|
  |
There's a girl in Macy's, and she looks absolutely overwhelmed.
She's not scared, no, but definitely looking a bit shell-shocked at the overwhelming array of choices. She's wearing a formless looking white dress, something that was badly pinned to accommodate her, with elbow sleeves and a straight drop skirt that does her slender hips no favors. At 5'6", and wearing very plain flats that are a little too big, she's staring at the endless racks of clothing and seeming very unsure of what to do next."
Shop. That's what Trish likes to do when she's worried. Or even when she's not worried. Shopping for good clothing never goes out of style. "This is exactly what the doctor ordered!" She murmurs happily to herself, as she enters Macy's, taking off a pair of sunglasses and placing them gently inside a rather large purse. She starts making her way through the store, checking out the various new pairs of…well, just about everything. After all, this is the perfect time to start shopping for the new fall lines, despite it being the middle of summer.
However, shopping does cause Trish to get lost in her own thoughts. Because of this, she's barely paying attention to people around her, causing her to bump into another blonde woman. "Oh! Oh dear. I'm so, so sorry!" She exclaims, taking a couple steps back and glancing over Illyana. "Are you okay?"
Illyana budges about a half an inch. She's not as frail as one might think— there are cords of muscle overlapping veins in her forearm, and she's got a sturdy frame and balance. But she's wearing a dress and shoes that surely belong to her big sister and her brown hair— no, wait, it's blonde. Badly in need of washing and combing, but blonde.
And she's got too much self-possession in those blue eyes, despite her pale skin. "Huh?"
"Oh. Yes. I'm fine, you just bumped me," she says. Despite her heavy Slavic accent she speaks English very adroitly, though that might be the reason she's not receving any help. The sentiment regarding Russians is not good, of late. A small clutch is in her left hand— a dime store purse, really.
"Oh! That's a fun accent!" Trish smiles brightly, though she immediately looks aghast. "I don't mean that in a bad way! I just mean…" She smiles softly. "It's always nice to meet someone from somewhere else, other than America." She clears her throat. "You seem utterly confused." Not to mention there's a definite need for someone to guide her in the ways of fashion, not that Trish would mention that out loud.
"Do you need help? I could help." Trish offers, looking around. "I know it can be a little overwhelming here. But once you've sorta got a feel for it all, it's as easy as eating pie."
"I need help," the girl agrees, readily. "My new Headmaster told me to go into town to get clothing. All I have is—" she tugs on the dress. "It was lent to me but no one at the school is remotely my size."
She looks up at Trish, examining her with the clear, hard-eyed intensity of an adult. No— she's certianly no mere 'girl'.
"My name is Illyana. What do I owe you for your assistance?" the skinny blonde inquires.
"New Headmaster? Oh! Going to a new school, huh?" Trish nods and slightly purses her lips, making a little knowing tsk sound. "I know what that's like. Never easy. A new outfit, a new wardrobe? They can make a big difference. At the very least, it's nice to have some clothes that fit properly." She smiles kindly and looks around. "What do you generally like to wear? Do you like your dresses longer, medium length, or more like a skirt? Do you want a pantsuit? We can do pantsuits!"
Trish shakes her head and chuckles. "Owe me? No. You don't owe me anything to help you. I'm just happy to help!"
Illyana frowns a little. "I can't let you do it for nothing. There's a cost to everything, even the small things." She looks around at the display racks, then shakes her head slowly, going from item to item. "I… don't know," she admits. "I never never seen clothing like this before. All I had for many years were old shirts and bag dresses."
She shrugs her shoulders at Trish. "My friend said clothes say something about us. I don't know how to say."
"Well, unless you're good at finding people, I'm just happy to help." Trish giggles softly, waving her hand as if to say, 'I really don't need anything in return'. "Well, I can understand why you'd have trouble then. It can be a very daunting thing, shopping for clothing, when you've never been to a place like this before." She frowns, a look of concentration falling over her face.
"Clothing can definitely say something about us. It can convey who we are, what we're feeling, what we want out of life." Trish nods in agreement. "For you…let's start simple. If you wanted to convey one or two things about yourself, what would they be?"
Illyana ponders. "I want my enemies to gnash their teeth and wail at the mention of me. I want those who oppose to to flee at the thought of my purgacious wrath. And all should tremble before kneeling in the dirt of my throne, scraping the ground and alternating between giving thanks that they may be in my presence and fear that I might blast them into dust for daring to gaze upon my splendour overlong."
She considers it, then nods. "And I have two hundred dollars. And I need shoes."
"Hmmm…" Trish eyes the young woman, curious of the answer. It was not expected, that's for certain. "Well…" She draws out the word for a couple seconds. "Interesting. But doable? I think." She ponders this for a moment, trying to figure out the best clothing scheme for what Illyana wants. "Yes. Reds. Blacks. Maybe a couple of swirled colours. We can do this. Shoes, clothing, and all for two hundred or less."
