maskormenacelogs | [ closed ] what i really meant to say is i'm sorry for the way i am

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[ closed ] what i really meant to say is i'm sorry for the way i am

WHO: Kanaya Maryam & Annie Leonhart
WHERE: Heropa, FL, Residence 001
WHEN: After the first day of school, August 18th.
WHAT: Due for a meeting to "talk" following events earlier in August, Kanaya also attempts to correct Annie's tendency toward fashion oversight.
WARNINGS: None so far! I'll update if this changes. Teenagers.

Annie adjusted her messenger bag and considered the events of the day so far, wondering if the class structures were sturdy now, or if they'd be switched up at any point during the next two weeks. She'd managed to test into enough of a twelfth grade level to be jumped into the basic classes considered necessary for a senior student in the Heropa school system. It'd been a relief, knowing she was theoretically cutting down on her time in the school system.

Equally relieving to know all the studying she'd done the summer through, on top of the tutoring and the rest, had paid off.

Overall, she's in a more optimistic mood - the civilians at the high school remember her in part from the tail end of the last year, but being in a different class level left her with a different set of peers who didn't have to be any more or less interested in her than any of the other new faces - or at least optimistic for Annie. School was going to be less complicated than the rest of her life. She wants that to be true.

The same casual wear Kanaya had proclaimed as an eyesore is in full evidence even now: jeans, the running shoes she'd been helped with purchasing by Chad, who had since been ported out, and one of her plethora of ever-present hoodies. This one was dark grey. Lately, she felt like she'd been living in shades of the same.

Annie turns up the walkway in front of the first residence in the Heropa Government housing, knocking on the door once she reaches it.

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When Kanaya opens the door, it's evident that she picked out her own outfit to set an example, even if she hadn't strayed far from her signature colors. It's a simple dress, with white stockings and red flats. She has two chunky bracelets on her right wrist, red and teal, and a heart-shaped emerald around her neck. Dressed and accessorized; take notes, Annie.

The appraising look she gives her at first, and that slight screw to her lips, makes it very clear how difficult it will be to distract her from her goal today. But she gives Annie a nod and a smile before gesturing her in. "We'll be upstairs. Would you anything to drink? Tea, coffee? Water, if that's all you take."

Annie takes notes, but not for fashion reasons. Kanaya's height is simply a consideration; the state of her clothes, the care taken in presentation, thoughts on sturdiness of the flats... she notes Kanaya looks nice, much like she'd note that something beautiful is beautiful. The forest in a light rain when she's inside and warm, flowers pushing colorful faces through the grass in the early spring, when everything's green, the perfect cream of a well made hoodie...

... The last one might not actual be considered something beautiful by Annie, but then again, she hasn't sat down to consider what is, outside of what's generally agreed upon in a peer group. These things tend to be passing thoughts, not subjects of deep introspective contemplation.

"Tea would be good, thank you." Polite is something easier to manage, now that it's getting automatic to be sincere about it. Annie does appreciate tea, though on some level it's in part to laugh at how available it is here compared to back home.

Stepping in, she looks to pull her shoes off at the door. People don't generally appreciate dirt being tracked through their homes; she steps on her heels, kicking them off, and crouches down to hook her shoes over her fingers. A full inch shorter (like it mattered), Annie glances toward the stairs.

"Full house?" People do tend to come and go here.

"For now, yes." She can never answer that decisively, it's been too variable since she first arrived. Is residence #001, they tend to be the first house to get new arrivals when there's a vacancy, and the first few months are always the time when a newcomer's most likely to return again. It makes getting attached difficult, though a few of those vacancies were voluntary. "Rose and I have been the only residents who've been here from the start."

But her thoughts are interrupting by a loud whistle from the kitchen. "Ah!" She holds up a finger for Annie as she goes to quickly mind the kettle, pouring it out into her teapot before taking it back out to the foyer with a couple mugs. She doesn't take too long, it would be terribly rude to leave her guest waiting.

Annie's own height is something she notes as well, the last time they met face-to-face they were both seated. She could see Annie was smaller, but hadn't noticed just how much. Her measurements matter today, so it's something to notice. Kanaya's used to everyone she knows being shorter than her, but she's pretty sure Annie is shorter than any of them, as well.

