Aiden Thane removed his crimson tophat and resplendent scarlet gloves with a puff of smoke, then more reluctantly his garnet suit, and began to unbutton his crimson under-suitshirt. His shined ruby laden and scarlet-silked boots came off next, then his white and true-red tie, then his treasured ammo belt. He twisted and removed the cufflinks with a harder puff and finally shrugged the shirt off, then his garnet pants. He scowled deep within his orange beard and growled, "Can't 'elp feelin' oi'm ne'er goin' t' see 'em again."

The Powrie beside the Clarichaun gave a slow nod of his own red-barrette and handed over a green hat and suit slowly, with green silk gloves, a bandoleer made of a human's belt, and green boots. It was nearly identical garb to Aiden's own, save in tints and colors, but both the bloody dwarf and the Red Leprechaun of the Lands of Ire glared at the emeralds with something closely approximating hate. "Ya'll get 't back, or I ain't to hack up another living soul- I swear. Yere the best our alliance has; with this here disguise, ya'll be killing King Scott Hisself, ey?"

The smaller man with the fiery orange beard and eyes of a green darker than the suit champed his three pipes and offered a savage grin, dressing quickly in the greens and fastening the cufflinks again. He offered only one shudder of aversion to wearing the suit of an enemy before seeming to melt into it, making it belong on him, mastering it as just another suit of clothing rather than a symbol of allegiance to Scott and the armies of Scott's Lands. He tipped a finger on his hat. "Oi will, donchaknow, lad? An' oi'll even bring that magicked claymore o' his 'ome fer m' trophy when oi be endin' the war! May take a wee bit but 'e'll be jiggerin' in th' depths o' Death come yearend, or m' name tain't Michael Micnaevin McMicky Macavery."

Both chortled at this stereotype before the Powrie blood-dyer dwarf patted Aiden's shoulder. "But it taint!"

"So it may be a tad longer at that, then, but y'll be buyin' me a drink fair soon enou' t' pour on his Brownie beard," Aiden offered seriously, then grabbed his pistol and went quite still. "Fer th' plan t' work, none o' me own boyos can know till it be done that oi be on their side, roight? O'erwise they could spill it."

"They'll think ya a traitor, yes, and if ya fail ya will be. Ya may even need to kill a few of them to convince the Leprechauns and Brownies ya'r one of theirs," sighed the Powrie, then walked away without another word with the patriot turncoat's coat and clothing. Aiden took a last look at it and closed his eyes, grimacing again, before setting off on foot for the border.

"Can't 'elp feelin' oi'll ne'er see it again."