Midas stands by the kitchen counter, her fingers drum impatiently against the cold stone surface.

Dubhra's gaze drifts across the room, lingering on a framed photograph on the shelf.

"What a detailed portrait". Midas is posing with some other people, their smiles not so bright but there's still clearly a hint to their closeness. The creature's eyes narrow, like they are trying to read something.

The sharp trill of Midas' phone cuts through the silence, vibrating against the wooden table, it startles Dubhra and, for a moment, they look at it with intense curiosity.

"What is that?" They ask, their voice low but intrigued.

She grabs the phone without thinking. "My phone," she says, her thumb swiping across the screen.

"Your what?"

"My phone," she repeats, glancing at them over her shoulder.

"That's hardly a word," Dubhra says flatly, there's no tension, just fascination. Their eyes flick from her face back to the screen, which now flashes with bright colors and texts.

"It's moving," they say, stepping closer.

"It's a thing with which people communicate with each other, these sounds you hear are my friends trying to talk to me after I ghosted them yesterday."

They answer, concerned. “You did what, to your friends?”

She smiles. “I ghosted them, I ignored them trying to talk to me.”

Dubhra's brow furrows. "People talk through that?"

"Yes."

"Without paper? Or a messenger?"

"Yes."

Their eyes widen slightly, leaning in as if the screen might whisper its secrets to them. "That's fantastic!"

Midas snorts. "It's quite literally just a phone." But how could she hope to explain it to someone that looks like they still think the Earth is flat?

"It's quite literally just a phone," they repeat and before she could stop them, they reach out with one of their tentacles, pressing down as though testing its strength. The screen dims slightly beneath their touch. "Did I break it?"

Midas can't help but laugh. "No, you just tapped it."

"It knows when you touch it?"

"It's called a touch screen."

Dubhra seems to think for a moment. "A phone and touch screen to send letters to your friends?"

"Yes, you can say that."

Their gaze lingers for a little too long. Their expression is unreadable, but then a flicker of confusion crosses their face. "Do you have friends?" They ask, with a hesitant voice.

Midas looks up, surprised by the question. "Of course I have friends, why do you ask?" A tip of annoyance in her question.

Dubhra's eyes flick back to the phone, to the steady stream of messages coming in from a group and another private conversation that says it had been archived. They are trying to wrap their mind around it. Midas, the one they knew, the one from their universe, she never had friends. In their version of her, she had burned every bridge. She'd killed everyone.

"I didn't think you..." Their gaze turns back to that framed picture, they’re unsure of how to explain that, to them, she has ever only been a figure of destruction. "How can you manage to trust them enough to get so close?"  That's why they can't wrap their head around it, but still, they keep silent.

"Why wouldn't I? I have plenty, so many I can barely remember all their names." She snaps away the phone and goes with her back to the wall, so they can't try to read her messages. "Do me a favor and stop acting like you know me."

Dubhra feels a lump starting to form in their throat, so they are forced to look away and keep silent for a couple of minutes, trying to push that feeling back down.

They look at the picture again. "They seem pretty desperate to reach you."

"Yeah, well..." she sighs. "They'll live."

They stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to make of all that information. "I have a request," they say after a while.

Midas doesn't lift her gaze from the screen. "A request right after I agreed to keep you here? So demanding!"

They fidget. "I find myself pretty embarrassed to ask you for this favor, but I'd like you to help me get some decent clothes. I really want to take these off as soon as possible."

She shoots them a look. "Yeah, I can imagine. Maybe don't crawl right into a bonfire next time."

Dubhra sighs. "That's not how it went."

"Whatever," Midas mutters, "the point is, we need to find you something else to wear, right?"

The creature's face brightens slightly. "Yes! Will you send a letter to the tailor? With your rectangular pigeon messenger?"

She groans, ignoring the pigeon messenger observation. "No, I do have a tailor but I'm not calling her, it would take too much time. And what excuse would we make up? That you torched your wardrobe?"

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind," they insist, "I'd ask for something simple. A white dress, nothing too complicated."

"A white dress?" She repeats, "why so specific?"

