[Closed]

[histruename]

Characters: Hellboy and Favrielle

Date: Sometime around the 8th? Shortly after the Masquerade invitations went out.

Location: Suite WA-3A

Situation: Hellboy needs a suit for the party. Favrielle just might be able to make him one. Much awkwardness ensues.

Warnings/Rating: Nah.


Throughout his life, Hellboy's been to more dimensions, realms, and planes than he can count. He's faced skeleton armies, vampire hoards, and monsters and demons of mythos. And after three months of ghost hunting, gang wars, and abandoned cities full of monsters, the last thing he thought he'd be worrying about was a party. But people surviving through tough situations always find their own ways of coping, and he can't blame them for that. Besides, throwing a party really didn't seem like that bad of an idea.

So after some persuading from Liz, he agreed to go. He's had enough crap in his life lately that maybe he deserves a little fun. And if he was going to do this, he might as well go in style. It was far from the first formal party he's ever been to, and his father raised him better than to go to a gathering like that not properly dressed.

But being who he is, that poses a bit of a problem. Going to the store and just buying clothes had never been an option for him. When he worked back at the Bureau, he always had a someone making his clothes... mostly off already taken measurements and shipped to his room, because this kind of thing had never been his favorite. And that was with people who had known him for years.

Looking the way he does, he's used to people staring, but that doesn't mean he isn't self-conscious. He may hide it pretty well under stoic confidence and off-handed jokes, but the uneasiness is there.

Running around the Earth Sector's garment district, getting turned down by even kedan seamstresses who're used to the odd and unusual doesn't help him much. They're used to people being able to change themselves into something more convenient when the need arises, and less than two weeks' notice just isn't enough time for them to learn something new.

At least they were nice enough to point him in the direction of someone who just might be up to the task, and it's a name he's heard before. Favrielle, another Foreigner like himself, and apparently an extremely talented seamstress. If she can't pull it off, he's out of luck. But at least she was gracious enough to make him an appointment.

So here he is, trying his damndest not to feel on edge, knocking on the door of her suite in the Water Sector.

Comments

[flawedgoods]

Favrielle has been extremely busy with planning for the masquerade, but part of that has included making time for other foreigners who want costumes made for the event itself. After all, she did say she would design for anyone who wanted her too, even if she would have to send the actual job to create the garment elsewhere.

If the name Hellboy comes as a surprise to her when the appointment is made, it's nothing to the surprise that stands at her doorstep. After over four months among the kedan, she's quite used to the strange, inhuman appearances of her neighbors, but Hellboy is really rather large and so she can't avoid the way her eyes widen a bit upon opening the door.

Elua...

Her lips part ever so slightly, twisting the scar on the upper one slightly, but her reaction taking place over no more a second or two. Quickly recovering she steps back.

"You're right on time," she says in greeting. "Would you like to come in?"

[histruename]

Her reaction definitely isn't of out the ordinary. In fact it's pretty polite compared a lot of the attention he seems to attract. And for someone who's used to a hell of a lot of staring, he hardly notices. Who can blame her with a seven-foot tall demon guy, complete with sawed-off horns, hooves and a tail is standing in your doorway?

"Sure," he rumbles, those sawed-off stubs of horns narrowly missing the doorjamb as he ducks through the doorway, hooves clacking on the floor as he steps inside. "Thanks for fitting me in. I know you're probably busy..."

And he knows it's not gonna be easy. No one ever told him how much his Bureau-paid suits cost over the years, but he guesses it was a pretty penny. All he can really remember is one tailor grumbling incessantly under his breath over his stone hand. Something about it being "ridiculous". Yeah. That didn't bode well.

[flawedgoods]

"I am, but it's a busy that I signed up for," she replies. She can remember a time when she would have been more irritable about the short amount of time she'd be given for appointments, the rush jobs and such, but it's hard to be upset when this is in fact something she's organizing. She has no one to blame but herself, and did put herself out there, after all.

Favrielle closes the door behind him, and then moves past, gesturing to the living room with it's assortment of chairs and a couch.

"Will you sit? I have some tea on the stove," she adds, offering him the same as she does everyone else as her eyes study his frame. She can't help but already try to calculate and assess how things would lay on him, how she'd need to construct something for him.

Yes, she's already determined that this job is one she'll see through herself from start to finish.

[histruename]

"Sure," he says, choosing the couch over the less-accommodating chairs. He appreciates her hospitality, especially knowing that she probably wasn't fully prepared to have a guy like him as a customer. The kedan are one thing, but even the most eccentric kedan don't go out of their way to look like the Devil, and his size is definitely not something to blow your nose at.

Back at home, he's used to being something of a celebrity, and when he ventured to places where western media didn't touch, the BPRD was always sure to send his dossier and warn whoever he'd come into contact with. Being in the public eye was not something he particularly enjoyed, but it did a lot to eliminate most of the initial shock and awkwardness of meetings like this.

