09.06.3013: It's Always Lalalalala
Summary: ("Everything will always be alright, When we go shopping." ~ Barenaked Ladies.) Nitrim takes Rook out to get some new clothes. It's an adventure.
Date: 03 September 2013
Related: None.
Ithaca Nitrim 

Living Quarters Greatroom — Blackspyre, Volkan
This room, as the entry to the living quarters of the Khournas family, is about as sumptuous as things get in the Blackspyre. The floor is sheathed in black tile, heated from below by veins of magma running through the tower itself. Deep red carpets have been layered over the tile across most of the expanse of the room, softening footfalls and providing a visual sense of warmth to go along with the physical one. One wall of the greatroom is taken up by a large 'fireplace' where one of the heat-proof transparent tubes filled with lava can be seen pulsing and roiling its way up the tower. Around the other walls are a scattering of drakeskins, paintings of battle and hunt, and shelves of holobooks. Several couches and chairs are gathered in clumps around the room, providing seating for twenty or so with ease. Opposite the lift is a corridor that leads back into the actual living quarters and a private drawing room, with the entrance to the corridor guarded by two men-at-arms at all times.
06 September 3013

It’s early morning on the fifth of September, and Rook has just gotten released from her overnight in the Infirmary. She’s been spending the nights there for rehab treatment to make sure she gets proper weaning doses of Red Eye. She shuffles out into the barracks, planning to head out, but she makes a wrong turn, looking at a datapad, and winds up in the Greatroom of the Blackspyre. Since she’s been to Nitrim’s rooms a bunch of times, no one seems to stop her. It’s there she spots the shelves of holobooks, and that’s the end of that. If anyone comes in, they’ll find her curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace, reading voraciously.

The door to Nitrim's apartment cracks open and the man himself steps through. Wearing a simple pair of black, drawstring pants and a baggy, black shirt, he looks fresh from the shower. Perhaps he sensed her presence, perhaps he didn't, but it doesn't take him long to recognize the svelte woman reading quietly. He stops near a drink table to pour a large glass of ice water and slips over to the sofa she's on to sit beside her in silence.

Svelte is a bit kind for what most people would call a scrawny creature. But Rook is beginning to fill out a tiny bit from the reduction of drugs and the influx of real meals. One can still count her ribs through the thin tank top she wears, but the vertebrae of her spine look a touch less prominent. She shoulder bumps Nitrim in hello, not taking her eyes of the book’s holoscreen. It’s something about theoretical mathematics and chaos theory. She seems wholly absorbed by what anyone else would call dry gibberish.

Returning her shoulderbump, a bit of a ritual between the two, Nitrim draws up his knees to his chest and wraps a tattooed forearm around them. Resting his chin on his knee, he sips from the glass of water and glances down to the screen. "Light reading, huh?" It's a joke. "Are you clear to head out today? I was thinking about getting dressed and walk into the city, do some shopping?"

“Strange attractors. Like us,” Rook explains. “Chaotic dynamics. Lorenz system, chaotic solutions.” She grins at Nitrim and sets the book aside. “Clear, yes. Shopping?” She looks curious at that but nods her head regardless. “Ok.”

"Well, you mentioned not having much, or comfortable stuff to hang out in while you're here. I figured the least I could do is take you out and buy you a few things." Nitrim tilts his cheek on his knee a little further to catch her eyes. They haven't talked about the bathhouse since the bathhouse, but neither has brought it up yet. "Let me win this one, Rook?"

Rook purses her lips in a manner that suggests sucking on a lemon would be preferable to shopping, but she lets out a breath and nods. “Ok.” She tosses the book aside onto a table. “For a price.” She grins at him.

"Oh fuck, here we go," Nitrim laughs and starts to unfold from his bent position. Handing off the water to her, he stretches his arms and legs out before him and his body starts to rigidly shudder. His teeth bare to the side in a wide yawn that ends as he curls back into himself. "One condition, huh? Alright, kinda scared you've never asked for anything but let's hear it."

