Chapter #3A Nami costume. by: Guyman   The Nami costume you got for your girlfriend all those ages ago. You kept pestering her to go to a con together, but you can’t quite recall if you ever did. That probably had something to do with the breakup, honestly. One of the last arguments you had with her was that she should be glad that you didn’t get the post-timeskip costume. The memory sends an involuntary cringe up your spine — That wasn’t really the best note to end a relationship on.
Awkward reminiscing aside, your promised way out of the room doesn’t look promising. A powder-blue babydoll shirt, jean shorts, and accompanying underwear. You rub your forehead in irritation. Who were these weird Contract Providers, and why did they want you to crossdress? This could be some prank by your friends, if you had anyone with a predilection to stripping you in your sleep.
You kick the black box in frustration, stubbing a toe by accident. As you hop around a bit in pain, you notice something odd. There doesn’t seem to be any way to directly open it. No keyhole, no card reader, no nothing. You spend a bit of time investigating it — because at least it doesn’t involve you crossdressing — but you can’t find any way to open it. You even spend a bit of time laying on your stripped bed, hoping that this stupid prank’d be over, but to no avail.
Reluctantly, you approach the closet. You feel around the inside of the clothes — doesn’t seem like there’s any clothes-based traps inside. Do you really want to dress up in these and get some laughs from these tricksters? Your stomach answers you with a surprisingly loud growl. You heave a sigh into the closet. No time like the present, I guess.
The most annoying part about the costume is getting the bra on. Getting it off was never your forte, but having to bend your arms backward was another can of worms. You eventually resort to clasping it in the front and spinning it around —which is more difficult than it sounds, considering your frame. The shorts are tight in the legs but loose in the back, creating a brand new sense of discomfort, and you don’t even want to get started on the panties…
All decked out in your cosplay purchase, you stride over to the door barefooted, ready to face humiliation. You grasp the doorknob… but it doesn’t turn. What the hell?!
You start banging on the door. “Hey! I did your weird pervert shit! Now let me out of—"
You cough a bit as your voice cracks. Great, way to undermine me, larynx. Now you weren’t getting let out, your legs felt like they were falling asleep, you’re getting a wedgie, and the doorknob looks highe — Wait, what?
You look down at your floor, and the sight shocks you. A wave of pale skin seems to be creeping up your legs, having already shrunk your bare feet into dainty replicas. It’s already up to your mid-thighs, converting muscly bumps into smooth pale skin. You reach a shaking hand down to touch it… but a fringe of orange entering your vision stops that.
In your surprise you let out a high pitched scream and fall on your butt. Did you fall on a pillow? {No, you realize belatedly, paling at the implication. The sense of pins and needles enters your shoulders, treating you to the lovely sound of your bones popping and snapping into a newer, slimmer shape. You close your eyes as the wave reaches your chest, filling your bra cups to a respectable size. Your breaths halts as your waist caves in, going from square to a nice hourglass.
You keep your eyes closed for a bit, until you’re fully confident that the pins and needles have faded. And, honestly you didn’t want to see what happened to you, because you have a pretty good guess. You eventually relent, and open your eyes to exactly what you expected.
You’re definitely shorter now, if the height of the door is anything to compare by. But, as a quick look down reveals that the height certainly wasn’t taken from your legs. Three feet of muscle and fat compacted by smooth skin… They really were your best feature.
Running a hand across your now-foreign body, you see that all angular parts of your body have been replaced with a soft roundness. Feeling your face, the square jaw you once had now tapers to a gentle point. Your hips are certainly wider than before, but any presuppositions to their size were mostly formed by a comparison to your waist. I’ve seen models with larger stomachs! At the very least, your new boobs and ass weren’t too big. You internally thank yourself for not purchasing the post-timeskip costume. But, on the other hand, you’d probably gain weight there first, so it’s a win win! Wait, would it? Ugh, your head was killing you, and it might have something to do with the countless adjustments to your skeletal structure.
Finally standing up — and wincing as your jean shorts dug into your soft thighs — you notice a note taped onto your door. That definitely wasn’t there last five minutes ago, right? Ripping it off the door, you read:
"Dear Mr. Cobb,
So, you've noticed your new power, haven’t you? Whenever you try to wear clothing that doesn't fit you, you'll change to fit the clothing. However, you are now locked into the form of Nami; not even wearing other clothing will change you back. If you want your belongings and your original body, you need to unlock the black box. To do so, you must approach it with at least $2,000, in three days at most. Of course, you have no ID, nor documentation, but that is part of the challenge. There is a convention near your complex holding a cosplay contest, and first prize does award you the requisite amount of money.
There are, of course, other methods of solving the trial and we're curious to see if you manage to find them. Good luck.
Sincerely,
Contract Providers"
"P.S. Be careful with your choices from now on. Stray thoughts about how you'd like to change can easily become a reality. All further changes will make your mind slip further and further into Nami’s persona. If you fall too far before getting the key, there will be dire consequences.
P.P.S. Just so this box isn’t unlocked by any miscreant coming in with a wad of cash, your door will now open for you exclusively. You can let other people in of course. There is also a small gift for you outside your door, free of charge.
You crinkle your brow in frustration. What gave these people the right to mess around with someone’s life like this? Making two thousand dollars in two days? The best that minimum wage could pay was a two hundredth of that? And you had to do it all barefoot? All these indignant thoughts and more surged through your head as you stomp over to the door, ignoring the answering jiggle in your lower body.
When you slam open the door, a brown, nondescript shoebox sits in front of you. This better be two thousand dollars, you angrily think. Ripping off the top of it, you reveal… some stupid strappy sandals? Your mouth hangs open in shock. Was this the only advantage you’d get? Was this the onl— Wait, were those Louis Vuitton?
You nearly squeal in delight as you strap the sandals on. God, these were, what, a thousand dollars brand new? You take a few appraising steps, taking a small amount of enjoyment from finally being able to wear shoes. (And the small sway they add to your step.) You strike a few poses, too, for good measure.
You grasp the doorknob out of your apartment, your confidence renewed somewhat. However, you did have a few choices on what to do next. Did you want to go to that con? Or did you want to go to that weird ‘restaurant’ nearby? They were probably looking for ‘talent’ on short notice…
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