2. Loose Ends
The bad news about having a finite timeline was that the nerves about the uncertainty of the entire process returned. I still didn't know what I needed to do. I spent two evenings with Cynthia and Zenya making preparations -- calling different restaurants for food and confirming days we'd be using the hotel ballroom. I still had no clue what the moot even was for or what the other dragons intended to accomplish, so I went to Aisling to try and find out.
She was resistant when I tried to pry information from her, seemingly offended by my mere presence. To a certain degree, I understood. Given how everyone reacted to me alone, having all of the other dragons come here couldn't be a particularly fortuitous happening. She eventually relented, telling me that she wasn't precisely sure what the dragons wanted but that she believed that they were merely establishing a rapport with me and taking my measure. What she left unsaid was that, much like the evaluation she had given me when I first arrived in the city, there were potential consequences based on how these mysterious figures felt about me. I was being graded and I wasn't even given a rubric to predict my success with first.
Which was obnoxious because I was under the impression that I had just finished that part of my life. I had done it as a child, and then I had done it at university, and then I had done it again as a dragon in a new world. Now, I had to do it again for a bunch of foreign dragons who everyone was terrified of. Of course, despite the strides I had made to try and make some connections here, the population at large was still wary of me. I was a status symbol if I solicited your business, but, like a heavyweight boxer, I wasn't one you'd invite to dinner except to be seen with. So, I wasn't receiving any assistance from the locals here. They simply wanted it to go well so the other dragons would fuck off back to their homes.
The good news about having a finite timeline was that it did light a fire under me to cross a handful of things off my plate. The limited bandwidth I had for completing things actually made me more determined to get done what I could, at least when combined with the knowledge that I didn't want them to remain. I left my concern about a potential future where the other dragons found me wanting and disposed of me unsaid and simply tried to complete what I could.
The first thing I completed in that mindset wasn't exactly a productive enterprise, at least, not for me personally. It was, actually, a way to blow off some steam and have a relaxing day with my partners while simultaneously announcing that I was ready to do something out in the world. So, a day after I scrambled with Cynthia and Zenya to try and finalize plans without nearly enough of a lead-up for them to be reasonable, I found myself relaxing at Marjorie's boutique as the girls tried on a variety of dresses and other upscale outfits. We were participating in a promotional photoshoot for her establishment.
I was intrigued by how the magical world did advertising, unsure exactly how removed it would be from the world I knew. Thankfully, Marjorie explained that her advertising budget wasn't particularly grand and that she had a very, very basic plan, one that was only even possible because of Sam's newly malleable talents and my energy generation. She would take two photos of each of us in a variety of outfits, first as the garment came off the shelf and then a second after she had used her talents to tailor the clothes to us specifically. The advertising run she would have on FaeBook would combine the two images, allowing users to slide back and forth between the views, emphasizing that while Marjorie could sell you an entirely new wardrobe of wondrously lavish garments, she could also modify, repair, and tailor your existing clothes to give them the exact appearance you were looking for.
I was initially intrigued by the idea of participating in a magical advertising campaign, thinking that perhaps I could reflavor some of my education and find a productive path forward there, but the end result was so terribly mundane and left me feeling as though pursuing it would be abandoning my draconic talents. So, it ended up being a day where I got to try on several suits and a variety of less slovenly streetwear than my typical gym fare as I watched my partners try on various outfits themselves rather than any instruction towards a potential future endeavor. That was fine. It certainly would've been nice to have something I could build with, but not everything would be.
Of course, to fit it all in one day, Marjorie was practically chugging mana potions. Or, well, actually, she was sipping an iced green tea and having me hold all of her charging crystals. The photographer she hired was so baffled by seeing the translucent, dim gemstones brightening and clarifying in real time that she spent five minutes watching me instead of setting up her backdrop and lighting for the photo shoot. Given that we were planning on doing all of the shots in a single day, Marjorie wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the admittedly trivial delay, but she rapidly came around when she realized I had filled three of the stones already. As Marjorie prepared the first few ensembles, Sam talked with the embarrassed photographer and broke out her makeup kit. That provided another slight delay, as the photographer was surprised to hear that Sam, one of the subjects for the day, was also going to fill in as the makeup artist. She was initially doubtful that Sam's little travel kit would actually suffice to get the different looks Marjorie wanted. Of course, over the last two months, Sam had been practicing -- both getting more and more familiar with different techniques on Beth (and eventually, after some cajoling, Zoey) and incorporating her newly flexible magical skills to add even more to her mundane cosmetic artistry.
