Doug and Angie do a Fashion
Nov. 20th, 2019 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsDoug finally admits that this blood curse thing isn't going away. So Marie-Ange takes him shopping, because his entire wardrobe needs updating now that he's not a huge gym rat.
"None of my clothes fit anymore." Doug sounded a bit morose as he stirred his coffee listlessly. "I mean, I got some smaller sizes of things, but they don't fit the same way." The effects on his body from the blood curse were wearing him down more than usual that day. "Like, I went from Eliot Spencer to Eliot Waugh." He grumbled. "And not even sexy Eliot Waugh, more like gaunt hot mess Eliot Waugh."
"You are not gaunt, and you do not have ..." Marie-Ange was making careful notes on a tablet, tapping the screen emphatically every few seconds. "Wait, you have seen the last season, yes? Because do you mean deposed King Elliot, or possessed Elliot?" She waved a hand. "Which is not relevant because that actor was just being dressed correctly or incorrectly depending on the scene and none of that is relevant and I am also clearing your calendar for the day."
"This is going to involve so much shopping, isn't it," Doug said, more a statement than a question. "Never let it be said I don't give you nice things, I guess?" He paused, then grinned. "Wait, does the eyepatch make you Margo?"
"I have been ordering and wearing embroidered eyepatches for months and only now you make that connection?" Marie-Ange's eyepatches were not as elaborate as Margo Hanson's but she was not a High King of Filory. She did not need beading and gold flake and hand stitched seed pearls.
Doug grumbled. "It's not my fault I have brain fog these days." He leaned over to look at where Marie-Ange was tapping away at her phone. "Are you lining up personal shoppers already while we finish our coffee?"
"No, do not be absurd. I am making reservations for breaks. You have stupid magic blood, this is not going to be a whirlwind of shopping and bag hauling. We are taking the day off, and eating tiny delicious meals and shopping at select stores that will not gossip or stare down their noses when you need to sit and have things brought to you." Marie-Ange paused, slid her finger across the screen of her phone and then tapped the home button. "Goodness you would think you had never been shopping with me before. Or shopping with Emma. Or Hope."
"You know, that's what boutiques need to add. LIttle nap rooms for when you get overwhelmed by the amount of Fashion going on." Doug nodded. "It's not that I haven't been shopping with you, just that I know you can be a bit...focused."
Marie-Ange scoffed. "This is focused. I am very focused on making sure you get through an entire wardrobe refresh without curling up in a pile of discards like a... " She waved a hand airily. "like a ferret and deciding that we can try clothes on you while you are asleep." She paused. "Do not even dare, the whole idea is to make sure you do not need a nap. This is not... it is not like when we were sixteen and I did not know who you were on the inside, not really, and you were hiding in the video game arcade at the idea of..." Another hand gesture. "body modifications!"
---
"Good lord," Doug mused as he looked at himself in a three-way mirror. "I'm wearing the same size jeans that I had when I was first at the mansion and like -this- big around," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger in a circle. He blew out a breath. "I mean, on the one hand yay for being slim, but on the other hand I worked hard for that sixpack, you know?"
"Do not be absurd." Marie-Ange picked up a pair of pants from the 'potential' stack, and looked carefully at the labels. "You are one size larger in the waist, and two in leg length. You are taller than you were at sixteen. Just as dramatic though." She stood and crossed the dressing room area, looking at Doug from another angle. "Should we cash in your one drink maximum to mourn the loss of your obsessive gym routine?"
"I'm a -lightweight-," Doug said, leaning in hard to the 'just as dramatic' with a hand to the brow and a slump. "And -old-." It was still somewhat ridiculous to him that thirty was several years in the rear view mirror at this point.
"I have one eye and a scar from being shot in the heart." Marie-Ange said, just as plainly as Doug had been theatrical. "Are we going to do this now, or can we go back to getting you fitted for slim fit shirts and vests so you stop looking like you cannot read clothing sizes?"
