Swamped

"It's a costume for a play," you reply. "I kind of got roped into things without time to change."

"And who designed the costume, exactly?" he asks, clearly sizing you up.

"I don't know," you reply immediately, before realizing that an actor probably would know that. On the other hand, there's something similar to the truth that might sound good. "I'm, ah, not actually in the troupe. I think somewhere along the line, I was mistaken for the real actor and ended up with his costume."

You were seen on the stage, so that should back up most of your story. Someone in the troupe might know the costume wasn't planned, but hopefully you can return to your own time before he can look into that too deeply.

What matters the most right now is getting him off your back, at least about the outfit. And while he still seems wary, he's not quite so threatening now.

"Odd choice of color," he says.

"Well, I was symbolizing a character's shame at who he had become. I think that's what it was, anyways. It all happened pretty suddenly."

"Suppose you don't know anything about the make of it?" he asks. Now he seems curious. "Because there's some parts of that design there that look pretty useful. Better than the stuff I've used, at least."

"I'm afraid I'm no expert on armor," you say. "By the way, we're trying to close all the windows, so maybe you could help out with that."

"So I heard you yelling. What I'm wondering is why you were doing that. You don't work here, do you?"

"Ah, well, the doctor was treating a patient who was a bit rowdy, and I happened to be around, so he asked me to stand by. You know, in case anything happened," you explain. "So when he started yelling to shut all the windows, well, I was right there, so what else was I going to do?"

You smile awkwardly. He doesn't seem very impressed, but he also doesn't say anything for a bit.

When he does speak again, though, he asks a question you really weren't expecting.