Siemen und Kohl...
Henri twitched more than a few times as he busied himself with analyzing Deb's measurements (taken by ever-helpful Magda) and steadily, hesitantly interviewing her about her values, background, ideals of beauty, and especially, clothing choices.
"...wear et ever'where." Debra said, laying a hefty revolver on the counter.
The poor man nearly had a heart attack on the spot.
for that matter, so did Daphne. "Debra! you're not supposed to-polite society..."
Deb glanced at Maggie, who shook her head slowly, "Debra, what Daphne means to say is, a large service pistol is un-ladylike in high society."
"But...'taint thet big!" Debra said, "It's jus' a dinky lil nine-milimeter rimmed! Ah gots the permits!"
Henri got his composure back, "Do you normally choose to wear it openly, or in a concealed state as you carried it today?" he asked, "It will influence the designs, trust me."
Debra thought hard before answering him, "Ah'd ruther have it in th' open." She said, "Lahk a warnin'."
"My pardon, Baroness, but you should seek the services of a proper engraver then." he told her, "plain, serviceable pistols are considered tres gauche among non-military nobles, and will no doubt garner less respect from your peers, as well as more suspicions from the Royal Guards. Properly decorated and displayed, a sidearm is often viewed as being 'part of the presentation', like fine jewellery, I do have contacts that can do excellent work in the time you have before your audience...as for your ensemble...I believe silk and leather are required, with metallic accents and blue, shimmerweave highlights, possibly in browns and greens, to go with the wearing of an appropriately decorative holster and engraved arm."
He tapped on his terminal, and turned it to display his concept. "Projects in a way that current fashions do not, your personal power while drawing attention to your femininity, the colour contrasts draw to your hair, stance, and body language, the materials shout 'dominant' mixed with a powerful 'class', the cape, of course, is Lyran blue with a black and red shimmerweave liner..and the boots-I assume you can walk in heels?"
Deb grimmaced.
Henri was in his element, "oh dear, you've never had a proper fitting pair...I must correct this...Baroness, properly crafted, properly fitted heels are no more difficult to walk in, than a good solid sensible shoe-Please take yours off so I may obtain correct measurements."
Debra sat down and let him examine her feet.
"no...no, this will never do..." he was muttering, "Two inch heels at most..." he sighed in disappointment, "Yes, two inch heels, your feet are hiker's feet, all subcutaneous scar tissue and heavy ligaments. to make good on my prior claim, low heels are the most I can give you..."
"thet's fahn." Debra said, a bit uncomfortably.
"but I can make them work...yes...lovely calf development."
Now she felt a bit like livestock at a district fair, as he took additional measurements with the clinical precision of a physician, even doing color swatches to match the plague scarred surface veins.
Finally, he was done. "Magda, a robe for Dame MacAulliffe to wait in while her hair is being done, and refreshments for the ladies!" Henri barked, and headed into the back room.
Debra looked at her Companions, Maggie looking smug, Daphne looking...less smug, as a cart brought them trays of Hors'd'ouvres (little sandwiches and fruit slices), a selection of soft drinks, expensive juices, and other tasty delights, and she was seated in a chair that reclined.
"This is Eld, she will be washing and preparing your hair for the stylist, Dame MacAulliffe." Magda explained, "Later, annette will be...fixing...your fingernails and a relaxing massage for your feet will be provided by Armand-all part of our service here."
"Liz goes through thes?" Debra asked.
"Many times-her hair is naturally quite wavy, the style she chose requires it to be very straight, and her other activities are murder on fingernails and hands, so she often required a good manicurist while she was on Tharkad...not to mention, of course, the injury she gave herself with that crooked knife-it took quite a lot of creativity to repair the marring of her natural beauty in such a fashion-she once had such lovely hands. it was far worse when she came for a swimming suit...the girls had to get Armand to handle the waxing operations."
Eld, another blonde, this one petite like Daphne was, grimmaced, "Duchess Ngo used to bite." she said, "and shouting...cursing. she became quite a handfull at times."
Debra forced herself to relax as the young woman began to wash her hair, "Mother was quite often in dread of her appointments." Eld continued, "I hope you are not like that."
"Ah'm not...ah think." Debra replied.
"You have such wonderful hair...and good scalp development for a soldier, no helmet-scars." Eld continued, "So are you a Mercenary then? with lots of exciting campaigns?"
"Whut meks y'all ask thet?" Debra inquired.
"well, the sidearm is a dead giveaway-it's big, and serviceable, a durable design but not made for appearances, Mistress Doons often brings us Mercenaries that have pledged to the Realm, your feet were another giveaway-lots of marching, running, and fighting, instead of sedentary work, your arms and legs are muscular, but it's not gymnasium muscle, and the way you intimidated Henri-only Mercenaries would be so bold as to lead off with physical threats-born nobles threaten lawsuit, or ruination first. Born nobles also tend to prefer smaller pistols made to match their outfits, or to be fully concealed, and these split ends speak of an active lifestyle with little time or interest in leisure activity, especially the sun-fading of your outer layers."
'Annette' was a ginger about the same age as Debra's mother, with the same tight, tailored movement and model's build that Magda and Eld displayed.
"Calluses." Annette said, "you're a warrior, at least..." she sighed, "these cuticles are in terrible shape...hm, track grease traces in the third and fourth layers...tanker...no...Infantry officer-the toughening of the hands-the pattern of it."
Deb kept her mouth shut, silently marvelling at how incredibly wrong they were.
despite herself, the sanding, washing, brushing and pampering felt good.
she zoned out for a while...
"...practical length nails are a must." Annette was saying to her colleagues when Deb surfaced back.
"yes". she said, agreeing with the woman currently working on her hands.
"but we can do something to strengthen them."
