rix_scaedu: (Default)

Rensa let everyone finish adjusting her.  The wedding she’d always expected would have had simpler seeming preparations, if only because she would have known what to expect.  There wasn’t going to be any all-concealing powder over her face, hands and neck so that when her veil was lifted for the sealing kiss everyone would see the face she should have had.  This was going to be far more exposed.  Not only was there no powder, there was no veil and the very nice dress left her lower arms exposed as well as revealing everything at the front down to her collar bones.  If it were not for the opaque white stockings her legs below the knee would be bare to the world as well.

And the world would be watching via television camera.

The hairdresser and the dress designer watched as the makeup artist applied clear gloss to Rensa’s lips with a brush and then transparent mascara to her lashes.  When she was done Verrin, the designer, voiced her approval.  “Nicely done.  She’s made you look like yourself, Your Highness.  It’ll help make anyone with a drop of nous realize that the Emperor’s getting a one-off treasure.”

Rensa turned carefully in the blue high heels she was wearing and looked at herself in the full length mirror again.  Two questions warred in her mind, both of them important, and the resulting confusion showed on her face.

“Are you worried what he’s going to think?”  Verrin had some experience with nervous brides and this one had less than fifteen minutes before she was due to make her big entrance.

“He’ll say something nice,” Rensa said pensively.  “All those female relatives have got him well trained, but will he like it?”

“I think,” said Mirren’s friend Beriel the hairdresser, “That he’s going to love you in it.”

“No-one’s going to laugh at me, are they?”  That was a real fear, after all Verrin’s dress hadn’t started off as a wedding gown and Rensa had developed an insecure niggle that she was somehow making herself look ridiculous.

“No,” said Verrin firmly.  “I expect quite a lot of people will try and copy the look, badly in many cases.  Now, where are your escorts?”

The two former insurgents, both now respectable members of the new regime, were outside the door looking as if someone had polished them to within an inch of their lives.  Someone had apparently put some thought into what a well-dressed insurgent wore when he escorted someone he hadn’t had the stomach to kill to the altar because both of them were wearing it.  It involved some tailoring and a polished sidearm.  Rensa wasn’t sure she recognized them – her memories of their first meeting were dominated by images of her dead workmates and kinsmen who’d tried in vain to barricade their office against the attackers.  It had not been a good day.

Her escorts took Rensa from her rooms down to the public chambers near the main entrance to the Palace.  They were in plenty of time when they arrived in the room set aside for them to wait in across the corridor from where the ceremony was being held.  Everyone who had anything to do with Rensa’s appearance double checked her then cast a professional eye over her escorts who bore the attention stoically.  Rensa was allowed to sit carefully for a few minutes, then she was on her feet again, her dress straightened and they went back into the corridor.

The door was pulled open and her escorts took her into the room beyond.  The pantu rug from their betrothal was back on the floor.  The Registrar was there with registration book on its stand.  Yannic and his mother were coming in from the opposite door.  She smiled at them, glad to see him looking almost as nervous as she felt, making her feel not silly about being nervous after all – he’d done this before and he was still nervous.  Taking a quick look at the audience, Rensa realized that a lot of the people present were people she now knew, though the big sections of cameras made the audience much larger than just this room.  She turned her attention back to Yannic, much closer now, and feeling more confident, smiled again.  Yannic smiled back and Tyrren beamed encouragingly.

A shot rang out from behind the audience.

rix_scaedu: (Rensa)

Rensa let everyone finish adjusting her.  The wedding she’d always expected would have had simpler seeming preparations, if only because she would have known what to expect.  There wasn’t going to be any all-concealing powder over her face, hands and neck so that when her veil was lifted for the sealing kiss everyone would see the face she should have had.  This was going to be far more exposed.  Not only was there no powder, there was no veil and the very nice dress left her lower arms exposed as well as revealing everything at the front down to her collar bones.  If it were not for the opaque white stockings her legs below the knee would be bare to the world as well.

And the world would be watching via television camera.

The hairdresser and the dress designer watched as the makeup artist applied clear gloss to Rensa’s lips with a brush and then transparent mascara to her lashes.  When she was done Verrin, the designer, voiced her approval.  “Nicely done.  She’s made you look like yourself, Your Highness.  It’ll help make anyone with a drop of nous realize that the Emperor’s getting a one-off treasure.”

