pineslog | I know the wind-swept mystical air

Entry tags:

I know the wind-swept mystical air

Who: Aranea Highwind + any customers, window shoppers, or potential employees.
Where: Britches and Hose
When: Just in time for Valentine's day, how convenient!
What: Aranea opens her lingerie store to the public.
Warnings: Fancy knickers? Innuendo? Gladio might be there in his undies at some point, I don't know what to tell you.

Open to all!

[ Being a true romantic at heart, Aranea knows the real meaning of Valentine's Day. Money. That's why she's in a rush to open before the holiday itself; there should be just enough time left to attract people looking for a little surprise, people who want their partner to feel just as sexy as they (hopefully) think they are, people who are buying a gift that's really more for themselves than for the recipient, and the last-minute panickers.

Ah, romance.

Inside, there's something for just about everyone, ranging from demure to saucier pinup styles and right through to items that are more straps than fabric. There are also complimentary flutes of chilled bubbly to be poured for customers who are of-age. The front window has a display that holds zero mannequins, and a small notice near the door:

HELP WANTED

Can you:
-sell shit
-tidy shit
-not steal shit?

Apply within.

Britches and Hose is officially open for business! ]

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[ Considering there's nothing to look at out there, this guy spends an awfully long time hovering next to the display window outside. He's certainly not perusing the sign, which he'd only given a cursory glance about a minute ago, if anyone's timing him. Instead he's staring at the ground with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning at it with a worried line across his brow like the sidewalk's got no business being there.

Or maybe that's just him.

He takes a breath and finally lets his arms fall to his sides at that thought, though if anything it makes him look even less relaxed. His shoulders pull back and straighten his spine with military stiffness, and he sets his jaw and generally doesn't do anything to help himself look like he belongs there when he pushes his way through the door. No man ever really does, but Steve suspects he's especially bulky amidst all the delicate material and lace on all sides. ]

[ Recovering from an accident comes with a bit of a learning curve, apparently. Aranea's still finding that sometimes it takes a little longer than it should to fit pieces into place sometimes, and clapping eyes on this guy as he walks in is no exception. Her first thought is of red hair, which is real disconcerting until the rest of it clicks into place.

There are probably at least a dozen appropriate ways to welcome the partner of your best friend from school into your establishment on the first day of business, even if you don't know him as well as you should. Aranea forgoes all of them in favour of a wolf whistle. ]

[ He'd expect no less, and Steve does flush probably to her satisfaction, already self-conscious here, but it's somewhat tempered by that sense of recognition and forbearance when he looks around for the source and finds Aranea. His first thought is also of Natasha, but Natasha's already on his mind, so it doesn't really help him. Until it does, and his brow, if possible, becomes even more furrowed as he turns to face her and walk closer, as though still trying to fully place her beyond that first spark. ]

Cute.

Edited (god don't even look at the last one i forgot stuff) 2017-02-17 09:07 (UTC)

My thoughts exactly.

[ Which. Isn't helpful, but she's coming out from behind the counter to meet him anyway. ]

Looking for you, or for Nat?

[ At least he knows she's trying to get a rise out of him now; it makes it easier to let it pass without comment. The first half of the question, too, though he's not sure how much it falls into the same category. He supposes it's an honest one. ]

Uh— Nat. Neither, maybe.

[ Neither gets a little eyebrow raise, friend instincts kicking in immediately and wanting to deliver the "if you're looking for someone else they'll never find your body" speech, but if ever there was a man that performance wasn't necessary with it's Steve Fucking Rogers. ]

I mean, I could leave you to browse, but then you'd be a big guy pawing through women's underwear all on his own. Doesn't really seem like your style.

[ She's barely even teasing on that one. She's happy to be a buffer, and the smile she gives him is genuine. ]

It's good to see you, Steve.

[ She's right; it's not his style, no matter his size. He's pretty sure it'd look prurient either way, so in the end it's probably a good thing she's here. He returns the smile. ]

You, too. Sorry, I'm still a little— [ He doesn't gesture toward his head so much as tilt it slightly in a way that means the same thing. ] Fuzzy. How's Prompto?

[ It's said with slightly less subtext than she may remember (you know, my former student), but he is still wrapping his head around knowing to ask the question at all. ]

[ She nods a little at the fuzzy comment -- aren't they all -- but then he mentions Prompto, and her expression softens.

