Jessica; Lettie
1/1/2008
New Year's Day is generally not a big shopping day. Most people are either recovering from partying well into the wee hours of the morning or doomed to actually work on the non-national holiday. Jessica Keating is among those who are working, but work for her this particular afternoon includes shopping. So, she paces cooly through an upscale clothing shop, a place where the clothing is fashionable and expensive. This particular boutqiue deals in business attire for women, designer labels for work. Ms. Keating is currently frowning very seriously at skirts.
Smaller crowds are all the better for Elizabeth Kane, who will stomach them when she must, but who really prefers getting in and out with a minimum of fuss. A gust of wind accompanies her inside, and she shivers briefly before she goes about the task of loosening her scarf and tugging her gloves off while she scans the interior of the shop.
Ms. Keating glances over toward the door at the sound of it opening. She does not bother with a shiver from the cold, in spite of the fact that her own business attire is not exactly designed for the weather. The only bow to the cold she has given is the fact that she still wears her own gloves. Looking back toward the rack in front of her, her expression sours a little in what looks like frustration. "This would be infinitely less aggravating if Ms. Frost would actually accompany me on a trip like this," she grumps to herself.
Name and aliases remain unchanged.
Elizabeth steps forward with a brief nod to the store staff who bustles into action at the arrival of another customer and smiles faintly before shifting her way past one rack of clothing to take up position rather near Jessica. She lifts a hand to finger the fabric of a blouse, testing thoughtfully, before she casts a sideways glance toward her shopping companion. Hello.
"Good afternoon," the woman says, with a nod of her head that catches a glint of light off of the silver streak in one side of her hair. She looks back to the rack for a moment before taking a step away from it. She appears defeated. Instead, she decides to be sociable. "What brings you shopping on such a day, miss?"
The query catches Elizabeth off guard, and her second glance toward Jessica is startled. She blinks for a moment, the silken fabric of a cream blouse dripping from her fingers, before she replies, "Fewer people."
"Ah," Jessica replies. She seems to take this as a hint. She does not persue farther, but instead turns her attention, again, to those skirts that seem to be driving her to distraction. The business-woman scowls at them, tugging at the hem of one black skirt with two fingers.
"I find," Elizabeth continues as she dips her head to the studying of blouses, now around the other side of the rack, "That you get much better service from the salespeople, when the crowds are thinner."
It was not a blow-off, then! Jessica nods her head to that, speaking through the rack. "When they grow idle, perhaps they decide that actually performing some duty other than ushering you toward the cash register, is a worthy alternative to boredom."
"Perhaps," Elizabeth allows with a faint tip of her head. She glances up toward said register for a moment before looking back toward Jessica. "I don't suppose you have seen a charcoal grey pencil skirt, pin stripes, about this long?" she wonders, gesturing.
"I have seen a dizzying number of skirts this afternoon," Ms. Keating says, with a chuckle that sounds tired of the garments. She stops though, to ponder and look back over her shoulder. "I believe there was something similar a few over." She turns over toward a different collection of clothes, to see if she can locate the item in question.
"Oh?" There is optimistic relief in Elizabeth's voice as she drops her current blouse to head in that direction. "Excellent, thank you."
"Honestly, after the wild goose chase I have been subjected to today, I believe I am acquainted with every skirt on the island of Manhattan," Jessica says. She leads Elizabeth to a collection of skirts in similar style to what she outlined and gestures a hand toward them. "Something like this?"
"Looking for something particular?" Elizabeth wonders briefly as she follows Jessica and studies the skirts with a thoughtful frown. She leans back, the better to guage from a distance, and then shakes her head with a brief sigh. "I don't think so. The color isn't right."
"I am meant to be looking for an outfit for my employer. She did not, however, give me any specific parameters to work within. Just simply that 'would look good.'" With a frown and a shake of her head, Jessica pushes lightly at the rack of clothing. "It is really not very easy to try to shop to someone else's taste."
"Ah. A personal assistant?" Elizabeth glances toward Jessica again, querying.
"Indeed," Ms. Keating confirms with a nod of her head. "And yourself?" she asks, curiosity held down in place of a simply sociable smile.
"Ah, for myself," Elizabeth answers with another faint smile. "I managed to put a lovely rip into my skirt at work last week and I'm searching for a replacement."
"Is that to assume that your line of work is more exciting than mine?" Ms. Keating asks, that same polite smile inhabiting her expression. She picks up a skirt and gives it a look, frowning at it.
"I suppose that depends on what you count as exciting," Elizabeth murmurs, digging through the rack in case the correct color is hiding in the back. "I'm a DA."
