Seteta waved to Rheinhard as
Chaceledon pulled her out of the garden. The streets outside the house were far busier than she expected, but she pulled away from him for a moment before they left the yard to go and scratch each of the stone lions between the eyes.
"You're mine now," she whispered, reaching for the magic within them, cutting old bonds and tying new ones to herself. Simple enough to do now that she knew what they were, and the magic within them, after dealing with the dogs at Witherhold. "You only answer to me, Chaceledon, or Rheinhard. Not the wraith. Not Persian."
She laughed softly as the cats began to give rumbling purrs and rub their faces against her legs. "Guard Rheinhard well while we're gone," she commanded. "I'll bring you meat later."
Seteta skipped back over to Chaceledon's side then, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow with smile.
When they reached the shops, she started to slow her steps, wanting to look and see what they each had to offer, but it quickly became obvious that Chaceledon was heading for a specific shop, and she quickened her steps to stay at his side.
"You're too damn tall," she muttered at one point, clinging to his elbow.
When they stepped inside the shop, and Chaceledon started rattling things off to the girl, she eyed him skeptically and sighed, wrinkling her nose a tad.
"Some skirts too," she added. She'd at least look at the pants and... coo-lots? Whatever those were. "But no hats. I prefer headscarves. And what the hell are smoked lenses?"
As the pet led her to the fitting room, though, Seteta cast a teasing glance over her shoulder at Chaceledon. "You haven't complained about my lack of underwear
before," she smirked, then giggled softly as she vanished from his sight.
"I would like some tea, please," she told the pet.
She shrugged off the robe that Chaceledon had altered to fit her that morning and lifted her feet when prompted as her sandals were slipped off. There was no stripping down to any comfort level, she was stark naked under the gown, but she held herself tall and confident, without shame, even when one of the pets
tsk'd lightly at the swirling silvery scars up her side. Seteta turned her gaze toward that pet, and just said quietly, "It does not bother me if they're seen, so don't hesitate to bring anything simply because they might be visible."
Then the overwhelming amount of questions and choices began. Seteta didn't understand all of what they asked, even when one spoke to her in Abtat rather than Common. There was a lot of gesturing and improvised terms on her part. She preferred rich, vivid hues--though not stark red--in blues and purples, and a few yellows and greens. Rich tans and soft browns, both the color of the sand and deep browns that nearly matched her hair. There was a shade of dusty pink brought out that caught her eye as well. For fabrics, she gravitated toward silks and linens, but there was a soft, lightweight wool that she selected as well.
She scowled at the breast bindings. She wasn't large enough to need support unless she was sparring or sprinting, but she picked out a few anyway.
Eventually, the pets figured out that she didn't like anything tight and binding. She preferred soft, flowing cuts that allowed air to move across her skin. The corsets were brought in and she grimaced and waved them away. Fitted items were okay, but only on the top or bottom, not both places at once. She picked out several garments that were of the things Chaceledon had specifically requested, and then added on some more familiar items as well: a few shortened abayas with coordinating leggings, but in brighter colors and patterns than what she usually wore in the desert.
"I'll wear the green dress when we leave," she murmured at one point, and the pets set it aside. It was the color of bright leaves, made of a soft gauzy fabric that wrapped around her and was tied at the waist. It was all one color, but had braided accents along the shoulders and neckline, and the ties were matching braided cords. It could be worn so it was fastened in either the front of the back, but if in the front the neckline was a deep V that exposed her skin all the way to her sternum.
Blood was nearly drawn, though, when it came to the shoes. The silk slippers were... tolerable. Everything else they tried to cram her feet into were soon chucked across the room and she stormed back out to the main part of the shop.
"I won't wear things that hurt," she hissed, both at Chaceledon and at the pets. "Or anything that hinders my ability to actually walk. No heels. Nothing that requires my foot to be bound and squished. I don't care if anyone thinks it looks silly. Let me have practical boots or moccasins or sandals. Sandals can be elegant! Let me have those."
Chaceledon
