Margaret is on her way to work, walking instead of flying today so she can drink her coffee without spilling it, when she sees the cryptid. She's a truly far-out one, no limbs to speak of, just a long snaky body with a mirror for a face. Margaret smiles at her and goes to walk on by, but the cryptid slithers right at her all of a sudden and--hits?--Margaret with the giant mirror. Except she doesn't experience getting whacked with a sheet of glass.
"Usually any air filters are around the base, since they don't fold away as easily as the head-piece."
"That makes sense. I should be fine, then."
She looks at Edna. "Do you have a spacesuit too? I haven't seen any of your species before, but if there are a lot of you I would assume they've figured it out."
"Her species isn't usually space faring, but there's enough who've gotten attached to spacers that you can buy suits for them. Expensively, but it turns out piracy pays well."
"Cool. How does the whole telepathy-empathy thing work, exactly, are you translating for her?"
"Full telepathy I think only works with other treecats. She can sense human emotions, though, and since I'm bonded to her I can get an echo of hers. No one's managed to develop a tree-cat compatible sign language, though, so mostly we work by knowing each other and body language."
"That sounds difficult, but I guess you've had a while to practice."
"Can she write stuff down?" It's not obvious to Margaret either way whether Edna can actually hold a pencil.
"Some things, but most screens aren't designed for her hands, and she'd have to learn to read and write for it to be really effective. We've had some more luck with image boards."
"Neat. But I've been asking all the questions; was there anything else you wanted to know?"
She has some meticulously relayed questions about the danger sense from Edna, and a few more general ones about Margaret's home, which seem to be half idle curiosity.
Margaret's danger sense is clearly most useful for personal defense, but hackable for use in ship-to-ship combat at least a bit. She's happy to satisfy idle curiosity about 21st century earth, which she clearly misses a lot.
"Thanks for all the information. I'll send you along to someone who knows anything about spacesuits, now, how about?"
"That sounds good to me! Thanks for--well, everything, but most recently the explanations."
"You're quite welcome."
And she gives directions for where to find someone who works with spacesuits.
She goes to the spacesuit person and checks whether they're available.
They're not doing anything critical, just working on some numbers. What does she need?
"I don't know how much you've been told, but the short version is I have magic powers and they work better depending on what I'm wearing and also mean I can modify what I'm wearing, so I'd like to try on a spacesuit and see if I can minimize how much it interferes with the magic. I won't do anything to it I can't reverse."
"Whichever is cheaper, I think--I'll want to adjust it anyway to fit my wings in it, unless there's enough internal complexity inside it that I can't make parts bigger without redesigning machinery. Can I get the manual too, actually, that should tell me which bits are safe to move around."
They'll get her one of the cheaper spares and load up the user manual, then.
The reader is pretty easy to figure out; it's clearly a more advanced version of computing devices she's seen before. She looks over the manual and the spacesuit in parallel, determining which parts have stuff more complex than "layer of such-and-such material" in them. Is the whole thing form-fitting enough to put a dress over it without looking ridiculous?
It seems like part of the way it works actually involves being super form-fitting, and officers often wear them under uniforms. Most of the more complex stuff is in the neck, though it's slim enough she could plausibly rearrange a choker-like design over it, or just a dress with a high neck and enough fabric to conceal it. The base color is white.