Prompto is as irrepressible as ever, sweet and funny and smarter than he gives himself credit for. He's the ray of sunshine that made the darkness her service left her with bearable. That's what her face says, at least. Her mouth, on the other hand: ]

Limber as a new branch in Spring. Thanks for asking.

[ Steve huffs a laugh at that; he ought to have expected it. A part of him did, or is at least reminded by the look on her face. He doesn't care, in the end. They're both adults, and he knows a little something about holding on to what you can find, even if all of those memories aren't exactly returned to him yet. ]

Just make sure he gets plenty of sunshine. Kids need that to grow.

It's those expert tips that make me glad you're around, Mr Rogers.

[ And listen, she's going to prove it by giving him some actual useful advice relating to her job, rather than just lowkey sexual harassment! ]

Let me return the favor: silk pajamas. Silk's warmer than you'd think, so it's functional with the way the weather's going. It's not as shiny as satin, so you don't get that trashy look, it feels amazing, and since they're pajamas it doesn't come off pervy buuuut she's still gonna look hot in them.

[ Well, if the lowkey harassment bothers him he's not inclined to show it, especially as she makes the case for the pajamas and he gives it its due consideration. ]

You got those here?

[ He doesn't mean to make it sound like you don't run a classy joint, Aranea, he truly doesn't. ]

Edited 2017-02-27 23:16 (UTC)

I just hide 'em behind the crotchless panties. I got a reputation to uphold, after all.

[ There are, in fact, zero crotchless panties in the store. Still, she waves him over to where they're hanging and whisks a few off in what she vaguely remembers as Nat's size - classic black, creamy ivory, and a few rich jewel tones. ]

Don't choose black. It's a waste, with her coloring.

You remember I teach art, right?

[ Maybe. He's only got a couple solid days under his belt, the rest only a vague recollection of lesson plans and the comings and goings of students, Prompto included. It's an honest question, come to think of it. He's lucky he seems to know what he's talking about when he gets in front of a class.

Regardless, he's not pretending he's the expert here, as he looks down at his choices and feels indecisive in a way that sits uncomfortably with him. ]

She likes black.

[ But he's reaching out to brush a thumb over the ivory. And he remembers something — a party. She'd worn ivory and red lipstick, and he'd seen her leaning over a bar, speaking intimately despite the glass in her hand. He draws his own away quickly and tries to cover for it by looking back toward the rack and nodding to it. ] What about the pink? [ It's not the rich pink she's holding, but a soft color that reminds him of watching her leave the house dressed for her classes. ]

Edited 2017-03-09 00:12 (UTC)

[ Whatever smartass comment she was going to make about practicality and Nat's tastes dies on her lips at the look on Steve's face. There's something about it that makes her feel she's intruding, and she cuts her eyes to the other side of the store until he speaks again.

And then... well, the suggestion's surprising enough that it pushes away the feeling of intrusiveness she'd had. The pink, soft as a lover's blush, isn't something that would ever have sprung to mind for her but it's easy enough to picture it on her friend. She raises an eyebrow, nods slowly at Steve. ]

Huh. [ Appreciative, impressed. The sets she's already holding get draped over her arm, and she lifts that soft pink out for him to take a closer look.] Consider me told.

[ Given that it was partly a distraction to spare them both from awkwardness, really, he's pretty pleased with himself when Aranea concurs and gives her a smile despite the unease in his gut. He also briefly lifts a palm in a forestalling gesture; he doesn't need to fondle the wares any further, and he's willing to trust her opinion. ]

I'll take it. You've got yourself a paying customer.

[stiles doesn't know what he's doing here, honestly. he really doesn't.

one minute he'd been quietly minding his own business (okay, not a single part of that statement was true, stiles already has enough of a sense of himself to realize that loud and nosy are both more than fair descriptors for him, but that's beside the point really) and the next he's being accosted by a woman he's never met before in his life and handed a piece of paper with an address on it with instructions to show up the next day after noon.

unless he has met her before and just doesn't remember it, of course. this whole amnesia thing gives him a headache.

still, it's not like he had any better plans for today, so after a bit of hide and seek with street signs stiles eventually manages to find himself standing outside what... looks like a lingerie store? the hell? he double checks the address in his hand and it's definitely the right place so after squaring his shoulders and taking a breath to ready himself he steps in.]

Hey, so... I'm not really sure why I'm here?

[ Whatever she was expecting to come through the door, what looks like a confused teenage boy wasn't it. But hey, a customer's a customer. So she gives him her brightest customer service smile (which, honestly, is closer to a smirk) and walks out from behind the counter. ]

If you mean philosophically, the church is up that way. If you mean literally, and you're here? Probably panties.

