Quinn waved back at Cyril as he walked off, keeping her voice down a bit as she replied "[color=ffe63d]See you,[/color]" in an attempt to keep from catching the attention of the mob again. As he departed and a crowd went with him, Quinn looked surreptitiously around to make sure nobody was watching before taking her huge braid and shoving it down the back of her shirt before coiling it up on itself to stop it from falling out. The last thing she wanted was to look like she had a [i]tail.[/i]

That done, she set off into the upper commons of the Ange, trying her best to not look around like a tourist and to keep her bangs swept over the right side of her face to hid the eyepatch. There wasn't much she could do about the yellow, but at the very least, her clothing was unremarkable enough...

Oh.

That was probably a problem, actually.

Making sure she kept walking near the edge and didn't run into anybody, she flicked her eye around to the people around her, at their fancy designer bags and—more to the point—clothing that probably cost more than the annual maintenance of the Aerie. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. She was [i]definitely[/i] going to get noticed: her clothing was [i]too[/i] unremarkable. It was so unremarkable that it wrapped right back around to being extremely remarkable. Right. People planned their entire [i]year[/i] over visits to the Ange, right? That's what Cyril had said. These people were [i]way[/i] rich, and they had clothing to match. 

An image popped into her mind: Claire, that woman from the restaurant, and her black-and-gold dress. She narrowed her eye. She'd thought then that she [i]wanted[/i] that dress, and...

Well, she was on the Ange. There were expensive stores all around her. 

She scoped shops out as she walked, doing her best to keep her back turned to most of the people in the concourse so as to avoid being noticed as much as possible. She knew that once a single person saw her, the rest of them would too. Really, it was only a matter of time. But the longer she could go without being mobbed, the better.

Oooh, that looked good. A small shop with broad glass front, through which Quinn could see that it was mostly empty inside. And could also see a series of very nice, very pretty dresses. It looked fancy. And peering at the price tags, her eyebrow raised. It was [i]definitely[/i] fancy. Looking up at the sign—a lovely calligraphic rendering of a dragger, over which was superimposed the word [i]Miséricorde[/i]—she felt her interest piqued even more. So she turned in, leaving the hubbub of the plaza behind her. Once she was inside, she felt [i]immediately[/i] better. It was quiet, but not [i]too[/i] quiet; there was faint chatter, and soft symphonic music played through speakers in the ceiling that she couldn't see, or maybe out of the pale mauve wall paneling. Ducking into an empty aisle, she took a deep breath, then another, then a third. Then, making sure she was out of easy view of the windows, she pulled her braid out of her shirt and shook her hair out, settling it back into the way it naturally fell.

Peeking out of the aisle, she spied a store clerk arranging dresses, and nobody else. Sighing out a breath of relief, she walked over, feet tapping quietly on the clean white tiling, and scuffed her shoe gently on the floor to let the clerk know she was there.

"[color=ffe63d]Um, excuse me,[/color]" she started shyly, keenly aware of how inexperienced she was in this field, "[color=ffe63d]but do you know if any of these would look good on me?[/color]"