|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 6, 2009 15:53:19 GMT -5
Nicolas gently picked through the shirts on a near rack, but had already been there and knew them very well. His eyes were on Armand instead and he calmly anticipated his instructions. It did not occur to Nicolas to pick anything out; he would have managed poorly, anyway. He had really never shopped before.
|
|
|
Post by Armand on Feb 6, 2009 16:06:45 GMT -5
Armand watched him back, head tilted very slightly to the side. After a moment, he came to join Nicolas at the racks, drawing out this shirt and that one and giving them to Nicolas as he continued to look. He'd been paying attention before, even from across the room; Armand picked two shirts he'd seen Nicolas linger on the first tome at this rack, among others. His eyes ran over the selection very quickly, and then he moved onto the next one, this one of pants.
|
|
|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 6, 2009 16:14:03 GMT -5
Nicolas followed Armand, letting his mind drift a bit. He dutifully took everything Armand handed to him, but it still did not occur to him that these clothes were being bought for him to wear. After all, he liked his clothes. And wouldn't want new ones until he saw, perhaps, some outfit somewhere on someone else he was enamored of, or if Armand changed into something at some point and Nicolas was utter beguiled by him.
|
|
|
Post by Armand on Feb 6, 2009 16:28:19 GMT -5
Eventually Nicolas was carrying several different suits of clothing, and Armand had exhausted what he apparently considered the good stock of the selection. He turned around to find Nicolas drifting after him blankly and scowled. "Go try them on," he said, making a motion towards the fitting rooms.
|
|
|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 6, 2009 16:30:28 GMT -5
The confused grimace was almost comical.
"Armand, you are going to have to explain something or other sooner or later..."
|
|
|
Post by Armand on Feb 6, 2009 16:32:19 GMT -5
Armand was surprised by this, his eyebrows drawing up, his eyes going wide. How puzzled he looked. "You don't know how to try clothing on?"
|
|
|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 6, 2009 16:38:03 GMT -5
Nicolas was frowning in an unconsciously sullen and sweet way, sweet because of how devoid of disrespect it happened to be. "Of course I do. Everyone knows how to try clothing on." But Nicolas was from an age of tailors and did not even know that a dressing room existed here. "But you can't possibly expect me to just waltz off and find some place to put these on. We're in the middle of a store. They - " A shoulder-shrug gesturing at the mortals surrounding them. "Would notice."
|
|
|
Post by Armand on Feb 6, 2009 16:43:59 GMT -5
Armand blinked, then folded his hands in front of himself very gracefully as he spoke. "There are rooms here specifically to change in, so that one can be assured they like the clothing before they buy it. They're over there, in that corner, if you'd like to use one."
Ah, he'd assumed. This was funny again; he could have laughed at Nicolas' ignorant exasperation except that it would have made him more disagreeable.
|
|
|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 6, 2009 17:06:59 GMT -5
Nicolas' mood changed then, not quite to contrite, but to much more pleasant. "Ah, thank you, Armand," he said, smiling at him warmly. "Fine."
He headed back to the fitting rooms then, had to be stopped and shown in by a salesperson who looked at him quite strangely, then very carefully took his shirt off, bewitched entirely by his own reflection. The fluorescent lights of the fitting room were glaring and bright, and he looked positively paranormal, which, while not surprising, made it hard to tear his eyes away. Beyond that, the concept of watching himself dress and undress was bizarre and quaint.
He put on the first shirt, red silk, buttoned it up within moments, and then froze for a minute or two as, unmoving, he wondered what in the world he thought of it.
Which led inevitably to his wondering in vain if Armand would possibly come in and tell him what he thought, for Nicolas did not really care for anything there either way, at that time, anyway.
Unsure of fitting room etiquette, and not caring, either, Nicolas opened the door and half stepped-out, self-consciously, peering around for Armand and looking vulnerable again in the bright lights.
|
|
|
Post by Armand on Feb 7, 2009 8:36:23 GMT -5
Armand was there, of course- he hadn't wandered. He regarded Nicolas from one of the leather armchairs in front of the dressing rooms, looking small and half-swallowed in the large chair. He couldn't help but smile when Nicolas came out, uncertain, his shirt startlingly bright after the dingy sweater.
"It's not very you, is it," he said, lips still curling up in that smile. The cut wasn't right either, the shirt merely hanging from his shoulders, but Armand supposed he was biased, used to Nicolas in the more fitted clothing of his era and the hand-sewn garments of his own. "There is a cream sweater in there. See if that fits you better."
