She finds herself staring through a window on Long Island, needing more clothes. She decides to assimilate (again). Wilson’s, she ponders the title of the shop while studying the inventory within. We’ll just shift that over one to Wheeler, let the women have the upper hand, although both sexes will be served once more.
Better. And no Alpha needed this time. These were old fashion, BOM based outfits. She crosses her legs and waits for more plot to happen. She’s ready now.
“I’m still going to shorten my legs,” she says, studying her toes too far from her face, story renewed.
“As you wish,” spoke Newt, knowing the moment would pass. It always does.
He folds the paper over, puts it in his lap. “Wheeler”, he says, staring forward.
“No, I mean the shop.”
“Yes, once more.” Her shop now. And she has a special purple one for Newt later. Ah heck, how about now. The legs can wait.