Rensa turned carefully in the blue high heels she was wearing and looked at herself in the full length mirror again.  Two questions warred in her mind, both of them important, and the resulting confusion showed on her face.

“Are you worried what he’s going to think?”  Verrin had some experience with nervous brides and this one had less than fifteen minutes before she was due to make her big entrance.

“He’ll say something nice,” Rensa said pensively.  “All those female relatives have got him well trained, but will he like it?”

“I think,” said Mirren’s friend Beriel the hairdresser, “That he’s going to love you in it.”

“No-one’s going to laugh at me, are they?”  That was a real fear, after all Verrin’s dress hadn’t started off as a wedding gown and Rensa had developed an insecure niggle that she was somehow making herself look ridiculous.

“No,” said Verrin firmly.  “I expect quite a lot of people will try and copy the look, badly in many cases.  Now, where are your escorts?”

The two former insurgents, both now respectable members of the new regime, were outside the door looking as if someone had polished them to within an inch of their lives.  Someone had apparently put some thought into what a well-dressed insurgent wore when he escorted someone he hadn’t had the stomach to kill to the altar because both of them were wearing it.  It involved some tailoring and a polished sidearm.  Rensa wasn’t sure she recognized them – her memories of their first meeting were dominated by images of her dead workmates and kinsmen who’d tried in vain to barricade their office against the attackers.  It had not been a good day.

Her escorts took Rensa from her rooms down to the public chambers near the main entrance to the Palace.  They were in plenty of time when they arrived in the room set aside for them to wait in across the corridor from where the ceremony was being held.  Everyone who had anything to do with Rensa’s appearance double checked her then cast a professional eye over her escorts who bore the attention stoically.  Rensa was allowed to sit carefully for a few minutes, then she was on her feet again, her dress straightened and they went back into the corridor.

The door was pulled open and her escorts took her into the room beyond.  The pantu rug from their betrothal was back on the floor.  The Registrar was there with registration book on its stand.  Yannic and his mother were coming in from the opposite door.  She smiled at them, glad to see him looking almost as nervous as she felt, making her feel not silly about being nervous after all – he’d done this before and he was still nervous.  Taking a quick look at the audience, Rensa realized that a lot of the people present were people she now knew, though the big sections of cameras made the audience much larger than just this room.  She turned her attention back to Yannic, much closer now, and feeling more confident, smiled again.  Yannic smiled back and Tyrren beamed encouragingly.

A shot rang out from behind the audience.

Attendants

Sep. 19th, 2011 09:01 pm
rix_scaedu: (Default)
Another piece of Rensa.

Rensa was having a wedding dress fitting.  Verrin, the designer, was making adjustments for her blossoming curves and selecting the exact shade of the contrasting flounce.  Fortunately Verrin was one of those people who thought Rensa should return to a healthy weight so there were no professional or artistic tantrums from the older, orange haired woman.

“So, who are the attendants going to be?”  Verrin was marking things with pins as she spoke.

“It hasn’t been decided yet,” Mirren admitted.  “It’s a bit…difficult.”

“I’m marrying my only remaining, living relative,” Rensa added, looking over her shoulder at herself in the mirror, “So I don’t have my parents to escort me and my childhood friends…,” she trailed off.

“It is usual,” the designer pointed out, “To at least provide one formal witness.  Of course, the Emperor could provide all of them but that’s likely to look a little odd.”

“I have been thinking,” Rensa said slowly, “That as I can’t have my parents, I might have the two men who pulled me out of that storeroom to escort me to the ceremony.”  She paused to twist her head to look over the other shoulder, “After all, they were the ones who decided not to kill me out of hand.”

“They’re not members of my family,” Mirren said consideringly, “That would be a good thing.  The ideologues will probably love it.  I wonder where they are and how they wash up?  Yannic can have someone track them down if he doesn’t know already.”

“If they’re available,” put in Verrin, “You’ll have to decide whether they’re going to wear something of their own or something specially made.”  More pins carefully inserted.  “Frankly you’re probably just about out of time for the latter.”  She added, poker faced, “I can, of course, suggest a few places.”


Attendants

Sep. 19th, 2011 09:01 pm
rix_scaedu: (Rensa)
Another piece of Rensa.

