Custom Order
Posted on 16 Feb 2024 @ 3:46pm by Chief Petty Officer Ibis Xeri & Moon-Young Chung
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Saeloun Sijag (Moon's new business)
Timeline: Day 22 afternoon
3507 words - 7 OF Standard Post Measure
That came together fast. She wasn’t just talking about the shelf she’d just finished arranging, but the entire store. The shelf, nestled above the ‘cashier desk’ - Brek’s term, not her’s - was the finishing touch. It was larger than she’d anticipated, but Sylvie had mentioned that she needed room for growth. Three banks of mirrors reflected the bright space. Moon had insisted on white or off-white tones - carpet, wall, ceiling. She didn’t need a bunch of colors screwing with the look of the clothes.
Still, she wasn’t a complete fool. White had the potential to scare off clients, so she’d included big, puffy chairs in an assortment of bright colors that sat throughout the space. The wall opposite the mirrors was a collage of her color sketches blown up and applied by a muralist she’d discovered working on another level of the Promenade. And in front of that wall, were a bank of holoprojectors. Since she hadn’t completed any example pieces yet, she’d imputed a few of her older designs and now an aquamarine dress, dark brown-and-green suit, and some pastelle leisure wear spun lazily.
She’d opened that morning with a pat on the back from Brek, who’d then rushed off to his own store and a wish of ‘good luck’ from Sylvie. Now, with the completion of the shelf, she was unsure was to do with her time. She’d never worked in a shop before. What does one do while waiting?
Thinking of nothing else, she plopped down in a chair, pulled out a special PADD for sketching and began dreaming up ideas. Since she hadn’t any customers yet, she simply designed clothes that she would wear.
After a time there were two betazoid women, an older in very fanciful dress which rivaled ones worn by stage performers at awards shows with its many pleats and tucks and complex shaping, and a younger woman in trousers and a plain dark blouse printed with botanicals, both of them examining the new shop signage.
“I wish we were anywhere in reach of an actual designer for a real consultation. Betazoid, Rigel, Risa, Trill, Earth, why even if you would manage the short shuttle ride from here to Bolarus!” said the older lady, rather loudly.
“Bolarus? I know I’ve been gone for a while. Have they had a new wave in fashion… again?” Ibis had always thought the Ferengi and the Bolians were competing for the most attention grabbing clothes. Not that either could hold a candle to the imaginations of Betazoid lines. Whereas most of the bizarrest catwalk art pieces on Earth were understood to be for the shows only, it seemed the women on Betazed were willing to actually wear the designs that could only be called clothes in so much as they were propped up by a body inside of them. Once in a while Bolarus would invent a sensation that even out did the Betazoids, however. It was like an arms race, egging one another on in absurdity.
She was keenly aware that her mother was looking at her with consternation and shaking her head with disapproval at her thoughts. Jalaine felt that she had truly failed to impart real culture to her daughter. “Well, we might as well see if there’s anything here.”
“I thought the dress in the last shop window would work fine.” They hadn’t carried them in white, which she didn’t especially mind. White wedding gowns with Earth tradition seemed like something she probably couldn’t merit. The champagne-beige or even the pale sun-gold would have been alright.
“That’s just common evening wear. I wish you’d stop trying to be invisible.”
“I don’t know, Mom.” Ibis said as they looked at the bright shop and the pretty dresses and suits out on display. “Maybe I should just wear dress whites. It’s a navy tradition anyway.” And it would be one less choice she would have to make.
Jalaine spied a young woman sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs rising to greet them and took her to be the help. She waved about at the display work. “Hello, dear. If you please, which designers do you carry here?”
“Mine,” Moon said, moving around the counter. The older woman looked strangely familiar and it took her a moment to place her. “I know you,” she said to Jalaine. “Mrs. Xeri? Earth? Right? My mother is Pak Bong Cha. We met at some gala a year ago or something.”
“Oh, why yes, as a matter of fact I believe we did.” Jalaine was taken aback as she placed the memory and then kept to herself that it appeared Bong Cha was about as successful as she was right now in as far as convincing their daughters to return home.
Moon’s attention drifted to Ibis and she snapped her fingers. “Of course! I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together. You’re the daughter who was missing! Welcome home!”
