李杏 | Frances J., a lion-hearted girl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
perfectworry) wrote2012-12-19 05:38 pm
perfectworry) wrote2012-12-19 05:38 pm
[shared 'verse: cactus flower (jazz remix)] À la Mode
title: À la Mode
verse: Cactus Flower (Jazz Remix)
community:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerverse
prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #6: And The Definition Is…
word count: 586
rating: PG
summary: Aya tried on Mariel's suit while she was sleeping.
notes: lol Christmas fic I totally forgot about that while I was traveling, derp.
"My dear Ms Scarlett, what are you doing?"
Across the room, Aya sat at her vanity, pursing her lips to apply a coat of color. Nothing remarkable about that, except for her clothing: she wore not a dressing gown, or even a dress, but suit finely tailored for someone else, so it hung off her shoulders and pooled at her wrists. She rolled up the hem of the slacks.
"Just playing," she said with a girlish laugh and a coquettish turn of her head. Aya had paired Mariel's suit with her favorite red cloche and Mariel's tie done up in a bow around her neck. "Do you like it, my dear? Your knot last night was too much for little ol' me, I'm afraid," but her voice held no hint of regret. On the contrary, she seemed quite pleased with her ingenuity in the face of a four-in-hand knot as she continued preening by the mirror.
"You look lovely," said Mariel, and she spoke truthfully: Aya was a sight indeed with her casual mismatch of styles, her too long slacks falling over kitten heels, a pearl bracelet peeking out from under one rolled-up sleeve.
"Thank you," giggled Aya.
"But Ms Scarlett," said Mariel, sitting up in Aya's bed. She wore only her underthings, and now found herself with her clothing, folded so carefully the night before by the foot of the bed, across the room and, even more difficulty, being worn by someone else.
"Yes, my dear?"
"If you are wearing my things, what am I to wear?"
Aya hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "You could wear something of mine."
Mariel shook her head. Assuming anything belonging to Aya would even fit her, which was doubtful, she had a reputation to keep and would no more walk out of Aya's room in a knee length dress than her husband would have done with her things.
"Or you can stay under the blankets over there for awhile. The maid won't come today, it's Tuesday." Aya leaned closer to the mirror to apply her rouge.
Mariel watched her from across the room, and found the girlish femininity of Aya's movements exaggerated by the men's clothing she wore. Her hands, always small and delicate, seemed fragile as porcelain when the cuffs of Mariel's shirtsleeves fell over them until only her fingers were visible. Aya danced across the room, heels of her shoes sinking into the plush carpet.
"Hm, thank you," laughed Aya, bending to give Mariel a kiss. She sat on the edge of the bed, kicking her legs out wide. "These are wonderful. I see why you wear them every day." She lay back, legs splayed. "Except, how do you keep your stockings up underneath?"
Mariel blinked in surprise as Aya stood and hitched up a pant leg, rolling it to her thigh. She bent forward and adjusted her garter and the offending stocking.
"Ms Scarlett, one generally does not wear stockings under trousers."
Aya frowned at this revelation. "Don't you?"
"Dear Ms Scarlett," laughed Mariel. "Last night, you undressed -" she coughed, the color rising to her cheeks. "If I wore stockings, you would have seen them."
"I suppose I didn't really think about it," said Aya, tapping her chin. "My attention was elsewhere, sheik."
"Ms Scarlett, honestly."
Aya batted her eyelashes, the very picture of innocence, before pirouetting across the room again, leaving Mariel to sputter with embarrassment and watch on in secret delight as Aya fluttered about in her husband's jacket.
verse: Cactus Flower (Jazz Remix)
community:
writerverse prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #6: And The Definition Is…
word count: 586
rating: PG
summary: Aya tried on Mariel's suit while she was sleeping.
notes: lol Christmas fic I totally forgot about that while I was traveling, derp.
"My dear Ms Scarlett, what are you doing?"
Across the room, Aya sat at her vanity, pursing her lips to apply a coat of color. Nothing remarkable about that, except for her clothing: she wore not a dressing gown, or even a dress, but suit finely tailored for someone else, so it hung off her shoulders and pooled at her wrists. She rolled up the hem of the slacks.
"Just playing," she said with a girlish laugh and a coquettish turn of her head. Aya had paired Mariel's suit with her favorite red cloche and Mariel's tie done up in a bow around her neck. "Do you like it, my dear? Your knot last night was too much for little ol' me, I'm afraid," but her voice held no hint of regret. On the contrary, she seemed quite pleased with her ingenuity in the face of a four-in-hand knot as she continued preening by the mirror.
"You look lovely," said Mariel, and she spoke truthfully: Aya was a sight indeed with her casual mismatch of styles, her too long slacks falling over kitten heels, a pearl bracelet peeking out from under one rolled-up sleeve.
"Thank you," giggled Aya.
"But Ms Scarlett," said Mariel, sitting up in Aya's bed. She wore only her underthings, and now found herself with her clothing, folded so carefully the night before by the foot of the bed, across the room and, even more difficulty, being worn by someone else.
"Yes, my dear?"
"If you are wearing my things, what am I to wear?"
Aya hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "You could wear something of mine."
Mariel shook her head. Assuming anything belonging to Aya would even fit her, which was doubtful, she had a reputation to keep and would no more walk out of Aya's room in a knee length dress than her husband would have done with her things.
"Or you can stay under the blankets over there for awhile. The maid won't come today, it's Tuesday." Aya leaned closer to the mirror to apply her rouge.
Mariel watched her from across the room, and found the girlish femininity of Aya's movements exaggerated by the men's clothing she wore. Her hands, always small and delicate, seemed fragile as porcelain when the cuffs of Mariel's shirtsleeves fell over them until only her fingers were visible. Aya danced across the room, heels of her shoes sinking into the plush carpet.
"Hm, thank you," laughed Aya, bending to give Mariel a kiss. She sat on the edge of the bed, kicking her legs out wide. "These are wonderful. I see why you wear them every day." She lay back, legs splayed. "Except, how do you keep your stockings up underneath?"
Mariel blinked in surprise as Aya stood and hitched up a pant leg, rolling it to her thigh. She bent forward and adjusted her garter and the offending stocking.
"Ms Scarlett, one generally does not wear stockings under trousers."
Aya frowned at this revelation. "Don't you?"
"Dear Ms Scarlett," laughed Mariel. "Last night, you undressed -" she coughed, the color rising to her cheeks. "If I wore stockings, you would have seen them."
"I suppose I didn't really think about it," said Aya, tapping her chin. "My attention was elsewhere, sheik."
"Ms Scarlett, honestly."
Aya batted her eyelashes, the very picture of innocence, before pirouetting across the room again, leaving Mariel to sputter with embarrassment and watch on in secret delight as Aya fluttered about in her husband's jacket.