You Shall Go to the Ball (Rina)

[Niamh Madden]

Bethas 40, 2719 | Late Morning
Rina's House, The Stacks

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In spite of her no doubt worthless muttering about her dress, the other galdor seemed very understanding and even sympathetic. Maybe coming from someone else, the comment about it “not being for everyone” might have seemed patronising, but it felt quite genuine to Niamh, and certainly not ill-meant.

When provided with the appropriate stationery, the young woman jotted down simple and—she hoped—easy to follow instructions to where she was domiciled as well as making note of a number of items from her wardrobe that could be collected. While her vestments, outside of her uniform, were rather chaste and conservative, they were made of high-quality materials and had some pretty elements that might be put to good use; it wouldn’t be a real loss if she sacrificed some of her current clothing for this. Once she’d jotted the information down, she frowned at the tight, immaculate handwriting with its many little loops, wondering about its legibility because being self-critical came all too naturally to her, passing it back to Estella when she was reasonably satisfied, unhappily awaiting the note that she’d have to co-sign—ridiculous of course, but a necessary evil.

“Perhaps you could draw up more than one idea?” the redhead suggested hopefully, almost immediately nibbling on her lip, shoulders drooping as she became apologetic. “If that’s possible, I’m sorry, I suppose that it must be somewhat time consuming, mustn’t it? My brother tends to linger on his drawings for awhile, but he’s very particular.”

The student winced, eyelids flicking shut as she heard her own unfortunate wording.

“Lady forgive me! I’m not trying to suggest that you aren’t particular with your designs, Fionn is just… he gets very caught up in redrawing the same bit over and over and… uh, yes.”

Gods, she never seemed capable of having an ordinary, unproblematic conversation for more than a few seconds at a time and frankly, she had to wonder why she could never prevent her own embarrassment; humiliating herself shouldn’t feel like a foregone conclusion.

“Please, try to imagine that I didn’t say anything at all after that first question for both of our sakes,” the Living Conversationalist added quietly, all too aware that the flush of her face and the shameful remembrance lingering as evidence of her recent social misstep. In truth, it would have been preferable if she could simply have erased the morning and have begun again, repeating events as often as necessary until she proved that she could be anything other than an utter fool. Alas, a person’s stream couldn’t be made to flow backwards from the Deep Spring—more’s the pity.

Of course, the little visit had all the potential to be her undoing, not only in the eyes of her parents but also in those of her peers, even Rina, who did not truly know her well. After all, she had come to seek the means to cause a scandal on St. Grumble’s, and the Mugrobi girl would have been more than correct in thinking of her as some sort of— some sort of no-good hussy!

In the grand scheme of things, a few ill-advised words were hardly cause for concern—not that it would stop her from reviewing every minute error at a later time

Her cocoa was a wonderful thing really. Oh yes, of course it was enjoyable as a beverage, but more than that, it provided her with a perfect excuse to pay attention to something other than Rina. Unhappily, the warm mug didn’t contain a cure for her social anxiety and awkwardness, but at this moment, it was certainly a balm for it. All the same, she was glad to take a sip of it when she retrieved it from the floor, and not simply due to the fact that it bought her time while she tried to compose herself to deal with the other’s sympathy for her situation.

When she finally mustered the will to turn her hazel eyes to the other’s face, she managed an answering smile, perhaps more grim than sad.

“It’s certainly a… regrettable situation, but one I hope won’t be as uh… permanent as intended,” the galdor confided, picking a speck of lint from her skirt, her lip twisting to belie the fact that she wasn’t quite as brave as she was trying to seem. Even so, she did chuckle at her companion’s question, pink glowing anew in her cheeks as she thought of the monic theorist.

“Something of both to be honest. There is someone who I… well, I wouldn’t mind catching his eye,” she explained, lips turning up slyly. “Not that I think that I’m truly transparent to him, but he isn’t exactly- he can be oblivious to some things until they’re emphasised. The same will likely be true with me so… scandalous rather than conservative. It’s at least one of the reasons that I’ve come to you.”

Niamh laughed again, a tad deprecating.

“I can’t quite trust myself to do what is necessary— not alone. Are you willing to help me do so?”

[Aeinsa Zahaarina Salifa]

Rina's house The Stacks, Brunnhold

on the 40th of Bethas, 2719 Late Morning

Rina laughed at Niamh's comment about forgetting the question. She waved her hand. "No need to be embarrassed, dear. You're new to this, so you're not aware of the method," she said, her voice kind and amused at Niamh's ignorance while not laughing at her. "It's a lot different than formal drawing, though I do that too. I usually sketch up a bunch of designs and then pick one to develop. I have whole notebooks full of what would look like a few scribbles of lines and notes to anyone who doesn't know what goes on in my brain."

