Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

As soon as Quinn got back in the lift and left the crowd behind, she let out a long, slow breath, and realized that she'd been holding it for a while. And for once, not solely out of anxiety; there had been a certain thrill in walking through the upper commons in full view and having people clustering around her—her alone—that she was quite unfamiliar with, but wasn't all unwelcome.

As she stared at the image in the door, she reached out her hand, laying it against her reflection's and marveling at how different it looked. It was so...sleek. Oh, what was that word she'd read in one of Dahlia's magazines once? Svelte? The last time she'd wore a dress was...well, it wasn't exactly a fun time for anybody—she felt her back teeth clench—but she was allowed to feel pretty now and then, right? She was allowed to feel pretty, and she was allowed to enjoy it when people cheered her name.

She'd somehow forgotten she was on the lift—it was just so quiet!—and jumped when the doors slid open before her. Stepping out, she was once more enwrapped in the cream-colored quiet. She stood still for a moment, then reached a hand into her pocket to check the time—

Oh. That was right, she didn't have any pockets in this, did she?

Well, whatever. It was probably about half an hour after lunch, so it was time anyway. Making her swift walk down the hall back to her dorm, she stepped into the enormous walk-in closet, nearly tripped over her luggage that she still needed to unpack, reminded herself that she still needed to order a dresser, and quickly—or, as quickly as someone vastly out of practice could—divested herself of her fancy new clothing, sliding a coathanger carefully into it and hanging it up as the first addition to her closet. She stared at it for another moment and found herself smiling.

Then she emptied out the Miséricorde bag, reclaimed her usual clothing, and popped it on. She breathed a sigh, one of paradoxical disappointment and relief, and checked the time for real this time. A little after one. It was a little later than she wished, but it was still around the right time, and she couldn't in good conscience wait any longer or else she'd start feeling guilty for skipping training. Tying up the drawstring in her sweatpants, she cracked her neck. Then she unzipped her bag just enough to pull out her water bottle, filled it up with fresh water in the bathroom, took a long, deep breath, and whacked the button to open her door again, wheeled on her heel to the right, and set off towards the gym.

Amygdala Circuit

Only a few seconds after Quinn sent the message, she received one back, and the anxiety that had shot to the surface began to quell:

You make plenty PLEASE buy the dress you look gorgeous!

And then, unexpectedly, another:

DERSS NOT GOOD HOW U GONA FIHGT IN A BLANKET BUY SUM KNIFES INSTEAD DUMB DEADGIRL

She blinked at it for a moment, confused, until she got to the deadgirl at the end, and her lips curled into a smile. Roaki saw it too. And that also meant that Roaki and Dahlia were spending time together, at least a little bit, and maybe they'd be less oil-and-water when she got back (she tried to avoid thinking about the part that when she got back, Dahlia would be leaving right after). Still, the smile remained. Dahlia had called her gorgeous, and Roaki had texted her. That was worth something, at least, right?

She fired back a quick <3 to Dahlia, and then, after a moment's consideration, made one final text: <3 (for Roaki)

So, the decision was made, and the dress would be hers. Reaching down again and digging through her pants pocket for her wallet after replacing her phone, she fished through that too, until she found her 'debit card,' which she didn't think she'd ever actually used before. She frowned for just a moment as she realized this dress didn't have any pockets, and she was going to need to buy a purse at some point too, which would also probably cost a lot on the Ange; it was too important that a pilot have their phone on them at all times. '

But that frown didn't last long; her mood was being buoyed back up by thoughts of Dahlia and Roaki before too long. So it was with a smile she came back out to the cashier. She'd kind of wanted to put her normal clothing back on, but...

She also kind of didn't want to take this off so soon. There was a butterfly flutter of anxiety in her gut about going back out into the Upper Commons wearing it, and the firm knowledge that she wouldn't be avoiding any kind of attention, but she'd already squared herself with the fact that she was going to get an excess of attention in Casoban anyway. Just like Dahlia asking about the bathroom had followed her, it was best if she chose where she was going to get that attention first so people remembered it best.

So as she was fiddling with the card in preparation for buying something so expensive, she asked,

"Can I have a bag for my other clothes and wear this out?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn...well, basked would be overly extreme, but she certainly absorbed the praise. She hadn't been told she looked wonderful or beautiful very often before. Not by somebody that meant it, at least, and she found that it was something that she could quite get used to. But before she could spend much longer enjoying it, the moment was shattered by those three words:

Ring it up.