Doug had known her long enough to know she was mostly joking, but he also knew that pushing things much farther would end badly, so he threw up his hands in surrender. "Okay, no more metaphorical dick measuring, yours is bigger, we're good." He flicked one hand. "I'll save my one drink for later."
For a moment the shirt Marie-Ange held up covered her expression, and whatever momentary embarrassment passed from her face before she handed it over to Doug. The pause in emotional control would have been missed by almost anyone else. "In the realm of things that have changed since you were sixteen is that also something we should discuss? Though perhaps not in a changing room." She did not - pointedly did not, even - give Doug a chance to respond before holding up another shirt to compare shades. "I think the first one is too bright. It does not suit your personality, yes? You are never this kind of color."
"Why did we even put that one on the pile?" Doug asked with a wrinkled nose. "Or was it to check fit and size, and then we could see if they had it in something else?" He'd lost track of exactly why Marie-Ange had selected each of the items of clothing she had.
"Color matching. Your complexion has changed, and it is likely to stay that way for the time being." Marie-Ange held up yet another shirt, looked up at the lighting in the dressing room and frowned. "No more basic black for you, unless you suddenly want to go full gothic, and that is ridiculous. You are blond."
Doug nodded in firm agreement. "And I'd rather not look like a reject from an Anne Rice novel." He glanced at the mirror and raised his eyebrow. "I'm a superhero, not a vampire, after all." Then he turned back to Marie-Ange. "Besides, I'd need white instead of black, except replacing my Court garb was like the first thing Emma did."
It took a few interrupted gestures before Marie-Ange could speak, and even before that, 'irritation' was written all over her expression. "You. Have spent a year in poorly fitted clothes for what? And all this time that particular piece of your wardrobe has been re-tailored for you?" She set down the shirt she had been examining, and very painstakingly began folding it. "I am going to go get you vests, now that I know what shirts and colours you can wear, and please think about this and I will be back in a few minutes."
~Well, shit.~ It was pretty obvious Doug had stepped in it with that last comment. That one drink maximum was starting to look more appealing. "Okay, so here's the thing," he began as Marie-Ange returned with an armful of items. "Doing Hellfire shit...it's not like I just have a blank check from Emma, and it seemed more important to react quickly to that." He sucked in a breath and bit his lip. "But past that...it's like, this thing happens to you, and everything changes, but somewhere in the back of your head you've convinced yourself it's temporary. That you'll be able to just go back to the way things used to be. And all my clothes will fit right again. And then you blink and it's been a -year-, and this is the new normal, and if I buy all this clothing, then...I've somehow resigned myself to this being how it's always going to be."
"I do not know what to say now." Marie-Ange set her fashion gatherings down and then sat down quite suddenly on one of the chairs in the little changing room. "I want to be annoyed with you and then I wake up some days and hope my eye is back and all of this was a very stupid dream that I can prevent, and I put it all off for years." She picked up a vest from the top of the stack and unfolded it, refolded it, and unfolded it again. "And then I am annoyed with myself for making this about me and not remembering that you... " She handed the vest to Doug. "You get stuck, you get stuck in routines and you get up at four thirty in December to go to the gym even when it is miserable out because that is your routine and I should have remembered before snapping and..." She cut herself off with a resigned huff. "I am rambling, and I apologize for being short at you."
--
The pair sat in a booth, a variety of appetizers on plates and several different condiments spread on the table between them, like the unhealthy deep-fried American version of dim sum. Doug had declared that if they were going to be mature and responsible and use their words for a change, he felt that they should balance it out with terribly unhealthy eating decisions, because something something the universe demanding payment in return. Mostly it was because he needed a break after the physical and emotional heavy lifting he'd done.
"You are going to die from a distended stomach. No, I am going to die from distended stomach." Marie-Ange was using her fork to maneuver a mushroom cap around her plate. "You will never speak of me eating southwestern eggrolls in the office. I have a reputation to maintain as a snob who exists on salads and wine and tea." She indicated the heap of corn and egg roll wrapper and bits of avocado on her plate. "It is like knowing the cat meme, I would have never been allowed to forget that if Jubilee had not been too drunk to remember."