Rook grins at him more broadly and she tucks her legs beneath her on the couch. “Kiss me. Like on the holovids in the stupid movies I had to watch on tv in the infirmary.” Oh hell, the daytime made for tv movies on the women’s channel.

Nitrim's jaw slacks just a bit. Of all of his fears and worried about her request, her request isn't a large one, though with her release from work and horror movies has come a world of relationship-based programs, fashion, COMMERCIALS, and things she isn't normally exposed to. A subtle laugh passes over Nitrim's tongue. "That's all?" He asks, but it isn't as small of a request as he thinks, is it? Realizing what she's asking, in her sideways manner, his smirk fades and he reaches to her face to tilt her chin, pressing his lips to hers in a low, slow, toe curling kiss.

And curl her toes do, as the kiss takes her breath away, and transports her to some sort of fantasy land of pure rom- ok so really no. It’s a nice kiss, and very well done, and quite enjoyable, but she blinks and pulls back with a snort. “Make it look magic. Just kissing,” she mutters. “Still, nice though,” she admits with a smile.

My my…Ithaca without Red Eye is demanding. A snort sounds from Nitrim as he has to look away for a moment. "Nice, just nice," Nitrim murmurs as his eyes shadow over into a field of white where he can share the emotional experience of the next kiss. Already, as he leans in, his feelings flood over into her conscious awareness as he cups each side of her face in his hands and leans in. It's more than the first one, vastly more with a brush of tongue and a soft moan that crawls up from his belly and into her mouth.

Now that is more like the ones in the bad tv movies. Rook’s aura lights up and she gives back as much as she takes from him, her hands sliding up into his short cropped hair and her whole being seeming to entwine with his in a moment of connection. She pulls back, finally, in need of air and pants a little. “Like that. Yes. Though didn’t turn into a princess,” she notes, looking down at her clothes. Aww. Someone was watching really bad romance movies.

Oh no. Nitrim laughs softly and leans back away from her, brushing his fingers over her ribs where her new tattoo is. Catching his own breath, his eyes uncloud back to green and he brushes a hand through his hair, leaving it a bit of a mess. "That's not a trick I've learned yet, but we could kind of make it happen. You don't strike me as a magical white dress girl, but if you want to look a way, how would it be, or do you even know? Shopping does this. You choose what you see in the mirror."

“Ok, try shopping. Not sure what I want to look like. TV makes them all pretty. Even the ugly ones are pretty.” Rook snorts. Yep, television and movies ugly is way different than reality ugly. “Let’s go.” She pops up off the couch and heads for the door. He isn’t even dressed yet.

"Fuck wait Rook—" Nitrim leaps up, nearly knocking over his cup of water in the progress as he jogs after her. Playful as ever, he wraps his arms around her hips and drags her back to his door, trying to get a squeal out of her for the first time ever. "I've gotta get my boots and change my pants then let's bail…"

There is a squeal when he picks her up and drags her back, and actual laughter from her as she mock flails. It might be a good day.

A short time later, Nitrim are taking on a first. He's clad in his long, black coat and black gloves with a cigarette between his fingers walking openly as a Lord of Khournas into a small shopping district with Rook at his side. Dark sunglasses over his eyes to shield out the morning sun, people step aside, nod, and some bow as he passes and gives each of the Citizens a nod in his wake. He leads her past streetwise vendors and hawkers of wares and comes to an expensive women's clothing store. Just like on those cheesy romance movies, he grips the door and opens it for her, motioning her inside.

Rook is a little agog at the expensive places with their wares so far out of her personal budget she’s a little shellshocked by price tags. She looks rather out of place beside him, in her workout pants, tank top, and his hooded tunic. Her hands remain stuffed in her pockets as she slips into the open door and lets her eyes adjust to the difference in illumination. They widen as she looks at the array of clothing, the bursts of color, the different materials, all shouting buy me at her from the racks and displays. She freezes, like a deer in a hunter’s sights, and is gobsmacked by the assault to her senses.