Ibis produced a smile at the recognition. It was nice to think that she had been missed, but she had never known this woman personally, and it was a strange sort of fame, being recognized through the contacts of your socialite mother. “Thanks, I... thank you. So you… you run this shop?”
“First day. First customers. One of my partners,” she smirked at the word, “said I should have a grand opening, but I just wanted to see how things would go. He called it a ‘soft opening.’” Moon shook her head. She’d had to look up the term, discovering it was an archaic idiom from Earth’s past. Something about opening before you opened. “I was a costume designer on Earth, but there’s not much theater out here - yet. So, are you looking for new clothes? I’d have thought with you getting your own lab that you’d just be going around in uniforms. Do you want those custom fit? I did all of Rice’s. The replicator really does an awful job at fits.”
“Rice?” Ibis wasn’t sure she heard right.
“Oh…er…Lieutenant Commander Maurice Rubens. He’s the Chief Diplomatic Officer and my fiance. Not to make you uncomfortable, but you and the Marine - Wallace? - have been a topic of conversation at the dinner table since you got back.”
“Ah,” Ibis said, but thought about it. It did make sense for the Chief Diplomatic Officer to be following the Korin issues. Actually, she wondered if she shouldn’t try and update him about the science project for Korin Recovery, or at least invite him to the regular meetings…. Before the thought formed words, her mother was talking.
“Yes, your mother did say you had relocated out here chasing after one of your father’s proteges or some such.” Jalaine recounted, but then realized Bong Cha had been very reserved. “Not that she said very much about it. Has she remained aboard the station? I need to ask after her if she has.”
“Unfortunately,” Moon muttered, neither appreciating the idea that she ‘chased’ Rice nor talk of her mother staying here. She’d been around enough Betazoids, however, to know that trying to hide her discontent was pointless. She waved her hand in the air, like dismissing an irksome fly, “But enough about her, what can I help you with?”
Jalaine recognized right away that thankless, resistant attitude of the daughter who didn’t know what was best for her. She already had so much in mind to say and had to reserve it all for the ears of those who would better appreciate it. Perhaps Bong Cha and Ara would be open to comparing notes and exchanging more advice. “Well, since you brought up uniform tailoring, my daughter certainly could use some help there. They’re practically hanging off of her. She needs to have them taken in.”
“That’s…” Ibis pulled at her shirt cuffs self consciously. “not what we were shopping for.”
“Okay, well, Moon said. “I assume your programmed wardrobe is a little out of date then?”
“Horridly!” Jalaine agreed, pointing at the current exhibit. “Look, she wears nothing but these plain, conservative looking Terran blouses! She looks like a little prairie house woman.”
Ibis flushed. “No, that’s not… I’m getting married. I’m looking for something to wear for my wedding.”
“A wedding?” Moon’s smile grew. She loved wedding traditions.
“Yes. I don’t really know where to start.” Ibis shrugged. They’d been out shopping for a few hours and had disagreed on everything Ibis had been willing to settle for from the window displays or off the clothing racks. Her mother had hardly even let her try anything on. Ibis felt the irony like a heavy storm cloud: nothing was good enough for the wedding event her mother didn’t think should happen at all. “I was just… going to pick a nice sundress or…I don’t know.”
“Well, it would be advantageous if it could double as some splendid evening wear.” Jalaine said, seizing on something she could agree with. “There isn’t a date set yet or anything. Who knows?”
“I’m getting married. Hopefully in the next couple of weeks.” Ibis clarified for Moon, not wanting her to mistake her Mother’s dubious attitude about the wedding for any doubts of her own.
“Sundress?” Moon asked. “So, not a big wedding then? A few friends? In front of…who does marry someone on a starbase? The Captain? The Admiral?”
“I… I’m not sure. Wallace said he’d handle the arrangements for the officiation and announcements and things. I did ask my brothers if they could make the trip soon.”
“Hmm. Okay. White?”
Jalaine chuffed.
“That’s traditional, I guess.” Ibis wanted to sound agreeable but at the same time, she wasn’t sure. White at weddings, she thought, had connotations about purity in some of the pervasive Terran cultures, and she didn’t feel especially new. Wallace had been married before, and she’d never thought of herself as the marrying type; her history wasn’t very reserved. What if she wore white and it made people dredge up her past? She hated caring, but she found that she did. “I’m… open to colors too.”