Dubhra looks deterred in the slightest. "What's wrong with a white dress now?" Then they point to Midas, that's wearing a simple pajamas shirt and pants. "I don't think I can wear those, I'd look ridiculous"

Then she suddenly has an enlightenment. "I don't think you'd look ridiculous, have you ever tried?"

They shake their head. "No, I've ever only worn dresses."

"Listen, we can just go to a store, we'll find something, anything that fits you that's not burnt to a crisp," she says. "If anyone asks, we can always say you got wasted last night. At this hour on a Saturday rarely anyone goes there though."

***

The bright lights of the store are a sharp contrast to the dim, quiet atmosphere of Midas' home. Dubhra blinks a few times as they walk through the automatic doors, thinking they were two doors that held enough magic to open on their own, feeling overwhelmed by the bright colors and structure.

The shelves and racks are lined with neatly arranged clothes in every imaginable color and style, it's too much to process.

Midas, walking beside them, leads them towards a section that's mostly for sportive clothes. At least that’s what they see written anywhere in that aisle.

"Okay, we need to find you something practical, first of all,” she explains, grabbing a couple shirts off the racks, "you're definitely needing some basics, comfortable shirts and pants."

Dubhra gazes at them, thoughtful. "Aren't those a bit too short? I don't think they will manage to cover me."

"But they don't have to, these are not dresses, these are shirts." Then she tugs at her own bright red shirt. "Like mine, you wear pants or skirts to go with them."

They stay completely still, trying their best to shrivel on the spot. They feel too exposed, too seen, in this world of blinding lit displays and mannequins that they could barely make sense of. Trying their best to ignore the curious gazes of the ones passing by and staring at them with more than a little insistence. Everything feels too far from them, from the way these people move through the isles to the prices on tags that they couldn't make sense of.

"Uhm... Midas?" Dubhra starts, uncertain. "No dresses? You people don't wear dresses?"

"Of course we do, but I thought of getting you a pair of these too, won't you try them on?" She is trying her best to find something decent for them to wear. But of course it wouldn't be this easy.

"Oi, Midas!" A familiar voice calls her out.

She turns her head, immediately recognizing the group approaching. They are acquaintances of one of her main groups, people she'd usually meet at parties only to see them pass out on the couch. Their gazes flick to Dubhra and then to her, their eyes narrow with not-so hidden interest.

"Who's this?" A guy with a colorful hat speaks, sizing Dubhra up.

Midas doesn't hesitate. "A friend, they're foreign."

That should have been enough, but instead of accepting it, the group exchanges knowing looks.

Dubhra, dressed in a scorched outfit, standing slightly behind her with that dreamy, unreadable expression, fits far too well in a pattern they already know or that at least they heard of.

“Oh,” he replies. “Non-binary or something?”

One of them leans in, lowering his voice as he turns to the creature. "Do you know what she does to guys like you?"

The creature tilts their head and gives them a small, awkward smile. "I'm afraid there are no guys like me around."

Midas rolls her eyes. "Oh, please!"

The group doesn't look reassured. "Blink twice if you need help," another jokes, though the concern in his tone is genuine. "Man, what did she do to you?"

Dubhra looks up, the lights blinding them. "She took me shopping, I believe."

"That's not what I meant," the guy tries again. "I mean, why are your clothes burned?"

Dubhra looks at Midas for a moment before answering. "They caught fire."

A heavy silence.

She lets out a short, amused laugh. "What an incredible observation!"

"Listen," the third guy speaks. "If this is some kind of humiliation ritual, you don't have to go along with it. You know, right?"

"Sorry? I think you guys are taking your joke a bit too far," she hisses. "They got wasted last night and ended up with a wardrobe malfunction."

Dubhra nods, blushing slightly.

All three of them exchange an eloquent gaze, then back to Dubhra. "Believe me, that's not the win you think it is."

"Oh, spare me," she spits, annoyed, "can't we just be two people going out together and having fun?"

The creature feels their cheeks starting to burn a bit too much when they hear going out together and so they decide to let their gaze drift back to the store displays, they reach out for a sweater of a color they would never dream to wear. "Can I have this?"

Midas doesn't even look at the price tag, she just gestures with her hand to shoo away those acquaintances that dare to irritate her. "Yes".

And just like that, the group walks away, she knows that’s exactly the kind of thing everyone would be talking about in her groups later in the day.