Girl Power?
"Son of a..." John Crichton swore as his arms once failed to bend in required direction and the stretchy material slipped from his fingers.
"Will you hurry up," Rygel goaded him.
"I'm trying," he countered, wrestling the material back into place, giving the ends a tug. "But this is harder than it looks." The clasp caught and he let out a sigh of relief. "Where did you find this anyway?" He asked twisting the garment into proper alignment.
"As luck would have it, there was a very nice shop right up the street." Rygel answered.
Crichton picked up the underskirt and held it up for a moment before stepping into it and wiggling it up his hips. "And what did they say when you bought all this...stuff?"
"Thank you for your patronage."
Crichton's hands went to his chest before he shook his head and began picking through the things still on the table. "Socks?" He asked.
Rygel shook his head. "You won't need them. I wasn't able to find any shoes."
"Thank God for small mercies," he muttered.
Crichton began opening cabinets, eventually finding one that contained some rolled bandages. He dropped a small armful on the table, then began stripping them out of their packaging. He wadded up a generous handful and stuffed it into the bra's large left cup. He considered the resulting effect for a moment before repeating the operation on the right. He gave the finished product a judicious squeeze.
"Do these look even to you?" He asked holding his arms out at his sides.
"Are they supposed to?" Rygel countered.
Crichton shook his head. "Why do I ask you anything?" He picked up the dress and tossed it over his head. "I noticed," he continued, voice muffled by the voluminous folds. "That you didn't buy you a bra."
"I plan on using the drape of the fabric to create the illusion...." Rygel answered smugly.
Crichton's head popped into view. "And I couldn't do that?" He asked peevishly, hands on his hips.
Rygel looked him up and down, then shook his head. "There is not enough fabric on the planet..."