"I think I deserve credit for my restraint there," Doug noted. He did love to make jokes long past their expiration date, after all. "Mostly I wanted to eat a physically unlikely number of mozzarella sticks," he continued, dipping one in a ramekin of ranch dressing. "Y'know, fuel up for the next segment of shopping." They'd gotten several things at the first stop, but there were several more places on the agenda.
"And this is why you have to eat ..." Marie-Ange pointed at one of the plates on Doug's side of the table. "Bacon jam boneless hot wings?" She had refused. There were limits, she had them, and they prevented her from ever having to touch anything that sticky that tried to call itself food. "Is the fuel the jam, or the bacon?"
"Yes." Doug's lips quirked as he attempted to keep a straight face. "The doctors said to get a lot of protein to counter the anemia thing, so..." He finally lost it in a fit of giggles at the expression on Marie-Ange's face. "I mean, they're actually really good, and you can eat them with a fork if you want to try..."
Marie-Ange's eyebrow went up, teasingly. "If I wanted to know what bacon jam and sriracha together tasted like, I would kiss you. Then I do not have to set my mouth on fire and I get a kiss."
"The things I do for love," Doug said with an amused tilt to his head as he rested his chin on his hand. "So what's next in terms of shopping?"
"Accessories." Marie-Ange pulled out her phone and tapped through her now frequently updated list. "Shoes, belts, new winter things." She paused. "Underwear. Socks. Do you want to go full Elliot Waugh?"
"Well, I think I could rock a cravat," Doug mused, running his hand along his neck. "I don't know about -full- Elliot, though. Some of those High King outfits might be a bit much. I mean, at least one of them looks like they raided someone's mom's house and turned the drapes into a pantsuit."
"I would never. All his colors are wrong for you, and we already discussed how you cannot go goth." Marie-Ange tapped her phone again, knocking items off her list. "No eyeliner, no crown made of rocks, no talking boat..."
Doug snorted. "Look, I could make myself a talking boat. If I wanted one. And didn't have a crippling fear of malicious AI." He paused for a moment. "And if I really wanted a crown made of rocks, Emma could probably make that happen somehow." He cocked his head. "Eyeliner's negotiable though."
"None of my clothes fit anymore." Doug sounded a bit morose as he stirred his coffee listlessly. "I mean, I got some smaller sizes of things, but they don't fit the same way." The effects on his body from the blood curse were wearing him down more than usual that day. "Like, I went from Eliot Spencer to Eliot Waugh." He grumbled. "And not even sexy Eliot Waugh, more like gaunt hot mess Eliot Waugh."
"You are not gaunt, and you do not have ..." Marie-Ange was making careful notes on a tablet, tapping the screen emphatically every few seconds. "Wait, you have seen the last season, yes? Because do you mean deposed King Elliot, or possessed Elliot?" She waved a hand. "Which is not relevant because that actor was just being dressed correctly or incorrectly depending on the scene and none of that is relevant and I am also clearing your calendar for the day."
"This is going to involve so much shopping, isn't it," Doug said, more a statement than a question. "Never let it be said I don't give you nice things, I guess?" He paused, then grinned. "Wait, does the eyepatch make you Margo?"
"I have been ordering and wearing embroidered eyepatches for months and only now you make that connection?" Marie-Ange's eyepatches were not as elaborate as Margo Hanson's but she was not a High King of Filory. She did not need beading and gold flake and hand stitched seed pearls.
Doug grumbled. "It's not my fault I have brain fog these days." He leaned over to look at where Marie-Ange was tapping away at her phone. "Are you lining up personal shoppers already while we finish our coffee?"
"No, do not be absurd. I am making reservations for breaks. You have stupid magic blood, this is not going to be a whirlwind of shopping and bag hauling. We are taking the day off, and eating tiny delicious meals and shopping at select stores that will not gossip or stare down their noses when you need to sit and have things brought to you." Marie-Ange paused, slid her finger across the screen of her phone and then tapped the home button. "Goodness you would think you had never been shopping with me before. Or shopping with Emma. Or Hope."
