"Magical Butterfly Wing Detective POWER!"
It wasn't so bad, really, despite all appearances.
Sure, he was in a skirt. Sure, he suddenly sprouted decidely feminine-looking butterfly wings, shimmering and delicate in light shades of black and green. And sure, he had to spout dorky phrases every time he so much as waved his hand. And sure, he had high heels, which were a total pain in the ass and he could really be better off not having them.
However, since his dignity had been drained already by the apotoxin, it was just a short fall now. What was the difference anyway, shrunken teenage detective or miniature cross-dressing magical girl? His life was a long un-ending suckathon anyways. Besides, it felt sort of satisfying to smash demon criminals with a giant ball of sparklies. Undignified, but satisfying.
As the sparklies, ribbons, and other such faded, he was left standing in an outfit that was just this side of bad taste. At least the skirt covered him decently. He already felt like a child molestor's wet dream in this outfit, he didn't need to give them an open invitation.
He leapt off the top of the building's roof, to attempt to land dramatically in front of a robber who had just sprouted demon horns. Attempted, that is.
The demon goggled as Conan let out a rather girly shriek and tripped over his own feet.
He could REALLY do without the high heels.