Why the hell do I need a second shirt? (Angelabeth pls)

[Malia]

Timestamp: 54th Day in Summer, 509 AV

During the first decade of her undead existence Malia had gotten used to wearing the same single set of clothing all the time. Since she had never entered a bigger city than the small villages with a population consisting of farmers, craftsmen and probably one or two town priests, nobody had ever mentioned anything about her lack of fashion sense. There was no need for a second set. But then, when coming to Syliras, she had noticed that a city's citizens were different. They paid attention to your appearance, to what you wore and what you looked like. Malia hated being looked at, because that meant not merging with the crowd. Merging and adjusting went along with being accepted, and that was the most important goal she wanted to achieve these days.

After forgetting about her task for quite a while, but suddenly remembering this morning, she had decided to visit the Great Bazaar and look for some clothes. While walking through the streets, she inspected what the passers-by were wearing and spent some thinking on the current style. Since it was summer, something airy and light would do, in bright colors. Malia didn't like bright colors though – so something like pale grey or light blue, right? Perhaps combined with something darker. In comparison to the women that took pride in showing their gender's physical advantages, she had found no use in long, flowing skirts and beautifully ornamented sleeves. Malia wasn't like them, and something simple would be cheaper and serve it's purpose as well.

Malia's thoughts went on rambling for a while, until she reached the outskirts of the Bazaar around Stormhold Castle. When following the loud noise she quickly found the entrance and an information booth nearby. After having inquired about a map, she carefully inspected it, trying to find out where the clothing section was. She wouldn't find anything with quality here, but anything was still better than nothing.

With the exact way depicted in her mind, she started walking, paying no attention to the stands around. If Malia had a goal, she would do her best to reach it while blending out any possible distration. Plus, she didn't like crowds. They made her feel what she was even more than usually—a real pain.

Yes, I am an introverted being, feeling most comfortable at home and in the presence of the gods, but I can do nothing about it! So what?

[Angelabeth Dunkirk]

The best of the city's clothing shops was, by all accounts, the Elegant Weave. And it was, not coincidentally, the shop where Angelabeth had tried -- successfully -- to secure a job upon her arrival in Syliras. The girl was just getting to work this particular morning and was about to open the door when she saw that someone else was coming toward the shop as well.

She turned, and for a moment, she froze. The posture, the skin, and those eyes -- those eyes! -- were an instant giveaway that the other woman was Nuit. Angelabeth had never actually seen one before, but she had grown up hearing stories about them. The father of one of her childhood friends had sailed to Sahova once, and came back full of wild tales about the creeping horror of the walking dead. Angelabeth didn't usually pay much attention to what sailors said about their travels, but there had been something about this one that attracted her terrified interest. They hardly speak, you know -- they just look at you with those black, empty eyes, and you know that if they wanted to, they could make you one of them, the ones that even Lhex won't take...

Two blinks, and Angelabeth was in control again, her bland facade of politeness the only thing visible on her face. "Hello," she said, in the same tone with which she would have greeted anyone. "Are you looking for something in the Elegant Weave? I'm one of the seamstresses and designers." Although, the girl thought wickedly, it would probably take more magic than even the finest fashions could produce to make the Nuit look chic.

[Malia]

Malia hadn’t expected the Elegant Weave to be an actual shop, since a bazaar was usually just that—a bazaar, consisting of booths with the wares lied out on small tables or blankets. She had come across some of them during her walk through the streets, so she had nearly walked past the impressing front of the shop, assuming that clothing would be provided at other booths.

Then she heard a voice, recognized the word ‘seamstress’ and turned around. A pretty young girl stood there, a few steps away from entering the store that apparently was her workplace. Malia couldn’t resist but compare the girl with herself … When she was the living death, the girl was life itself, graced by Kihala, while Malia had already been touched by Dira. But upon further thinking about it, Malia remembered that the girl would eventually grow old and crinkled and fade away, while she herself would remain, with bags under her eyes and alone, but alive, strangely so. Tanroa, in control of the time, had given her a gift … and a curse. Because that also meant that Malia and the girl could never become friends.

Well, the girl didn’t look like she wanted to be her friend anyway. Malia sighed silently and made a few steps into her direction. “Hello”, she replied to the greeting. Still the girl symbolized the beauty of youth and life to Malia, and so she smiled slightly, delighted by the image. She also hoped that friendly behavior would calm her opponent down. Few people managed to behave normally when accompanied by Nuit. Malia had already learned that a long time ago and it didn’t distract her anymore.

Anyway, she did need clothing, didn’t she? And that was what she should concentrate on. “You are right. I would be glad if you helped me with my request.” A slight nod indicated that she was eager to enter the shop and talk about business. Her façade was perfect as ever, smooth and neat. Nothing would indicate what she really thought about the girl and herself, about their accidental meeting.

[Angelabeth Dunkirk]

Neither of the pair, it seemed, were much for showing what was going on inside them. Angelabeth returned the smile, and motioned for Malia to follow her inside. The interior of the shop was spacious and luxurious -- it was clearly a high-quality establishment. The human brought her prospective customer over to her own workspace, and then turned slightly.

"I'm Angelabeth Dunkirk, by the way." No matter who the customer was, it was important to get one's name out there. "We've got any number of things already made, and I'm capable of making any garment that you might wish to be custom-designed. What sort of clothing are you looking for?"