We settled into a conveyor belt sort of process to get through the process for the day. Marjorie would work with someone to pick out an outfit; though, with the exception of Sam, it was primarily working with our bodies as we stood there quietly as she found something that was initially unflattering but would eventually be rather appealing. Then she would talk with the photographer to ensure she was getting the focus she wanted -- changing the intensity and temperature of the lighting, how she wanted us posed to emphasize the parts of us and the outfit she wanted, and a dozen other things that were just noise to me. Sam would apply makeup to support the outfit's aesthetic, usually requiring a minor change that left the photographer astounded as Sam did it simply with magic half the time. Then, the photographer would work with the person, getting a bunch of shots in a variety of poses. Marjorie would return, hand me a drained gem in exchange for a charged one, and then tailor the outfit on the subject. The photographer would go through a second round of photos, and then that outfit would be done.
The four of us subjects worked in a staggered sort of loop. One of us would be getting photographed, one of us would be getting a new outfit with Marjorie, and one of us would be getting makeup applied with Sam. It didn't exactly work because Sam was the one doing makeup, and Marjorie was also needed in multiple places at once, but it largely kept things moving. The one upside was that the three women in my life all gravitated towards differing selections from Marjorie's offerings, which made keeping the outfits moving along somewhat easy.
Beth thoroughly enjoyed donning garments that I would politely call risqué. Several brightly colored dresses that, after she talked with Marjorie about the modifications to fit her, seemed to go from a hair's width above her nipples to a millimeter beneath the crease of her shapely behind. I was intrigued as I watched her pose and move that she somehow managed to not reveal anything, the dress staying put precisely where it needed to be. I was sure that if I were a prospective viewer seeing her in an advertisement, I would very much doubt that any of her clothes could be worn without being a public indecency charge waiting to happen, but the demonstration suggested they could.
As the day went on, she switched from club dresses to strangely unseasonal attire -- adding tiny, frilly tennis skirts paired with floral crop tops, pastel button-up sundresses, a denim shirt that tied off in the front to expose hints of her otherwise bare chest, several bikinis, and finally a navy one piece that appeared more akin to a ribbon wrapped around her body than a standard swimsuit to her collection for the day. As I watched Beth pose in the variety of summer clothes, I found myself thinking something that had me reconsidering a lot of preconceptions about models: Beth seemed to be perfect for this task of modeling clothes because, even with as much skin as she was showing, she still seemed to sink beneath the outfit when the camera's lens was focused on her. I thought she was eminently attractive, but in the photo proofs the photographer had ready for Marjorie during the process, the clothes popped while Beth faded into the background.
Zoey didn't have quite the same issue. After all, she was more along the lines of a conventionally attractive modern model -- tall; blonde; legs for days; an even, golden tan across her entire body; stormy, brooding, light colored eyes that told stories of things she'd seen. She obviously carried more muscle than your typical model, but given that she hadn't worked out prior to coming here today to get a pump to emphasize that fact, she really did look the most traditional photoshoot subject matter of the four of us.
She looked right at home in the professional line of clothes she was tasked with. When I saw how intimidating she appeared with the power she projected from the grey pantsuit ensemble she started in, nearly matching my height in her heels, I contemplated asking her to accompany Zenya and me to any business meetings. After all, if we framed her as if she were Zenya's assistant, it might give more credence to whatever Zenya and I were trying to accomplish.
That thought, and any others I might've had at the time, faded from my mind when Zoey came out, and her fifth outfit was straight-up lingerie. The stark white stockings flowed directly into a white leather corset, covered in black lace details, with white gloves and a pair of white framed glasses completing the outfit. She wrapped up the day wearing a front-clasping lavender babydoll, with matching stockings and nothing else, that really made her eyes pop, carefully posing to provide a bunch of implied nude shots.
Marjorie watched me closely while Zoey was posing, and I could smell that the seamstress was nervous about how I felt about Zoey being so exposed for everyone to see. I definitely understood her concern, but something had changed in the last two months. I didn't have any qualms about Zoey posing here in the safety of the boutique, as the only person here I didn't really know was the photographer, and I trusted Marjorie enough to have hired someone professional for the task. Online, other people could certainly view her and, reasonably, lust for her. But she was mine. That wasn't a question in my mind. It wasn't that I had matured out of my possessive streak that wanted to keep her body for myself; the dragon had actually expanded that specific trait. Instead, I knew, with absolute certainty in a way that no mortal human could have, that Zoey was mine and that there was nothing in the world that would change that. She would definitely tease me, pushing my boundaries and acting out when her wolf needed attention, but she almost couldn't delve into areas that I would find truly reprehensible. Her wolf knew where my dragon would draw the line, what would get her disciplined as a form of foreplay, and what would get her disciplined as a genuine punishment. At some point, I knew she would poke a toe an inch over that line, as her wolf needed to know unequivocally that the steel behind my words was weighty indeed, but it wouldn't be in a way that would hurt our family.