"Sorry for the wait, why don't we head up to my office?" She turns to the stairs with a nod, letting Annie go ahead first.

Five full glorious feet of shortness. Not that Annie is even the shortest young woman here, but she'd have been surprised if she were. Even back home, she still was taller than a handful of other adults. Or at least taller than Krista (cum Historia). The whistle of the kettle is a pleasant surprise. Kanaya's offer should have made it commonplace, but it still feels different, all these commonplace indulgences.

She appreciates them. Her appreciation of the people involved is more stunted, another recent withdrawal that she's struggling with in her own way. She blinks, startled out of her thoughts, nodding to Kanaya in turn. She takes the lead, lifting a hand to tuck her bangs behind her ear again, needing her hands busy.

"Who's Rose?" She settles on asking as she walks, recognizing that name from the many ones listed on network, but attaching no real specifics to it past that. She glances back at the top of the stairs, waiting for further direction, and even an answer to her question.

"Oh. Sorry, my girlfriend. She's from my--well, not from my world, she's too human for that, but the complicated progression of universes where I originated." Which is too long a story to really get into, which is why she hates that she can't give an accurate summary of it while still being short without leaving questions. She hates having to answer the questions. "Whatever you want to call it, we're the only two left," said much lighter than the issue actually is, given how recently they lost their third. But that's Kanaya's way, treating something as if it's light so no one will notice how much it bothers her.

"It's the first door to the left," she says when Annie stops. But that door is guarded by a fat, striped orange cat, just lounging in front of it as though it's his. He rises on his hind legs when he sees Kanaya and mews at her in a way that's small for his size. She waves her foot at him to shoo him off and he lazily trudges to the other end of the hall, where a black cat seems to be stalking Annie from the far end. These are only two, the others are much better at hiding. "Here we are."

She opens the door to her office. It's an eclectic room, in the sense that it looks like it was a bedroom that hasn't quite fully committed to being a sewing room. The sewing desk is against one wall with its hard wooden chair, of course, with an antique hand-cranked machine for full hipster credibility, though a motorized machine is in its case on the floor in case she gets tired of being pretentious. Three wooden mannequins are scattered around, one of them wearing an in-progress suit, and a wheeled rack has some finished jobs hanging from it in garment bags. A rack is next to the desk to hold numerous rolls of fabric, different types and different patterns, maybe twenty in all. But on the other side of the room is a computer desk without a chair (because why have two when you can just move the one?) and a laptop closed on its surface, and a misplaced mini-fridge next to it. The nearby bookshelf is filled with what are definitely not sewing books, instead it carries the best and worst romance novels of two universes, some you'll never see in a bookstore on this world, but with an encyclopedia set along the bottom for good measure. Then a couch against the other wall with a recliner next to it and an accompanying table.

Kanaya places the tea and mugs on the computer desk, where she keeps a cup for sugar, and pulls cream out of the fridge. It's only open a moment, but if you saw inside it would be full of red water bottles and blood bags. She's not about to mix that in with everyone else's food. "Have a seat on the recliner, if you like. How do you like your tea?"

A progression of universes sounds like something bizarre and gargantuan, but with how Kanaya moves past it, clarifying that herself and Rose are the last from that place (losses along the way, Annie notes; this kind of existence exaggerates and speeds up the natural progression of losses of those they knew over time), it isn't the time to ask. She lets the statement turn over in her mind, filing it away after she concludes she doesn't have anything closer than the concept of close linked, near matching realities that don't quite line up as being perfect copies of each other. Alternate Universes, but that isn't a progression. It's a slide.

She turns as directed, blinking at the orange tom. Cats are even more strange to find in people's homes than dogs had been, where they'd moved past being creatures of the hunt, keeping the rodent population down to save food stores and cut down on disease spread, to being creatures who might hunt or not, but largely didn't do so to earn their keep. Annie looks down the hall when the tom strolls away, seeing the black cat at the far end. More than one cat?

She shakes her head when she steps into the room, shifting her observational skills to taking in her altered surroundings. There's a familiarity in how this is laid out, from the bolts of fabric (more than she'd have expected) to the wooden mannequin, to the rack of completed projects. As with so many things on this world, small details throughout throw her off - the plastic bags, the laptop on the second desk, the mini fridge, the bookshelf filled so casually with books, regardless of content - but having echoes of familiarity to places she's seen before is appreciated. Annie follows Kanaya's progress through the room with her eyes, seeing only a hint of red in that moment the fridge opens, if that. She moves further inside, keeping the door's location pinpointed in her spacial awareness.

