Unadorned Beauty

"Balloon sleeves..."

"Bell sleeves!" was Nia's counter. She couldn't help being peevish, given how hard she'd worked (and been worked) to perfect every dotted cadence and round every sandy edge. Growing into adulthood alongside Rex, of all people, after leaving the attemptedly uppity manners of House Echell behind, certainly hadn't made that easy.

And this picture of a young Melia had her looking quite silly, gloved hands just about completely swallowed and buried by heavy-looking loops of cloth in a gossamery pink and undertones of blue.

"Well, I'm sure I thought I looked very quaint," hedged Melia. She knew without a second thought that if Nia caught but a single glimpse of her old Orion type armours, or even the M100 line with their plausibly deniable attempt at an...ah...rear window, it'd be pink-and-blue curtains for the High Entian queen's past self's dignity. "I was only sixteen, after all."

Deadpanned Nia: "You were eighty-eight."

Melia shuddered. "Horrid number, I'm so glad it was over soon to follow."

"In a year's time, yes." For Nia knew Melia was no fool with the interconverted number systems. How glad they'd been to find that, even with the different names, a titanpound and a kilo (kilo of what, no one was quite sure) remained roughly equal, and they'd named the beast of Dumas' Jaw after the commonality.

"I did get better dress sense within a year, though."

"No, no, I'm with you. Looking back, I...can't say I was the epitome of style and grace."

(She'd pronounced it eh-pih-tome.)

"Looking back and saying anything at all is not a luxury all are afforded."

"Hey, d'you think I'm not grateful?"

"I know you are, Nia."

"'s more like it." Still, Nia shrunk from the candor and open admiration. Swiftly changing the subject, she said, "Now, about these sleeves..."

"Less looking, more touching, is that what you're after?" Melia inquired coyly, snaking fingertips to the Lifesage's wrist, about which neither characteristic shape appeared.

Her attempt at distraction failed, however, with Nia neatly turning the page of her assigned photo album to images from Melia's coronation.

"What's this...! Little miss peplum, with the puffed sleeves?"

Oh, the fangs were surely flashing. Not a word about how they both came to flowers, whether at tricep or flexor? Indeed, no dignity for the queens.

"And just where, Queen Nia, did you learn all the nitty particulars of garment construction?"

"Iona had a sewing phase. Lucky me, eh, eh?"

Nia continued nonchalantly indexing through the pictures as Melia quietly steamed.

"Am I to believe, then, that you've only ever worn the mustard jumpsuit, the Agnian queen's robes, and the casual wear of Leftheria?"

"Bellflower's bellsleeves," Nia showed her. "Bit too fussy for combat. Which is why..."

From the nearby closet, she produced the purpose of their meeting that day: her new outfit, to be worn in battle with Ouroboros. Modest sleeves and cape, with a shade of yellow much easier on the eyes, and boots that lacked the ridiculous spikes.

Melia couldn't decide which should win out: her indignance and embarrassment, or her appreciative, perhaps even wandering, eyes. Oh, Nia looked good in anything, but after all this frivolous conversation...

"I will have to show you mine later, since you've shown me yours."

"Naughty, naughty, Your Majesty!"

"Shall we give the old numbers to Ouroboros, then?"

Nia cackled. "Can you imagine? Eunie, little miss peplum-and-puffed-sleeves?"

Melia countered: "Can you imagine it? Mio, not aerodynamic?"