"I certainly hope so," he mumbled. "I do not want to walk around looking like a poor, cocooned caterpillar."

It wasn't even the color of the desert -- sure, it was a drab tone, smudged out like the sand could be, but it was green. Green! Even if he wanted to wear such concealing clothes, he'd hope they would aid him in the camouflage department. This would just make him look like a sickly palm tree. To his relief, however, there were at least more color more options inside the adobe building. It seemed that fashion had taken a nosedive in the last few centuries.

"Where is the owner, though?"

Khnurn cautiously stuck his head inside the doorway. Racks of clothing obscured his view, so he moved further inside. Along the back wall was a wide assortment of ungodly apparel: short sleeved shirts boasted sparkly pictures of the pyramids and bubbly fonts, some written in an alphabet that was not even Arabic. A cardboard cutout of a camel had a baseball cap draped over one flimsy ear, and a spinning display of keychains sat in another cramped corner.

"I don't like this century," Khnurn whispered. His eyes were burning with the horror of it all. Did everyone nowadays wear pink shirts with cartoon cats wearing gold earrings?

Khnurn opened his mouth to further elaborate on his disdain for the clothing when a rumbling flush sounded from behind a closed door in a cramped hallway. His eyes locked on to it with a mildly startled expression, but it was quickly wiped away as the handle turned and a very pale man stepped out, fumbling with his pants. His golden hair was receding and a burnt end of a cigar protruded from the corner of his mouth, and his overall unkempt appearance, paired with his cursing and harsh gait, caused Khnurn to step back. The man squawked in surprise as he looked up and saw the two. His light blue eyes looked them up and down several times with confusion written all over his features before understanding seemed to dawn on him.

"Didja get your bags stolen? Didn't know there was a costume party tonight - but listen, you should never leave your regular belongings unattended!" the man took on an authoritative tone and wagged a finger at them, hiking his pants up once more as he walked behind the counter. "So, what can I help you with?"

It took a moment for Khnurn to register the thickly accented Arabic the store owner was speaking. Once he did finally catch on, and thinking as quickly as he could, Khnurn replied, "Yeah, there was a party. We can't find our things. My sister and I, uh, are looking for some clothes that are more..."

His voice trailed off as he scanned the store. "...normal."

"Not much for touristy stuff? Wouldn't have known, what with the pair of you walking around in bed sheets and pillow cases," the man laughed, clearly amused at himself. Khnurn, however, was not, and the owner quickly cleared his throat. "Um, well. Let's see. Normal. Pants and shirts? Shoes? Uh, right, right this way."

He scurried to the opposite end of the store where jeans, plain shirts, capris, and other modern clothing sat tucked against the wall. Khnurn followed with a small, satisfied grunt and began carefully rifling through the options as images of a modern Cairo flashed through his mind.

His eyes scoured over the clothing racks and he held several pairs of jeans up against him until he finally found one that fit the general consensus of his memories' opinions on an acceptable length and fit. He grabbed one more of the same size, then several shirts and a couple packs of undergarments. Oh, and socks. Khnurn wondered how tennis shoes would fare in the sand, but he selected a pair anyway; if worst came to worst, he could always take them off and slip on his sandals again.

"And a backpack..." There. Now he'd gotten it right. His dark eyes scanned the shelves until he found a larger, heavy duty black one. With a grunt of triumph, he muttered, "There we go."

He pulled it from its place and showed it to Zahra for her approval. Now to figure out how to pay for-- his hip suddenly felt heavier, and a new weight pressed against his thigh. Turning his gaze downward, he was surprised to find a drawstring pouch now attached to his belt, and it was bulging ever so slightly with indents of what he knew to be coins. Had the gods done that? Or him? Or someone else entirely?

"Nice," he whispered, thankful for whatever had made it appear.

The shop owner had retreated behind the counter while the two shopped, and it seemed he had become lost in the bright screen of his -- phone -- until Zahra's clothing selection hit the top of the counter with a thunk. The man jumped, the hand holding his phone quickly placing it behind his back. He cleared his throat again and said, "Ah. Let me just ring up the total."

His eyes sparkled at the register as the number kept going up, up, up... "3865.44 pounds, please. Or if you are paying in American money, that's 125 dollars."

The thoughts in Khnurn's head were overtaken with an irritably placed word: overpriced. Well, he wasn't going to fight it, and he was sure their pouches had plenty of gold to cover it all. Khnurn had grabbed the same items as Zahra, give or take a few, and he began rummaging through his pouch to pull out enough gold to cover his own. To him, it looked like the currency he was familiar with, but the man at the counter didn't mention anything odd about it. Perhaps he saw the kind of money he wanted to see.

His fingers moved on their own accord, and once they stopped pulling at coins, they briefly shifted appearance in his eyes to be modern notes. Interesting. Perhaps his hypothesis was correct.

Khnurn was slightly off on his estimate, but the coins did not seem to care. In fact, after he had added an extra one, the shop owner passed him some change back. These coins, however, did not change their appearance. Disappointing, but to be expected. The balding man ran a hand over his shiny head and gestures towards the back area that they had originally watched him come from before. Bathroom, his mind piped in helpfully. "There's a single stall bathroom over there you can use to change. The lock on the door handle doesn't work, so you have to bolt it shut."

The man shrugged apologetically, but Khnurn wasn't put off by it. Last he remembered, changing clothes had almost been a public affair: everyone had to make sure that the clothing was just so, and attendees or parents were always fussing over every little thing. Even a curtain would do for him. That was a part of the modern world that he felt he would quickly learn to appreciate. Even if the god of chaos was after them, at least they could change in peace.

He headed into the room first, eager to try on these strange clothes. Khnurn took off the belt, weapons, and sandals, and he grabbed one set of clothing. With plenty of help from his new memories, and with several tries to put on the shirt right side out and forward, he looked into the dirty mirror hung crooked above the sink and pursed his lips. It certainly looked strange, and he'd never worn anything so red before, but it didn't look... awful.

Khnurn placed the magic pouch inside his pants pocket, then studied the blades and bow. How was he going to hide those? The thought occurred to him that this world had something called pocket knives and fidget toys -- common things found in pockets. Closing his eyes, he willed the weapons into smaller objects, praying to any substance of the gods that remained in the world. When he opened them, a bow and arrow keychain was now attached to a two-bladed pocket knife. Oh, now that was convenient.

He placed it in his pocket and grabbed the backpack, stepping out again to let Zahra through. He briefly pulled out his new keychain knife and flashed it to her. When he had made sure the shop owner was busy and out of hearing range, he whispered, "We can will things to change size. At least, it works on our own, inanimate objects."