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Back at Xenon base, they were all sitting in the lounge, still stunned and annoyed about Servalan being alive, except for Soolin, who didn't seem to care one way or the other.
"Must've sold her soul to the devil," Vila said. "Probably needs a silver stake through the heart to finish her off."
"In that case, I hope I'll be the one to do it," Dayna said. "She looked just the same, too. You'd think she'd disguise herself, wouldn't you? She must get recognised sometimes."
"Maybe she just says it's a popular look, the 'presidential pixie' or something."
"Ah! That reminds me," Tarrant said, grinning widely at Avon. "I slipped on one of those rocks and fell in the water—"
Vila perked up. "I'd have paid to see that."
Tarrant ignored him. "Dayna went in too—"
"Only because I tried to pull you out," Dayna said. "Those rocks were treacherous."
"Is there a point to all this?" Avon asked.
"Oh yes." Tarrant was still grinning at him. "They lent us some dry clothes. Mine was a very popular leather outfit called the Avon Studline."
Avon's mouth fell open. "You're making that up."
Vila sniggered. "Let's get Orac to check."
"We will not."
"Oh, come on, Avon. We need a bit of light relief." Vila held his hand out.
"And I thought we had you for that." Avon sighed and slapped the key into his hand.
"Orac? Can you find an outfit called the Avon Studline and put it up on the viscast screen?" Vila sat back on the couch, looking more cheerful than he had for a while.
"That is a trivial and pointless waste of my time."
"It'll annoy Avon."
"Oh, very well."
"Ah," Vila said when the image came up, "I remember that one. I always thought of it as the Emo Dentist."
"Yes, you would. "Avon said, "But how on earth—"
"Genuine Rebel Chic brand," Vila read out. "As worn by the famous rebel Kerr Avon on Fosforon. There's a reference photo. Huh. Your friend Tynus must've sent security footage along with his message."
"Not my friend," Avon snapped, then thought about it. "Then it would include you and Blake."
"And probably what we wore in other Federation bases."
"Orac, bring up all the Rebel Chic clothes. Ah. Except for the outdoor gear, if you will."
"Yeah, those're all the same but for colour. Oh, look, there's your computer-panel one, Avon, with the push buttons."
"Not that you ever needed those to annoy me," Avon said.
"The 'Avon Tech', they call it. Bit of a come down, that. Oh look, Blake's goose-turd-green giant sleeves!"
"The colour is generally referred to as olive, Vila."
"Ooh, and your red leather lobster one!"
Avon bared his teeth. "Let's see what they have in your range, shall we?"
"I doubt that would sell," Tarrant said.
"Just the Restal Multi and the Cracker," Dayna said, interested. "And wow. I see why they call it that."
Soolin sat up. The Restal Cracker was a grey suede belted tunic over shiny tight black trousers and knee-length boots, and the reference image showed Vila sprawled in an orange chair.
"The Restal Cracker," Orac said with a certain smugness, "is as popular as the Avon Studline. They are the top sellers in the non-Federated worlds."
"I'm not surprised." Soolin gave Vila a thoughtful look which made him blush slightly.
"He never wore those trousers again," Avon said.
"Not after the way slimy Tynus looked at them." For the first time, Vila regretted no longer having them.
"Ooh, let's see ours!" Dayna jiggled with excitement. "Me and Tarrant please, Orac! Oh, just my pink batwing? Look, Tarrant, the outfit they lent me was a bit like that brown and white one of yours. I wish I'd kept it. Dorian gave us nothing but boring grey."
"I suppose he thought it was funny," Vila said. "Not that he seemed to have a sense of humour, and you'd think an Oscar Wilde fan would have at least a bit of one. What?" He noticed everyone staring. "I read books too, you know. You reminded me though, Dayna." he went on. "When I knew the Liberator was going, I put two lots of clothes on—like to play it safe, me—but it was a bit bulky so I took the top layer off when we were underground. So I was wearing a nice comforting brown when we got here."
"Ah yes, undistinguished, dull, and very you," Avon drawled.
"Much better than grey, anyway" Vila said with dignity. "Warm colours suit me. But that bastard Dorian got rid of it when we were bathing. I miss it."
"Your current attire is an improvement."
"It's got targets on it!"
"My point exactly."
Vila folded his arms. "You're just annoyed that people like my Cracker as much as your Studline."
"If you think that I am flattered that a significant proportion of the population outside the Federation dresses like me, you couldn't be more wrong."
Still, what an opportunity missed, Vila thought. Someone in the Federation had to have made some money selling those images; if only he'd thought of it back on the Liberator. Not much point now, of course, with only two outfits each, and most of them grey. Still, Avon's might get something: what he called the White Bra and the Bib, though Rebel Chic would give them better names. Worth a try anyway.