The mall. A dying frontier. But Quorra had wanted to go and see what these massive shopping centers were all about, and Sam had grudgingly obliged. Besides, even he could recognize the fact that Quorra couldn’t spend the rest of her life wearing his clothes.
On a related note, he’s standing in a Forever 21 now. He could think of multiple reasons why he wouldn’t be here under normal circumstances—he’s too old, the clothes are weird, he doesn’t understand anything about this store—but he reminds himself that he’s here for Quorra’s sake. And by God, he will stay in this Forever 21 until she finds a wardrobe more suited for her than an alarmingly large collection of nerdy graphic tees.
“What do you think of this?” she asks. She’s stepped out of the fitting room, and Sam has to take a moment to absorb what, exactly, she’s wearing.
Firstly, the crop top. Fine conceptually, but not when it’s Starburst yellow, plaid, and has the Hot Pockets logo embroidered on it for reasons no future archaeologist would be able to discern.
Secondly, the jeans. Okay, they’re jeans, sure—until she does a little turn and he realizes that the jeans simply cease to exist where her calves are. What he’d thought were flared legs were just… flaps.
The shoes are fine.
And lastly—the crossbody bag. It straight up says “I SMOKE WEED” on the flap.
“Quorra,” he says. “Do you know what weed is?”
“Nope!” she chirps in reply. “But I thought the bag was cute. And it’s the perfect size to hide a knife!”
Well, at least she’s enjoying herself. Sam takes another look at her outfit, at her grin, and sighs.
There goes his credit limit.