Reaching out her hand as an offer to shake, she introduces herself, "I'm Trish Walker, by the way. And you are?"
"Illyana. Illyana …Rasputina," she says, after a beat, as if having to recollect the proper way to present her name. She grips Trish's hand and squeezes, and boyoboy that girl has some strong hands. Who knows what Trish thinks of her— perhaps she wonders if the girl is a Russian peasant. She fits the mental image, and the calluses don't help. "I'm living in Worst… Chester," she says, struggling over the word. "One of the teachers told me to go shopping while she ran errands. Are you good at shopping?" She peers at Trish up and down, looking a bit irritated at having to look /up/ at the woman.
Squeezing back a little in the handshake, though perhaps not with quite as much strength, and definitely not with the calluses, Trish smiles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rasputina. Or would you prefer Illyana? You can call me Trish." She tilts her head inquisitively. "Worstchester? Worst…worst…oh! Westchester? Westchester is quite a lovely county. I rather enjoy it out there." She chirps cheerfully.
"Am I good at shopping?" Trish grins widely. "I'd like to think that I am, yes. I've gotten compliments on my outfits many times." She begins to lead Illyana toward a section of shirts. "Now…we'll start with reds. Hmm. But what kind of red? Crimson, maybe. Or perhaps something darker. Like a burgundy."
"Ah! Yes, Worstchester," Illyana says, mangling the word again. "And… Illyana is fine, thank you." She follows Trish along, watching the woman start to work with an intensely curious expression.
Curiousity turns to shock as Trish gets to it with a will— and in only a few minutes, Illyana's trying to haul around a tremendous stack of blouses, shirts, pants, skirts, leggings, and more.
"I… this seems like many clothes," she says, hauling the stack around a bit clumsily, following Trish to a dressing room. "I certainly cannot afford all of these, no?"
"Yes." Trish smiles. She can't blame Illyana for trying. She can't even imagine what it's like, learning another language! "All right, Illyana. We've got quite the task ahead of us. But I'm sure we can do this!"
At the dressing rooms, she chuckles. "No, no. Here's the trick. Now that we've got all these to choose from, you're going to try them on, and see how well they fit, and if they look good on you." Trish explains. "Sometimes it seems like something is going to look good on you, but then it doesn't. Or, maybe it fits but you just don't like it. This way we widdle it down to a few good outfits. And," she pauses, looking at the pile they've amassed. "If the cost ends up being a bit more than what you've got, well then, something can be arranged. Believe you, me!"
"I… see."
It takes a while. Illyana's definitely not 'skinny' under that dress. Athletic, a bit on the boyish side except for subtle hips and feminine curves. She looks like a swimmer, or a track runner, but those forearms aren't meant for taking stenography notes.
Dressing her is a bit hard. The modern fashions are more aimed at making that curvy, hourglass shape that's so vogue right now. Illyana alternately seems fascinated by the dark, severe outfits— pantsuits and dark leggs and trousers— but there are more than a few soft, pastel dresses that she seems inordinately fascinated in, particularly once Trish helps her fit them properly.
"What shoes would I wear with this?" she asks, examining a white skirt with floral embroidery.
"Hmm." It's been an interesting journey for Trish, helping Illyana find the best clothing for her. And now the shoe portion. "Well, I imagine you prefer shoes more…flat heels?" She asks of the younger woman. "As opposed to a high heel, something skinny, stilettos?" As she describes the high heels, she motions to the high heeled shoes that she is currently wearing. "How do you feel about fashionable boots?" Once she has her answers, she offer a range of suggestions, in matching colours.
"High heels?" Illyana turns to Trish, looking at the rack of shoes nearby. She peers at Trish's feet, then drops her dress in shock. She's got a curious casual regard for propriety— first stop had been for undergarments. At least she's wearing the new undergarments as she stoops, then kneels down and peers at Trish's feet.
"They have /high heels/," she says, looking amazed. "That is brilliant." She clambers to her feet and stands next to Trish, moving her hand from Trish's head to hers and back again, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet.
"They make you taller. This is genius! I am shorter than everyone I know. It's very frustrating."
A wide, amused smile finds itself spread across Trish's face. "Yes. They make high heels." She does clear her throat and look away for a moment as the younger woman drops the dress. Turning back after a moment, she nods, continuing to smile. "High heels are marvellous for increasing your height. On average, the best range from one to five inches. You can go higher, but unless you've got practice in heels, it can be difficult. I'd suggest starting on a smaller heel, practicing in them, and then if you like it you can get shoes with longer heels." She explains.