It was interesting, Angelabeth thought, how even when the content of things changed, the form often did not. She was talking to one of the living dead, the creatures she had been taught to fear through whispered stories on long winter nights. And yet she was making the same bland conversation that she had made hundreds of time in her mother's shop in Zeltiva, the same meaningless pleasantries and open questions. Perhaps when it was finally her turn to meet Lhex, it would be the same way, and she would take his measurements and fit him for a vest before being assigned her next incarnation.

This was more philosophical than Angelabeth usually got, and she pushed the thoughts away for a moment. She smiled again, a gesture that was by now completely automatic, and awaited further instructions.

[Malia]

„Call me Malia“, the undead simply replied and inspected the shop with her usual meaningless expression. Perhaps she was annoyed by her own stupidity, because she had forgotten to put white face powder on. Powder to conceal what she looked like, to hide what she was … Malia wasn't one of those people who liked to play different roles and hide the truth, but the powder prevented her from many suspicious glances. When wearing it she didn't feel so … naked. That was a beginning.

But then, perhaps her being here was another paradox. What was clothing if not a shell to conceal a body that didn't even belong to her? Malia, like any other Nuit, was stealing bodies to live, live and live until she would be killed or kill herself. She had never thought about suicide. Perhaps in a thousand years or so she would consider it, but not yet. Whatever humans or other living creatures said, she was still young. Her Master had been a fair share of decades older. At this age they were still bound to the living world of hot flesh and touching emotions, were still capable of feeling and making mistakes. Were still able to blend into society which required proper clothing.

Thus Malia felt a bit nervous at such a huge, luxurious shop. She hoped that a simple set of clothing wouldn't be too expensive here … However, the best way to knowledge was asking. Perhaps the need to talk with others was the reason why Malia didn't like shopping. She had to pretend that she cared for her appearance—while in fact she did not. Well, well.

Wandering around the shop and looking at different materials and designs Malia thought about Angelabeth's questions. Of course, she had to tell her something so the girl could help. At least that was what shopkeeper's where there for, right? After some time Malia slowly replied: „I'm just looking for a set of simple street clothing. Perhaps made out of warming materials like wool.“ Summer was fading all too quickly. Malia didn't care if she was freezing, but her body needed to be well cared for. The healthier the body the longer it would last. While Malia continued, her black tongue was visible every now and then. „Trousers and a long-sleeved top. A matching scarf perhaps, and gloves. I'm content with dark shades of red and grey.“ She didn't know why but Malia liked gloves. They gave the wearer even more anonymity, something she appreciated. After all she truly was nobody, a pale ghost wandering a world it didn't belong to. And she wanted to look like it.

After having finished her request she eyed the girl. Apparently they had something in common when it came to talking habits. And there was something else too … However, the girl was a human and while her body looked fresh and worth considering they could never be friends. Never, never, never ever.

[Angelabeth Dunkirk]

"Malia," Angelabeth repeated. It seemed so...normal. Of course, what had she been expecting. Even a Nuit wasn't likely to go around dropping a name like, say, ANGVARK, DESTROYER OF SOULS. After all, it wouldn't help them lull you into a false sense of security before they bled you out and possessed your body...

"Wool street clothing." The seamstress turned and walked over to a rack. "Here are some grey trousers. I'm thinking these will fit you, but you may, of course, try it on to be sure. This top here, I'd suggest this." She lifted a deep red sweater off the rack. "For you, I'd recommend the color on top, rather than the other way around." Malia's face was deathly pale enough without the grey next to it washing her complexion out even further. It was a reflex for Angelabeth to think about style, even when her customer obviously wasn't interested in such things.

"A grey scarf, and red gloves." These she had made herself, specifically as coordinating separates. She handed them to the Nuit, curious to see if her customer would find them to be acceptable.

How did the undead decide what was acceptable anyway? Something that would conceal them so that no one would know their identity? Something that would retard the decay that inevitably destroyed the corpses they inhabited? Angelabeth glanced at Malia's face; something about her tongue was unnerving. Nonetheless, she smiled again. Business, even with the walking dead, was business.

[Malia]

Despite the fact that she turned to business almost immediately, there was something about that girl that made Malia hesitate and watch. How she had repeated her name … how she looked at her body, trying to find a fitting shape and color … Malia knew that humans reacted differently to Nuit than they would to other humans, and she saw the first signs of different reaction at Angelabeth. At that very moment – everything was asymmetrical. Because Malia was the superior, because the relationship was unbalanced.

For some reason that fact amused her. It had been a long time since she had felt and consciously enjoyed the power she could possess over humans. She could control them, could make them do everything she liked, just out of such a simple feeling as … fear. That was amazing, simply amazing. And that was all that Malia thought about it.

She had already given up hoping for a friendship. Hoping for some warmth and trust. Nuit never felt warmth for the soul, never trusted a mortal being. Never. Was that all?

Anyway, she inspected the pieces of clothing Angelabeth handed over, looked at the colors, felt the material. Soft, so soft. Would it protect her body which probably was even weaker? Another question was raising inside her mind. “I like the sweater, it’s color”, she said absentmindedly, trying to catch the words and voice them properly. “But the trousers … I remembered that I might rather like some robust trousers. Made of a material that offers protection. Indeed, that would be useful.” The last sentence was uttered to herself, not meant to be heard by the girl.

Malia started to feel some kind of anxiety, there at the clothing store. At the same time she carefully watched Angelabeth, the girl who feared her. Naturally. Perhaps it was okay to have some fun with her, just because … she hated that anxious feeling? That was totally alright, or not?

Nevertheless a grin was slowly spreading over her face. It wasn’t friendly, rather polite. Close to emotionless. However, with a hint of wickedness. She offered Angelabeth another look at the pieces. “What do you think? Do they suit me?”