Oh god.

With that phrase, visions of the price tags at the front of the store danced in her head, and her mouth suddenly went dry. She realized, at that exact moment, that she had no idea how much money she made, and how much she had to spend. Her pupil contracted, and she took a step back. "One moment!" she said, backing rapidly into the dressing room again and digging through her pants pocket to find her phone. Frantically navigating the menus and tapping on the wrong thing here and there because her hands were now shaking a bit for a reason vastly different from the normal, she finally arrived at her destination: the messages app. A few more taps brough her to her most texted contact: Deelie.

Texting as fast as she'd ever texted in her life, she held her arm out and took a quick picture of herself—looking perhaps a bit more perturbed than she did a moment ago—and attached it to the message before she finally tapped send.

Over in the Aerie, a message popped up on Dahlia's phone: a picture of a worried-looking Quinn in a very fancy dress, with the text beneath it:

DEELIE HOW MUCH MONEY DO I MAKE CAN I AFFORD 6500 DOLLARS

Amygdala Circuit

As the doorway—well, curtain, but still—to the tiny dressing room was thrown open, Quinn cringed backwards and visibly blanched. As she recovered and gave an apologetic look to Madam Dague, a sick feeling began to build in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eye, took a long, deep breath. A second. A third. Then she slid under the curtain and let it fall shut behind her.

For just a moment, standing there, she felt a fierce urge to grip at her upper arms to ground herself. But with a herculean effort and the sharp awareness that she wasn't going to be able to avoid this kind of thing as much in Casoban, she loosened her hands—which she realized were clenched stark white against the black fabric of the dress—and carefully hung it up on one of the hooks. A minute or so passed as Quinn jimmied her feet out of her shoes and shucked her clothing off, tossing them haphazardly against the wall, until she finally grabbed the dress off the hook, pulled down the hidden zipper, and stepped in.

Outside of the dressing room, noises of muted frustration could be heard as Quinn fiddled, back to the mirror, trying to find the zipper behind her to pull it up. No more than a minute, again, and there was a huff of satisfaction, and the sound of a zipper fastening.

Then there was silence outside, as Quinn stared at herself in the mirror.

She flicked her braid this way and that until she finally felt happy with how it settled, then stared again.

She was...

Quinn had never ascribed the word to herself before, as far as she could remember. But, at least to her untrained eye, she was...something like beautiful.

She hoped.

Well, there was someone qualified to tell just outside, right? So, screwing up her courage and doing her best to swallow the lump in her throat, she reached a shaking hand out, pulled the curtain aside—congratulating herself as she did—and gingerly stepped out.

"How...how do I look?"

Amygdala Circuit

It was fascinating to watching Madam Dague work, and Quinn found herself enjoying tailing after her as she bolted around, looking for dresses that she thought might fit Quinn. Equally fascinating was trying to figure out what had been wrong with the three dresses she'd pulled out of last season's clothing; they all looked beautiful to Quinn. But evidently they weren't right. A moment later, she disappeared into the back, and Quinn found herself alone for just a brief moment. She ran her hand lightly over the fabric of one of those that Dague had looked at before, a pretty pale gold midi dress with elaborate silver filigree around the hem.

She wasn't sure exactly what Madam Dague was talking about, making them from a mold, then going to Vienci. Or, well, she understood what the words meant, but she didn't quite get it. That was the hazard of being a pilot in RISC, she thought. There were only two of them, so she barely saw more of the outside world than she had back with her parents. She certainly hadn't had any time to experiment with creative stuff. And Casoban seemed so keen on fostering that somehow. She hadn't intended to indulge in it, but perhaps she should at least try.

After a bit, the shuffling and chattering came to an end, and the door popped open again. Quinn turned to see what Madam Dague had retrieved from the back room. To see...

See...

Wow.

"Wow," she breathed simultaneously, needing to consciously remember to keep her mouth closed. The three new dresses that were arrayed in front of her were simply...mind-boggling, and her eye remained glued to them even as Dague hung them up and stepped back. Quinn had never seen anything so gorgeous. She had a sudden and very keen realization that what was out on the racks and what was being proudly displayed in front of her weren't even in the same league. They were just...they were all gorgeous, all three of them. So...?

She stepped forward tentatively, running a cautious hand down the fabric again. They really were gorgeous. But she knew she couldn't just take all three. She needed to pick one. Only a moment before she took a half-step over to be in front of the two black ones. The white one just...didn't seem right somehow. So it was between these two. She tried to take a closer to look, to figure out which one would be prettier and more comfortable. They both looked...