The fashionista fell quiet for a handful of minutes and focused on her sketch. She looked up at Niamh a few times, quietly running measures in her head. She nodded once to herself and flipped to a new page, her hand moving the pencil lightly across the page as she worked on a new sketch. "Did you have any ideas for what you wanted? Don't worry about the design. I can handle that. But this is your dress and I want it to be completely suited to you. What shades of red do you like? Do you want to be a queen dressed in blood or look like a walking ruby?" she grinned. "Are there any fabrics that you particularly like or ones that feel like sandpaper? Are there any little embellishments that you're particularly fond of, like bows or beading or something like that?"

Rina paused for a moment to try to figure out how to politely ask the next question. "Are there any parts of your body you'd like to hide or accentuate?" she finally asked quickly, obviously worried she'd offend Niamh. "Don't worry – I'll keep whatever you tell me in complete confidence. I'm not the type of bitch who would spread people's insecurities," she said, giving a half-grin that she hoped Niamh would see as reassuring. "The worst thing any designer can do is spread what their client tells them in confidence. People's self-image is so important to protect when you're designing clothing for them."

Rina dropped her pencil in excitement when Niamh explained the purpose of the redesign of her Red Tie dress. "So you want to catch someone's eye without looking like a Rabbit Street whore? Trust me, I can absolutely do that. I've ridden that particular balance beam at every Red Tie I've been at, though I'm never trying to catch any particular person's interest. I just like being the center of attention," the half-Mugrobi woman laughed.

[Niamh Madden]

Bethas 40, 2719 | Late Morning
Rina's House, The Stacks

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The young woman had been terribly concerned about all her social missteps, those ill-advised words that had seemed to tie her in knots, and yet Rina had brushed them off as if they were utterly inconsequential. Words could cause so many problems as there were a remarkable number of mistakes that could be made by saying them—or not saying them as the case may be— and Niamh never knew how to handle them correctly. Being the daughter of a politician should have made this easier but instead, it had simply made her more aware of how much potential there was to go wrong. It could be that Rina was more forgiving than most, or merely the redhead’s anxiety running away on her once more. Clearly it wasn’t worth worrying about given the other galdor’s apathy; she would continue to worry about it anyway.

A part of the methodology that she should have considered but had failed to think about until the process was underway was the fact that the half-Mugrobi had to observe her. Of course, she had to admit that it wasn’t constant and she knew that Rina wasn’t drawing her per se, but she was a model, and those occasional quick looks made her feel as if she was being weighed and judged. Heat exploded in her face, freckles lost to the all-consuming flush as she gazed down into her cup, pretending not to notice and yet screaming her awareness for anybody to see. Even when Rina wasn’t looking at her directly, she knew that she wasn’t beyond scrutiny. After all, anything she sketched was with the eldest Madden in mind so it was to be expected—unavoidable really—and it shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did—but it did!

There was plenty that she hadn’t considered about this little enterprise, and that was mainly because it had been born from some degree of spontaneity. She had thought enough to come up with the idea of wearing something scandalous and causing a stir, saying a giant ‘fuck you’ to her parents and her fiancé, and perhaps even grab the attention that she craved from the professor and prove that she wasn’t a silly little girl. Yes, she was basically contemplating an act of rebellion, which one would be right in classifying as a juvenile act, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t an adult—a young adult but an adult nonetheless!

“Ideas? I uh… well, I’ve never been one to be, um… preoccupied with fashion or… what goes into it,” she replied awkwardly, letting her teeth scrape against her bottom lip.

She wrapped a lock of hair around her finger, trying to think about the sorts of garments that her mother wore.

Eliza was usually glamorous and often considered daring, but always well-put together. The politician’s wife would be something for many a young galdor woman to aspire to be, though Niamh was aware of her mother’s failings and less than virtuous behaviour, which had probably contributed to her current attitudes. Truthfully, the Madden daughter had long been awkward and uncomfortable in her looks, thus far utterly incapable of transitioning from the inelegance of adolescence to the sophistication of maturity. Frequently, she had observed her mother’s outfits—and those worn by other ladies of her social standing—and thought how she could never manage to wear such a thing herself.

