128/S-Shopping

S-Shopping
Date of Scene:	09 July 2014
Location:	Asian Plains
Synopsis:	The Servant Saber decides that her returned knight, Sir Bedivere, had better get with modern times and pick up some appropriate clothing for those times when he doesn't need to be in full plate armour all the time. To help out is Fate T. Harlaown, a friend of Saber's. Which can't possibly end well for the slightly awkward Bedivere...
Cast of Characters:	306, 346, 482

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Welcome to Fuyuki City, where there are some nice shopping malls whose department stores and clothing botiques cater to salarymen and casual tastes alike. Thankfully, it's the middle of the week, so it isn't quite so crowded that the subject of this little shopping trip would be overwhelmed.

Speaking of which, there is a knight in shining armour in a department store of Fuyuki City.

Well, not really. No doubt Arturia had finally managed to get him to wear something ordinary. The clothing was perhaps borrowed from Tokiomi's untouched wardrobe, with, surprisingly, permission from Rin ("Why not? It's not being used for anything else").

Thus it is that the knight in shining armour is bereft of both shining armour and sword, wearing instead a sharp-looking button-down shirt and slacks and matching shoes, and looks very much out of place in modern clothing and the department store alike. He handles this with his usual calm, though, having slid the mask of the Marshal of Camelot back into place, handling the situation with perhaps surprising grace.

There's still a definite awkwardness as he follows Arturia around the store with the air of somebody extremely lost, though. And didn't she say she had another friend showing up? Not Lady Sakura; someone else. He wonders, with distant curiosity as he examines a formal button-down shirt, who that might be.

"Milord." His voice is soft, and only carries as far as it needs to; a voice so gentle that some easily mistake for a woman's. And once he's sure he has her attention, he lifts the hangar, showing the simple, black, button-down shirt. Which would probably look good on him, come to think of it, complementing his pale colouration well.

He still has that look of barely-restrained awkwardness, though.

Fate T. Harlaown (306) has posed:
There was indeed another friend showing up. Rather than her usual military uniform, Fate has dressed down today, coming in a knee-length skirt and off-the-shoulder peasant top. There is no place for Enforcer uniforms while shopping for clothes with friends, and Fate was absolutely delighted that Saber had contacted her to help with this little problem.

Of course, all it took was the barest description of the knight to be able to spot him in the crowds, especially given his height. "Hello, Saber," she says with a soft smile. Then, head tilted upwards, she gives the same warm smile to the tall man. "And you must be Sir Bedivere. We spoke briefly on the Union frequency." The blonde dips her head in a slight bow. "Fate Testarossa Harlaown. Pleased to meet you." No need to include her rank here, when they're not doing anything related to it. "But please, just call me Fate."

Saber (346) has posed:
To her credit, the King of Knights had tried to be as accommodating as possible for her former aide-de-campe. Not a Servant as she was, (and for which she was actually rather grateful, a Servant's existence in general was fairly brief and more than a little thankless) he quite obviously lacked the knowledge of the current era that had been imparted on her by the Holy Grail. She had merely been surprised that mobile phones had become so small. Bedivere, on the other hand, still thought of long-distance instantaneous communication as witchcraft. It was going to take more than a little effort to get him adjusted.

Not that she minded in the least, and anyone who knew the normally impassive-faced Saber might double-take at just how /happy/ she looked...at least, for Saber.She even had a little smile on her face, imagine that.

Almost as gratefully, she had managed to procure something in the way of modern clothing -- Fuyuki City still remained largely ignorant of the magical reality of their world and the multiverse at large thanks to the paranoid Magus Association -- so that he didn't stand out...

Saber caught a sideways glance at the locals who couldn't help but stare at the rather striking foreigners. The stares weren't entirely unfamiliar; she had seen many of the same looks in the ladies of the court when the tall, admittedly beautiful knight passed through, and he, as always, entirely focused on his duties not even noticing. She stifled a chuckle to spare his feelings; it would seem some things never changed.