"There is likely something to be said for intellectual stimulation beyond testing one's capacity for running obscure and baffling errands," Jessica says, issuing a light little chuckle with the statement.
"Then why do you do it?" Elizabeth wonders, head lifted to glance toward Jessica with a baffled air.
The smile is more genuine than any that Jessica has shown thus far. "The pay is very much worth it."
"Ah. Well. I suppose there is that," Elizabeth allows. Her smile is vaguely amused.
"It is a position wokring with an extremely powerful woman, at the head of an extremely powerful corporation." Jessica lifts a hand to show the open palm. "I spend a great deal of time as a gopher, but I am also in a unique position to experience the pinnacle of industry at work."
"Ah. So /does/ the Devil wear Prada?" Elizabeth wonders with a flickering smile before she lowers her head to consider another rack.
"I believe her tastes are a tad higher class," Jessica returns, though she nods her head with a half smile in acknowledgement of the reference. "What is your work like, if you don't mind my interest? I considered a career in law enforcement at one point and still do find it interesting."
"Some days it's interesting," Elizabeth allows with a nod. "Other days it's a great deal of montony. Like any job, I suppose."
"Ah," Ms. Keating says. "I imagine there is a tremendous degree of paperwork involved, is there not?"
"A bit," Elizabeth demures with something near a laugh. "Thankfully, I don't have to do it all myself."
"I imagine there are assistants for that," Jessica notes. She says it straight-faced, but it was more than likely intended as a joke.
"Indeed." Elizabeth's response is equally deadpan.
"Indeed," Jessica repeats. At length, she looks away from the racks of clothing again. "I believe I will simply buy something that looks nice to me and brace myself for Ms. Frost's wrath when it goes unappreciated."
There is a pause. It is fairly noticable, in fact, written in the sudden stillness of posture and the upward jerk of her gaze. "Emma Frost?" she wonders.
"The same," Jessica confirms.
"Oh, /goodness/," Elizabeth answers, and her lips curl into a sudden smile. "Why didn't you say so? What did she send you out after?"
"An outfit for an upcoming business meeting. Something to impress without being overstated," Jessica says, reciting the edict from Emma nearly word for word. "The issue lies in that I draw the line on a proper business outfit in a different place than Ms. Frost does."
"What sort of meeting?" Elizabeth wonders, lifting her brows slightly in curiousity. "Perhaps I can help."
"Business, I assume," Jessica says. She glances around the shop. "Honestly, if you are familiar enough with Ms. Frost to lend a hand here, I would be very grateful."
"She's an acquaintence," Elizabeth allows, and then with a slightly warmer smile she admits, "She was very helpful when I first came to New York. Do you have any notion of the sort of people she's meeting with--?"
"Unfortunately not," Jessica admits. "Ms. Frost can be, at times, a bit brief in the details of her tasks for me. I simply assume that a conservative outfit would be the safest bet."
"Oh, in that case, certainly," Elizabeth answers with a quick nod. "It's far too easy for a woman to be objectified and dismissed in certain-- ah. Outfits. What have you been looking at?"
"Largely dark colors and conservative lines," the personal assistant says, gesturing toward rather generic sorts of skirts and jackets. Things very much like what she herself is wearing. No hint of figure flaunting or attention grabbing involved.
"Mmm. That's a start, maybe. Although if you want to do a truly excellent job, we'll want to look at accessories as well-- have you considered tweed? It's very in this year."
"Is it?" Jessica asks. "I am afraid that I am not exactly a close follower of fashion trends," she admits. "It is not exactly in my professional background."
"You want to be certain to get /good/ tweed, mind," Elizabeth answers, already wandering away and toward a rack in the back. "But yes."
Ms. Keating follows in Elizabeth's wake, honestly relieved simply to have some guidance on getting this shopping trip done with. "I am sure then, that there will be something to find."
"Mmm," Elizabeth replies, clearly distracted as she flips past several racks in search of something that's /just right/.
Jessica hovers behind and to the side of Elizabeth, watching as she goes through the racks of clothing in search of that perfect choice. She stands with her hands behind her back, clasped in a fairly military 'at ease' posture.
"Does this make me assistant to Emma Frost's assistant?" Elizabeth wonders with a brief glance up and an amused smile.
"Perhaps a fashion advisor?" Ms. Keating offers.
"Goodness. Putting my law degree to good use, then," Elizabeth murmurs before pulling out a suit jacket that hangs in straight lines to somewhere near the hip, done in brown tweed, and holding it up for consideration.
