I made everything worse, I'm so sorry. lol
The armory is on one of the lower floors, in a previously vacant workshop in the complex. Its been outfitted with many things, you realize, anvils, molds, cooling basins of oil, and various other workbenches you cannot identify. A woman as old as your grandmother is sitting in the middle of the room, staring at the golden armor of McCreary while hunched over and rubbing her face. She looks even less happy when she sees you approach, rising to give a small bow, "Mother Gainer...I was...I was-- I can't do anything with this."
She takes one of the pauldrons off, and tosses it into a blazing hot furnace. Nothing happens. That faint, golden color and black underlay doesn't seem to heat up, or change shape, or warp like any metal you've seen. "This is one of the most powerful furnaces ever made--
and it does jack shit. I can't even bend the damn thing. The best I can do to fit it to you is pad the places where you need it when I'm making your uniform for under the armor, but...where do I even start with that? What is the impression you want to give? How armored do you want it? Do you want it a certain color? Robe or coat? Do you want a cape or something? "
The armorsmith slumps back down, staring at the armor, "You're the same height as McCreary, at least. Same chest size...you might have to pack in your chest a bit to fit... His arms were bigger, by the looks of the thing, but I can adjust the straps here and there...legs were about the same..."
Emma facepalms, rubbing the bridge of her nose and sighing loudly. The armorsmith's eyes narrow, but she doesn't retort, finally explaining, "I can fit you into it, but it's going to be uncomfortable, and a little bit encumbering. As for the gun, its totaled, but I can make you a new one to whatever specifications you want. The Cutter hilt still works...I've already refitted it for a standard las-pistol magazine."