silk chiffon — andal &. chiara
Oct 3, 2022 14:37:58 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 3, 2022 14:37:58 GMT -5
ANDAL SEARLEY
“Um, don’t you think this is a bit—” a silk lingerie to his face cut him off. “Excessive,” Andal sighed.
He woke up this morning with a beat in his steps to the shower. Andal’s itinerary today had a tour of the Capitol and Hunger Games museum during the afternoon and then some combat training to round it all off, the former of which made him beam in the bathroom mirror and the latter of which was responsible for his wince when he flexed an arm muscle. Finally gonna see some history. The clean sort, but it was history nevertheless, and beggars like Andal couldn’t be choosers. Whatever piece of lore came his way, he had a profound hunger to take and examine. Finally. His entire body had felt light as a feather, giddy and near bursting with excitement.
And that was a feeling he greatly missed as he stood in the lobby of a clothing store, hefting up a mountain of clothes in his arms.
Was it just him, or did his itinerary forget the part being Chiara’s personal cloth rack? He let out another sigh, correcting the balance of the silks cradled to his chest. “Shouldn’t our stylists be picking this stuff out for us?” It was bad enough that their escorts had abandoned them here, promising they’d be back in a flash. Andal had seen the looks those two had been exchanging all day. They hardly attempted to hide any of it.
Chiara studied a length of silk with the same intensity he would have with a powerful generator or a trinket. Her expression, however, betrayed nothing but boredom, and her stance was molded by titanium-steel confidence. Despite his colossal size, Andal felt way smaller than her as they stood cheek by jowl. “What part of Eleven are you from?” He asked, merely to keep the awkward silence from encroaching. “Think I have some relatives near the, uh, the pipe lines you guys have on the edges of town. Ever been?”
He woke up this morning with a beat in his steps to the shower. Andal’s itinerary today had a tour of the Capitol and Hunger Games museum during the afternoon and then some combat training to round it all off, the former of which made him beam in the bathroom mirror and the latter of which was responsible for his wince when he flexed an arm muscle. Finally gonna see some history. The clean sort, but it was history nevertheless, and beggars like Andal couldn’t be choosers. Whatever piece of lore came his way, he had a profound hunger to take and examine. Finally. His entire body had felt light as a feather, giddy and near bursting with excitement.
And that was a feeling he greatly missed as he stood in the lobby of a clothing store, hefting up a mountain of clothes in his arms.
Was it just him, or did his itinerary forget the part being Chiara’s personal cloth rack? He let out another sigh, correcting the balance of the silks cradled to his chest. “Shouldn’t our stylists be picking this stuff out for us?” It was bad enough that their escorts had abandoned them here, promising they’d be back in a flash. Andal had seen the looks those two had been exchanging all day. They hardly attempted to hide any of it.
Chiara studied a length of silk with the same intensity he would have with a powerful generator or a trinket. Her expression, however, betrayed nothing but boredom, and her stance was molded by titanium-steel confidence. Despite his colossal size, Andal felt way smaller than her as they stood cheek by jowl. “What part of Eleven are you from?” He asked, merely to keep the awkward silence from encroaching. “Think I have some relatives near the, uh, the pipe lines you guys have on the edges of town. Ever been?”
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