[ After his first day of discoveries and his decision to keep them under wraps and his newfound ability to go outside during the day, Damon decides to take a longer lunch than usual. Stefan can mind the shop. Damon wants to explore during the day. And not at night when everything but bars and some restaurants is closed. Nothing wrong with the bar, there's a time and place for it and sometimes that time is mid-day. Today, it's not. Today, he wanders into Britches and Hose, a lingerie store.

He has memories of lingerie. Liking it on women, liking it on one woman, and shopping for it. But, those memories seem to mirror his shopping here as well. Like his vivid version of Lagomarchino's, he knows this shop. He's a patron. He likes his girl to look good. And not just on Valentines Day.

In his head, he picks up a familiar teddy, black lace and bad decisions on a hanger. Nothing forms beyond the feeling of familiarity. And that is getting old. ]

[ For all that she's not really the type for customer service, her old work in the military has given her at least a little knack for reading people's faces. This one? Doesn't look like it wants help. She's not sure what it looks like, really, other than that it fits right in with half her customers today: men with a facial expression somewhere between angry and confused, so at first she simply stays behind the counter with her book, dividing her attention between the text and the movements of the new arrival.

But then he's staring at a piece with an unnerving sort of intensity that she can't place, and while he still doesn't exactly look like he wants assistance (or not from her, anyway) she slips a bookmark into place and leans her elbow on the counter, cupping her chin in her hand. ]

No brooding in the store.

[ He doesn't look over at her, not yet, as he puts the hanger on the rack. ]

No, brooding wouldn't go with the merchandise, would it. [ And he looks back at her now. ] Someone's going to have to break it to my brother. It's his number one past time. I was reminiscing. [ And how wrong does that sound and feel. Elena and -- someone. He nears her counter. ] There's a photographer in this town, I'm sure he's snapped a photo or two of Stefan. I could have him develop a few, tack them onto a big bulletin board. To ensure the brooders are kept away.

I'd introduce myself, but I've been here. Do you keep customer records?

That photographer does have a way of getting into things you wouldn't expect.

[ Which is all said with a much fonder tone than the words probably account for, but hey. She trades it off for something a little less warm when he continues. ]

You might be reminiscing a little too hard there, buddy. Store opened today. It was empty when I got it, and I think before that it was a toy store. Train sets and Lego, not the fun stuff.

I'm pretty sure, it's still a toy store. [ There must be some around here somewhere. ] My bad, though. Memories do seem to be coming to me when they want, sometimes without any context at all. [ In this case, score one for a real memory, perhaps. But, why would he even think of another girl. That's disheartening to say the least. ]< So, you got the empty bra store. Did an overly enthusiastic, yet sinister sheriff give you a set after your maccident? Or, have I finally met someone who doesn't need to go back to driving school?

[ Be a person who didn't wake up here two weeks ago with no memory. While it would complicate things, he may be able to glean some information from you. ]

[ She gives him a smile, bright and brittle and intentionally fake. As much as she'd love to get into the nitty-gritty, the cheerily warning tone she'd been instructed not to remove the official notice in the front window makes her eager to follow its rules. At least in a store she knows damn well is bugged, anyway. ]

Sorry to disappoint. I'm still fuzzy on the finer details, but apparently I'm just as inept as everyone else here.

And with your license intact. You'd assume there'd be a town-wide driving seminar. Real droll, Ben Stein guy at the front, or a film reel. [ One of those awful after school specials, or drunk driving videos they show in driver's ed. ] Ben Stein, the local milkman. [ Because he's from before, and they can't talk about before. ] You like your new job measuring cup sizes?

[ Corstine looks visibly uncomfortable as she enters the lingerie store. The tattooed woman with the blackened eye could hardly look more out of place if she tried - even without her breastplate and no helmet covering up her short, curly red hair, it's clear that she doesn't go into places like this often.

Still, she's here with a purpose. And it's with that reason in mind that she approaches the owner, trying not to eye the undergarments on the mannequins all around them as she does so - with moderate success.]

Hey, it's Aranea, right?

At your service.

[ It's drawled, bored, which lasts about as long as it takes her to get a proper look at the woman in front of her and raise an eyebrow, a smile curling her lips. ]

Please tell me you're running a protection racket. If I have to deal with one more confused prettyboy this week I'm going to cry.