Her look of amusement is shortlived as Jessica looks at the brown of the jacket held up for consideration. "And this is what is currently in fashion?"
"I suppose it depends on your purpose," Elizabeth answers, hooking the jacket over a rack so she can continue to rummage. "It's hardly the sort to encourage the men one wants to take one seriously to, say, look down your shirt or up your skirt during a meeting, true."
"That is certainly not a priority in my mind," Jessica says. She, however, is far from being Emma Frost. She, for example, does not have any silicone for people to admire.
"It's sad, given the year, but we must still be careful about what image we're giving if we want to be taken seriously," Elizabeth shares with a sympathetic smile. "Ah- here!" She lifts a skirt to show it to Jessica. It's long, flaring from the hip to mid-calf in what might be a very flattering style for /some/ women - the sort who maybe wants to hide hips or thighs - but is certain to cut Emma off at a very unflatting line.
Jessica looks at it with equal parts skepticism and exhaustion with shopping. "Do you think that would be good, then?"
"Ms. Frost helped me get my current job," Elizabeth shares in a quiet voice, with a smile. "I'm happy to have the chance to return a favor. It's exactly what I would choose for her."
With a nod of her head, Jessica accepts this. "Then I suppose I will have to take your advice." Taking up the tweed, Ms. Keating offers Elizabeth a brief, but grateful smile.
"Feel free to tell Ms. Frost that Elizabeth Kane chose it especially for her," Elizabeth encourages.
"I will be sure to do so," Ms. Keating says. Relieved to no longer be responsible for digging through the racks of clothes, she makes a hasty retreat to pay for the 'fashionable' clothes for Emma and make an exit.
Mystique is /very/ helpful.
1/2/2008
It's another chilly day, not that Lettie is likely to mind. In her usual victorian-esque garb with her long shawl added over that, she's probably warmer than most, actually. Settled on a little couch in the corner of the little cafe`, she has her legs folded beneath her, causing them to disappear beneath the edges of her dress. In her lap is crouched a rather stereotypical book, The Gabled Window, while a free hand rests a steaming cup of capuccino on one leg. Iconoclast, she is not.
It's lunchtime, which means that seats are hard to come by even in the most spacious of New York locales, and this small cafe is certainly not one of them. Elizabeth wanders in with cheeks red from the cold and a desperate desire for soup and a seat. It doesn't take her long to procure the former, but the latter proves a bit more difficult. It's with a frown that she finally moves in on Lettie and the free half of her couch. She settles downward and slides her soup to the coffee table without so much as a 'do you mind?'
She's usually good at keeping her personal space, thanks to that particular look. She's finding, though, that as far as mental sturdiness in the face of the weird, New Yorkers are are a lot more robust. She can't help but bite back a bit of resentment reflexively. After all, there really is very little seating in the place, and she really isn't entitled to a couch to herself, after all. But she can't help her subconscious reaction. A little tendril of force reaches for the soup to push gently as it leaves the woman's hand. Just enough to tip it over in a seemingly accidental manner and spill it, if its owner isn't careful. Of course this has nothing to do with her, as far as Lettie knows. No. She's all politeness and smile,"Cold, isn't it?"
Elizabeth is careful, generally, but that force is unexpected, and so the soup wobbles and splashes a bit in time to a surprised frown. Elizabeth swivels her head to stare at the girl for a moment before she turns back to mop up the mess with her napkins and answers, "Rather."
Lettie also has to fight to not look annoyed. It's happening again. Hopefully her 'friend' won't get too active. She DOES reach forward to try to help the woman mop up the mess. "That's a bad bit of luck, there..." A Texas accent, hispanic-tinted, too. "Doesn't look like you lost too-too much. It's easy to fumble things when it's cold. I'm still getting used to it myself."
"Of course," Elizabeth dismisses with a faint smile that tilts only briefly toward Lettie. She, after all, fumbles all the time. In the cold. "Where are you from, then?"
Lettie sips from her cup, a noisy sound, before offering,"El Paso, senora. Much hotter place. A cold day is anything below seventy, really. Still better than a hot day in /East/ Texas though. Over on the other side of the state, it's /moist/. Sucks. You?"
"Good grief. I suppose the snow will come as a shock then, hm?" Elizabeth suggests with a faint smile. Finally, she settles back and pulls the soup carefully into her lap and dips her spoon into it.
Lettie is at least willing to speak, if a tad shyly,"Yes. But I'm looking forward to it. Never seen it before." It's nothing, if not subtle, the way her 'friend' works. Even as Elizabeth lifts her soup into her lap, a passerby 'accidentally' trips just enough to stumble, and plausibly bump into Elizabeth. Well, unless she prevents it. That soup is in a warzone today. But it's not her fault, right? After all, good girls don't get irritated at more-than-polite strangers.