And that's when she saw it. The one on the right; the high neck, just like her pilot suit. She imagined wearing something that reminded her of that during a fancy party, and had to stop herself from cringing. So then, that only left...

She reached out and very very carefully took the hanger with the kaleidoscoping golden patterns off the hook, trying to hold it far enough up that it wouldn't drag on the ground, and turned to Madam Dague like she was holding a pile of pure gold.

"Should I...try it on?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn's eye widened—it seemed to be doing that a lot today, and perhaps for good reason—as she heard the shouting from behind the door, and then the figure bolted out.

This...Madam Dague? The word sounded familiar, like she'd heard it in a fairy tale as a kid, but she shoved that thought aside...she was apparently very excited. It was beginning to really sink in for Quinn that Cyril was right, and that people in Casoban seemed to like her. When she heard the Runan hero, she almost had to resist turning to see if Deelie had suddenly appeared behind her. But no, it was her. Maybe she wasn't the Hero of Runa, but she was a Runan hero.

When Madam Dague laid a gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder, she let herself be guided, coming to rest in front of the wall of dresses. They were all so pretty...sure, there were some that Quinn instinctually knew wouldn't look good on her. She thought. But there were just so many that were gorgeous, she didn't even know where3 to begin. So she really, honestly had no idea how to answer Madam Dague's question. She bit her lower lip in something vaguely like discomfort, then looked up at Dague.

"I don't...really know. I mean," she hastily followed, "I've never had a formal dress before." She plucked at her shirt, suddenly keenly aware of how different the pilot cultures in Runa and Casoban were and self-conscious of wearing super casual clothing out into the public commons. "Maybe something yellow or gold that goes with my eye? I was just...I don't really know what looks good on me, so I was hoping that you could maybe help me figure it out."

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn waved back at Cyril as he walked off, keeping her voice down a bit as she replied "See you," 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 tail.

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 definitely going to get noticed: her clothing was too unremarkable. It was so unremarkable that it wrapped right back around to being extremely remarkable. Right. People planned their entire year over visits to the Ange, right? That's what Cyril had said. These people were way 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 wanted 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 definitely fancy. Looking up at the sign—a lovely calligraphic rendering of a dragger, over which was superimposed the word Miséricorde—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 immediately better. It was quiet, but not too 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.

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

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn stared down at her food as she listened to Cyril. She would need to finish it, wouldn't she? It seemed like it would be rude to just not eat it all, and it was her first time at a fancy restaurant like this, after all. Maybe if she just had little bites?

But that thought was swiftly banished as Cyril finished speaking, and she tilted her head. "You're right, that is weird."

She thought a moment, trying to remember everything the woman had said to her in their brief meeting. What was that line...?

"Well, she didn't seem very...Euseran." Well, not that she really knew any Euserans, but she'd read interviews and watched their TV, and that was more than enough for her.

Ah, that's what it was. I’m a big fan of the way you blow shit up and don’t murder people. She tapped a finger a few times on the table, took a stupidly rich bite, chewed, swallowed. "She's one of the only people that told me i did the right thing by not...ending the duel," she finished lamely.

"Still," she continued after choking down another bite of food and doing a surprisingly good job at looking like she wasn't choking it down, "she was so cheerful. I can't imagine why people wouldn't want to have her on."

Another bite, and then a piece of potato to wash the taste down. She rolled her neck back and forth, trying to work out the tired kinks in it without looking too obtrusive and thinking about what Cyril had said before. God, she was so stiff. Guess that was what she got for getting next to no sleep, she thought. "We should spar sometime," she said without warning, "either on sims or in the gym. What time—"

Wait, that was right, Casoban was less tightly scheduled, right? She hastily amended herself, "are you going to the gym sometime tomorrow? Or later today, maybe?"

Amygdala Circuit

As she mulled over what Cyril said, something in particular caught her attention, something that brought a small confused frown to her face. But before she could voice that concern, the waiter returned with the food. And as soon as the cover was lifted—so fancy!—her eye went as wide as a full moon. It was like nothing she'd ever seen. Well, online or on TV, sure, but never in person, never anything like this. It was just...

So occupied was she in staring at it that she jolted when she realized Cyril had already started eating, and she hastened to do the same. She picked up her knife, and...

Which fork should she use?