"Straight, please." No sugar, no cream. One had mixed results, though better ones as her body adapted to trying to digest and break down milk protein from animals, and the other still was a strange luxury. Refined sugar, such as it was, being so readily available for everything still seems unbelievable. Too much, like many other details in this world. Everything, served on the side of just a little too much.

Annie remains standing. She's not precisely at ease, but she's not as tense as she'd been when standing at the front door. Things are easier once they're already in motion.

"How many clients are you working with at the moment?"

She fills the mugs, putting sugar just in one. With Annie turning down the cream, she returns it to the fridge, but takes out one of the red bottle for a moment to add to her tea. She doesn't particularly like hiding she's a vampire, and if they're going to be friends, she'll need to put it out in the open eventually. Or just toss hints around first. She hands the straight mug to Annie then she stirs at her own.

"I've got six open now, though four of them only need to be delivered." She points to the garment bags. Four jobs, but seven garments. "Another one's in progress while the last is still in the design phase. I'm waiting on approval for sketches I sent this morning."

Crossing over to the sewing desk, (she doesn't stay still much, does she?) she opens another case and removes a yellow measuring tape, setting it on the desk. Then, turning back to to Annie, she takes a sip of her tea. "You don't quite count. It wouldn't really do to expect payment from a job I insisted on, would it?"

The red bottle attracts her attention this time, a curiosity that has Annie shift her stance, watching Kanaya as she finishes with the tea. She accepts the mug handed to her, cradling it between both hands. There's a question there that waits while Annie watches and listens, still in contrast to Kanaya's constant movement. She lifts the tea to her lips, blowing light across the surface. She breathes in, enjoying the scent. The warmth seeping from the mug into her hands is nice, even in Florida, where the heat outside remains oppressive with it's humidity.

She's going to insist on this. Annie closes her eyes, sighing inwardly before opening her eyes again. "I'm not rude enough to allow you to work for nothing. I still think it's unnecessary, but you'll have to let me pay you for your time. This is your livelihood, isn't it?" It doesn't feel right otherwise. Annie has accepted charity and generosity in the past for the things she needs, but this isn't something she needs. It's a preoccupation Kanaya is suffering from, but there's still that chance that if she offers to pay Kanaya for her time, she won't also be obligated to wear it around in public if she isn't inclined to change her wardrobe. It's a more negative outlook on an outfit that doesn't even exist, but Annie has been slow and reluctant to change. She still looks for a pair of comfortable boots to buy, but all the ones she runs across aren't quite right. Sneakers are her concession to not running around in knee-high combat boots all the time.

Her eyes linger on the measuring tape. "What's in the red bottle?" It seems like a non sequitor, Annie's attention outwardly slow to shift over from whatever the measuring tape means to her. Her tea rests against her chest, held in both hands like something more precious than it should be. She looks up, gaze shifting to Kanaya as she lifts the tea to her lips, taking a small, measured sip.

Her eyes narrow in an appraising manner, but her dark lips curling into a knowing smile. Annie may intend to survive on stubbornness, but Kanaya has no shortage of it herself, and she's been running on it longer. She's confident that can take control of this situation easily enough.

"Human blood," she answers candidly, grinning so her fangs show, though that may not mean anything to her. But Annie might remember when after captured Aleksandr, she would have seen Kanaya drink from a metal flask with the same red liquid before her wound closed almost immediately. Kanaya doesn't waste any time after the answer, this isn't time to change the subject. She still has negotiations to complete.

"I'll make you a compromise," she continues, still smiling, her spoon clicking against the mug as she stirs. "I will accept payment only in the event that I'm satisfied with your reaction to the finished product. You only pay if I am satisfied that you are satisfied." And lying will of course be anticipated. How exactly she'll be sure she can trust whatever reaction Annie does give is something she'll have to work out between now and then. "While this may be my primary trade, it's hardly my sole occupation. Certainly not my main source of income. I can afford the loss."

