Updating the wardrobe

You started to trudge toward the door, but paused as you glanced down at your work attire. "I can't go around like this, I look absurd! Stuff is... urgh, not quite where things should be, it feels awkward and tight in all the wrong places."

Ah, yes, you're right. A moment, please. Freyja's words echoed in your head as your attire changed, the fabrics of your clothes practically unraveling and weaving themselves together in new ways! The dress shirt and slacks you had wove back into a dress that looked a millennium out of date, albeit the white shirt and dark blue pants you had on made for an interesting combination of spiraling designs in this sudden dress-tunic you found on your body. Not much to work with, where's all your decorations? Not even any trophies from the enemies you'd defeated in battle? And not a single blade on you, what kind of warrior are you?

"I'm not a warrior..!" You said, seeming to argue with yourself. Freyja's energy had depleted to the point where she couldn't control the body except in little bursts, but weaving you new attire apparently didn't take much. You glanced back helplessly at a snickering Alice and Emilia.

"You look lovely," Alice said. "A bit dated, but it suits you, Lara. Still, a clothing store wouldn't hurt."

Emilia nodded at Alice, indicating she was ready to go. But as Alice wheeled Emilia away, she called out to you a final time, with some parting words. "Show Freyja a good time, and figure out how to work together, because you're the only one who can do this for Freyja, Lars! Lara. She needs you, I need her. Which means that I will reward you handsomely to figure it all out."

Grumbling, you stormed out of the warehouse, getting your bearings quickly. You realized you weren't really that far from downtown, and hopped on the first bus headed to downtown, luckily Freyja hadn't woven your wallet and the money within it into a decorative necklace or something.

As you gripped the overhead bar on the packed bus--realizing that you were gripping a little too tightly, and leaving indentations in the steel--something bothered you, and you mumbled to yourself. "...How come you're not shrieking in awe at the sight of a bus after being dormant for so many years? They always do that on TV."

Good sir Lars, what do you take me for? I've seen centuries of technological and mechanical progress pass before my eyes throughout the years I'd been summoned. A wheeled box full of people is not impressive. You can tell that to the people from Teevee, next time you encounter one, to hold themselves to higher standards.

Rolling your eyes, you turned to look at a rather creepy man staring right at you. More accurately, the sizable chest contained in your tunic seemed to have attracted his attention, and he seemed intent on ruining your first minutes as a woman by harassing and fondling you. "Hey there sweetie, how about a--"

"No." Freyja's words, not yours. She took enough control to speak forcefully and prod a finger into the man's sternum, sending him tumbling back against a whole row of men who seemed at first eager to do the same. Everyone's eyes suddenly started searching for other things to stare at after witnessing that brief show of ****! With a satisfied smile, Freyja turned around, and you were given control again.

Now, where were we?

"Fine, and another thing, how come you're speaking English right now? Barely an accent, even." You glanced up to see your stop, departing the bus and leaving the hoard of lecherous men to quiver by their lonesome, as none dared get off the bus behind you.

Am I? Freyja pondered. I thought everyone was speaking perfect Norwegian. Well, I suppose if I'm truly bound to you as our commander claims, then I'm using your words and understanding of the world. That's a convenient arrangement, you wouldn't believe how difficult it can be to keep up with the shifting and forging of a language through the years!

The conversation served well as a distraction from the fact that you were walking down the street in a body barely your own, in a dress, with limbs capable of bending steel. Freyja was friendly enough, and her joviality seemed to rub off on you as you walked, smiling a little when you entered a nearby clothing store. "We're getting one outfit, just one." Everyone else within earshot just assumed you were trying to control a shopping addiction or something.

Your call, Freyja said. I don't particularly care about the attire, just buy enough fabric and show me some acceptable styles and I'll weave it how you like. I have little interest in demanding you wear anything fashionable, though I highly recommend something functional, and to not cover up the bracer. I might need to form armor at a moment's notice and I don't want to tear through clothing to do so! It is not comfortable to wear the armor without garments underneath, believe me.

You hurriedly walked through the racks of clothes, grabbing all sorts of sizes of jeans, shirts, pants. ...bras. Heading into the changing room, you tried your best to find something that fit, struggling to even get your calves in some of the tight jeans from time to time. If the legs fit, the hips wouldn't. If the hips fit, they were too short. On and on... until at least one pair of jeans you managed to squeeze into, and it felt mostly like they wouldn't tear if you bent over a little too far.

Bras came next, just as difficult to understand. The band size was obvious, but what cups were suitable? They seemed to squish you in so many ways, often uncomfortable to the point where you felt like you would burst out of the fabric if you as much as sneezed a little too hard. Freyja complained the whole time that you weren't treating your generous bosom with the utmost respect by confining them within such garments, but eventually you settled on a size that looked and felt reasonable on your frame, supporting and enhancing the contours of your chest as you stared at your own body. ...Were you getting turned on by yourself? That blonde hair framing that doe-eyed, constantly shocked face, looking like you'd spent a year at the gym nonstop but still sporting an incredibly sexy, shapely body. The mirror certainly didn't lie, once you finally started looking directly at it rather than trying to ignore your predicament: you, by way of Freyja's influence, were gorgeous.

Shirts were more forgiving, with stretchy fabrics that had far more give, which was critical for both your sizable bust and biceps that, while not tremendous, definitely didn't fit some of the sleeves meant for someone far more petite. You didn't linger too long, one forest-green top later and you were satisfied.

The only thing Freyja really provided her input on was footwear. Namely, she wanted a sturdy boot, something that was going to take a lot of **** and keep kicking. As long as you could move your feet, you were happy. You were glad you had some cash to spare, as the pair that Freyja preferred did not come cheap, with a dark leather exterior.

You paid for everything on the debit card you had been gifted, and then strolled out of the store wearing your purchases, everything else in your shopping bag. You'd burned some time, but your predicament persisted, you had until the morning to somehow endure the evening like this, and you didn't know what places you could quickly whittle time time away and--

We're hungry. Let's get on with a feast already!

...Now that you think about it, you were a bit hungry. There were bars and restaurants not far from where you were, and you knew the area well since it also wasn't far from where you worked. There were a few popular hangout spots for coworkers nearby, even, with some excellent food, excellent beers, excellent everything.

But... feasting meant energy for Freyja, which also meant she could take control more often. She'd yet to do anything bad, nothing indicated she wouldn't be considerate of your own situation. But you weren't certain of any of that, and you weren't sure you wanted to risk it in public. You certainly could travel home and introduce Freyja to the wonders of microwaved pizza bagels instead.