Some people, usually ones who spend half their time in capes, can master the art of disguise with little effort and only slightly more accoutrements.
Shera could have had all the secret identities she wanted after merely changing her hair and her clothes.
After a few simple wardrobe changes and letting her hair down from her usual ponytail, she could have walked up to someone, told them she had bought their entire city and they would have believed her as long as she kept up the act—and her skirt.
Cid had equally amazing powers, but in reverse. No matter what either of them tried to improve his appearance, their efforts were in vain. No matter how many shower, how much gell, mouse, or other strange and seemingly useless hair products, no matter w many pieces or how complicated his suit or how well he more it, Cid was obviously en embodiment of his greatest characteristic, but also his worst: he was Cid. To top it all off, but only to begin the day’s strangeness, he looked more him than he actualy was without his cigarette.
"It’s not… too bad." Shera said.
"Shera, that’s what people say when you ask them about the tattoo you didn’t know you got when you were drunk," Cid said. They both knew that from experience. Thankfully, not their own.
"If anyone asks, just say you’re the valet," Shera said. It was a brilliant idea, except for one thing.
"What’s a valet?"