She opened her mouth to ask, but Cyril seemed occupied chewing, and it would just be awkward. So instead she attempted to surreptitiously peer at the fork he was using. Okay, it was the larger one on the right. Feeling anxious about her table manners, she took care to cut a slice of the hen and get a bit of the truffle and "foie gras" on the fork, then dipped it in the "jus," that was what she was supposed to do, right? And then finally conveyed it to her mouth, looked at it one last time, and took a tentative bite.

"..."

She wasn't exactly sure what she was expecting.

Oh, it was delicious. There wasn't even room to argue with that. It really did just taste like nothing else she'd ever eaten in her life. But...that was also partially why she was almost a little bit...uncomfortable, even. She blinked a few times, staring at the newly-empty fork with her brow furrowed, then realized that Cyril was asking her a question, and was also looking at her with something like concern. Oh. Right. She was staring at her fork, and still had food in her mouth. Swallowing hastily, she gave a halfhearted "Sorry, it's just...it's a little much," and carefully placed the fork on the plate before she took a long drink of water.

Only then did she continue the conversation, voice a little clearer. Tilting her head up to the ceiling, she tried to remember the first time she'd gotten in Ablaze, the disastrous phase test, and the second time, to pull her weapon to...

Oh. Oh, wow.

She hadn't even realized that..."I, uh, my duel with Roaki was, um," she mumbled, feeling suddenly self-conscious, "it was, um, the third time I...ever connected. It was mostly just...a lot of sims." It really did come naturally, didn't it?

Of course it did, a feeling inside her seemed to say from deep down, it's what we were made to do. Quinn...didn't really know how she felt about that. She didn't think Besca would like it.

She gave her head a quick shake and switched topics back to that first thing Cyril had said, before the food arrived. Spearing a chunk of potato on her fork, she held it in the air for a moment as she cocked her neck, face writ with confusion. "The Dane lady? You mean Firebrand? Axan, I think it was?" She bit down on the potato, and a little smile stole over her face. Now that she could eat. Chewed, swallowed. Took a drink. And when she spoke again, her voice was pure confusion:

"But she was so good! She saved my life, she mulched two Modir like it was nothing, she even sounded like she was having fun! What do you mean, she doesn't even get interviews?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn gave an emphatic shake of the head and opened her mouth to answer, only to be hear a sudden unseen voice coming from her right and jump in her chair, whipping her head around like a startled cat to see a young woman, dressed in a beautiful black and gold dress that made Quinn swell with a new emotion after the nerves had left her body: jealousy. She still had zip formal clothing, she was reminded, and Casoban was a place where, it would seem, pilots needed a closetful.

She wanted a dress like that. She wanted it so bad.

She wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about, not really. She understood the concept of theater but she'd obviously never seen any, especially not live. So instead of trying to follow what they were talking about, Quinn instead sat back and examined how they were talking about it.

Casoban was still so new to her, there were many things she didn't understand. But she definitely knew what it looked like when people met a celebrity. It reminded her of Tillie a little bit. Not as high energy—that would be hard—but new newly-named Claire had a bit of that same look in her eyes. When she dismissed herself, it was a good thing she didn't say anything to Quinn, because she quite frankly had no idea what she would say back to her.

Still, the image of her and Cyril talking together twinged something inside her. Maybe she should learn a little modiology so she could talk to Tillie better. That was an interesting idea. Tillie was proof that there were good modiologists too.

With Claire gone, Cyril spoke to her again, and she shook her head at the assertion he was rude before he continued and she cocked her head, as though she didn't totally understand and her mind needed a second to catch up.

"I..." The words caught in her throat a bit and she had to force them out: "I wouldn't really know. The only time I've been planetside for more than a few minutes since Hovvi—" her voice shook, nearly cracked, but held, and she silently congratulated herself, "—was during the duel, and then this one talk show that I had to leave in the middle of."

Glancing around to see if anybody was nearby and thankful that the hostess had brought them to tables that weren't so close to the rest in the restaurant, she lowered her voice a bit. Cyril was one thing, he was a fellow pilot, but if Casoban wanted to casually forget about the entire messy ordeal she'd caused, then she was in no hurry to remind them. "Not even all the people on the Aerie like me. Some are still mad about...you know, Roaki, all that stuff...because they thought I'd lost us you and doomed Runa."

She gave a sad little laugh and looked up at how the golden light of the tree holograms wove together under her head. "I don't think I'm very popular at all."