She herself had opted for a more mundane look: a simple scoop neck light blue blouse, lacy white skirt and matching leggings (mostly so that he wouldn't panic, the skirt was rather short by their traditional standards -- just barely reaching her knees) and ballet flats with the ribbons wrapped loosely around her ankles. Her hair likewise was out of its traditional bun, instead braided loosely and bound with a plain white lace ribbon. She might have been earning the same stares Bedivere was getting but from the men, but if so, she was every bit as oblivious to them.

before setting out, she had enlisted the aid of a friend she knew she could always count on in these situations. "Hello, Fate," she greeted her fellow member of Mobile Six with a smile, the kind Fate had only seen on rare occasions. "I am most grateful that you could come, especially on such short notice."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight frowns, however faint the expression is, and regards the button-down shirt he'd been considering. Although he has no particular issue with the modesty of the garment, with its muted colour and its clean lines, the cut is strange to his mediaeval sensibilities. The precision of it cut and stitching is altogether foreign. Even his own knightly raiment is far from perfect; the goldthread that lines the waistcloth's hem has areas where even it isn't perfectly straight relative to the hem.

He glances up at the sound of a vaguely familiar voice, looking through the sparse crowds. Actually, quite a few of the young women here seem to be staring in the foreigners' direction. Such is not strange to him, for even at courts, the king would often be stared at; some might consider themselves lucky, as he once did, to catch even a mere glimpse of King Arturia Pendragon.

As Arturia expects, the stoic Sir Bedivere is entirely oblivious to the attention he's getting from the local girls.

Still, it's odd to see his king dressed so... so casually. Vaguely uncomfortable, too, as though it might somehow offend her dignity or honour, though she seems not to be distressed over that in the least, and so he's dismissed his unease.

Even he has to admit, very quietly and personally, that she looks beautiful like this... and the acknowledgement causes the subtlest hint of colour to touch those high cheekbones. Bedivere clears his throat, very softly, and looks away from Arturia with his head bowed before his own face betrays him.

"Yes. Thank you for arriving. I am most grateful, and honoured to make your acquaintance. Any friend of milord Arturia's is a friend of mine." Bedivere does not knee; he would only to such before the king, but he does offer a formal bow -- carefully balancing the shirt he'd been inspecting. "I, ah, confess that I am unfamiliar with the garments of this age."

Fate T. Harlaown (306) has posed:
One thing Bedivere might immediately take note of is that Fate is speaking English. Or, well.... it's a very strangely-accented English, but definitely understandable. The Midchildan language just has a few sounds that somehow seem backwards. "I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair down like this, Saber. It looks good on you." Imagine, Saber wearing a braid! And clothes like that, without prompting! It makes her glad she dragged the kingly Servant out shopping several times in the past.

But it's that smile that really stands out, and Fate's crimson eyes shift back to Bedivere. "It must be comforting for both of you to be reunited with a friend and comrade after so long." The bow earns another warm smile, but Fate knows at least enough about the age these two are from to accept it. Her grasp of Earth's history outside of what she learned in elementary and middle school is still fairly weak, except for the specific areas she's looked up... but meeting Saber meant she at least sought out the basics of that time. The history books seem to have gotten a number of things wrong, though.

"Mmm. Well..." The blonde takes a look at the shirt Bedivere is holding. "Your first decision is how casual you want to be." A vague sweep of her hand (which, it may be noted, bears a nice ring), indicates some of the groups passing by. "But I might wager you're not the T-shirt and shorts type. We can, at least, go without a tie, I think..." If she noticed that blush of his, Fate keeps quite silent about it, but there is a faint, knowing smile as she sees it. "Did you have any particular color you liked? Or, I suppose, of your... heraldry? That's the correct word, right?"

Fate takes the shirt that Bedivere is so awkwardly holding and lifts it up in front of him. "What do you think, Saber? We can start with this, since he's picked it out already..."

Saber (346) has posed:
In the past, Saber would have been somewhat oblivious to Fate's praise, awarding the taller blonde a somewhat bland but quizzical look. But today? Today, the wielder of Bardiche was in for a very special treat for her trouble. The compliments set the tiny knight blushing lightly, even slightly flustered. "I-I thank you," she managed softly.