"Like the baths, first time, it'll be okay for you." Nitrim murmurs to her as some of the staff at the store start to fan out and cover their sections. Offering his arm to her, he motions forward to the massive overload of pants, skirts, tops, intimate wear, swimwear, shoes are made available to her. "Just walk and I'll walk with you. When you see something that catches your eye, let me know and you can go try it on. If you like it, we buy it. Be greedy for the moment, Rook, truly."

Rook swallows, looking mildly panicky as she slowly moves through the aisles, her fingertips brushing this garment and that one, no doubt sending the salespeople into conniptions. She wanders, almost aimlessly, for long minutes, and then stops in a section with dark blues and blacks, textural dresses, corsets, leather and shiny bits all together in singular styles. She stares for a moment, then she gestures at one of the outfits on display. “That.” she says quietly.

Turning his eyes to the outfit, Nitrim looks it over and then motions for one of the staff. A pretty golden-haired girl slips past then and turns to look to Rook. She sizes her up and then moves to the rack to select a size that she thinks would fit her and hands it off to another employee who rushes the outfit towards the changing rooms. "Easy as that, Rook." Nitrim laughs with a shoulder bump to Ithaca's side. He motions to a rack of off-the-shoulder shirts with wide necklines and a varying number of logos and styles. "Be picky, explore, like my room."

“One at a time,” Rook insists. She heads into the changing room that the employee took the dress to and vanishes for a few moments. She can only handle one thing at a time, especially with being weaned off the drug that kept her brain calm. There are some grunts and muttering and thumps from the room as she struggles to get it on. The employee rushes in to help and the scary noises stop. Then the door opens and she steps out, looking quite a bit different than when she stepped in. It’s lace at the top, leather for the bodice, and layers of tulle and lace for the skirt. She looks awkward and uncertain as she stands there, and her combat boots really don’t go with the outfit, but it’s a glimmer of what might lie beneath all the years of having nothing.

Ithaca is gifted with something that she hasn't seen from Nitrim often when he isn't looking at her tattoos. At the sight of her, his eyes get mildly greedy as he grins and looks her up and down. Sure, she's being watched, but she's also being looked at like that. "Oh my," Nitrim smiles, matching the enthusiasm of the store clerk as he is forced to bite his lip. "Six damned, Rook, that looks outright hot on you."

Is that a blush? That might actually be a blush tinting Rook's pale cheeks as she notes the way he is looking at her. No one has ever looked at her like that. Most have quickly looked away from the strange little dark creature that she has been so long. At the direction of the saleswoman she takes off the boots and replaces them with black bedazzled heels. She totters on them, used to the chunky heels of her boots, but when she's not flailing to stay upright, she cuts quite a striking figure. Well. Except for the messy hair and lack of makeup. "Hot?" She asked, barking out a small laugh.

"Do you really want me to go into details here?" Nitrim asks, folding his arms and giving Rook a discerning look. Before she can answer, he motions to her. "You've got great legs, great shoulders, and the dress shows them off. Those heels make your calves look great, too." Giving his opinion, a fair one, he looks to the clerk and nods. "So what do you think, Rook? How do you feel wearing it?"

Rook stands before the plethora of mirrors that reflect back the image of a woman she could have been, were she not born into debt and drugs and poverty. The saleswoman pulls her hair back gently to give her a better idea of the look with an updo. Rook stares at herself then looks back over her shoulder at Nitrim. “Ithaca.” This is Ithaca, who Ithaca should have been.

"Miss Ithaca Black, yes." Nitrim replies, his rich accent rolling over the words as he rocks back onto the heel of his heavy, black boots. Getting a better view from behind, he scales down her shoulders, to her hips, then back up again. "How do you feel, Ithaca, do you feel good?"

“Different,” Rook replies. “Good different,” she clarifies. It doesn’t hide the pair of hermetic tattoos on her upper arms, but they seem to suit her as well as the outfit. She looks back at him again curiously. “Am I pretty?” because she really has no sense of her own looks.