“Will Major Wallace be in uniform?”
“Maybe?” Ibis wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He had a standing invitation to work with the Marines again and he’d seemed only nominally interested. But maybe she was misunderstanding him or reading him wrong. Maybe he wanted to serve again and was just refraining on account of their recovery. Of course he wouldn’t have said anything. But his recovery was going better than expected. And there were Marines on base and on the planet who she knew for a fact would be over the moon to have their lost and found brother training or strategizing with them. Why hadn’t he gone back to working?
“If he’s not going to wear his uniform, I could design a matching suit for your dress.”
“Matching is good, but you know, not too matchy-matchy.” Ibis didn’t want it all to feel overly staged. “If he’s not going to be in uniform.”
“How big a to-doo do you want this to be? The clothes should be a statement of what you want, and should make you happy. I could see something really simple. Flip-flops and a bathing suit. Basically, Betazoid-light.”
Jalaine was looking a little smug, watching her daughter flounder, hearing her wavering and uncertain thoughts. Clearly she hadn’t thought this through at all.
“Well I… I’m still working on my bikini body,” Ibis said, all too self-aware of how much body fat she no longer had and where all her bones still protruded. “And I don’t think Wallace wants anything beach themed.”
“Yeah, you’re probably sick of the beach.” Moon tapped her finger on her lips, sizing up her customer. A multitude of thoughts banged around inside her head. People had different ideas on when the dress picking out should occur: Moon didn’t. Was it the thing that was the center of attention or the thing that tied everything else together?
“Oh! I do know where it will be.” Ibis volunteered suddenly, standing a little taller. She did know one thing about her wedding after all. She looked to her mother, internally begging that she wouldn’t let this slip. “But it’s a little bit of a secret.”
With a gesture, Jalaine swatted away the insinuation that she, of all people, might spoil a secret. *Oh go on. I won’t tell a soul.* Besides, why would she spill the details of something that was as likely as not going to happen?
“It's to be in the park, on the Environmental Deck, near the aviary. I’ve…” Fishing in a pocket, Ibis produced a small printed image and some scrawled note taking she had used in her planning with Operations personnel. It was still a little damp from being splashed by Ikemba. She extended it to Moon. “Sorry, it’s… soapy water. I washed it by accident,” she assured her. “There’s an artwork I’m hoping will be installed there soon. It’s a sculpture. Well, it was to be a part of a relief, in a massive installation, but the original piece wasn’t finished before… It’s a wing shape.”
Moon had taken extensive art history courses and she immediately recognized the style of the low relief sculpture as one that emerged in post-World War III, but with certain mid-24th century flourishes that made it more contemporary. “Does the artist have meaning to you?”
“Oh, yes. The artist is Wallace’s late father. He doesn’t know I’ve arranged for it.”
“No to white, but maybe a cream? Yellow?” Moon looked up at Ibis and immediately could tell that white wasn’t going to work. She looked at her complexion - still tinged gold by the star of Korix - and her dark hair, her dark eyes. “Mmm. Blue or green?”
Asked to choose between them, Ibis laughed to herself at the coincidence. “Our department colors.”
“Perfect. Blue and green. Feathers as an accent. Feathers as a major component…” Moon began musing to herself, flipping through her mental catalog of styles. Her career in costume design took her from Tutor England to the Nar Shrea era on Andoria and everything in between. She realized in this moment how valuable that experience was going to be. “...Wings. Whole wings? No. Over the top. But feathers. Simple. Elegant. As an accent. Definitely as an accent. Those we’ll make white.”
Exhaling, Ibis was relieved that Moon seemed to have a vision in mind. One that didn’t include her wearing any wings. She looked at her mother who was scrutinizing Moon with her face.
Try as she might to sort through the rapidly firing images and references Moon paged through, Jalaine didn’t quite see it, but at least there was something more than a bland, off the rack dinner dress coming to shape. “You can draw something up?”
“I have no idea where I’m going to source Ek-barbo feathers, though. I would hate to use a replicator,” Moon mumbled, then nodded. “I can sketch something up in a tick.”
