"Wow, so that's your favorite bra? I wouldn't have guessed! I mean, I can understand," she traced the shoulder strap with her finger, "it's certainly high-quality, if a bit... basic. But I love the color choice. Very bold!"
Despite himself, Jon found pride in the compliment. His favorite bra: simple, comfortable, effective... and bold.
Lost in thought for only a moment, Jon quickly brought himself back to his senses. He was basically topless, right in front of Sarah. And it was her fault. This was not okay, and, despite himself, knowing that he was wearing his favorite bra (how had that fact gone from pure fabrication to core truth so quickly?) filled him with a sense of comfort. Filled him with a sense of... boldness. It drove him to fire back at Sarah in a way that just moments earlier he had not been willing to do.
If Sarah could use words to change how the magic worked, then maybe Jon could, too.
"Sarah! What kind of wardrobe is this? I don't have any shirts that I want to wear? That doesn't sound very fitting. I'm just lying here in my bra with no shirt on! I should be wearing--"
"You're right," Sarah interrupted him, moving to the foot of the bed in one smooth motion. "You're laying in bed, you shouldn't be wearing jeans like that." And with another smooth motion, Jon's pants were whisked off of his legs, only for Sarah to display them triumphantly like a denim bullfighter's cape.
As Jon felt cool air upon his bare legs, a part of him briefly wondered how someone could remove his pants so quickly, or even at all, with his legs straddled outward as they were. But that was the least of his worries, and he knew that magic must have been involved somehow. He now needed to deal with the fact that he was down to his simple, comfortable, bold bra and red and black flannel boxers, seemingly at Sarah's mercy, and unable to move anything but his head.
For Sarah's part, internally she was gloating. She knew that Jon was trying to find some foothold somewhere to begin to fight back, but she was too fast for him. She saw his moves a mile away. He was going to try to get his shirt back? Well, Sarah was going to take even more away just to punish him or the attempt.
Take more away. Now there was a thought. Sarah had seen what kinds of cascading changes could happen just by adding a single item of clothing to Jon's wardrobe: everything that she'd done so far had been a direct result of just a single, individual garment. But what if she took some away?
Without a word, Sarah draped the trousers over her arm and turned around, opening every drawer in Jon's dresser. Jon struggled to see what she was doing, but all he could see was the back of her white cheerleading uniform, and all he could hear was the opening and closing of drawers.
"What are you doing over there?"
Sarah smiled, a gesture unseen by Jon. "Wouldn't you like to know."
What she was doing was hunting down every pair of jeans, every pair of shorts, every pair of slacks that Jon owned. Once done with the dresser, she moved to the closet. And after that, she even rummaged through his dirty laundry pile, all the while denying Jon even the courtesy of a response to his periodic questioning.
And, still wordlessly, once she was convinced that she had collected every pair of pants that Jon owned, Sarah opened his bedroom door and walked out, leaving Jon to lie on his bed and stew in his own thoughts.
