Fisher looked down at himself, at the clothing choice he had made. "Hm," he said, thinking that maybe Ita was right, and going with just the one color wasn't the best idea. "See, in my life, black always matches more black." He smiled lightly. "You people and your colors, you confuse and frighten me." He pulled the shirt off, not really thinking about Ita still sitting there watching him. She had seen the track scars, and now she's seen him in his skivvies. The mystery was gone.
"I like these jeans," he admitted. "They're comfy." Of course, to anyone with half a sense of fashion, they'd recognize that the jeans were too big. But having worn circus tents for the past ten years, what did Fisher know?
"So pick me a shirt," he ordered her. Might as well put her to work, if she insisted on being in the middle of the action.