Elizabeth is a bit more observant now, and although the stranger's stumble does knock into Elizabeth, she's swift to adjust the tilt of her bowl to keep more than a tiny bit from sloshing over into her lap. Good reflexes, it seems. "Good grief," she answers, and back the bowl goes to the coffee table. "I must be cursed today." Indeed.
Lettie frowns and scoots as much as she can from the side of Elizabeth, to avoid getting any soup on herself,"Some days are just like that. It's really cold, and you WERE just out in it." That's the only explanation she can offer. Like she's going to tell the woman she's got an invisible /thing/ following her? They'd lock her up. "Besides, it's crowded in here. Was bound to happen to someone."
"Be nice if it was someone else," Elizabeth replies, frowning before she sighs and requests, "Will you keep an eye on my soup for a minute? I'm out of napkins."
Lettie nods to Elizabeth in agreement,"Okay. Sure. I'll do my best. I make no promises if it grows legs and runs, though. I barely passed Track & Field." It's a joke. Sort of. But with Elizabeth's luck today...
If it's a joke, it is not a particularly good one. Elizabeth stares down at Lettie for a moment after she rises, attempting to parse that out before she murmurs a quiet, "Thanks" and heads off to retrieve her napkins.
Luckily, the soup is safe with her. The same can not be said for Elizabeth, however. As she's walking, she might find that her foot unexpectedly hits an apparent irregularity in the floor. That's what it would feel like, anyway, as the unseen 'Casper' decides tripping her might be funny. "No problem, Senora."
Elizabeth stumbles, but she does not fall. Her feet find their footing again after a moment and she stills entirely, blocking traffic for several seconds before she moves forward again.
Lettie is meanwhile muttering to herself, apparently,"Not funny, not funny at all." Almost incensed, really. Then she calls out,"You okay, Senora?" Of course, if she uses a napkin dispenser instead of asking for some from a barrista, the things will rip halfway when being pulled out. Not a good day at all.
Rip they do, and this earns another faint frown before Elizabeth moves to return to her couch and soup.
Luckily, the soup is intact this time. It's Elizabeth that meets another 'floor irregularity' on her way back to her place. Probably as she nears soup, or couch. By now, Lettie is actively wincing.
Lettie pages, "Sad thing is, Lettie refuses to acknowledge she's doing it."
An active wince is difficult to miss, particularly when one has an observant eye. Elizabeth makes it back to her seat with another stumble and then turns to look at her companion.
Lettie at least is able to declare with sincere happiness,"Your soup, I am happy to report, is safe and sound, Senora. I... is something wrong?" She gives the woman an odd look.
Brows raise in silence at Lettie's question, and then Elizabeth turns without a word to pull her soup into her lap once more.
Amazingly, the soup makes it safely! Probably because her subconscious has run out of tricks at the moment. The girl sips her capuccino. "As you wish, Senora."
Good for her subconcious. Napkins pat delicately at the splashed bit of soup before Elizabeth lowers her head to the task of eating.
As if that subconscious would let her eat without a case of Unsteady-Spoon-Syndrome! Otherwise, though, the girl lowers her eyes to her book.
The spoon halts. Elizabeth turns to Lettie. She stares.
Lettie looks up at Elizabeth, and raises an eyebrow,"Yes, Senora? I hesitate to speak so to my elders, but... your staring is a bit off-putting." So carefully spoken for one so young.
"Be careful, child," Elizabeth warns simply, gaze cool and even.
Lettie blinks several times at Elizabeth, actually shrinking in on herself a bit. Not the bravest girl,"Of what?" Now she sounds genuinely confused. Which someone suffers for. Another man, across the room trips, drops his coffee, and has to watch the glass shatter on the floor. Hey, look! Someone else with bad luck! Distraction-time!
Elizabeth does not look away at the distraction. Instead, she holds Lettie's gaze for several moments before returning it silently to her meal.
The subconscious little goblin does not attack Elizabeth this time. Mainly because it seems to have run out of ideas again. Or rather, Lettie's subconscious is short on subtle ways to react. "Senora, that is decidedly unhinging." She returns to her book, though.
Elizabeth is good at unhinging. She does not respond - she simply eats. That's what she came here to do, after all.
Lettie just sits quietly from that point. Apparently, the 'apparition' decides to content itself with tripping and upsetting random patrons from that point on.
