oneman_onevote | (no subject)

They had come out from Milliways in the same place as last time, but Havelock takes a different route entirely, this time, heading towards a more public area with a slowly more matching demeanor - one, that is, that's actually visible. By the time he pushes open the shop door, his stance and walk is practically arrogant, the walk of a man you don't dare ignore, and sure enough, an assistant flutters forward, dithers at the family name presented, summons a slightly older lady, and vanishes in subdued panic.

Evidently Roberta, Lady Meserole, has already left her mark on the staff of this establishment.

They are ushered through a cream coloured velvet curtain to something that more or less resembles a private lounge, where reclines Havelock's aunt, sipping champagne and chatting graciously with a person who resembles a duchess styled by one of the more upmarket Houses of Negotiable Affection.

"Ah, Havelock," says Madam brightly, waving an extravagantly bejeweled hand. "Not too late today, well done. And Master Robin, how lovely. Do come and have some champagne before we get started."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Havelock's transformation strikes Puck as highly bizarre and therefore highly delightful; he can't quite keep a grin off his face as they are ushered along.

The sight of Madam causes him to brighten further.

"'Tis a delight to see you once again, lady," he says, sweeping a bow. Today he has shoes! "How are you faring?"

She smiles more widely. "Oh, just wonderful," she says, snapping her fingers idly. A footman somehow fades in with a fresh bottle and clean glasses.

"I am really ever so grateful that you agreed to help me out," she continues, passing over a glass, rolling her eyes extravagantly at her abstaining nephew. "One simply cannot go out alone these days."

It's much harder to keep an eye on all the exits alone.

"I assure you, it is entirely my pleasure."

Puck smiles, lips quirking wryly, and accepts a glass. "Leaving a lady unescorted does seem to be rather out of fashion, just at present."

"And far be it for either of us to be unfashionable," Madam nods back approvingly. "Do relax a while. I was thinking perhaps we could discuss colour before getting down to business. Do you currently have a favourite, or a particular whim?"

Meanwhile, the footman approaches Havelock, who gives him a blank look that lasts just a little too long to be comfortable before gesturing in polite declination.

Puck tilts his head.

"Green?"

(Meanwhile he does look relaxed, though his posture hasn't changed in any noticeable way. Call it a talent.)

(And a marvellous talent it is too, Madam thinks.)

"Hmm, yes, I can see green. As I am wearing purple, the effect should be quite... striking."

Striking... or clashing. Without actually moving, all the dressmakers in the vicinity manage to cringe silently.

Madam smiles gleamingly at the stiff-backed woman clutching her tape measure for dear life nearby. "Don't you think a deep green would bring out the colour of his eyes?"

Puck turns to the woman, beaming expectantly.

It is quite possible that his eyes are just a little greener than they were a moment ago.

"...Oh," she eventually says, in an accent so refined that it can't possibly be genuine, and forces an ingratiating smile. "Yes, quite. We have some excellent brocades and velvets in various shades for you to examine, Sir, Lady Meserole."

The 'Sir' is laden with all the not-quite shades of uncertainty and good old-fashioned snobbery possible while still being obsequious. It's a job requirement to rise this high in the dressmaking business.

"Wonderful!" says Madam. "What about contrast, for a shirt? What do you you think, Robin? Silk?"

Madam likes shopping.

...

Ah, champagne.

Puck, for his part, smiles over his glass with the sort of barely-interested expression that is usually employed by those who know they could squash you like a bug if they really felt like it.

In his case, the sentiment is surprisingly literal.

"Silk sounds lovely," he replies agreeably.

It's a good expression. Havelock smiles barely visibly from his post in what shadows there are on the other side of the room. Puck fits in juuuust fine, right at this moment.

The woman, for her part, feels inexplicably twitchy all of a sudden, and exits to summon reinforcements, in the form of her underlings.

Madam is calmly refilling her glass. "Well," she says, when they are briefly alone in the room. "And what have you boys been up to recently? Nothing too terrible, I hope?"

The twinkle in her eye says the exact opposite.

Puck laughs.

"Nothing too terrible," he says, with a glance to the shadows. "Though Havelock's impression may be slightly different."

"Hmm," says Havelock dryly, eyeing the door. Evidently he doesn't trust the apparently empty room. "Terrible by your standards or mine, Madam?"

She chuckles in reply. "Oh, standards. Yours, but I'll take that as a 'nothing particularly.' How is my translation?"

Puck recieves an outwardly doting smile.

Like Puck has any idea what Havelock means when he talks.

"... Cautiously, I shall say you've more or less the right of it."

If Havelock wants to clarify, he can do that himself!

... Not that Havelock's the world's biggest fan of clarification.

Indeed not!

It's perhaps one of the best supporting factors of their - for lack of a better word - relationship that Puck can interpret Havelock's silences as he chooses, and Havelock will generally go along with it. It saves so much bother.

"Oh, good," says Madam brightly, not waiting to see if any help is forthcoming from her nephew. "I do enjoy being right."

And in record time, a number of younger, more discreetly groomed young gentlemen enter the room with their mistress in the lead, all holding various samples of cloth. They vary from the subtle and dark to the shiny and garish, and all varieties in between.

Expectant looks are turned on Madam and Puck, Havelock having faded further into the background, most likely out of self-preservation.

"Ooh," Puck says, of one of the shinier and more garish options. He tilts his head in Madam's direction.

"What do you imagine should serve best?"

Madam thoughtfully holds up her sleeve against the indicated fabric.

The clash is truly horrendous.

"I do believe we have a strong possibility," she says brightly, to general discreet horror. "Tell me, young man, is this variety particularly clinging?"

"...Eminently, Lady Meserole," comes the slightly faint answer.

Puck wrinkles up his nose. Clingy fabric doesn't sound like fun.

"I bow to your judgment in the matter, lady."

Puck is clearly missing a great deal!

"Perhaps lay it aside for consideration," she suggests coyly. "After all, we mustn't limit ourselves. I am quite determined to positively shine."

Possibly literally, considering the attention she pays to some sparkly rhinestones on a nearby table.

Beam!

"I've absolutely no doubt that you shall."

"Oh, flatterer," she replies blithely, and indicates a couple more fabrics apparently without even looking.

"But let's start looking at some styles, shall we?"

The head dressmaker curtsies and opens the door to a dressing-room. "If Sir would care to step this way...?"