Rensa was having a wedding dress fitting.  Verrin, the designer, was making adjustments for her blossoming curves and selecting the exact shade of the contrasting flounce.  Fortunately Verrin was one of those people who thought Rensa should return to a healthy weight so there were no professional or artistic tantrums from the older, orange haired woman.

“So, who are the attendants going to be?”  Verrin was marking things with pins as she spoke.

“It hasn’t been decided yet,” Mirren admitted.  “It’s a bit…difficult.”

“I’m marrying my only remaining, living relative,” Rensa added, looking over her shoulder at herself in the mirror, “So I don’t have my parents to escort me and my childhood friends…,” she trailed off.

“It is usual,” the designer pointed out, “To at least provide one formal witness.  Of course, the Emperor could provide all of them but that’s likely to look a little odd.”

“I have been thinking,” Rensa said slowly, “That as I can’t have my parents, I might have the two men who pulled me out of that storeroom to escort me to the ceremony.”  She paused to twist her head to look over the other shoulder, “After all, they were the ones who decided not to kill me out of hand.”

“They’re not members of my family,” Mirren said consideringly, “That would be a good thing.  The ideologues will probably love it.  I wonder where they are and how they wash up?  Yannic can have someone track them down if he doesn’t know already.”

“If they’re available,” put in Verrin, “You’ll have to decide whether they’re going to wear something of their own or something specially made.”  More pins carefully inserted.  “Frankly you’re probably just about out of time for the latter.”  She added, poker faced, “I can, of course, suggest a few places.”


The Dress

Apr. 18th, 2011 10:41 am
rix_scaedu: (Default)

This follows on from Dresses.

A wedding dress proved more problematic than day clothes, evening dress or audience robes. Everything made as a wedding dress, everything designed as a wedding dress had swathes of white, red or blue right next to the wearer’s face. All three of those colours made Rensa look dreadful. Frankly, she looked better in the grey/dun tunic she was wearing than the outfits on offer.

The other issue was style. This season’s thing for wedding dresses was flounce. In twelve months, as Mirren pointed out, Rensa would probably be able to do flounce. At the moment though, flounces just swallowed her up. No-one whose work the both liked were able to fit an original wedding dress commission to be completed in less than a month, even for the Princess, into their workbooks. Sir, at the first establishment they’d been served at that day, didn’t do wedding dresses at all.

They were standing on the footpath in an intersection of expensive shopping precinct. Rensa was beginning to accept that there could be a sustained demand for these...trinkets and toys but wondered what people were missing out on to obtain them. “You could have had these things too,” pointed out Mirren, “I mean, I know you bought basic electronics in bulk and all that, but why not these things?”

“Conspicuous overconsumption was a Second Dynasty thing,” Rensa said almost absentmindedly while scanning the shopfronts, “They took so much out of the production economy that the family felt obliged to pay it back, with interest.”

Mirren closed her eyes briefly, almost in pain, “Pay it back with interest, I suppose that makes sense.” She opened her eyes again, “I suppose there was a ledger and everything.”

Rensa laughed, “We were meant to be accountants and administrators. Of course there’s a ledger,” she sobered, “Or at least, there was. Hang on,” she grabbed Mirren’s arm, “In that window directly across from us. How’s that for an idea?”

“Which one?” There were three dresses in the window Rensa had indicated. None of them was a wedding dress. The establishment wasn’t on Mirren’s list because there hadn’t been any catalogues or parade pictures for her to review.

“The one with the green tights and the yellow shoes.”

“The style would probably suit you,” agreed Mirren slowly, “Tailored across the front panels then the tiers round the side are sort of frilled but not too frilled or flouncy. Would you want the tiers in red, white and blue?”

“I think only the bottom tier,” replied Rensa, “I mean, the bride is supposed to wear red for happiness, blue for luck and white for purity on intention, but it doesn’t actually say they all have to be on the dress. What if we cover two colours with shoes and stockings?”

“And it’s not like we want a whole new look or concept,” agreed Mirren, “I suppose we can only ask.” They crossed the road and went up the stairs.