Elizabeth has a difficult lunch.
New Year's Day is generally not a big shopping day. Most people are either recovering from partying well into the wee hours of the morning or doomed to actually work on the non-national holiday. Jessica Keating is among those who are working, but work for her this particular afternoon includes shopping. So, she paces cooly through an upscale clothing shop, a place where the clothing is fashionable and expensive. This particular boutqiue deals in business attire for women, designer labels for work. Ms. Keating is currently frowning very seriously at skirts.
Smaller crowds are all the better for Elizabeth Kane, who will stomach them when she must, but who really prefers getting in and out with a minimum of fuss. A gust of wind accompanies her inside, and she shivers briefly before she goes about the task of loosening her scarf and tugging her gloves off while she scans the interior of the shop.
Ms. Keating glances over toward the door at the sound of it opening. She does not bother with a shiver from the cold, in spite of the fact that her own business attire is not exactly designed for the weather. The only bow to the cold she has given is the fact that she still wears her own gloves. Looking back toward the rack in front of her, her expression sours a little in what looks like frustration. "This would be infinitely less aggravating if Ms. Frost would actually accompany me on a trip like this," she grumps to herself.
Name and aliases remain unchanged.
Elizabeth steps forward with a brief nod to the store staff who bustles into action at the arrival of another customer and smiles faintly before shifting her way past one rack of clothing to take up position rather near Jessica. She lifts a hand to finger the fabric of a blouse, testing thoughtfully, before she casts a sideways glance toward her shopping companion. Hello.
"Good afternoon," the woman says, with a nod of her head that catches a glint of light off of the silver streak in one side of her hair. She looks back to the rack for a moment before taking a step away from it. She appears defeated. Instead, she decides to be sociable. "What brings you shopping on such a day, miss?"
The query catches Elizabeth off guard, and her second glance toward Jessica is startled. She blinks for a moment, the silken fabric of a cream blouse dripping from her fingers, before she replies, "Fewer people."
"Ah," Jessica replies. She seems to take this as a hint. She does not persue farther, but instead turns her attention, again, to those skirts that seem to be driving her to distraction. The business-woman scowls at them, tugging at the hem of one black skirt with two fingers.
"I find," Elizabeth continues as she dips her head to the studying of blouses, now around the other side of the rack, "That you get much better service from the salespeople, when the crowds are thinner."
It was not a blow-off, then! Jessica nods her head to that, speaking through the rack. "When they grow idle, perhaps they decide that actually performing some duty other than ushering you toward the cash register, is a worthy alternative to boredom."
"Perhaps," Elizabeth allows with a faint tip of her head. She glances up toward said register for a moment before looking back toward Jessica. "I don't suppose you have seen a charcoal grey pencil skirt, pin stripes, about this long?" she wonders, gesturing.
"I have seen a dizzying number of skirts this afternoon," Ms. Keating says, with a chuckle that sounds tired of the garments. She stops though, to ponder and look back over her shoulder. "I believe there was something similar a few over." She turns over toward a different collection of clothes, to see if she can locate the item in question.
"Oh?" There is optimistic relief in Elizabeth's voice as she drops her current blouse to head in that direction. "Excellent, thank you."
"Honestly, after the wild goose chase I have been subjected to today, I believe I am acquainted with every skirt on the island of Manhattan," Jessica says. She leads Elizabeth to a collection of skirts in similar style to what she outlined and gestures a hand toward them. "Something like this?"
"Looking for something particular?" Elizabeth wonders briefly as she follows Jessica and studies the skirts with a thoughtful frown. She leans back, the better to guage from a distance, and then shakes her head with a brief sigh. "I don't think so. The color isn't right."
"I am meant to be looking for an outfit for my employer. She did not, however, give me any specific parameters to work within. Just simply that 'would look good.'" With a frown and a shake of her head, Jessica pushes lightly at the rack of clothing. "It is really not very easy to try to shop to someone else's taste."
"Ah. A personal assistant?" Elizabeth glances toward Jessica again, querying.
"Indeed," Ms. Keating confirms with a nod of her head. "And yourself?" she asks, curiosity held down in place of a simply sociable smile.
"Ah, for myself," Elizabeth answers with another faint smile. "I managed to put a lovely rip into my skirt at work last week and I'm searching for a replacement."
"Is that to assume that your line of work is more exciting than mine?" Ms. Keating asks, that same polite smile inhabiting her expression. She picks up a skirt and gives it a look, frowning at it.
"I suppose that depends on what you count as exciting," Elizabeth murmurs, digging through the rack in case the correct color is hiding in the back. "I'm a DA."
