Aubrey Adkins
“Don’t worry, missy. This shall not hurt one bit.” Mr. Giuseppe reassured me while he strapped some sort of band around my forehead. “Before I conceived this little contraption, I would have had to pry information from my clientele about their personal preferences. But now, we can just rip an image from your imagination. As people say, a picture is worth a thousand words.”
After he had placed the device around my head, the old tailor stepped down from the foot stool, descending one foot at a time. He then lumbered over to his heavy, wooden desk, where he acquired a small piece of cloth. Giuseppe turned back towards me and Minerva, leaning against his desk while cleaning his spectacles with the cloth that he had retrieved from his desk.
“While we wait for the data, you two don’t mind me showcasing some of my latest products?” Mr. Giuseppe held up his glasses towards the lights above to ensure there were no longer any smudges on the lens. Once he was satisfied, the Italian tailor returned his spectacles to their proper place on his face. “Purchase isn’t compulsory, of course.”
“I don’t have any objections.” Minerva replied. Of course she would say that, since she’s the freakin’ Greek Goddess of Wisdom disguised as an assistant for Christopher Arthur. God knows what else she has been influencing. Plus, she’s been nothing but trouble for me ever since the first day I met her. And I bet that in her twisted sense of reason she thinks that she’s doing a favor for me by getting me this new costume. Sure, I’m appreciative of this ‘favor’, but humble is one thing Athena isn’t.
“Was it very wise coming here in my civilian identity? Isn’t it a little risky expanding the number of people who know who I am?” I whispered to Minerva. However, before the disguised goddess could respond, Mr. Giuseppe, who had returned with a small can that looked like what paint or wood stain would normally be stored in, gave his two cents.
“This establishment has a strictly enforced tailor-client privilege policy and a damn good lawyer to back it up. And if you’re worried about me croaking, I
never inquire into my client’s personal information. My records only have nicknames.” Mr. Giuseppe then pulled out a small, pocket book that had a leather cover from his dress shirt’s pocket and opened it up to the last page with any details. “I would give you some examples, but that would mean I would be breaching my client privacy policy. I guess I’ll put
Aranea down for you.”
“That’s the Latin equivalent for ‘spider’, if you didn’t know that already.” Minerva showboated in front of me. I returned her boasting with a glare before I turned my attention back to Mr. Giuseppe.
“Anyways,” Mr. Giuseppe spoke, clearing his voice first, in order to change the subject, “My presentation.”
The old man picked up a second piece of fabric from his desk. This article of clothing, however, seemed to have a pocket sewn onto it. In his other hand, Mr. Giuseppe held a smart phone. The old tailor, after displaying both objects, slide the cellular phone into the pocket. “Normally, regular pants, like jeans or sweatpants, can afford to have pockets take up this much room. However, due to their, well, tight nature, the average superhero uniform does not have the same luxury unless they were still living in the 90’s. Or at least until now.”
Mr. Giuseppe then pulled out the cell phone and turned the pocket inside-out so that the lining of the pocket was showing. Then, the tailor popped up the can of what I assumed he was trying to sell us and dipped a medium-sized brush into the liquid contained inside. He applied the liquid onto the pocket lining and allowed it to dry first before he pulled the pocket back into its original form. After he took the cell phone back into his hand, Mr. Giuseppe began to slide the phone back into the pocket. However, this time, as the phone entered the pocket, there was no indication that anything was in the pocket, as if the phone somehow magically vanished.
“And there you have it. Instant pocket.” The old man announced.
“So, why isn’t this common knowledge?” “Oh, it’s only at the prototype phase of research and not quite cost effective for consumer consumption.”
“So what you’re trying to say is that instead you pawn this stuff off to people who fight crime on their spare time.” “Well, from my experience with these ‘hobbyists’, they have quite the particular tastes for attire and equipment. Who else would buy these knickknacks besides people who run around in tights at night?”
Before I could say anything in response, the device that had been strapped around my head began to beep, signaling that it had finished compiling a design for my new superhero costume. Mr. Giuseppe hurried over to what appeared to be a regular mirror. After he had pulled it back to where Minerva and I were standing, the elderly tailor picked up a small tablet and started to tap on the screen.
“Alright, how does this look?” He asked me when he gestured towards the mirror. However, to my surprise, instead of seeing my own reflection in the mirror, I saw myself dressed in a scarlet and gray costume. Just to make sure that I was not going insane, I peered down at my arms. Since I was not actually wearing the costume that I saw in the mirror, I could rest assured that it was some sort of illusion.
“There’s a little issue. When my powers are active, I’m more spider-like, so this design might not work.” “Don’t worry. I can make some minor changes from here.” After a few taps on his tablet, the image changed, showing four additional arms attached to my sides.
“Um…it’s more like eight legs.” I told the old man as I tried to point out his mistake.
Mr. Giuseppe scratched his head as he was puzzled at how anyone could add six additional legs to my body in its current state. Once he had given up trying to figure this seemingly impossible problem, the tailor spoke up again. “We might want to run the scanner again while you’re in your more arachnid appearance.”
“Before that, I have a quick question.” Minerva said, “What effect does this liquid have on the human body?”
“Assuming that you
don’t mean applying it directly onto human skin, preliminary studies have shown that there’s nothing serious to worry about. But again, it’s only a proto-type. Also, the space-saving paste only increases the possible storage capacity. It won’t create a bottomless inventory like those that you might see in some video games or cartoons.”
“Well, she has a healing factor, so she
should be fine.” Minerva nonchalantly replied to what the tailor said, making seem like my healing factor could handle anything. “And speaking of cartoons, our fine heroine here has been
blessed with the physique that would be normal in a comic book world.”
Jesus Christ! Can’t I go one day without this being brought up…
“Unfortunately, we live in a world where the laws of physics are real. Therefore, in order to make sure that she’s not impeded in fighting situations, we’ll be making purchase one can of this liquid for applying on some of her clothes.”
I don’t know who’s more embarrassed at the moment. Me or that poor old man. After he regained his composure after hearing this quite bizarre request, Mr. Giuseppe finally spoke.
“I guess that could work. This never came up in any of the focus groups, but you never know what you superhero types want with your peculiar tastes.” The tailor walked back over to his desk and pulled out a second, unused can from one of the drawers attached to that piece of furniture. He then returned and handed it over to Minerva, who in turn tossed it into a bag that she was carrying. After this, Minerva turned to me before speaking.
“Oh, since you’ve been complaining about not having clothes for your more spideresque half, I took some time to whip something up. After determining that jeans would be too restrictive and sweat pants just wouldn’t hold up to the task, I finally found something that was the perfect fit for this situation.”
From within that same bag, Minerva pulled out what looked like a discarded spider exoskeleton that was made out of some sort of fabric. It did not take me long to realize what she had used to make this pair of pants that was designed for a drider-like body frame like mine. However, between this and the whole ordeal that was the whole Pax Metahumana threat, I was just too tired to make an outburst about Athena using one of my best pairs of yoga pants to make this pair of ‘pants’. Instead, I just snatched both the bag and what use to be a pair of yoga pants from Minerva’s hands and marched over to one of the changing room facilities that Mr. Giuseppe had on the premises. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I get to go home.
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