(( Armand the shopping guru. This feels so weird. ))
|
|
|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 7, 2009 13:48:45 GMT -5
((I guess you'd have to know what a shopping guru is?))
Nicolas nodded, running his hand through his hair and biting his lip as he did so, absent-mindedly, reassured and calmed, and slipped back in. He had stripped it off in a moment and folded it over its hanger in a moment, not taking the time to figure out how to get it back onto the thing in a moment. He'd seen clothing hangers before - in the apartment he'd had in New England, there'd been about thirty of them in the closet, none being used, none at all - but had never known what they were, and did not quite make the connection, even now.
He unfolded the sweater and pulled that one. It was tight, made to be so, with a high collar and long sleeves. Nicolas picked at the collar, which reached his jawline, absently, having never worn a turtleneck before, and opened the door again to again get Armand's permission. They'd just have to figure out what he would wear through this.
|
|
|
Post by Armand on Feb 8, 2009 11:53:25 GMT -5
(( Tiiimeskiiip. ))
Armand gave him a very scrutinizing look, perhaps unsettling in its intensity. Much better. Nicolas' dark curls were stark and distinct against the cream of the shirt, and his skin was not as startlingly white in comparison. Armand nodded curtly, and remained in his seat as Nicolas tried the other things he'd had picked out for him until they were through. Armand took the ones he wanted Nicolas to keep or that he'd seemed to like to pay for them, leaving the violinist to catch up or watch the poor clerk who had to readjust everything on its hanger and put the discarded choices away. Then Armand turned, laden down with packages that he fully intended to make Nicolas carry, and said to him, "Don't forget- your violin."
|
|
|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 8, 2009 14:55:34 GMT -5
Nicolas upset a few recently re-folded or put up articles of clothing to get his violin out, feeling both more comfortable in his old clothes and slightly, unsettlingly, ill at ease. They had all been too clean, a bit too fragrant, too nice and too new, but now he seemed self-conscious in them. He finished relacing his boots and followed Armand, marvelling at the way everything had been purchased, at how easily Armand did everything, staring at him as though he were something different against a backdrop of so much flesh. The sounds around them turned to a roar in Nicolas' ears as he watched Armand passively, secure with him.
If Armand spoke to him again, Nicolas could not distinguish that noise from any other, and watching him, relied solely on visual clues as to what to do.
|
|
|
Post by Armand on Feb 8, 2009 19:52:39 GMT -5
Armand ran through an inventory in his mind, sensible because Nicolas would not remember to be. Combs, scissors, the only little things a blooddrinker might need in the way of personal articles, he had those, but not shoes for Nicolas. Armand could take his boots later and have them sized and get shoes that way, however, or rather he'd send someone else to do it. And he knew what size Nicolas was now in shirts and pants, although he probably could have estimated that merely from the violinist's build, so in the future Nicolas would not have to go with him if he didn't like. Armand could fill the closet of whatever room Nicolas wanted for the duration of his stay with clothes and he would probably never even wonder where they came from or even notice that they weren't there before.
To feed, then, that was the only other thing left to do this evening. "Let's go back to the villa," Armand said, turning to speak to Nicolas, his voice too low for mortal ears. He noticed the particular look his companion was giving him, tender and intense, and frowned, turning more fully to gaze back up at him. "Nicolas," he said, as if trying to pull the other back to the present, or gain Nicolas' attention solely through the soft intonation of his voice and the very distinctly enunciated way he spoke.
|
|
|
Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Feb 9, 2009 8:02:55 GMT -5
Nicolas watched Armand's lip move, to him, the words soundless and incomprehensible; and as he had never really just focused on the way Armand shaped his mouth, he was almost shyly surprised to find it was such a... a pleasurable feeling, raising the downy hair at the back of his neck. He gazed back at Armand, and smiled, in a rather affable, innocent fashion that did not really suit their kind, being somewhat unnatural on them, as it was.
It was so easy to watch the eyebrows crinkle in the center, pucker, to watch this slim and white body turn towards him, without any noise to get in the way... Until Armand's lips parted again, and he spoke Nicolas' name, and in a tone so soft it seduced, and all the rest of the noise came back with it, and Nicolas looked faintly surprised but subdued as he shook his hair back and said, "Yes?"
|
|