"There is likely something to be said for intellectual stimulation beyond testing one's capacity for running obscure and baffling errands," Jessica says, issuing a light little chuckle with the statement.
"Then why do you do it?" Elizabeth wonders, head lifted to glance toward Jessica with a baffled air.
The smile is more genuine than any that Jessica has shown thus far. "The pay is very much worth it."
"Ah. Well. I suppose there is that," Elizabeth allows. Her smile is vaguely amused.
"It is a position wokring with an extremely powerful woman, at the head of an extremely powerful corporation." Jessica lifts a hand to show the open palm. "I spend a great deal of time as a gopher, but I am also in a unique position to experience the pinnacle of industry at work."
"Ah. So /does/ the Devil wear Prada?" Elizabeth wonders with a flickering smile before she lowers her head to consider another rack.
"I believe her tastes are a tad higher class," Jessica returns, though she nods her head with a half smile in acknowledgement of the reference. "What is your work like, if you don't mind my interest? I considered a career in law enforcement at one point and still do find it interesting."
"Some days it's interesting," Elizabeth allows with a nod. "Other days it's a great deal of montony. Like any job, I suppose."
"Ah," Ms. Keating says. "I imagine there is a tremendous degree of paperwork involved, is there not?"
"A bit," Elizabeth demures with something near a laugh. "Thankfully, I don't have to do it all myself."
"I imagine there are assistants for that," Jessica notes. She says it straight-faced, but it was more than likely intended as a joke.
"Indeed." Elizabeth's response is equally deadpan.
"Indeed," Jessica repeats. At length, she looks away from the racks of clothing again. "I believe I will simply buy something that looks nice to me and brace myself for Ms. Frost's wrath when it goes unappreciated."
There is a pause. It is fairly noticable, in fact, written in the sudden stillness of posture and the upward jerk of her gaze. "Emma Frost?" she wonders.
"The same," Jessica confirms.
"Oh, /goodness/," Elizabeth answers, and her lips curl into a sudden smile. "Why didn't you say so? What did she send you out after?"
"An outfit for an upcoming business meeting. Something to impress without being overstated," Jessica says, reciting the edict from Emma nearly word for word. "The issue lies in that I draw the line on a proper business outfit in a different place than Ms. Frost does."
"What sort of meeting?" Elizabeth wonders, lifting her brows slightly in curiousity. "Perhaps I can help."
"Business, I assume," Jessica says. She glances around the shop. "Honestly, if you are familiar enough with Ms. Frost to lend a hand here, I would be very grateful."
"She's an acquaintence," Elizabeth allows, and then with a slightly warmer smile she admits, "She was very helpful when I first came to New York. Do you have any notion of the sort of people she's meeting with--?"
"Unfortunately not," Jessica admits. "Ms. Frost can be, at times, a bit brief in the details of her tasks for me. I simply assume that a conservative outfit would be the safest bet."
"Oh, in that case, certainly," Elizabeth answers with a quick nod. "It's far too easy for a woman to be objectified and dismissed in certain-- ah. Outfits. What have you been looking at?"
"Largely dark colors and conservative lines," the personal assistant says, gesturing toward rather generic sorts of skirts and jackets. Things very much like what she herself is wearing. No hint of figure flaunting or attention grabbing involved.
"Mmm. That's a start, maybe. Although if you want to do a truly excellent job, we'll want to look at accessories as well-- have you considered tweed? It's very in this year."
"Is it?" Jessica asks. "I am afraid that I am not exactly a close follower of fashion trends," she admits. "It is not exactly in my professional background."
"You want to be certain to get /good/ tweed, mind," Elizabeth answers, already wandering away and toward a rack in the back. "But yes."
Ms. Keating follows in Elizabeth's wake, honestly relieved simply to have some guidance on getting this shopping trip done with. "I am sure then, that there will be something to find."
"Mmm," Elizabeth replies, clearly distracted as she flips past several racks in search of something that's /just right/.
Jessica hovers behind and to the side of Elizabeth, watching as she goes through the racks of clothing in search of that perfect choice. She stands with her hands behind her back, clasped in a fairly military 'at ease' posture.
"Does this make me assistant to Emma Frost's assistant?" Elizabeth wonders with a brief glance up and an amused smile.
"Perhaps a fashion advisor?" Ms. Keating offers.
"Goodness. Putting my law degree to good use, then," Elizabeth murmurs before pulling out a suit jacket that hangs in straight lines to somewhere near the hip, done in brown tweed, and holding it up for consideration.