Perhaps it was the sort of clothing that she could never imagine wearing from which she should be drawing inspiration.

The hair curled around her fingers found its way to her mouth, ready to press it between her lips before she caught herself. She hadn’t been about to chew it or anything but she was still embarrassed, especially as it wasn’t the first time that she’d almost taken such an action since her arrival here.

“I suppose I like the shade of red that leaves go before they fall off the trees. Though I suppose that autumn leaves have more than one shade of red and then there’s orange and golden yellow,” she mused, acutely aware that she was describing something that Rina would have seen with her own eyes. She smiled apologetically, taking the opportunity to drink down more of her cocoa while mulling over the rest of the question.

“I… don’t like velvet but otherwise, there aren’t any fabrics that I really dislike. I quite like a subtly patterned fabric though. And those gauzy ones. You know, somewhat transparent but also somewhat opaque? As for embellishments, a little embroidery never goes amiss but that’s very skillful work and it’s not as if there’s that much time to get this done. I can pay obviously but I wouldn’t expect anyone to work their fingers to the bone for my sake.”

The girl traced her finger around the rim of her cup, forehead creasing as she wondered what else might be relevant to Rina’s work, or rather anything that she wished to be included. After all, it was to be her dress and it wasn’t as if she didn’t have preferences in this regard. She might not be one for fashion but she did have opinions on the matter. They might not be very popular ones, especially with the fashionista, despite her claim that she wished to suit Niamh’s desires.

It would have been natural—not to mention practical—to mix commentary on the trends that she disliked with talk about what parts of herself she wanted to hide or accentuate, but instead of making things easier for her, the redhead baulked. In spite of the younger girl’s assurances, the eldest Madden didn’t feel comfortable in discussing it. Not that it could be put off indefinitely; this would only work if she was willing to communicate.

However, she conveyed a great deal as she winced at Rina’s mention of that place. The notion of being associated with such an occupation drew a mix of gasp and hiss from her lips, the young woman’s jaw setting rigidly to form a hard angle. What she’d heard were only rumours, of course, and they were not the sort of thing that any decent galdor should discuss higher than a whisper if they truly had to refer to it. No doubt, galdori women offering that manner of preoccupation probably weren’t out of the question, even on that street—not all galdori were rich or did well in spite of the opportunities that they’d been afforded—but it was the lower classes with which the place was associated. That the other could have alluded to a commonality between herself and that—even jokingly—wasn’t something that the politician’s daughter regarded in a positive light.

“No, I most certainly do not wish to be viewed in such a light, thank you very much,” she responded coolly, chin tilted up so that her nose pointed towards the ceiling, unknowingly bearing some resemblance to her mother. Her Living-laden field became rigidly indectal, veins of cold indignation spreading through it like pressure cracks in ice. She cast a final scathing look in Rina’s direction before raising her cup and finishing off her cocoa. When she lowered it slowly from her mouth, unable to keep a tightness from her lips as she considered the other girl once more and her previous questions.

“Without being grossly inappropriate, I know it would be terribly immodest, but I believe that my legs are good, rather shapely—something I’ve inherited from my mother, I believe. She has worn dresses that show her legs before—well, some of them—but she does enjoy courting scandal, although she would call it being daring,” she admitted softly, forming a ringlet around her finger as she gazed into her lap. The temper that had been there beneath the surface had dissipated, leaving shame in its wake as she regretted the tone that she’d used and worse, the look.

“Assuming that this is in confidence, as you say, then I should admit… I don’t like high collars. They feel constricting, like having a prison around your neck, and puffy sleeves always make me feel as if I’m wearing something that doesn’t fit properly, like a child putting on an adult’s clothing. And thin skirts can look very good on many women and I’m sure that they’re preferable to looking like a meringue but they always make it clear that I have no natural, um… womanly figure.”

Her cheeks blazed, teeth pressing into her lip with such ferocity that it paled under the pressure. Part of her thought it might be necessary to comment that her lack of hips wasn’t her only deficiency when it came to a woman’s shape, but most of her sneered that the other galdor hardly needed to be told; she had eyes to see after all!

“You don’t need to hide something that it’s there, n-never mind accentuate it but could you give the illusion- Could you make it seem as if I had-”

She didn’t finish the question though she did attempt to gesture at herself, albeit with such hesitancy to draw attention to the areas of which she spoke that she gave the impression that she was swatting a particularly persistent fly. The mona in her field seemed to droop, her shoulders sagging with it as she sighed softly.

What on Vita did she think she was doing?