gonna_live | (no subject)

(no subject)

Simon's idea of making up for missing a week is for the two of them to pick something they want to do the next week. Something special. And they each get to pick something.

When you think of something you want us to do, name it and we'll do it, he tells her. Absolutely anything.

Kaylee doesn't know what she wants to pick.

Simon's pick is a fancy dinner out at some restaurant that's apparently got to be serving edible gold on a plate for how hard it is to get a reservation. And they have a dress code.

One problem at a time.

At their appointment, Diana suggests a trip to the formal boutique within the Galeries Lafayette, saying that they're known for being helpful and discreet.

What if they laugh, Kaylee says, and Diana shakes her head, and tells her they won't: the store is old, really old, and one of their business tenets since their reformation after the exodus is to be all things to everyone, no exceptions, no matter the event. One of the benefits of jamming everyone from Earth-that-was together -- some of us did learn how to get along, she says, and smiles.

Thus it is that Kaylee enters a small showroom within a ten-story department store, looking nervous, and almost hellaciously awkward.

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"Bar Harbor?" She readjusts the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. "It floats. Or somethin'."

A small ah. "So not full formal, but something a few tiers above casual chic? We can do that."

She steps aside and gestures toward an alcove in the showroom. "If you'll follow me? We can scan your measurements and show you a few basic style types, and that can help you get an idea what you want to look for."

One more readjustment -- a nervous gesture -- and Kaylee follows. "But... that's the thing, I mean -- I don't got any idea what I'm lookin' for. My husband says black tie, and for all I know that means I get to go in with black ribbons tied everywhere."

She gives a small, sympathetic chuckle as they near the alcove. "Don't worry, ma'am, you're not the only one to get confused. That's where I come in. Let me take care of finding what's appropriate, and you just look for what you like in that category."

The alcove has a sleek cream-colored desk in it, and three matching chairs. It also has what looks like a square tile on the floor just inside it, a few shades paler than the carpeting. Dara steps past the tile and turns around. "If you could just stand on this square, please?"

Kaylee does as she's told, and keeps a wary eye on the exit.

(For all she knows she's about to get sprayed with something.)

Dara touches a keypad on the desk. "Okay, and ... very good. You can step off now, and -- if you'd care to have a seat?"

The center of the desk has stopped pretending to be lacquered wood and is sending up a holographic display -- at the moment just an abstract animation, with a subdued fountain of colored lights and a rotating company logo.

She settles in the chair, bag at her feet, hands folded tightly in her lap.

A few quick touches, and the display turns into a featureless, pale brown silhouette of a female form. With Kaylee's measurements, accurate to within a few decimal points.

"Here's a few possibilities," Dara's saying, her fingers moving smoothly over the touchpad.

The silhouette splits three ways, dividing into smaller copies of itself, and a different dress type appears on each one: short and tight, long and flowing, mid-calf and full-skirted. The dresses are otherwise featureless as the figure wearing them.

"It's winter," she says, dubiously. "I don't think... the short one ain't -- I mean, if nothin' else, that's a lot of leg to leave hangin' out of an evening and if this place is all fancy -- "

"There'd be no problem with wearing a short dress there," Dara assures her, "but if you don't like it...?"

Her hand hovers over the touchpad, ready to consign the entire category of short dresses to oblivion.

"Let's... let's stick with below the knee." Kaylee tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

If they're going to judge her, it's not going to be as a woman who shows more than she should at a nice place. Not while she's with Simon.

"Hăo de." Her finger touches down and the figure in the shortest dress vanishes, the other two rising and expanding to share the available space. "And let's see now..."

The figures split and shrink again, this time into about a dozen copies, each now displaying variations on the long dress and the mid-calf dress. Full or narrow skirt, straight hem or handkerchief hem or asymmetrical, short sleeves or long sweeping sleeves or long tight sleeves or straps, high collar or medium neckline or deep vee.

"Which ones do you like?" Dara asks. "Take your time."

It's a lot of choices. Too many.

Kaylee looks away (and asks herself: why is this so stressful, why is Simon making me do this) and considers.

Slow: "You go wrong more with more furbelows than less, is what I've seen. We're needin' to stick with the straight hem, and plain sleeves -- short and capped off like this, maybe." She touches just below her shoulder. "And don't need to be showin' off any assets, neither -- keep the neckline all modest."

If he's making her do this then she's not giving him anything to look at. Plain and simple.

" -- and a high back," she adds, suddenly.

(There are scars.)

A little more tapping, and a single shape emerges from the mass, the others not vanishing but shrinking away to one side.

"Something like this?" Dara asks.

Kaylee eyes it, cranes her neck to get a better look at the back --

And nods.

"Simple enough. Shi a. Like that."

"Okay." Still cheerful; giving the impression that she genuinely enjoys this aspect of her job. "Any thoughts on fabrics, colors or patterns? Or would you like to see a few samples first, or I can make some recommendations?"

"Recommend away -- you know better'n I would."

"Well, for a very simple design like this, you're going to want a very rich fabric; something with a nice drape to it. And with your coloring ..."

A few more touches on the keypad and the dress abruptly takes on color and definition: a cloud-soft beige silk with a pattern of light brown branches, accented with a scattering of green leaves and pink peony blossoms.

"Like this, maybe?"

It's plain enough -- and (as far as she can tell) unobjectionable. And she'd rather just get it all over with, so --

"Works for me. Let's do it."

Dara smiles and taps the touchpad again. "If you'd like to try the dress on before confirming the purchase, I can show you to a fitting room?"

She probably should.

At least it'll be easy to find a scarf to go with, Kaylee thinks, tired. I'm going to kill him.

Pushing herself up from the chair, she nods.

The fitting room isn't far away; the dress in question is waiting on a rack outside the entrance, with a seven-digit identification number attached to its hanger.

Dara takes down the dress and hands it to her with a smile. "Just right through there."

Kaylee manages a small, awkward smile before going where she's told.

It fits.

She runs a hand down the skirt -- silk, she thinks, the real thing -- and looks in the mirror.

Turns her head to one side, then the other. Turns around, and cranes her neck over her shoulder.

Lost weight, she thinks. Just not where it matters. But the way it's cut, it's nice to the hips, so they won't notice what I look like now.

Feel like a fraud with this thing on. Least all the others are put away. Just one more for the collection.

"Reckon it's to my satisfaction," she says, dress on its hanger in one hand.

Dara beams. "Very good, ma'am. Can I help you with anything else today? If you're concerned about the cold, we have a wide selection of elegant outerwear...."

"Coat and shoes, yeah." She nods, and looks away. "Reckon that'll do it."