Her look of amusement is shortlived as Jessica looks at the brown of the jacket held up for consideration. "And this is what is currently in fashion?"
"I suppose it depends on your purpose," Elizabeth answers, hooking the jacket over a rack so she can continue to rummage. "It's hardly the sort to encourage the men one wants to take one seriously to, say, look down your shirt or up your skirt during a meeting, true."
"That is certainly not a priority in my mind," Jessica says. She, however, is far from being Emma Frost. She, for example, does not have any silicone for people to admire.
"It's sad, given the year, but we must still be careful about what image we're giving if we want to be taken seriously," Elizabeth shares with a sympathetic smile. "Ah- here!" She lifts a skirt to show it to Jessica. It's long, flaring from the hip to mid-calf in what might be a very flattering style for /some/ women - the sort who maybe wants to hide hips or thighs - but is certain to cut Emma off at a very unflatting line.
Jessica looks at it with equal parts skepticism and exhaustion with shopping. "Do you think that would be good, then?"
"Ms. Frost helped me get my current job," Elizabeth shares in a quiet voice, with a smile. "I'm happy to have the chance to return a favor. It's exactly what I would choose for her."
With a nod of her head, Jessica accepts this. "Then I suppose I will have to take your advice." Taking up the tweed, Ms. Keating offers Elizabeth a brief, but grateful smile.
"Feel free to tell Ms. Frost that Elizabeth Kane chose it especially for her," Elizabeth encourages.
"I will be sure to do so," Ms. Keating says. Relieved to no longer be responsible for digging through the racks of clothes, she makes a hasty retreat to pay for the 'fashionable' clothes for Emma and make an exit.
Mystique is /very/ helpful.
1/2/2008
It's another chilly day, not that Lettie is likely to mind. In her usual victorian-esque garb with her long shawl added over that, she's probably warmer than most, actually. Settled on a little couch in the corner of the little cafe`, she has her legs folded beneath her, causing them to disappear beneath the edges of her dress. In her lap is crouched a rather stereotypical book, The Gabled Window, while a free hand rests a steaming cup of capuccino on one leg. Iconoclast, she is not.
It's lunchtime, which means that seats are hard to come by even in the most spacious of New York locales, and this small cafe is certainly not one of them. Elizabeth wanders in with cheeks red from the cold and a desperate desire for soup and a seat. It doesn't take her long to procure the former, but the latter proves a bit more difficult. It's with a frown that she finally moves in on Lettie and the free half of her couch. She settles downward and slides her soup to the coffee table without so much as a 'do you mind?'
She's usually good at keeping her personal space, thanks to that particular look. She's finding, though, that as far as mental sturdiness in the face of the weird, New Yorkers are are a lot more robust. She can't help but bite back a bit of resentment reflexively. After all, there really is very little seating in the place, and she really isn't entitled to a couch to herself, after all. But she can't help her subconscious reaction. A little tendril of force reaches for the soup to push gently as it leaves the woman's hand. Just enough to tip it over in a seemingly accidental manner and spill it, if its owner isn't careful. Of course this has nothing to do with her, as far as Lettie knows. No. She's all politeness and smile,"Cold, isn't it?"
Elizabeth is careful, generally, but that force is unexpected, and so the soup wobbles and splashes a bit in time to a surprised frown. Elizabeth swivels her head to stare at the girl for a moment before she turns back to mop up the mess with her napkins and answers, "Rather."
Lettie also has to fight to not look annoyed. It's happening again. Hopefully her 'friend' won't get too active. She DOES reach forward to try to help the woman mop up the mess. "That's a bad bit of luck, there..." A Texas accent, hispanic-tinted, too. "Doesn't look like you lost too-too much. It's easy to fumble things when it's cold. I'm still getting used to it myself."
"Of course," Elizabeth dismisses with a faint smile that tilts only briefly toward Lettie. She, after all, fumbles all the time. In the cold. "Where are you from, then?"
Lettie sips from her cup, a noisy sound, before offering,"El Paso, senora. Much hotter place. A cold day is anything below seventy, really. Still better than a hot day in /East/ Texas though. Over on the other side of the state, it's /moist/. Sucks. You?"
"Good grief. I suppose the snow will come as a shock then, hm?" Elizabeth suggests with a faint smile. Finally, she settles back and pulls the soup carefully into her lap and dips her spoon into it.
Lettie is at least willing to speak, if a tad shyly,"Yes. But I'm looking forward to it. Never seen it before." It's nothing, if not subtle, the way her 'friend' works. Even as Elizabeth lifts her soup into her lap, a passerby 'accidentally' trips just enough to stumble, and plausibly bump into Elizabeth. Well, unless she prevents it. That soup is in a warzone today. But it's not her fault, right? After all, good girls don't get irritated at more-than-polite strangers.