"Da," Illyana says, thoughtfully nodding and chewing her thumbnail. Her fingers are in desperate need of professional care. "So I start small, then grow taller. This is good, I think. So— boots?"
When Trish finishes the spree, Illyana then has to play Sophie's choice. They get it weaned down to a handful of outfits, and Illyana walks out in calf-high black boots and a flowing yellow dress with a cotton short-sleeved blouse worn tight.
"I'm… wobbling," Illyana says, still having a hard time with the high heels. "But I feel taller. Do I look taller?"
"Sounds like you're getting the hang of it!" Trish giggles softly. "Boots. Boots we can do. But these aren't the old, wear in the winter, keep your feet warm types of boots, keep in mind. These are the types of boots that look good." They're still good for walking, but the price of looking good sometimes comes with having chilly feet.
"You look amazing! Definitely taller." Trish nods firmly, taking in the outfit. "Good choices, I think. You will be a bit wobbly at first. That's natural with your first heels, so be careful. Don't wanna hurt yourself! But it gets easier with practice." Looking at all the clothes, she says, "Have you got everything you're going to buy? Was there anything else in there that you really wanted to get as well, but didn't have the additional money for?"
"I don't think so," Illyana says, glancing nervously at a pair of three-inch heels that had almost led to a broken ankle. "I have… outfits now," she says, meticulously echoing Trish's terms. "And one pantsuit. The dresses, though— I like these. They are easy to move in." She pauses. "The boots not so much, but I will practice."
"But the pants will be good for .. formal occassion."
"I am very grateful, Trish," Illyana tells the woman, after they're cashed out. "I was told that my old dress was not acceptable for wear and would have bought another of the same, I am sure. Or have kept the one I was lent."
"No?" Trish glances back at the clothes left behind, finally nodding after a moment. "Good then." She chirps. "They're great, aren't they? The dresses. So much easier to move around in than pants, I find. Pants can be so restrictive!" She wiggles about all loosey-goosey and grins. "But pantsuits do have they uses, every now and then. Especially, as you say, for some formal occasions."
Trish shakes her head slightly. "Oh, it was no problem at all." She says as the move past the register. "I'm glad I was able to help. I know cloth shopping isn't easy. Sometimes it take me hours upon hours, and I'm an experienced shopper!" She laughs, more at herself than anything. "The clothes you started off in today were…well, they didn't suit you. I think you've got some good clothes now!"
"I am still in your debt," Illyana tells Trish. "If you can think of nothing, then I must offer you an hour and…" she looks at the clock. "twelve minutes of my service. In accordance with the ancient customs of the Abyssal Lands, you may call upon me to render what aid you require." She looks pointedly at Trish. "I do not leave debts untendered, Trish. I do not want a reputation as a woman who simply takes assistance and never makes note of what is owed."
"The ancient customs of the Abyssal Lands?" Trish blinks. That's certainly a first. "Are the Abyssal Lands near Turkey?" Geography is certainly not this woman's strong suit. "Um…well, I mean, I wouldn't want you to go against the customs of your people." She smiles, though it's a confused smile more than anything. "And I certainly understand how reputation plays its part in anyone's life. How might I, uh, contact you if, or rather when, I've got something I'd like your assistance with? For that matter, do you have anything you're particularly good at? Just so I know. I wouldn't want to ask for your help in, say, botany if you didn't know anything about plants."
"No, they're all lands descendent from the fourthfold junction," Illyana corrects Trisha. "Those that aspire towards the Boundless Void and somewhat un-agonal to the Pitiful Mountain. So, Limbo, Nocturne, The Vagaried Hell, The Clockworld— if you drift too far towards the Wretched Boundary, people start getting a little…" She wiggles her shoulders. "Unreliable."
"Summoning me is easy— prick your thumb, put three drops of blood into your shadow, and say my name three times. I'll come as swiftly as I'm able. I'm much more useful if you're facing demons or wretches of the Astral, but I am useful enough if you need something heavy moved or the like." She flashes a smile at Trish.
"I am quite enjoying this outing. The outfits make me feel…" She looks in a mirror, unsure of the word. "Human. In a way I did not realize I missed."
"The Boundless Void? The Pitiful Mountain? Limbo. Nocturen. The Vagaried Hell, and The Clockworld?" Trish repeats, rather dumbfounded. "The uh…the people of the Wretched Boundary?" She frowns for a moment before brightening up. "OH! You're talking about those weird little islands north of Norway and Sweden, right?" Nope, she definitely doesn't have it.
"Now, does my shadow have to be formed by the sun? Or can it just be formed by the light of like…a lamp?" This is an important question if Trish is going to be summoning someone! "I don't have many interactions with demons. Nor with Astral wretches, now that I think about it. I'll be sure to keep that in mind, though."
