He listens carefully. Ananke was a lot of things; fashion forward among them. All part of the biz, he supposes. This poor poor woman in all gray lists little more than function after function after function. Practical considerations. Not even a "and make it gray" at the end. Which, fine, he'll take some liberties with that. Not as many as he could, mind, the point is for it to work.

"One, two, three, four," Baphomet snaps his fingers and points at her. In the blink of an eye, she has a different outfit:

A soft but strong three-quarter sleeve turtleneck shirt/sweater with creamy pleated trousers and a brown leather belt, light caramel combat boots, with the requested straps/sheaths at her shoulders, boot knives, a trio of throwing knives, and a saddle brown jacket with 20 pockets.

Baphomet holds out a wine red Patagonia black hole MLC mini bag which contains what she was previously wearing. "How'd I do?" he asks with a grin.