[ Corstine almost laughs at that, but stops herself at just a smirk.]

...not yet I'm not, but that's not a terrible idea. I'm actually here for another reason. [ Her brow quirks upward as she looks the woman over. Damn it, that's just not fair.] I heard through the grapevine about your little date with Lantar. I was just wondering what your intentions were with him.

[Totally not jealous, what are you talking about. ]

[ There's a misstep here, where Aranea sees a smirk and hears little date and assumes amusement -- the comedy factor of her not knowing it was supposed to be a date, the fact that she's married, the way she'd been completely unprepared for meeting a nonhuman she wasn't supposed to jam her lance through and haul back to a lab, for a change. Not that she'd told Lantar about the lance thing (she might lack tact, but she's at least got a shred of common sense), but if she knows about the date then she probably knows exactly how romantic it wasn't, right?

She leans forward on the counter, pleased for the distraction. ]

You know Lantar? I've never met anyone like him.

[Lmao, nope. She'd heard that they'd been paired together, but she hadn't asked Lantar how it had gone. It really isn't any of her business, after all, and he likely would have told her as much.]

Yeah, I've known him a while. He's... interesting. The only guy of his kind I've ever met.

[A little bit of insecurity leaks out as she asks this next question. ]

...so how'd it go?

He is. And not just his whole... look.

[ Which is a her diplomatic way of saying HE'S AN ALIEN AND IT'S FUCKING RAD. But then Corstine keeps talking, and... well. Aranea doesn't remember everything about her time in the military yet, but she remembers leading a unit, and how important it had been, when she wasn't threatening them into order, to watch their faces and their body language for little cues. One troubled soldier could fuck the whole squad, if nobody was looking out for them. Corstine's not one of her men, but there's something there that tells her not to play it coy. ]

I think it went pretty well, considering I'm married and didn't know it was supposed to be a date.

Oh.

[ Well that's one problem that isn't a problem at all, then. ]

...does he know that? I don't want him getting hurt, just because you were too embarrassed to mention the hubby.

I told him. Told the hubby, too, once I got home. There's enough secrets going around this place without making more just for shits and giggles.

[ The combination of don't want him getting hurt and the little flicker of insecurity from before give Aranea enough of a clue to work with, so: ]

He seems like a good guy. Patient, too, if you count a high tolerance for assholes who never met [ she's literally shaping her mouth around an alien before she remembers the words he used and changes tack ] a non-human before. I offered him popcorn. It's probably a good thing neither of us were looking for romance.

Ain't that the fuckin' truth.

[She scoffs, looking off to the side a bit. This town is kind of bullshit, alien ex-boyfriends aside. ]

He's a shithead, but he can put up with a lot of people's bullshit. I try to look out for him.

[ It's sweet, really. And Aranea kind of hope Corstine's got someone looking out for her, too, but (maybe luckily, in this particular case) she's generally the kind of person who'd set herself alight before she'd say something like that out loud. ]

So, I gotta ask. Ex, or prospective?

[That earns a smug smirk from her.]

...Ex. If I just wanted him, I'd have him. [ Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Corstine. ] I've just got the bad luck to actually give a shit about his well-being, is all.

[ The little nice Aranea makes at that confidence is sotto voce, but her grin is considerably less subtle. ]

At least some fucker does. Hey, do you want to sit? I'm bored off my tits here, it's been nothing but the Stepfords all day.

[ She gives the woman a once-over again, far less apprehensive this time.]

Eh, yeah sure, what the hell. You got anything to drink around here.

Edited 2017-02-22 21:56 (UTC)

Now you're talking.

[ Aranea pushes lazily off her stool and ducks into the back room, emerging with a second stool for Corstine, two glasses, and - I am sorry to say - a chilled bottle of sparkling rosé. ]

Left over from opening day. Not exactly my usual style, but I figured it'd go with all the frills. Here, sit.

[ For all her protests about it not being her thing, she pops the cork without rocketing it across the room and foaming wine everywhere, but at least she fills the glasses rather than giving it a dinky sommelier pour. ]

[Corstine doesn't need to be told twice, she takes a seat.]

Not mine either, but I'm not gonna turn down a free drink.

[It hardly needs to be said, of course, that sparkling rosé isn't Corstine's style. One look at the woman is enough to see that she doesn't often come in contact with sparkling anything. ]

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I know the wind-swept mystical air

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I was enabled this isn't my fault

whyyoulying.gif

enabling myself is still enabling, gosh!!!

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Feb 16th

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