“You're not wearing that," he informed me.
"Yes,I am."
"No,you're not."
"Yes,I am."
"You'll look ridiculous."
"I beg your pardon?" I said, affronted.
"There's nothing wrong with your dress, or the way it fits you," he clarified with a roll of his eyes, as if he were explaining the obvious to a simpleton. "But it just won't do."
"And why not?"
"Your attire doesn't complement mine at all."
This as entirely accurate and pleased me greatly. He wore black pants and an ivory shirt under a fitted gold-and-emerald-green doublet, an emsemble that made him appear annoyingly godlike, but which was very near horrendous next to sky blue.
"Then our garb will complement our personalities," I retorted.”