Argent poked at his shirt, making sure it was smooth, and almost screamed from the pain. Well, squealed would be more accurate, but neither was done. It was like jamming an ingrown toenail... but at least the effect was tres magnifique.

Socks, socks, the magical accessory. Once only for feet, bras, and underwear, now they had crossed over into the burned Kindred's fashion necessity.

Shirt smooth, he went into the shoe store. After his unfortunate foray into the world of machine shop, he was down a pair of tight whites.

Thirty minutes and sixteen shoe boxes later, and the pimply teenager had satisfied his shoe craving. As he bent over to stack up the unused shoes, Argent grabbed him in a wrestler's grip and satisfied that other craving.

Shoe shopping was so satisfying.

Before leaving, he added another pair of socks to his purchase.

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Look at all my socks
Oh, so many, many socks
I can't even believe it
Can you imagine having so many socks?
- "Socks", King Missile