She had wanted to make a good impression, reassuring her friend that she had indeed started to make some kind of effort, as well as not embarrass the poor knight beside her who was flustered even more that she was. It was more than clear to her that he was still trying desperately to get used to the fact that the stoic, nearly inhuman king he had served for so many years had adjusted to the modern era. It was a little embarrassing; she did hope he could eventually see her as a friend, and some part of him would always be the loyal knight, she suspected. But still, they no longer had to be so distant. On the other hand, she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Just thinking about letting Bedivere down made her fidget slightly.

Thankfully, they had a purpose that she could distract herself with. "Ah. Yes," she mused, giving the shirt a critical eye. "Perhaps a suit later...though for now, perhaps casual would be best."

She turned to Fate, tapping her finger on her chin. "One of Sir Bedivere's most admirable qualities is his humility. Nothing too elaborate....simple, I should think."

Much like Saber herself, actually.

But then, she looked almost sheepish, turning back to her marshal. "Forgive me, this is your decision to make."

And was she blushing a little? Yes, she was most certainly blushing.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Although he does take note of Fate's peculiar speech, Bedivere offers no comment on it. That would be rude, and furthermore, he's perceptive enough to suspect some inner workings of the Multiverse at play. Such is certainly well beyobd his modest unserstanding.

At Fate's praise to his liege, however, he's forced to agree -- silently. It's a look he never would have dreamt on Arturia, but somehow it suits her. The realisation seems strange, but he can't quite deny it.

"It is indeed," he murmurs, in that gentle voice of his. "Never would I have dared to dream such. Truly, I am blessed to serve milord Arturia again." He says it with the faintest ghost of a smile; not one of embarrassment, but of sincerity. It might be a broad grin on anyone else, but to the understated Bedivere, it would nonetheless be telling, to Arturia.

"Ah..." On clothing, though, he seems hopelessly lost. "Yes. Heraldry. But I have none. I was born a commoner. I was given the right to bear a standard, but I chose not to." The predictably humble option. At the time, it may or may not have surprised Arturia to see such modesty in him. Probably not. She was always keen of perception, too. "I've a preference for blue, but I could not wear a royal colour. What of grey?" A nice humble colour. Commoners. colours. Still humble, after all these years.

He looks a bit awkward at Arturia's reaction to Fate's praise, too. But juat a bit.

He definitely looks awkward at Arturia's praise, and even flushes a bit. Oh, dear.

Fate T. Harlaown (306) has posed:
"A suit might feel quite restrictive unless it's custom-tailored. I don't think he'd enjoy the feeling." Fate looks thoughtfully at Bedivere for a moment, then at the shirt. Fortunately for him, she's got some experience with men's clothes thanks to Erio and Chrono, so it isn't hard for her to at least guess a proper size to start. "Blue isn't necessarily for royalty today, but.... hmm. Gray could be -quite- dashing on you. Hold on a moment."

Upon excusing herself, Fate walks over to speek with one of the workers in the shop. When she returns, there's a tape measure in her hands. "I can guess sizes, but knowing your neck and waist measurements will help quite a bit." He's -so tall-, but these clothing stores always have little stepstools, and Fate makes use of that to get at Bedivere's neck.

Don't think she doesn't notice those blushes either! As she works on measurements, Fate quietly casts glances toward the Servant. "Sir Bedivere, is this the first time you've seen her in a skirt?" It's a completely innocent question, and one she can safely ask while climbing down from the stepstool. "Arms up," comes a gentle command, so she can get his waist measurement, then continue right back into her earlier thought. "She used to wear suits quite a lot, but it's nice to see her dress more casually of late."