She isn't about to ask for Annie's agreement, either. Waiting for agreement leaves room for argument, and she's not arguing. These are the terms and she'll accept nothing else. With a smug self satisfaction, she considers it a lesson in stubbornness. Putting her mug down, she pulls a roll of fabric off the rack, holding out a length for Annie. "What do you think of robin's egg blue?"

Compromises didn't usually start and end with the fact they weren't compromises at all. Annie has to recognize stubbornness, and one greater than hers; it's not a graceful giving, but she inclines her head forward, as if she'd really been ask for her consent in the first place. Human blood as an answer echoes through her mind, but it isn't a trait of the Risen, and moreover, she's been better instructed in the Risen and in werewolves to any other local supernatural lore.

Blood as a choice part of a diet, or a necessary one? Annie lets that thought turn over in the back of her mind. Sad, perhaps telling, that her first instinct isn't to pull back in alarm or fear, like it perhaps should have been. Too many things here have their own degrees of unsettling. It's not like she can't say she's had human blood coating some version of her tongue before.

Not to mention, making sense of certain events during Aleksandr's questioning relied on information she still didn't have at her disposal, if more was becoming available over time.

The question on color has her lowering her tea mug, not sure if there's some trick behind it - if robin's egg blue is a shade of blue, or something else entirely, and how the hell she's supposed to identify it over any other shade of blue.

"I don't know. What makes robin's egg blue different from another shade of blue? I don't know what that means."

Robins were a bird and a boy, but she'd never seen their eggs, let alone noticed if they were blue or not, and Robin didn't wear blues.

"Well, it's a cyan, so it has a hint of green in it. Closer to turquoise than teal." She hands the roll to Annie before she moves back to the rack to point out a few other rolls. She taps a couple of other light blue shades, and some darker, proper blues. "See, these are teal, aqua, cobalt, navy, royal blue. They're all slight shades and variations on a standard, like any color."

She turns back to Annie, folding her arms. "That one, I think, would match your eyes well. Presently, aside from being entirely too monochromatic, you're also pale, blonde, and blue-eyed. 'White' isn't really the message you want to overemphasize. Even aside from being bland, it has unfortunate connotations. You need color, and I think this would be a good start."

She looks back at Annie's hoodie, frowning thoughtfully. "Not that you have to do away with your entire wardrobe, it's a versatile color, and I think it would be easy to incorporate. As long as you practice a bit of variation. Blue top and white pants? I think it could work. Just don't add a white jacket on top, try a grey like that instead."

Though why she'd even wear a hoodie in Florida weather is another question entirely. But maybe she just isn't such a baby about the heat, like most humans are. Still, "have you considered a zip-up jacket?"

She wasn't going to remember any of those names for the different shades of blue. Even holding the roll Kanaya left her with, Annie's not sure how this is qualified as a robin's egg blue, but it doesn't matter so much as recognizing the label for this particular shade. Color had a much more complex range than anything Annie had bothered studying before, outside of a nod toward prisms (fascinating, what light held within it) and a crayon box in one of the overwhelming stores she'd ended up in to by her own writing journals.

All of this was part of a process of learning something new, and with inner reluctance, Annie considered how much of this she did need to know. Probably enough to get by on her own when she wasn't being directly guided by anyone else.

Robin's egg blue matches her eyes? She studies the color with puzzlement on her face. She'd never really thought about her eyes having any particular shade of blue. They were simply blue. What else mattered? Most the time, even that fact was irrelevant. She looks up, listening as Kanaya spoke, but ignoring large portions of what's being said. Annie wouldn't do away with any part of her wardrobe - she barely had one - but she might be persuaded to expand on it. Eventually.

"I think you're overestimating how much white or cream I own." One cream sweatshirt, more than white, and the white pants of her uniform. "Most the rest is in grays, browns, dark greens... Light greens." Anything that didn't stand out, which might be a more notable pattern as time goes on. Annie specifically dresses to be underwhelming, but not in such a way as to stand out in memory. She simply wants to pass by unremarked on. "White just seemed more appropriate than showing up like this."

What was variation? Comfort had everything to do with her (lack of) sense of style. Who even cared what color top she wore when the majority of the time no one was going to be seeing that top in the first place? Unless a collar showing at her neckline mattered. She supposed that was one of the possibilities.

