She found herself invited to a party tonight.

This was a good thing, she told herself. It meant that her peers were similarly proud of her accomplishments as she was. They were so proud to want her in their social circle, which she was willing to accept. So long as they did not expect her to put aside her standards to accept substandard people to spend her time on.

The problem laid in the fact that they had invited her to a Halloween party, a holiday she had not taken the time nor the effort to celebrate in years. The last time Yasmyne placed any effort into a costume, she was still in grad school, a time she had long left behind since she had passed the bar and began to sit with a gavel in hand.

Costumes were ridiculous, she reminded herself. It was a usual experience, but it was also a usual expense. One spent way too much money on something they were likely to wear only once. It felt wasteful in a way that bothered her.

Was there something she owned that she could use as a costume, or would she find something in the hallowed halls of a store that has once declared backrupcy and simply rose from its own ashes, pretending that nothing had meaningfully changed?

That was when she saw it.

The robes called to her in a way that felt familiar. There was a similarity to what she wore almost daily anyway in a way that would make it easy to repurpose. The similarity to a toga in itself was unfortunate, but it was clearly meant to echo what the wider shoulders and the fake armoured accents showed. This was what had been labeled as The Roman Judge on the cardboard label in the plastic bag it was stored in.

Carefully, she plucked it off the shelf.

Something about it felt right beyond the simplicity of it echoing to her job. It was hard to figure out that portion, but Yasmyne decided she would have more time to ponder why it felt so correct later. For now, she felt as if she needed something else to carry, something else to symbolize what this costume was meant to show her as. There was a part of her that wondered if she should simply bring her own gavel. Was that cheap? Was it a sign of her urge to save the environment and the trees or was it a copout to not fully participate in the party she was invited to?

Yasmyne saw it, then.

There was a plastic gavel that perhaps offended her inner senses but also called to her urge to leave work at work. Considering she was already dressed as a nearly militaristic ancient version of what she was already, perhaps this was the best option. Later, she could donate it as part of a kid's toy drive. Some child would drive their parents crazy with it.

And, perhaps, that in itself made it perfect.

Finally prepared for the party, Yasmyne collected her haul and headed to the register.