Saber (346) has posed:
"Agreed," Saber replied to Fate. "I had required one, myself, before we arrived in Fuyuki City." Irisviel's memory would always evoke a little bit of wistfulness; the Servant still missed the elegant, white-haired homunculus. She could only imagine how the girlish Einzbern would have reacted...she would have been happy, no doubt, that Saber had been reunited with someone precious to her; she had always seemed to wish for the Servant's happiness. But then, she was probably happy to be with her husband, free from the demands of the Holy Grail War, somewhere.

Her smile at Bedivere's words was equally wistful. She was overjoyed to be reunited with him, and yet, his devotion was a little painful. She had, ultimately, failed the people of her kingdom. And though she fought for the Union, there were still some things that she had done even after abandoning Heaven's Feel, things she couldn't bring herself to speak of. In truth, she felt ashamed, unworthy of such loyalty.

With annoyance at herself, she banished these thoughts to the back of her head; she had a task to complete and a duty to fulfil. She was, after all, responsible for her knight's well-being. "You are most skilled at this," she marvelled at Fate's deft measurement-taking, once more thankful that she was there. "I could not have possibly accomplished such an endeavour on my own..."

And with that, the blush was back and with a few more shades added. "Th-there is the dress beaneath my armour, but...I-I feared that such clothing would...not look quite right on me," she admitted ruefully, betraying a hint of that inner conflict she had been fighting ever since Fate had persuaded her to try on more feminine attire.

At that, she glanced away quickly, trying to make it look as if she was appraising some other article of clothing.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Hm. Surely no less restrictive than full plate... but I will defer to your judgment on the matter." Bedivere has the air of someone slightly lost. "But I insist. I could not wear blue in good con--dashing?"

Again, the tall knight flushes, slightly. Really? Dashing? How presumptuous. Immodest.

He is quite obedient in letting Fate take the proper measurements. Strangely, he seens calmer about that than in enduring direct attention from Arturia. At least until Fate drops a bombshell in his unsuspecting lap. "I--what? Wh--I--" He clears his throat to stall and make a grab for his tattered composure. "I have not," Bedivere finally says, so calmly that Arturia may see that he's slammed his own mask down in aelf-preservation. He lifts his arms obediently when bidden. "Nir can I imagine milord Arturia in a suit."

If Arturia thinks himaelf unworthy, though, so too does Bedivere likely think the same. He should gave defended her from Mordred -- not buried her.

"Milord? I think it suits you well--" Five seconds pass before Bedivere realises what he's said.

And then he flushes scarlet, closing his mouth before he says anything else incriminating. Much like Arturia, he looks away from her, steadfastly refusing to meet her eyes. Or Date's.

Oh, the Good Lord preserve him. He wants to sink through the floor right now.

Fate T. Harlaown (306) has posed:
"Thank you, Saber. This isn't the first time I've had to do this." Fate makes a quick mental note of the measurement numbers. "I did raise Erio, after all, and my brother needed someone to make sure his clothes matched before he got married." The blonde tilts her head toward Saber. "You look very nice like this, you know." A pause, and a smile. "Sir Bedivere agrees, it seems. There's nothing wrong with dressing nicely and comfortably to fit in with the modern world."

Fate is off, but not more than a few feet away, poking through some clothing racks and occasionally pulling a hangar off and draping it over her arm.

That pause and silence only makes Fate smile, though she knows better than to let a laugh out. She wouldn't want to scare him away! "Here." Fate returns and holds up the selected clothes for Bedivere. There are three different styles of pants, in varying shades of gray, and the same number of shirts. One of them has very thin vertical red stripes, one is solid gray, and one has thin vertical stripes in very dark blue. "There's a changing room right here. Go try some of these on so we can see how they look on you." After a moment of consideration, she adds, "And call if you need assistance." She's not sure how good he is with all the button and zippers and clasps.

"Saber," she says, turning to the Servant. "Have you shown him around yet? It might be worth a day's outing to introduce him properly to the modern world, take him to eat something..." Probably not a buffet, though. "He's not a Servant, correct? So he'll have to be acclimated to the world." Fate is not going to use that four-letter word she's implying, though. The one that begins with a D and rhymes with her name.