"Zip-up?" She knows zippers in that she's seen them, the fact many of the people she's been around wear some variation of zippers on their clothing, and she'd had to figure out the stupid little ones on pants here, but exchanging the comfort of her hoodies for something with a hard line up the front and center hadn't yet crossed her mind. Enduring through extra heat did end up making her less comfortable in the long run, but what it didn't do physically, it made up for psychologically, so she felt like she was at a net gain in the end. "I hadn't thought about it, no."

Her first thought about the named colors is that they're very earthy, but not at all befitting Annie's complexion. That she could do better. But that isn't the only pattern to those colors, though it takes a second to click. "Bit military, isn't it?" She'd imagine Annie might want to distance herself from that look, given her history with it. Of course, she stands out like a sore thumb to Kanaya, Kanaya looks at her and sees a girl who very conspicuously doesn't know how to dress herself, but it's possible that others don't look quite the same way.

But the hoodie's the thing that stands out the most. Kanaya's from a rare subset of her species adapted to withstand the daytime heat of a blazing old giant of a sun. She feels cold wherever she goes on Earth, and even she still dresses appropriate to the season. A hoodie in the middle of August is unthinkable for a human. "You wouldn't be so warm with the zip-up, it would give you the option to open, or easily remove, your jacket instead of just sweating it out. We could use something thinner to make it, too. Something more appropriate to the current heat." Also, it would give a little more point to putting her in a different shirt, if they didn't just give her a different colored jacket entirely.

Annie knew she needed to stop courting heat stroke like she was a lovesick young woman, but it was harder to do when everything else was so wildly different that familiarity was one of the few luxuries she might be able to afford, at least on this level. Kanaya's comment makes her blink, brow furrowing in a moment's worth of confusion.

Bit military, isn't it?

"I don't know about that... brown and white would be military. Our half-jackets and our pants. The rest are colors I've always worn." Someone raised away from strong, lasting dyes, living in muddled colors and decent weaves of cloth by knowing hands. Hoodies were always the biggest indulgence in a way, and one of the few elements of homes she's always been able to take comfort in, even while in uniform.

"There's not much of a dye industry outside of Wall Sina." No word on the zip-up hoodie. Annie figures she has no real grounds to argue against logic, and saves herself the trouble. Kanaya has a point, in fact several, and they're all good.

She sips her tea. Silence is golden. Right?

Edited (dies dyes cries) 2014-09-01 02:02 (UTC)

Kanaya always keeps logic in her arsenal, it keeps everything tidy. It also makes it harder to argue with her, even when she's being entirely ridiculous. If she can present it as objective and unquestionably reasonable, that makes it more true, doesn't it? (No, it really doesn't. But she likes to think it does.)

Brown and white are both notably still in her list, but she'll let that point itself out. "But you've seen the military personnel of this world. It's all brown and green and grey, sometimes in a camouflage pattern, other times without. They do quite a bit of solid olive, which is something of an estranged child to brown and green. Especially in their casual wear." So, there you go, Annie. You may not wear camo pants, but with a palette like that, you are sending the clear message that you are just waiting for 18 to do basic training.

"It's just a bit conspicuous to me, when you mentioned your enlistment largely as motivated by deception. But you still carry the colors of such a field. Like a scar put prominently on display." She says it with a grimace, kind of a ghastly way to put it. But there's a reason she never bares her midriff, even if that's more literal than the metaphor she's making.

The first part of moving on is putting the past behind you, and that was a discussion that had to come up at some point today.

It presents it as having a veneer of true reasonableness, which is often enough to prompt people into a cursory agreement. Annie makes no comment about what she has or hasn't seen. If her wardrobe allows for certain interpretations, at present, it only aids with her ties to the military. For better and worse, they're in rank with each other, and she has to play nice and watch out for when they want to play her nicely to their own tune.

"Mmm. Maybe it is... but this is what I wore back home, too." Scars on display, huh? Annie concentrates on the warmth she leeches out of the mug into her hands. She doesn't need it, but it's reassuring, seeping into her finger joints. "I never thought about it as the world that I moved into."

More the last remnant of one she left behind. It's the same now, but she's less aware of that particular than she could be.

