Fourteen -
Star Ocean: Till The End Of Time: Cliff and Albel, alternate costumes
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Cliff gave this some consideration and then let himself into the other VR chamber, next to the one Albel was currently monopolizing. "Computer, executive override, voice code: Cliff Fitter," he told the bare walls.

"Override acknowledged," the Diplo's computer said.

"Computer, surveillance mode. Duplicate chamber 2 in chamber 1, include all. Visual and audio only."

"Acknowledged. Working." There was a hum, and an image of Albel faded into view in the center of the room.

It wasn't what Cliff had been expecting, precisely. Instead of mounds of dead VR critters (Albel seemed to be constitutionally incapable of going a day without killing something, and Cliff approved of this, since it seemed to keep Albel... close to sane) there was just Albel, and an enormous mirrored surface. Frowning, he circled Albel and the mirror, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing.

"Skin," the image of Albel said, startling Cliff, who mentally braced himself for a tirade of some sort. Instead Albel stroked his fingers down the middle of his own chest, and his shirt 'disappeared', and Cliff stopped short. Most of the right glove followed, 'vanishing' under a simulation of bare skin. His stockings followed, baring his long legs to the air.

"Dragon tattoos," the image of Albel said. "Blue." His fingers stroked over his newly-bared chest, a blue dragon spiraling out from his fingertips to curl protectively over his chest, disappearing under the metal of his shoulder-guard. "Red," Albel said, and his claw traced an arc over his bare stomach, making a second dragon nestle there to join the first, this one seemingly painted in blood. He paused, his claw touched to his ribs, and Cliff watched as the VR computer extrapolated and threw a sinuous tendril of dragon out over Albel's back, to curl around his right shoulderblade.

"Bandages," Albel said. "Like these." He touched the wrappings of his braids. A moment passed and then a scrap of thin white fabric appeared caught between his first two fingers. A lazy gesture wrapped it around his hips, under his skirt; Albel's hand wove slowly back and forth and the bandages spiralled up, defining his waist, stopping just short of his chest. "Stop," Albel said. "Again." His claw described loose circles about his right arm, bandaging it almost to the elbow.

"Computer, surveillance mode," Cliff said. "Include tactile."

"Acknowledged."

Cliff reached out and touched the simulation of Albel's chest, his thumb tracing absently over the blue dragon tattoo. The image of Albel did not react--Cliff silently thanked whoever on the programming team was perverted enough to include surveillance mode--and his complete ignorance of Cliff's presence was an excellent tradeoff for the fact that this Albel, while solid enough now, was cool and vaguely metallic to the touch. Some things the VR chamber wasn't so good for; temperature was one of them.

"Black," the image said, and Cliff jerked his hand back, startled. Albel was staring right through him, staring at the mirror. "Black," he said again, pensively. Both hands came up and feathered through his shaggy hair, leaving it a uniform black in their wake; Cliff was mildly surprised that Albel didn't end up giving himself a half-headed haircut, running that claw through his hair like that. "Black," Albel said, and this time he almost crooned it, and a stroke of his hand turned his skirt black, like ink flowing through water. "Black," he murmured, and the glove on his right hand followed. "Black," and the ends of his warbraids turned black. "Black, black, black," and now there wasn't any purple on him at all, anywhere, just skin and tattoos and bandages and black, black, black--

Albel fell still. He draped his claw over the hilt of his sword and touched his other hand to the center of the chest, his attention riveted to the mirror, seeing right through Cliff as though Cliff wasn't there (which he wasn't). "There," he crooned to himself, and his fingers closed into a loose fist. "Father. There you are--"

"Computer, surveillance mode override," Cliff said, barely hearing himself. "Two-way, tactile only."

"Override acknowledged. Working. Done."

And Cliff, knowing full well that nothing good could ever, ever come of this and not caring, reached out and stroked two fingers down Albel's spine, watching the other man stiffen and hiss in surprise.