Saber (346) has posed:
"Plate is not so restrictive; it does permit freedom of movement, but the suits of this era are much the same. They must be precisely measured if they are to fit properly, and they are not intended for battle. However, my own was specially made to allow for such, in the event I could not summon my armour." At least they could both talk comfortably about armour, and Saber seemed to relax a little.

But it was only a brief respite as the onslaught resumed. Yes, he would look rather...no, that was not the proper way to think of someone she cherished as a loyal friend. Especially not one who is, as she sees it, a pure young man whose loyalty she still feels unworthy of.

When she saw the mask come down she felt slightly puzzled; but then again, he still had a ways to go when it came to social dealings. He was still so painfully shy....

And then, Bedivere spoke words that she would have never in a million years have ever expected to hear. The reaction was not immediate, and at first Arturia turned back to regard the now-mortified knight quizzically. A moment passed before the compliment sank in; and then the blush returned again with a vengeance. She stared at him for a moment longer, sea-green eyes widened before she heard Fate /agree/. "N-no...you really do not have to be polite merely for my sake..." she stammered out before the floor tiles suddenly became absolutely /fascinating/.

Saber had yet to accept that she's much more feminine than she thinks she is.

She stayed that way until Fate returned and ushered the tall and bewildered knight into the changing rooms, hands idly fiddling with a loose thread on her skirt. Fortunately, the powers that be granted her some relief when Fate turned things to business. Away from the king of Knights and her horrible embarrassment, if only because she didn't yet catch the implication. "Ah...no, I have made some plans to do so. It was most fortuitous that no emergencies have demanded my attention..."

She shook her head slightly. "No, he is not." Fate would no doubt catch the subtle worried expression the Servant now wore. "With so many things that threaten even Servants, I fear for his safety, though he is among the most skilled of my knights..."

She sighed, softly. "But I should not insult him so, to doubt him in this way," she additted before changing the proverbial gears. "Where should we go? I have no wish for him to force himself for my sake, but..." /I never had the chance to truly get to know him, so I have no idea what he would like/ was her unspoken concern.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight tilts his head as Fate explains her expertise away. He watches her from the corner of his violet eyes, and curiosity seems to have dismissed some of the worst of his fussing, though there's still the hint of a blush stubbornly attending those high cheekbones. Although there seems to be a little bit of resemblance, it's clear that they aren't related, and it's only a coincidence -- there's a lean angularity to his features that might be called harsh, if he weren't so gentle of personality.

"Ah. My father was a farmer, but he had a sister who was a tailor." Bedivere has never spoken of his origins to his king, so she might find the exposition a momentary distraction. His statement is soft, as though he were a bit awkward about actually revealing it. "I am not of a noble house, as some of my brothers-in-arms of the Round Table were. "I only learned enough of the craft to know that it was not what I wished to do with my life. But I know some of it; at least its fundaments..."

He was good at it, with his surprisingly delicate hands and long fingers, but it wasn't his calling. No; his calling had come to him the day he had seen the king's entourage ride by, all gleaming armour and bright pennants snapping in the wind. And, when she had chanced to look his way, when violet eyes met that cold jade, he had known in his heart he would have nothing else but to serve the Round Table -- to serve Arturia.

Bedivere ducks his head, as though he were suddenly shy about such openness. Thankfully, his hair hides his face, although he isn't blushing this time. He does when Fate reminds him that he'd actually complimented the king so openly, though. His face may be hidden, but the tips of his ears, currently bright scarlet, are not.

Damn it all...

Fortunately, Fate returns to distract him away from that with an armful of clothing, which he takes and eyes somewhat suspiciously. It isn't that the clothing is so strange to him, for the cuts aren't unlike tunics of a particular lay, but the material is strange and the stitching is entirely too uniform. Truth be told, that still fascinates him. How do they /do/ that?

Then she directs him at the changing room. Somewhat resignedly, because his face is still just a little bit red, he hauls the load into the changing room to see what works and what doesn't.

