Goodnight turns her head to look at Al. "How long depends on how accurate the stories are and whether we run into anything down here." She says calmly. "But if we get out of the Catacombs and into Hellbound Station or Shadows' Folly, there are places where wireless is easily accessible. Signal scrubbing and amplifiers may not avail you down here in some place. Lots of ferrous metal above us. You're probably alright here, but deeper in you may be drek out of luck."
Goodnight isn't privy to Solo's thoughts, so she has no idea how close he is to the mark, or just how far short he falls in some of his suppositions. Right now her thoughts are on Natasha, and just how much she resembles her sister, Victoria. More vital, certainly, and less pallor, but the same age, the same wide-eyed rapture at new sights and experiences, the same defiant set of her shoulders when problems close in. Goodnight failed her sister spectacularly and singularly, and she knows she will carry that burden for the rest of her and her sister's lives.
She is determined not to fail Natasha, too.
She squeezes Natasha's hand lightly and tells the girl, "You know you can ask questions, right? I won't bite." She looks the girl over critically for a second. Still wearing her teenager's glad rags, the girl has to be freezing down here in the dark, especially after passing through that fog. She snorts and tells Natasha, "Honey, your clothes are going to get ruined down here." As they walk, picking a path amongst the dust and cobwebs and pitted stone of the outer edges of the Catacombs, Goodnight strips her gloves off. Holding them in one hand, she reaches down and from a pouch on her belt pulls a tightly folded square of cloth, unfurling it to reveal what looks like a ballistic spidersilk cloak. Its thin, but it reaches the floor and has a hood. "Put these on, sweet pea. I need a little more material to work with."
As Natasha pulls the elbow length gloves on and figures out the claps to the cloak, Goodnight cocks an ear at Solo, then says, "Normal may be pushing it a bit, but- ah. One second, Solo."
Natasha has the gloves and cloak on, looking awkward and incongruous in the ballistic cloth, gloves, and her normal outfit, but Goodnight smiles delightedly. "Perfect." She says softly, then reaches out and lays a hand on Natasha's shoulder, whispering a torrent of liquid syllables. A gentle pulse of magic flows from her hand over Natasha, and in its wake, her outfit is drastically changed. Gone are the night-on-the-town clothes, the heels and Spinrad hiphuggers and cutaway tank, along with the gloves and cloak.
In their place is something between practical gear and a 'trid's conception of what a 'runner would wear. It is, of course, attractive- Goodnight is going for warm, comfortable, and cute, not battle-ready- but it is a damned sight better than what she was wearing. Drawn from a cross between Mal from theShadowStalkers film franchise and Felicity Stiletto from the Darrien Cross novels, the clothing has become fitted black pants with a decidedly martial air, tight enough to be flattering but not cut so that they would fall off with one good sneeze. Her top is full-coverage now, a black turtleneck tank that runs to her hips, and the buckles of the prior clothing have been redistributed into an approximation of combat webbing. The heels thickened and shortened, leaving low-heeled calf-boots instead of a teenager's brightly-colored baby-prostitute heels, and the gloves go to Natash'as wrists now, but are considerable thicker and warmer. The extra spangles and sparkles ended up on the back of the cloak, now a short-waisted black jacket that is also thicker and warmer- the same material now occupying only a third of the surface area and all- and sports a swirling magical-looking motif on the back that stands out against the spidersilk's sheen.
Goodnight grins at her handiwork and taps the side of her eye. "Don't worry, I can turn it all back later. Now, though, you look the part. Everything feel okay?" Natasha nods, stunned, and Goodnight grins again before turning back to Solo and saying, "Sorry about that. Anyway, like I said, 'normal is pushing the envelope,' but its not unheard of, especially when stealing through the astral for a short ways."