Holdovers. They're difficult to get over, and sometimes you don't want to. It surprises Kanaya to see it come from a human, someone who isn't the only member of her race in a world that isn't her own. But then, this world isn't for any of them, and the difference can be much greater for others than most. She's had time-displaced clients before, and what little she knows of where Annie comes from paints a clear contrast. It's something she'll need to work with.

"Well, we'll need to make the transition easier, then. Gradual. Making extreme changes may be to much a shock to what you're familiar with, so we'll just introduce things here and there, see what might work." It may be a long process, but she is committed to seeing it through. Annie will come out of this well-dressed, eventually, if she has anything to say about it.

She returns her fabric to the rack, picking up the measuring tape again. "So, shall we begin?"

Annie moves to find somewhere to set down her tea. She doesn't want her hands engaged is all she can think, turning words like gradual and shock over in her head, like they'll have some new meaning if she considers them for long enough. They don't. Their dimensions don't change, and she sighs inwardly, leaving her tea on a perch that seems two steps shy of precarious.

She doesn't see a need to change. Underneath all the rest, that holds true, and the reluctance tied in to familiarity and a remembered lifetime of dressing this way, being parts of this person called Annie, makes it difficult to see a reason for change. Not on this front.

She's committed to change on so many other fronts, does nothing get to escape that concept?

"If you're ready." Annie's hands find the bottom of her hoodie, pulling it upward and over her head with a steady, practiced motion. Her undershirt hikes up to about her belly, flashing pale stomach. It's looser in fit, a t-shirt closer to a tunic in concept than many things Annie has encountered here in town. Plain, unassuming. Her hoodie is folded in half once her arms are clear, sleeves carefully put to rights. She's neat in most her actions, not wasting energy in unnecessary movements, even the one where she sets her hoodie down to the side with the bolt of robin's egg blue.

"What kind of project do you have in mind?" She stands straight, arms loose at her sides, waiting for instruction, or waiting for the distance between them to close before she lifts her arms to keep them obediently out of the way, as she'd done for the fittings of half-jackets over the years.

Annie is pockmarked with holdovers. Even she can't see how many there are, littered in her actions, slowly falling away as she moves inexorably forward.

Kanaya glances down at the discarded hoodie, appreciating the neatness with which it is dealt. That's one thing she can say for soldiers, they at least know how not to make a mess. she rests a finger on her chin as she moves closer, trying to get a better understanding of annie's shape now that it's less hidden by the hoodie, but less hidden didn't mean it was much easier to discern.

"It will be the fashion equivalent of a wide spectrum analysis. Essentially, we'll be throwing whatever at the wall too see what sticks. Still, I have more specific ideas to start with. I'll do some sketches later, mostly tops."

She circles around, taking mental notes here and there. But she still doesn't have a good basis to start with. "On that subject, I'll need to be able to find your waist, and that one is drowning it. I have one that may fit closer if you wouldn't mind changing." The alternative, of course, is going without altogether, but she's not going to be the one to suggest it to someone she's only just getting to know.

Annie's sensibilities and concept of protecting herself had practical lines: Kanaya has moved from being "stranger" to being "professional," and Annie's apparent body shyness has less to do with her self-image and more to do with a sense of privacy of self and appropriateness of situation. Living in a barracks with other women, being relegated to using the same public bathing areas, the same public latrines, dressing under blankets in winter, stripping down to next to nothing in the summer, it's all part and parcel of experience.

"Would taking this off work well enough?" Annie plucks at the front of her shirt, giving Kanaya a calm, sincere look. She has her brassier on, so it's hardly an issue in her mind. This isn't a public place. She's been measured for things like this before, technically, and under less personable conditions.

Kanaya's had enough practice that it's generally a moot point. What might have flustered her at thirteen is more normalized at seventeen, something she had to get over to operate as a professional. Anything less would be sloppy workmanship, and nothing is more offensive to her than letting herself be guilty of that.

"I'ts actually preferred in a measurement, if you're comfortable with it. Gives a more accurate reading without the clothes in the way." She shrugs slightly as she takes back the couple steps she'd made toward her closet. "But I wanted to offer the option, in case it would be better. You're more likely to fit one of my tops than you are the bottoms."

Even if Kanaya owned a pair of trousers, they'd only leave Annie with at least six inches left in the legs. That wouldn't help at all.

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[ closed ] what i really meant to say is i'm sorry for the way i am

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