Nathan and Haroun, Tuesday morning

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Nathan's wedding outfit finally arrives. Haroun gets a sneak peek. There is sporran-mocking.


Grinning a bit foolishly as he levitated the large package behind him, Nathan climbed the stairs to the third floor. Still too slowly - stairs-climbing was one of the things that was fairly difficult, still - but he was leaning less heavily on his cane than he had been. He was out of breath by the time he reached the top, but the package floated steadily behind him, his telekinetic control almost back to precisely where it should be even during exertion. And about bloody time.

Haroun, who was waiting at the top of the stairs, gave Nathan a small golf-clap for his persistance. "Well done!" he said with pleasure. "So, you wanted to see me?"

"Oh, I had some questions regarding that tactical review Scott handed me the other day," Nathan said, then grinned. "But that can wait." He started down the hall, Haroun following, and inclined his head in the direction of the floating package. "My outfit for the wedding, finally. As I said, I should have had it shipped to Muir, but since we're not going to be over there until Friday I didn't want to chance arriving and finding out that anything didn't fit."

"Wise man." he said with a grin. "And I presume you want to show off your hairy disgusting legs in your skirt?" he teased the older man. It was good for him, kept him humble.

Nathan laughed. "Kilt! Kilt, damn it. One of these days you're going to absorb the difference." He opened the door to his suite and limped in, bringing the package to a gentle landing on the coffee table. "So what are you wearing, by the way?"

Haroun grinned again. "Your basic classic tuxedo. I think Alison's taking me out shopping. Any preference for tie and cummerbund color?"

"Hey, up to you," Nathan said, lowering himself onto the couch and beginning to unwrap the package. "Other than 'nothing blinding', I'm perfectly happy to leave that up to Alison's good taste."

Haroun winced. "Damn. You're hanging me out to dry here. Now I'm at Alison's tender mercies. But there is one thing I'm not likely to budge on. I want to wear my khaffiyeh." he said firmly. "You get your heritage stuff, I get mine. I know it's your day and all that, and if it's really going to be a problem let me know, but I want to. Besides, Scotland is COLD, and I want something covering my head."

Nathan paused, blinking. "Why would anyone be asking you to budge?" he asked, then grinned. "So long as it's, you know, a clean khaffiyeh without any dirty slogans or anything..."

Haroun laughed at that. "Hey, it's a wedding. People get weird at weddings. I promise - for you, only my absolute best." he grinned.

Nathan got the outer layer of wrapping off and saw the elaborate crest embossed on the box inside. "I still think Alison would have appreciated you in a kilt," he said innocently. "Sure you won't reconsider?"

"I'm positive." he said flatly. "I just don't have the legs for it."

"Can't blame a guy for trying." Nathan lifted the lid off. "They've sure packed this well," he said, seeing layers of tissue paper. "You would not believe how long it took me to settle on a tartan. Since I'm not Scottish."

"Sure I could, but I won't, because you mean well. So, let's see this tartan of yours. And are you sure you're not Scottish? Maybe one of your parents was, and you just don't know it." he pointed out, leaning in the doorway to watch Nate unpack his parcel.

Nathan found the kilt and pulled it out. "I forget what the name of it was," he said, "but it's one of the ones that you can wear when you don't actually have family or regional ties." It was dark blue, with dark green, dark red, and one contrasting white stripe. "I liked it," he said, running a hand over the fabric and marveling at how little it was wrinkled, even after a transatlantic trip. "Some of the other options were too light-colored. Pink and purple and the like." He rolled his eyes.

Haroun let out a most unmanly giggle. "Pink? Now, where _does_ Alison keep her copy of Photoshop..." he mused out loud with a grin. "I mean, seriously? Pink?"

"Just one of the stripes," Nathan said. "I suppose it has something to do with where they got their dyes, originally... there's a whole very complicated history the tartan, you know." He set the kilt aside and went digging in the box, coming up next with the shirt and jacket. "Looks to be about the right size," he said, holding the latter up against him. "Had to take into account how much weight I've lost."

"So go ahead and put it on, man!" he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "I'll keep an eye out for mad Scotswomen."

"Other way around, remember. I'm not allowed to see her in her wedding dress." Leaving the various accessories in the box for now, Nathan stepped into the bathroom and changed. "Crap, I think it's a little big, still," he said ruefully, hobbling back out. "I need to be lifting more weights."

Haroun smirked. "How fortunate that I just heard you say that. Any time you want to drag your flabby ass into the Gym and lift, let me know." Just for fun, he flexed his own impressive musculature. "You have lost a good bit of weight, and unfortunately, it looks like it was mostly muscle mass."

"Well, I wasn't carrying much of the other type of weight to start with, was I? All my ghostly friends and their wonderful effects on my metabolism... I ought to sell them as a diet option." Askani cackled at the back of his mind and he ignored her. He sat back down on the couch, digging into the tissue paper. "Sporran," he said, taking it out and setting it aside. "Never did 'get' these things. It's like 'Oooh, we must draw attention to our manly parts to compensate for the fact that we're wearing a skirt.'"

Haroun smirked. "Hey, at least you still have yours." he said without much of his usual bitterness on that topic. "My life is a bad song by King Missile. Shoot me now." he said melodramatically. "And hey, I'm sure that there's some whacko out there who might go in for the Fanatics From The Future Weight Loss Plan."

Nathan gave the shoes - brogues, he reminded himself - a doubtful look, then set them aside. The next thing out of the box was the little dirk whose Gaelic name he couldn't remember. "I'm going to look bizarre," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Hell, Moira even picked out a cane for me."

"Could this be the first stirrings of Bridezilla?" he grinned. "Should we alert NATO and have them hot-scramble the Alert Five aircraft? And you normally look bizarre."

"Hey, she's been doing very well," Nathan protested loyally. "If she gets a little tightly wound this close to the date, I think we can forgive her, don't you?" He pulled the knife out of its sheath. "Pretty little thing," he said thoughtfully, then set it aside. "Ow!" was his next comment, and he drew his hands back out of the box sharply. "Kilt pin," he explained a bit sheepishly, reaching back in more carefully to get it.

"Here, let me see that." he said, walking over to examine the knife more closely. "It's crap, Nathan. You stick someone with this, and it's likely to just snap on you. Might be good for cutting your meat at the table, though." He then glanced over to the kilt pin. "You might want to be careful not to bleed on your new tartan."

"It's not supposed to be functional," Nathan said a bit dourly, examining his thumb. Small but noticeable puncture wound, yes. He leaned back against the couch and let the rest of the contents of the box levitate themselves out. "At least, I don't think so. Like I said, I have very little idea how this whole... regalia developed, historically."

Haroun shrugged. "I still like my own traditional dress. Didn't you know it's tradition to mock everyone else's traditional dress?"