"Yes, Rook, you're very pretty." Nitrim steps forward to stand behind her in the mirror. "The dark around your eyes, you hair, your cheekbones, you're very striking." He smiles to her reflection. "This is why I wanted to do this, to show you this. A different world."

“Not my world,” Rook murmurs. She tilts her head this way and that way, trying out the look from different angles. Then she tries to take a few steps in the heels and wibble wobbles all over the place in a moment of comedic brilliance. Jane is going to have to teach her to walk in those things. “How do women wear these? Without breaking ankles!?” she asks in exasperation.

"Practice, though I think Jane Wyre only wears boots. That's all I've ever seen her in anyway." With a pat to her hip, Nitrim sidesteps her not my world comment and turns to take a look over the store. "And there are boots here, far more than just dresses." His eyes dance over a few sections before he turns back to her. "So you'll take the dress, yes? And the heels?"

Rook looks at the price tag and she goes about two shades paler than the norm. She swallows. “Is that in dollars?” she asks, helplessly. That’s about her paycheck for a whole month just for the dress.

"Not in your dollars." Nitrim replies, smirking to the attendent who reaches out with a pair of scissors to happily snip the price tag off of the dress. Moving over to the door to the dressing rooms, Nitrim leans. "Seriously, Rook, not everything here is that expensive and my allowance would make you turn to stone. It's no issue, and these are things you deserve for keeping me safe."

It takes her a moment, as Rook watches the sales lady walk away with the tag, before she swallows and nods. “Ok. Ok.” It sounds somewhat like she’s also trying to convince herself. She takes in a breath, turns to face him, and asks, “What else do I need?” Because she has no idea. “Pick. I’ll try.”

"Need?" Nitrim repeats with wide eyes. It's a loaded question. "Gods I don't know what you need. Why don't you get changed out of the dress and I'll go grab a few things and you can try them on? I don't — know — how this is going to work." Slipping away from her, Nitrim turns to one of the attendants and the two start to conspire in silence. The two break off and begin plucking shirts, skirts, leather pants, leather boots, a few swimsuits. It's all out of control. Even at one point the female attendant drops off a collection of attractive, fetching underthings. As expected, everything nitrim picks is short. Short skirts, short tops, jagged hemlines, emotionally revealing save for a few simple floor-length black skirts.

The underthings no doubt came in after hearing the attendant in the dressing room with Rook shriek about the condition of hers. Or the lack of them. It’s hard to tell among the yowls for them to deliver unto this poor child of the Ring some dignified panties and bras. Rook gets packed into a variety of outfits before being shoved with all due ceremony out of the changing room to model them for her benefactor. She actually gets caught eying a few other outfits, which get brought over as well. By the end of it, there is a pile of clothing in the “looks great” pile, and a much tinier pile of things rejected.

Looking over the collection of tags, Nitrim motions for the attendant. "Have them brought to the Blackspyre, to the reception of Miss Ithaca Black?" Nitrim offers his account information to them for direct purchase, with a lordly discount, of course. Pressing his hands together, he moves back over to Ithaca and offers her his arm. "Are you ready to head back out, Rook? I can't tell if you're damaged for life or had fun with this."

“Can’t tell either,” Rook admits, as she clings to his arm a little bit dizzily. It’s all a whirlwind. “I think it was fun. Maybe,” she murmurs. She’s settled on a simple black short skirt and one of those off the shoulder tops he seems to like so much, with her boots, because no way can she walk in any of the heels yet. “Might need nap now.”

Glancing her over and the outfit she's chosen to wear back to her temporary home, she gets the expected attention from Nitrim's eyes. Laughing softly, he tugs her arm on his gently and starts to move to the exit of the store. "Come on then, lets get you back and you can get some rest. We've been at this for hours." He starts to move, but this time the store's staff get the doors for them. "Maybe get your nap in then dinner. I have to visit my sister at the infirmary as it is."

“Ok,” is the simple response. “Should call Jane. Need lessons in shoes,” Rook adds, as they head back towards the Blackspyre.

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