"You know, that's what boutiques need to add. LIttle nap rooms for when you get overwhelmed by the amount of Fashion going on." Doug nodded. "It's not that I haven't been shopping with you, just that I know you can be a bit...focused."
Marie-Ange scoffed. "This is focused. I am very focused on making sure you get through an entire wardrobe refresh without curling up in a pile of discards like a... " She waved a hand airily. "like a ferret and deciding that we can try clothes on you while you are asleep." She paused. "Do not even dare, the whole idea is to make sure you do not need a nap. This is not... it is not like when we were sixteen and I did not know who you were on the inside, not really, and you were hiding in the video game arcade at the idea of..." Another hand gesture. "body modifications!"
---
"Good lord," Doug mused as he looked at himself in a three-way mirror. "I'm wearing the same size jeans that I had when I was first at the mansion and like -this- big around," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger in a circle. He blew out a breath. "I mean, on the one hand yay for being slim, but on the other hand I worked hard for that sixpack, you know?"
"Do not be absurd." Marie-Ange picked up a pair of pants from the 'potential' stack, and looked carefully at the labels. "You are one size larger in the waist, and two in leg length. You are taller than you were at sixteen. Just as dramatic though." She stood and crossed the dressing room area, looking at Doug from another angle. "Should we cash in your one drink maximum to mourn the loss of your obsessive gym routine?"
"I'm a -lightweight-," Doug said, leaning in hard to the 'just as dramatic' with a hand to the brow and a slump. "And -old-." It was still somewhat ridiculous to him that thirty was several years in the rear view mirror at this point.
"I have one eye and a scar from being shot in the heart." Marie-Ange said, just as plainly as Doug had been theatrical. "Are we going to do this now, or can we go back to getting you fitted for slim fit shirts and vests so you stop looking like you cannot read clothing sizes?"
Doug had known her long enough to know she was mostly joking, but he also knew that pushing things much farther would end badly, so he threw up his hands in surrender. "Okay, no more metaphorical dick measuring, yours is bigger, we're good." He flicked one hand. "I'll save my one drink for later."
For a moment the shirt Marie-Ange held up covered her expression, and whatever momentary embarrassment passed from her face before she handed it over to Doug. The pause in emotional control would have been missed by almost anyone else. "In the realm of things that have changed since you were sixteen is that also something we should discuss? Though perhaps not in a changing room." She did not - pointedly did not, even - give Doug a chance to respond before holding up another shirt to compare shades. "I think the first one is too bright. It does not suit your personality, yes? You are never this kind of color."
"Why did we even put that one on the pile?" Doug asked with a wrinkled nose. "Or was it to check fit and size, and then we could see if they had it in something else?" He'd lost track of exactly why Marie-Ange had selected each of the items of clothing she had.
"Color matching. Your complexion has changed, and it is likely to stay that way for the time being." Marie-Ange held up yet another shirt, looked up at the lighting in the dressing room and frowned. "No more basic black for you, unless you suddenly want to go full gothic, and that is ridiculous. You are blond."
Doug nodded in firm agreement. "And I'd rather not look like a reject from an Anne Rice novel." He glanced at the mirror and raised his eyebrow. "I'm a superhero, not a vampire, after all." Then he turned back to Marie-Ange. "Besides, I'd need white instead of black, except replacing my Court garb was like the first thing Emma did."
It took a few interrupted gestures before Marie-Ange could speak, and even before that, 'irritation' was written all over her expression. "You. Have spent a year in poorly fitted clothes for what? And all this time that particular piece of your wardrobe has been re-tailored for you?" She set down the shirt she had been examining, and very painstakingly began folding it. "I am going to go get you vests, now that I know what shirts and colours you can wear, and please think about this and I will be back in a few minutes."
