Plourr Estillo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fighting_mad) wrote2006-07-14 06:40 pm
fighting_mad) wrote2006-07-14 06:40 pm
[OOM] Eiattu
It's all a game among the elite of Eiattu nobility, Plourr thinks sometimes. See who can be more viciously polite.
"Isplourr, this shade would look lovely next to your skin."
"No," Plourr says icily, glaring at the baby pink swatch being held up, then at the soon-to-be mother-in-law doing the holding. "It would not. And it's Isplourrdacartha."
If it really is a game, Plourr is winning at the vicious, but losing at the polite.
"Come now, Princess, don't be surly," says the Grand Duchess Synna Pernon, sitting elegantly in a chair by the door. "This is your wedding gown, after all."
She bites back a harsher response and says calmly, "I had entirely forgotten; thank you for the reminder, Duchess."
One of the two dress-makers diplomatically interrupts. "What about this, Princess?" she asks, holding up a bolt of shiny fabric.
Plourr just looks at the brilliant white for a moment, then shakes her head. "Nothing that" retina-burning, virginal "white."
"What if it were trimmed with this?"
Plourr doesn't want to look at whatever the Duchess is holding up, but she glances over and holds back the face that she wants to make at the sight of the filmy, delicate lace. This is progress. "No, thank you, Duchess."
"Well, really, Isplourr, you are being exceedingly difficult. What do you want?"
"Pants."
The other three women go silent, staring at her.
No? No. Okay. "Something slinky."
More silence.
"Something that isn't so big that it looks like it's going to eat me," she says, and it's almost a hopeful question.
One of the dress-makers turns away and coughs to try to disguise a laugh, but there is no other response.
"This is my wedding," Plourr says, slightly incredulous and beginning to feel a pounding at her temple. "I don't get any say?"
The Grand Duchess looks at her a moment, then says disdainfully, "Apparently not."
"Isplourr, this shade would look lovely next to your skin."
"No," Plourr says icily, glaring at the baby pink swatch being held up, then at the soon-to-be mother-in-law doing the holding. "It would not. And it's Isplourrdacartha."
If it really is a game, Plourr is winning at the vicious, but losing at the polite.
"Come now, Princess, don't be surly," says the Grand Duchess Synna Pernon, sitting elegantly in a chair by the door. "This is your wedding gown, after all."
She bites back a harsher response and says calmly, "I had entirely forgotten; thank you for the reminder, Duchess."
One of the two dress-makers diplomatically interrupts. "What about this, Princess?" she asks, holding up a bolt of shiny fabric.
Plourr just looks at the brilliant white for a moment, then shakes her head. "Nothing that" retina-burning, virginal "white."
"What if it were trimmed with this?"
Plourr doesn't want to look at whatever the Duchess is holding up, but she glances over and holds back the face that she wants to make at the sight of the filmy, delicate lace. This is progress. "No, thank you, Duchess."
"Well, really, Isplourr, you are being exceedingly difficult. What do you want?"
"Pants."
The other three women go silent, staring at her.
No? No. Okay. "Something slinky."
More silence.
"Something that isn't so big that it looks like it's going to eat me," she says, and it's almost a hopeful question.
One of the dress-makers turns away and coughs to try to disguise a laugh, but there is no other response.
"This is my wedding," Plourr says, slightly incredulous and beginning to feel a pounding at her temple. "I don't get any say?"
The Grand Duchess looks at her a moment, then says disdainfully, "Apparently not."