for celebrities doing much the same thing. And apparently, clothes were all Ciaran really cared about. Clothes and his own legs. Sure, they were [i]nice[/i] legs, but not anything to get worked up over.

'So you got enough new clothes yet, man?' he asked casually, glancing over to Ciaran. Phil had deigned to buy himself a new shirt in his size that fit his Look, after a few hours of not buying anything, but by comparison, Ciaran's stack of bags was pretty hefty. You'd think it would be a pile of clothing, but clothes generally come in bags, which stack rather than pile up in one's arms, and so a stack of bags it was.