She grabbed her PADD and madly started to sketch, using her finger to rub out mistakes. All the way, she circled Ibis, examining her form: the width of her shoulders, hips, how she stood. All the while her sketching continued. Every so often she stopped and really looked at Ibis, or reached out and tugged at her outfit, once even asking permission to roll up a pant leg.
Ibis obliged, lifting her arms on command, turning, rolling up sleeves and pant legs, lifting her hair with a hand.
“Ooookay. It’s a little hurried and it’ll need a lot of refinement, but here’s what I’m thinking,” she declared several minutes later.
Having been fitted for event dresses before, Ibis had expected measurements and drawn out figuring, but Moon seemed to be working on some sort of intuition to start with. She rolled her pant leg back down around her shoe.
“Tea-length, maybe with a train that dips to her ankles, nothing dragging on the floor though. You might think you're out-of-shape, but your legs are quite frankly, to die for. It won’t show off your whole leg, though so don’t worry. No slits for you! Halter top, too. While your legs have kept up, your torso still needs time to…er…heal. It’ll be a nice wide halter, too. I’m thinking of the teal of your uniform, but adding a dark green piping and belt at the waist. Maybe dark green crinoline, because the skirt will split in the front and that’s where the feathers will be sort of falling out. Big feathers. Three-foot long white Ek-barbo feathers. Are you familiar with the bird?”
Jalaine’s look of scrutiny seemed to melt as the mental image clarified in Moon’s vision, crystalizing as she verbalized the description.
“No,” Ibis said with genuine interest, eager to look up the creature. She could get lost for hours in catalogs of xeno- biology. That the design Moon had in mind involved giant feathers, Ibis found fascinating. For nine years she hadn’t seen more than the skeletal remains of a bird. She’d sometimes etched memories of birds and wings and feathers on rocks with charcoal from the fire, or drawn them in the sand. “I don’t recall the Ek-barbo bird.”
“Lives on one of the satellites of Varidan II,” Moon told her. “Big, ten-foot tall ostrich-mixed-with-giraffe looking thing. It has these three-foot long feathers. Bolians had this whole fetish with them a couple years ago.” She shuddered, the look had been awful.
The Varidan reference struck an old memory chord in the science officer. It was a gas giant orbited by multiple moons, many of them life supporting, but with vast differences in environmental conditions, although all of them had thin atmospheres and low gravity. “Isn’t that because it’s such a low gravity world? All the upright vertebrates that live there have extended, willowy necks?”
“I don’t know,” Moon said, shrugging. “I just know feathers. So, what do you think? I’ll need to take measurements and scans of you, I’ll need to source the material and the feathers. Afterwards, I’ll need to refine it. Maybe two or three days until I can have something final for your approval. A week to cut it, piece it together, sewing…” This was going to be a rush, but that’s something else Moon was used to. Last minute costume changes from directors and producers after months of work.
At least Bong Cha’s daughter had experience, Jalaine thought. Ibis needed to start dressing properly, at any rate. Maybe the rest of her wardrobe would improve with this contact. And with proper attire, she might stop thinking herself a match to that vulgar marine. “It’s not as if you’re likely to find a second bespoke designer on this station,” her mother said.
Ibis decided that could count as approval. Still, it felt surreal. From her memory of fancy wedding arrangements others in her life had made, it often took months to employ professionals to make dresses and prepare to host and cater things. “Just a couple of weeks? For a handmade dress?” Maybe everything really could come together soon. The sculpture installation, her brothers visiting, the dress… all within a couple of weeks.
“You’re my first customer,” Moon replied with a smile. “I have to show what I can do and, you know, it’s not like I have anything else going on.”
“Well, there’s likely to be attention.” Ibis had to admit. Like her situation with the media and her coming art show, she was realizing that she had to figure out how to at least look the part. Even if she couldn’t quite feel it. She only really cared if Wallace would like the dress, and that it wouldn’t be altogether too pretentious for a memory album image to look back on, and that she could maybe dance in it, if there was going to be dancing— she wasn’t sure of that either, come to think of it. But maybe if she could dress the part, she might fool everyone into thinking the celebrity wasn’t bothering her.
With any luck, she might even fool herself.