~Well, shit.~ It was pretty obvious Doug had stepped in it with that last comment. That one drink maximum was starting to look more appealing. "Okay, so here's the thing," he began as Marie-Ange returned with an armful of items. "Doing Hellfire shit...it's not like I just have a blank check from Emma, and it seemed more important to react quickly to that." He sucked in a breath and bit his lip. "But past that...it's like, this thing happens to you, and everything changes, but somewhere in the back of your head you've convinced yourself it's temporary. That you'll be able to just go back to the way things used to be. And all my clothes will fit right again. And then you blink and it's been a -year-, and this is the new normal, and if I buy all this clothing, then...I've somehow resigned myself to this being how it's always going to be."
"I do not know what to say now." Marie-Ange set her fashion gatherings down and then sat down quite suddenly on one of the chairs in the little changing room. "I want to be annoyed with you and then I wake up some days and hope my eye is back and all of this was a very stupid dream that I can prevent, and I put it all off for years." She picked up a vest from the top of the stack and unfolded it, refolded it, and unfolded it again. "And then I am annoyed with myself for making this about me and not remembering that you... " She handed the vest to Doug. "You get stuck, you get stuck in routines and you get up at four thirty in December to go to the gym even when it is miserable out because that is your routine and I should have remembered before snapping and..." She cut herself off with a resigned huff. "I am rambling, and I apologize for being short at you."
--
The pair sat in a booth, a variety of appetizers on plates and several different condiments spread on the table between them, like the unhealthy deep-fried American version of dim sum. Doug had declared that if they were going to be mature and responsible and use their words for a change, he felt that they should balance it out with terribly unhealthy eating decisions, because something something the universe demanding payment in return. Mostly it was because he needed a break after the physical and emotional heavy lifting he'd done.
"You are going to die from a distended stomach. No, I am going to die from distended stomach." Marie-Ange was using her fork to maneuver a mushroom cap around her plate. "You will never speak of me eating southwestern eggrolls in the office. I have a reputation to maintain as a snob who exists on salads and wine and tea." She indicated the heap of corn and egg roll wrapper and bits of avocado on her plate. "It is like knowing the cat meme, I would have never been allowed to forget that if Jubilee had not been too drunk to remember."
"I think I deserve credit for my restraint there," Doug noted. He did love to make jokes long past their expiration date, after all. "Mostly I wanted to eat a physically unlikely number of mozzarella sticks," he continued, dipping one in a ramekin of ranch dressing. "Y'know, fuel up for the next segment of shopping." They'd gotten several things at the first stop, but there were several more places on the agenda.
"And this is why you have to eat ..." Marie-Ange pointed at one of the plates on Doug's side of the table. "Bacon jam boneless hot wings?" She had refused. There were limits, she had them, and they prevented her from ever having to touch anything that sticky that tried to call itself food. "Is the fuel the jam, or the bacon?"
"Yes." Doug's lips quirked as he attempted to keep a straight face. "The doctors said to get a lot of protein to counter the anemia thing, so..." He finally lost it in a fit of giggles at the expression on Marie-Ange's face. "I mean, they're actually really good, and you can eat them with a fork if you want to try..."
Marie-Ange's eyebrow went up, teasingly. "If I wanted to know what bacon jam and sriracha together tasted like, I would kiss you. Then I do not have to set my mouth on fire and I get a kiss."
"The things I do for love," Doug said with an amused tilt to his head as he rested his chin on his hand. "So what's next in terms of shopping?"
"Accessories." Marie-Ange pulled out her phone and tapped through her now frequently updated list. "Shoes, belts, new winter things." She paused. "Underwear. Socks. Do you want to go full Elliot Waugh?"
"Well, I think I could rock a cravat," Doug mused, running his hand along his neck. "I don't know about -full- Elliot, though. Some of those High King outfits might be a bit much. I mean, at least one of them looks like they raided someone's mom's house and turned the drapes into a pantsuit."
"I would never. All his colors are wrong for you, and we already discussed how you cannot go goth." Marie-Ange tapped her phone again, knocking items off her list. "No eyeliner, no crown made of rocks, no talking boat..."
Doug snorted. "Look, I could make myself a talking boat. If I wanted one. And didn't have a crippling fear of malicious AI." He paused for a moment. "And if I really wanted a crown made of rocks, Emma could probably make that happen somehow." He cocked his head. "Eyeliner's negotiable though."