"That's good that you're enjoying yourself. I find life is much better when you're enjoying yourself!" Trish smiles brightly. Her statement may have been a simple and obvious one, but it holds true. "I'd hope you feel human! Feeling human is a rather human thing to feel."
"Lamp is preferable," Illyana suggests. "But in a pinch, yes, sunlight is acceptable. Just keep a clear picture of me in your thoughts and your blood will sing my name across time and space, if it must."
"And yes, today— mostly human. Some days, little more, some days, little less." She falls into step along Trish again, without any particular hurry. "Was very cross two days ago. Wanted to slaughter someone. But, yesterday, I discover radio stations. Listened to new Beatles song, and today— yes, more human today." She's taking Trish's jest… rather literally.
"Well, lamp is doable. More than doable." Scratching her nose lightly, Trish says, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. I know this lovely little restaurant nearby." She says happily. "Oh! The Beatles! I've been listening to them as well. I baught their LP. It's fantastic! Just brilliant! And great to dance to, really. "Oh, and Elvis. I love Elvis. He's amazing!"
"Yes, always hungry. I have…" Illyana wrestles the bags to look into her new purse, which Trish had insisted upon as a 'go anywhere' bag. "Twelve dollars. Is that enough for a meal?" she inquires. Despite her poised self-assurance, Illyana's clearly starting to glom onto Trish a little, and it shows in the way she watches the other woman's features carefully, studying her. Even emulating her, in small ways— a bit of shift to her stride, holding herself a bit differently. Small things.
"Elvis is very good. I am also watching Ed Sullivan show to learn more about American culture. He is very good. I don't understand all his jokes," she admits, "Helen Shapiro was on two weeks ago. I hope some day, Beatles can be on Ed Sullivan show. They are very good but I would like to see them performing, not just hear them on radio."
"Well, if you're always hungry, I know just the place! It's a rather short walk, as well! Just a block and a half away!" Trish keeps herself poised. While her pace is steady, she keeps it at such a pace that Illyana can keep up with her new heels. "Twelve dollars? Hmm. It's a rather nice place, but we needn't worry about that. Just leave it to me."
"Oh, Ed Sullivan! He's a lovely man." Trish says this as if she's met him. Which may even be a possibility. "His jokes are rather…it's hard to explain. But I suppose the more you learn about American culture, hopefully the funnier he'll become!" She tilts her head. "Oh yes, I saw the one with Helen Shapiro. I quite enjoyed that episode." She nods at the comment about the Beatles. "Well, you never know. It's very possible that if the Beatles ever come to America, they could be on his show!"
"Would be lovely," Illyana agrees, moving along to follow Trish. "So you did not say. What is it you do? Are you professional clothes person?" she inquires, letting Trish lead them into the restaurant. She looks a bit odd, still, with her hair tangled and matted and yet in a fresh, sharp new little outfit. She sits with Trish at a booth after giving the bench an awkward look, and slides in across from her with a bit of struggling.
She looks at the empty table. "Where is food?" she inquires, peering her head around.
"Oh! Of course. I'm sorry." Trish almost seems pleased that Illyana has no clue to who she is. "No. I'm not a clothes person. I've just been clothes shopping for quite some time, and have a slight interest in fashion." She explains. "I'm actually an actress." She explains. "Television and movies."
Once at the restaurant, they're seated within a minute or two. Trish shakes her head at the question, passing Illyana a menu from the edge of the table. "Have a look at the menu, decide what you'd like to eat, and we'll order it. Once ordered, the kitchen will prepare the meal for us." She explains.
"Oh. These are your servants," Illyana says, suddenly understanding. "I see." She reads the menu, looking at it carefully, but nothing looks familiar to her. "I… do not know what this is," she says, finally, looking a little frustrated. "Ham… burger, that is ground pork? And French Fries, what makes them French? Why do they not tell me what they are frying? Is it good?" she asks Trish.
The significance of Trish's celebrity appears utterly lost on her. Might as well have said Trish is a plumber.
"Ah…no. No. Not my servants. They're are workers in a service environment." Trish tells her. "They do serve us, yes. But they are different than servants." She clears her throat, glancing at her own menu. Not an explanation she thought she'd be giving ever. "Despite the name, a hamburger is actually made of ground beef. I'm not exactly sure why 'ham' is in the name. But a hamburger is ground beef, usually with lettuce and tomato, and maybe some sauce, in a bun. French Fries are….they're potatoes, sliced into strips and fried in…in oil an oil of some kind. I can only assume they're 'French' because the French must have invented them. A hamburger and fries are an American staple, as it were. Something that many Americans eat."
"How… marvellous," Illyana says, sniffing once. "Then I will have a very American meal." She smiles, then, at Trish, a fleetingly rare but meaningful expression. "How wonderful to learn something new!"