And now things were about to get pretty personal, and he was already feeling awkward as she takes her mental calculations. So he does his best to distract himself with some idle conversation.

"You're the one throwing this whole thing, right? I remembered your name from the invitation. Didn't realize you were helping with the wardrobe too."

He'd known she was a seamstress of sorts, but only vaguely. And he had to admit the fact that she's putting it all together is pretty impressive.

[flawedgoods]

"I am," she replies, looking him in the eye once more with a nod. "It's held yearly by the foremost of the Houses of the Night Court."

Favrielle slips into the kitchen briefly to pour tea--into two of her largest mugs--and comes back out to set one before him. One more quick trip into the kitchen, and she returns with a small tray with milk, honey, and sugar.

"It seemed only right that I offer my services in the design of garments for the event, considering it is my business here as it is back home," she continued, keeping up the conversation. "Some few I'm able to construct myself, of course. The ones that interest or challenge me."

[histruename]

"Thanks," he says as she sets down the tea, the corner of his mouth ticking up in what's meant to be a smile. For most people, Hellboy's face is inscrutable as stone. Someone once told him he's got the face of a broken gargoyle, and they weren't too far off.

He adds a bit of sugar to the tea, then lifts it to his mouth, all with his left hand. The right, massive and seemingly carved from stone, doesn't move from where it rests heavily on his lap.

He's impressed by her story, really. Even if the Houses of the Night Court sound like some kind of cult. "Guess that makes you some businesswoman. Get sent to another dimension, you don't miss a beat."

Meanwhile he's making a living playing pack mule for a bunch of fruit venders. Not that he can really complain. He likes making a modest living. It was hard enough to do in his own world. Here it's a hell of a lot easier.

"The tailors around here say you're the best," he gestures vaguely with that huge right hand. "They took one look at me and sent me straight to you."

[flawedgoods]

"As well they should have, because I am the best," she says, giving him another once over, again with curiosity and without judgement.

He was correct in that she hadn't missed a beat. If she was to work there, why work for another or doing anything she didn't excel at? Oh certainly she could have spoken to a madame of a brothel and served Naamah as she'd been meant to, but her path had been decided long ago.

"You'd best start by telling me what it is that you're looking for, so we can discuss from there what I can do for you," she continues, drinking from her own cup.

[histruename]

Well, at least she's got the confidence to back up the reputation.

He doesn't blink as she looks him up and down again, but his tail twitches beside him on the couch, cat-like. It's the only small hint of his heavily-suppressed anxiety.

"I gotta admit, I don't know much about clothes. I've been wearing the same thing for last fifty years," he says with no small amount of self-deprecation. "But I had a suit made for a few big parties back at home. Guess something like that shouldn't be too bad."

It's pretty obvious he's out of his scope, here. He's useless when it comes to this stuff.

[flawedgoods]

Her lips tug tight into a smile and she nods. She's done enough suits for Bruce Wayne to know how to do them well. She understands how they are supposed to accentuate the body, and that they're commonplace in most worlds that other foreigners are from.

"I could make you a suit if that is what you like. Something simple and elegant, I think," she responds, pegging him for the type that doesn't care much for frippery and frills. "I can also make a mask to match, in any theme you may desire, of course."

Her tone smooths toward the end, taking on just the slightest tinge of reassurance.

"When the masquerade is over, you would be welcome to come to me for everyday clothing, as well," she adds. "I'm certain I could make you garments that would be both flattering and comfortable."

[histruename]

"I like simple. But I think I'll have to pass on the mask." He really sees no reason for it. That'll probably take some convincing.

He's a little surprised at her next offer, though. If she's so busy, why would she want to waste her time on him? It probably has a lot to do with what he is. She does seem pretty interested, the way she keeps studying him, and there's nothing wrong with curiosity. He's more than used to it, after all. But winning favors because of what he is isn't his favorite thing. He'd rather be treated like a regular guy, but situations like this are a searing reminder that he's far from "regular". That's the real reason they make him so damn uncomfortable.

"And that's great of you to offer. Really. But like I said, I'm a pretty simple guy. Most I need is a new coat every now and then."

Hellboy's pretty much the biggest minimalist out there, and he's definitely set in his ways. I mean, how many guys can get away with wearing nothing but shorts and a trench coat for fifty years?

[flawedgoods]

Favrielle takes note of his response carefully and eases back. It isn't always like her to offer her services in such a way, and she'd thought he might jump on the opportunity, but in truth it seems to have unsettled him.

"As you like," she replied with a nod. "It's my business to offer, one that I've opened primarily to serve those of us from home who prefer clothes more in the style to which we're all accustomed."

Which is to say, she would have made the offer to anyone, and indeed, she has.