The sign hanging inside the door said “OPEN”, so they pushed the door and went in. Just inside an older woman with faded orange hair, pale skin and a sharp, intelligent expression was beginning to pull a giant makeup removal wipe from the canister of them she had in her hands when she said, “Ah, you don’t need this. Glerren!” One of the floor staff hurried over and was handed the canister, “You know what to do with these.” She turned to Rensa, “I’m Verrin, the proprietor of this establishment. How may I help Your Highness?”

“How do you do?” Rensa was strongly reminded of some of her great-aunts, there was a very strong personality here, “I’m looking for a wedding dress in a colour that doesn’t make me look dreadful.”

“I wouldn’t normally do wedding dress commissions at this time of year, with the collection release and showings,” Verrin was beginning to look her up and down with a measuring eye, “What colours make you look dreadful?”

“Red, white and blue.”

“Ah, they would,” a knowing nod, “So why did you come in here?”

“Your display in the window made me think I could have two of the colours in my stockings and shoes and the third on the bottom tier of the dress. We think,” Rensa looked at Mirren for confirmation, “That the dress in the middle would probably suit me.”

Verrin looked her up and down consideringly and then walked around her, “You’re too skinny, you know.”

“We’re working on that,” said Mirren.

“Good.” Verrin waved an imperious hand and an assistant hurried over while Verrin was scribbling something in a notebook she’d produced from her pocket. Ripping out the page she told the assistant, “Bring these to the number three fitting room.” Turning to Rensa and Mirren, she said, “If you’ll come with me, ladies.”

A little while later Rensa was being measured, “We only have a month,” she warned, “Will that be enough time?”

“Not to worry,” Verrin was wielding the tape measure herself, “This dress is in this season’s made to measure and we’re not changing the pattern, just the colours. We have plenty of time. Red bottom tier, white stockings and blue shoes. Love to be able to send you out in ripped stockings, with your skin that would look good, but it is a wedding, totally inappropriate. Must keep the look in mind for my next show though.” She scribbled something in her notepad. “Now, my first choice for the rest of the dress would be this.” The assistant unfurled a pale gold bronze colour and held it in front of Rensa so the effect could be seen in the mirror.

“Yes,” agreed Mirren, “That’s it. It’s paler than her lightest skin tone but not too much paler.”

“That’s agreed then,” said Verrin. “We’ll get your deposit and get you a fitting appointment.”

Rensa, gazing in the mirror put her hand to her mouth and began to giggle. All three other women in the room looked at her, unsure if there was some unseen joke or bridal nerves at work. Rensa caught their gazes and blushed, “I’m sorry, it just occurred to me, from what I’ve seen of my father and brothers over the years, that this is probably the colour of Yannic’s skin under his clothes.”

The assistant covered her mouth with her hand but her eyes widened, Mirren and Verrin’s mouths widened into similarly knowing grins.

“Skin of groom as the ultimate wedding dress statement,” said Verrin dryly.

“I’m sure,” said Mirren, trying not to chortle, “That there is a really crude joke in there and that one of my family will find it on the day. I’ll have to speak to my mother and my aunt about it.”


The Dress

Apr. 18th, 2011 10:41 am
rix_scaedu: (Default)

This follows on from Dresses.

A wedding dress proved more problematic than day clothes, evening dress or audience robes. Everything made as a wedding dress, everything designed as a wedding dress had swathes of white, red or blue right next to the wearer’s face. All three of those colours made Rensa look dreadful. Frankly, she looked better in the grey/dun tunic she was wearing than the outfits on offer.

The other issue was style. This season’s thing for wedding dresses was flounce. In twelve months, as Mirren pointed out, Rensa would probably be able to do flounce. At the moment though, flounces just swallowed her up. No-one whose work the both liked were able to fit an original wedding dress commission to be completed in less than a month, even for the Princess, into their workbooks. Sir, at the first establishment they’d been served at that day, didn’t do wedding dresses at all.

They were standing on the footpath in an intersection of expensive shopping precinct. Rensa was beginning to accept that there could be a sustained demand for these...trinkets and toys but wondered what people were missing out on to obtain them. “You could have had these things too,” pointed out Mirren, “I mean, I know you bought basic electronics in bulk and all that, but why not these things?”

“Conspicuous overconsumption was a Second Dynasty thing,” Rensa said almost absentmindedly while scanning the shopfronts, “They took so much out of the production economy that the family felt obliged to pay it back, with interest.”

