The Outsider Test, 5. Fancy Dress

I'm not much of a party goer really. When I was at university I went to parties, and I'd normally be the dull girl in glasses who hung around trying to have a meaningful conversation. I don't need glasses, but I wore them to keep off the sort of dull sports-team captains who seemed to enjoy making passes at me.
But I like fancy dress parties. Having changed I breezed into Scruff's room and whirled in my costume.

"Like it?"
Scruff laughed.
"You're.. you're YOU, but in pink!"
"I can't deny it, Scruff," I laughed. "I'm me, in pink!" I whirled again. "It's to confuse the enemy."
"Who are?"
"Scruff! Jason Barnard's the enemy!"
"Not the Outsider?"
"Well, maybe her as well. Anyhow, it's to confuse them."
"And my costume?" She stretched and yawned again. I suspect she didn't go to bed when I told her to.


"It's sort of matching."
"I'm Catwoman?"
"You're Catwoman."
"But I thought Catwoman wore a black leather outfit a bit like yours, this thing has a skirt."
"You're 1950s Catwoman, Scruff. Retro."
Scruff did not look convinced.
At least I'd got her into a dress. I haven't seen Scruff in one of those since we were kids. She hadn't finished dressing, of course - she still had her boots, cape and belt to put on. Not to mention my whip (I had to get it into the party somehow).
We looked pretty stunning, I thought. Once Scruff had finished dressing we went out to my little pink sports car (grey would be suspicious) and headed off to the party.
Barnard hadn't spared any expense. I wondered how many of his victims had paid through the nose for the lavish party. It was crowded with wealthy guests, women dripping with jewels (and not wearing very much other than those jewels. Some people think a fancy dress party is just an excuse to take off most of their clothes).
I'd even managed to persuade Scruff to brush her hair (okay, I brushed it for her), and we looked quite a pair. We were probably the most modestly-dressed people there.
Jason Barnard, stripped to the waist as usual, was the centre of attention. Dressed as a pirate (fitting, in my opinion), he was building a champagne-fountain. Silly people were standing about and chattering.
"Circulate," I told Scruff. "I'll try to get close to Barnard."
"Don't you want me to do that?"
"Certainly not. My costume's got fewer things he could grab if I wanted to retreat."
"Welcome!" Barnard cried. He was a tall, flashily-handsome man. The sort too many girls go for. Not me. He disgusted me.
Suddenly a little girl's laugh sounded through the hall. I looked up, towards the gallery.
There I saw two red eyes.
"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady..." The Outsider began to chant.
I had been right!