Elizabeth is a bit more observant now, and although the stranger's stumble does knock into Elizabeth, she's swift to adjust the tilt of her bowl to keep more than a tiny bit from sloshing over into her lap. Good reflexes, it seems. "Good grief," she answers, and back the bowl goes to the coffee table. "I must be cursed today." Indeed.
Lettie frowns and scoots as much as she can from the side of Elizabeth, to avoid getting any soup on herself,"Some days are just like that. It's really cold, and you WERE just out in it." That's the only explanation she can offer. Like she's going to tell the woman she's got an invisible /thing/ following her? They'd lock her up. "Besides, it's crowded in here. Was bound to happen to someone."
"Be nice if it was someone else," Elizabeth replies, frowning before she sighs and requests, "Will you keep an eye on my soup for a minute? I'm out of napkins."
Lettie nods to Elizabeth in agreement,"Okay. Sure. I'll do my best. I make no promises if it grows legs and runs, though. I barely passed Track & Field." It's a joke. Sort of. But with Elizabeth's luck today...
If it's a joke, it is not a particularly good one. Elizabeth stares down at Lettie for a moment after she rises, attempting to parse that out before she murmurs a quiet, "Thanks" and heads off to retrieve her napkins.
Luckily, the soup is safe with her. The same can not be said for Elizabeth, however. As she's walking, she might find that her foot unexpectedly hits an apparent irregularity in the floor. That's what it would feel like, anyway, as the unseen 'Casper' decides tripping her might be funny. "No problem, Senora."
Elizabeth stumbles, but she does not fall. Her feet find their footing again after a moment and she stills entirely, blocking traffic for several seconds before she moves forward again.
Lettie is meanwhile muttering to herself, apparently,"Not funny, not funny at all." Almost incensed, really. Then she calls out,"You okay, Senora?" Of course, if she uses a napkin dispenser instead of asking for some from a barrista, the things will rip halfway when being pulled out. Not a good day at all.
Rip they do, and this earns another faint frown before Elizabeth moves to return to her couch and soup.
Luckily, the soup is intact this time. It's Elizabeth that meets another 'floor irregularity' on her way back to her place. Probably as she nears soup, or couch. By now, Lettie is actively wincing.
Lettie pages, "Sad thing is, Lettie refuses to acknowledge she's doing it."
An active wince is difficult to miss, particularly when one has an observant eye. Elizabeth makes it back to her seat with another stumble and then turns to look at her companion.
Lettie at least is able to declare with sincere happiness,"Your soup, I am happy to report, is safe and sound, Senora. I... is something wrong?" She gives the woman an odd look.
Brows raise in silence at Lettie's question, and then Elizabeth turns without a word to pull her soup into her lap once more.
Amazingly, the soup makes it safely! Probably because her subconscious has run out of tricks at the moment. The girl sips her capuccino. "As you wish, Senora."
Good for her subconcious. Napkins pat delicately at the splashed bit of soup before Elizabeth lowers her head to the task of eating.
As if that subconscious would let her eat without a case of Unsteady-Spoon-Syndrome! Otherwise, though, the girl lowers her eyes to her book.
The spoon halts. Elizabeth turns to Lettie. She stares.
Lettie looks up at Elizabeth, and raises an eyebrow,"Yes, Senora? I hesitate to speak so to my elders, but... your staring is a bit off-putting." So carefully spoken for one so young.
"Be careful, child," Elizabeth warns simply, gaze cool and even.
Lettie blinks several times at Elizabeth, actually shrinking in on herself a bit. Not the bravest girl,"Of what?" Now she sounds genuinely confused. Which someone suffers for. Another man, across the room trips, drops his coffee, and has to watch the glass shatter on the floor. Hey, look! Someone else with bad luck! Distraction-time!
Elizabeth does not look away at the distraction. Instead, she holds Lettie's gaze for several moments before returning it silently to her meal.
The subconscious little goblin does not attack Elizabeth this time. Mainly because it seems to have run out of ideas again. Or rather, Lettie's subconscious is short on subtle ways to react. "Senora, that is decidedly unhinging." She returns to her book, though.
Elizabeth is good at unhinging. She does not respond - she simply eats. That's what she came here to do, after all.
Lettie just sits quietly from that point. Apparently, the 'apparition' decides to content itself with tripping and upsetting random patrons from that point on.
Elizabeth has a difficult lunch.