Mirren closed her eyes briefly, almost in pain, “Pay it back with interest, I suppose that makes sense.” She opened her eyes again, “I suppose there was a ledger and everything.”

Rensa laughed, “We were meant to be accountants and administrators. Of course there’s a ledger,” she sobered, “Or at least, there was. Hang on,” she grabbed Mirren’s arm, “In that window directly across from us. How’s that for an idea?”

“Which one?” There were three dresses in the window Rensa had indicated. None of them was a wedding dress. The establishment wasn’t on Mirren’s list because there hadn’t been any catalogues or parade pictures for her to review.

“The one with the green tights and the yellow shoes.”

“The style would probably suit you,” agreed Mirren slowly, “Tailored across the front panels then the tiers round the side are sort of frilled but not too frilled or flouncy. Would you want the tiers in red, white and blue?”

“I think only the bottom tier,” replied Rensa, “I mean, the bride is supposed to wear red for happiness, blue for luck and white for purity on intention, but it doesn’t actually say they all have to be on the dress. What if we cover two colours with shoes and stockings?”

“And it’s not like we want a whole new look or concept,” agreed Mirren, “I suppose we can only ask.” They crossed the road and went up the stairs.

The sign hanging inside the door said “OPEN”, so they pushed the door and went in. Just inside an older woman with faded orange hair, pale skin and a sharp, intelligent expression was beginning to pull a giant makeup removal wipe from the canister of them she had in her hands when she said, “Ah, you don’t need this. Glerren!” One of the floor staff hurried over and was handed the canister, “You know what to do with these.” She turned to Rensa, “I’m Verrin, the proprietor of this establishment. How may I help Your Highness?”

“How do you do?” Rensa was strongly reminded of some of her great-aunts, there was a very strong personality here, “I’m looking for a wedding dress in a colour that doesn’t make me look dreadful.”

“I wouldn’t normally do wedding dress commissions at this time of year, with the collection release and showings,” Verrin was beginning to look her up and down with a measuring eye, “What colours make you look dreadful?”

“Red, white and blue.”

“Ah, they would,” a knowing nod, “So why did you come in here?”

“Your display in the window made me think I could have two of the colours in my stockings and shoes and the third on the bottom tier of the dress. We think,” Rensa looked at Mirren for confirmation, “That the dress in the middle would probably suit me.”

Verrin looked her up and down consideringly and then walked around her, “You’re too skinny, you know.”

“We’re working on that,” said Mirren.

“Good.” Verrin waved an imperious hand and an assistant hurried over while Verrin was scribbling something in a notebook she’d produced from her pocket. Ripping out the page she told the assistant, “Bring these to the number three fitting room.” Turning to Rensa and Mirren, she said, “If you’ll come with me, ladies.”

A little while later Rensa was being measured, “We only have a month,” she warned, “Will that be enough time?”

“Not to worry,” Verrin was wielding the tape measure herself, “This dress is in this season’s made to measure and we’re not changing the pattern, just the colours. We have plenty of time. Red bottom tier, white stockings and blue shoes. Love to be able to send you out in ripped stockings, with your skin that would look good, but it is a wedding, totally inappropriate. Must keep the look in mind for my next show though.” She scribbled something in her notepad. “Now, my first choice for the rest of the dress would be this.” The assistant unfurled a pale gold bronze colour and held it in front of Rensa so the effect could be seen in the mirror.

“Yes,” agreed Mirren, “That’s it. It’s paler than her lightest skin tone but not too much paler.”

“That’s agreed then,” said Verrin. “We’ll get your deposit and get you a fitting appointment.”

Rensa, gazing in the mirror put her hand to her mouth and began to giggle. All three other women in the room looked at her, unsure if there was some unseen joke or bridal nerves at work. Rensa caught their gazes and blushed, “I’m sorry, it just occurred to me, from what I’ve seen of my father and brothers over the years, that this is probably the colour of Yannic’s skin under his clothes.”

The assistant covered her mouth with her hand but her eyes widened, Mirren and Verrin’s mouths widened into similarly knowing grins.

“Skin of groom as the ultimate wedding dress statement,” said Verrin dryly.

“I’m sure,” said Mirren, trying not to chortle, “That there is a really crude joke in there and that one of my family will find it on the day. I’ll have to speak to my mother and my aunt about it.”


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