Arturia and Fate may hear sounds of clothing rustling from inside, and the awkward pause as Bedivere sorts his way through clasps, buttons, and zippers. Fortunately he's not so helpless as they might think he is -- he is a keen observer, and he's reasonably good at figuring unfamiliar things out when given a chance to think them through. He'll adapt just fine to the Multiverse, and eventually, he'll land from this whole ordeal on his feet. He just needs a little time to get over the shock.

Not that he'd call for assistance from either of the two women. In the case of Arturia, it would be utterly humiliating, and he wouldn't want to admit to any sort of weakness in front of her. Also, it wouldn't be proper. In the case of Fate, she's a strange, and therefore it would be improper.

After a few moments, they'll be rewarded by the sound of more clothing rustling, and a door opening. Apparently he can't hear them, or he's too busy concentrating on making sure the clothing fits correctly.

Somewhat nervously, he withdraws from the relative safety of the changing room. He must have taken his cues from passers-by, too, for he's tucked in the shirt neatly, fastening everything properly. He's fiddling with the cuffs somewhat nervously, and he resolutely doesn't meet either of their eyes.

He's so busy looking down that he doesn't notice a group of young locals nearby, fluttering about a clothing rack, watching him avidly with undisguised attraction. It's just as well he doesn't see them, because -- for once -- he'd be mortified. It's strange enough not to be wearing his armour

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
He's so busy looking down that he doesn't notice a group of young locals nearby, fluttering about a clothing rack, watching him avidly with undisguised attraction. It's just as well he doesn't see them, because -- for once -- he'd be mortified. It's strange enough not to be wearing his armour before the king, and worse still that attention is drawn to this fact.

Never mind what the king is /wearing/... and never mind that he thinks it suits her, in its own way, and that it does in fact look quite in place on her.

And then she seems to think that his comment was out of politeness or obligation.

For a brief instant, Bedivere looks like a fox that's caught in a steel-jaw trap, contemplating chewing its own leg off to escape its predicament.

Chivalry and honour demands that he set things aright, and tell her that he would never make such a comment out of a sense of obligation. He speaks truly, and has a strong distaste for lying. If he speaks his mind on something, generally, that's going to be how he genuinely feels about the subject. And the subject of Arturia's dress is something he happens to like, however much it might shame him to admit that.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound; he's not exactly going to lie to himself. That would just make a complicated situation even worse, wouldn't it...?

On the other hand, he wouldn't actually say that on pain of death. Propriety demands that he not be so forward with his king over something so inappropriate. He is a sworn servant of the realm, and an annointed knight beneath Arturia's authority. How could he talk about something like that so openly and expect to avoid serious consequences, let alone the dishonour and shame it would invite on them both?

Being caught between a rock and a hard place like that is not only humiliating, but he's starting to feel like a man drowning, with nothing buoyant to grab hold of...

"I..." Bedivere can feel his throat closing off again, and that familiar sense of panic rising in the pit of his stomach. He'd opened his mouth to say something, but he finds himself closing it again. Before the embarrassment can come roaring in, he just looks at her for a few moments, studying her.

She might find herself even more fidgety and nervous under his calm, appraising regard. It's different from those shy glances from the corner of his eye. He's looking at her, really /looking/ at her; considering her appearance with such a casual and charming outfit so different from the things he had always seen her wearing. He seems thoughtful, too, enough so that his face doesn't betray that undertone of flustered embarrassment.

He can almost hold onto it for a few moments.

"I humbly disagreee, milord," he finally says, shaking his head. "Have I not always been honest to you, my king? I would not speak such untruth. It suits you, and I think you look well in such a dress. I meant... what I... said..." All of that cool confidence seems to leach out of him as he finally loses that newfound calm. Colour touches his face again. He drops his gaze, steadfastly refusing to meet Arturia's eyes.

He exhales, very quietly and slowly, so long and drawn-out that it can't really be called a proper sigh. The sound seems to go perfectly with his mortified expression as his head drops, hair falling in front of his face again.

Oh, look. His ears are red again.

"In any case," he mumbles, "I--I favour the unmarked grey..."