Scene #8727: Pushed into a Closet

Owner	Pose
Tamamo	Both of those present having been here before, the full description of the Closet of Babylon may be omitted. It remains a display of truly extravagant wealth in all ways, including service. There are lions working door security, solely because Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, is fond of lions and can do that. What matters today, what's new, is that Tamamo has indicated to Petra that today, and right now, is when her schedule allows her to go and 'help' Petra pick out clothing. There's nothing that can be said to be normal about this, on examination. It's Petra's birthday present she's spending, allegedly. But then, there's nothing normal about their relationship, and there's another motive for meeting, known to both of them and pointedly secret from everyone else. Being in public, of course, Tamamo's dress and manner are impeccable, and nothing of a suspicious nature can be gleaned from her expression or appearance. She's perfectly at home in the opulent surroundings, perfectly accustomed to the high level of attendance made possible by Gilgamesh's insistence on such things as providing kingly compensation to what could only approximately be called sales clerks. She'd called Petra to meet her 'here,' at the main entrance, though the exact position becomes vague when considering the size of the Babylonian palace, even with that.
Petra Soroka	For months, Tamamo has been using the brutally strict geas that she placed on Petra to torment her, with a much rougher hand than necessary to keep her in line. Tamamo's stated intention was simply to prevent her from being a threat to Lilian, being that Petra couldn't be trusted without a leash to restrain her, but her use of the near-unlimited power she has over Petra's actions extended to humiliating and abusing her, ruining her birthday party and then mocking her for crying about it. That geas was maintained through a brand on metallic skin and a donation of silver blood. After coming out of Eggman's Deroboticizer, finally made human again, Petra discovered that the brand was gone-- so she should be thrilled, right? PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka opens with a hesitant, sick-sounding voice, "Um. Hi. Miss T-Tamamo. Ma'am." PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka says, "I, uh. There's something I. Um. Need to tell you. And it wasn't on purpose, so please don't get mad." She should at least take the opportunity to tell Lilian about it, now that doing so won't deliver her to a swift and painful death, right? PHONE: Tamamo says, "I have heard that you made use of Dr. Eggman's expertise. I understand, and... will not blame you for this particular event." PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka deflates, "Oh thank god." PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka says, "So I. Um. If you think it's appropriate." PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka says, "Should-- probably. G-get it back?" She should at least take some kind of precaution, so that she isn't one-sidedly putting her life back into the hands of a woman who hates her and openly talks about how she wants her gone, right? PHONE: Tamamo transmits dead air for several second, before, perfectly pleasantly, "Yes, of course. This may be neatly solved. Still, we should not delay. I do owe you part of your birthday present, do I not?" Just as if she were talking to anyone else. PHONE: Tamamo says, "We may reapply your seal upon that meeting. It would be best I reexamine you prior to drawing another talisman, now that your body has changed." PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka says, "Oh-- yeah. That works. We'll do it then." PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka says, "Um. Thanks for not getting mad. Again. Yeah." PHONE: Tamamo says, "I have no need to be angry, at the moment, after all. Thank you for promptly informing me, Petra." PHONE: Phoning Tamamo, Petra Soroka says, "Y-yes ma'am. Of course."
Petra Soroka	And so Petra is here, at the Closet of Babylon. She's early, in fact; out of an unspoken need to hold herself up to Tamamo's standards moreso than an urgent desire to actually be here. Despite her 'eagerness', Petra's punctuality is trumped by her anxiety, and she wanders around the plush interior lobby for fifteen minutes to make sure she doesn't miss Tamamo entering, before suddenly being overcome by the worry that Tamamo might be waiting outside, passing by her accidentally at the moment she enters the Closet through a different door, and then shuffling back inside after searching the crowd of people standing around the marble exterior stairs. A few minutes late. Petra, wisely, wears the same outfit that she wore to Lilian's graduation; the one clothing expense she's had reason to splurge on without Tamamo's instruction. Her knit vest and cardigan fit in somewhat well in the environment, being that she bought them here. Her sweaty nervousness and fidgeting do not. "Hi. Tamamo. Ma'am." Petra visits the manor a couple times a week, so it's not rare for her to bump into Tamamo, but this is somewhat of a different occasion than usual. "Sorry for being late." "I, um." Even the better part of this trip, the clothing funds Tamamo gifted her, have a bad aftertaste from the circumstances surrounding the party-- circumstances caused, of course, by Tamamo. Petra winces and cycles through all of her typical idle animations in sequence, moving to cross her arms, canceling that and trying to put her hands in her currently-absent jacket pockets, and then eventually just lacing her fingers together in front of her. "Thanks for taking me out for this."
Tamamo	If Tamamo's had time to grow impatient, she doesn't show it. That would be strange, after all, in the Closet of Babylon. People come here because they really want to, to either bask in the presence of wealth or to acquire signs of it for themselves -- some more affordably than others. People don't come here out of a lack of desire to be here. That's true even in unusual cases. "Ms. Soroka." Generously, "Think of nothing of it." Tamamo's casually forgiving, right now -- of Petra being late, or of taking her time, if not of many things older than that. Never for a moment had she blamed herself for what transpired during that birthday party. "You have brought the card, of course." That's almost a question. It's not like she'll turn back if the gift card was forgotten -- she can just pay for things, herself. "Well, then, shall we? There are many floors to cover, but we may skip most of them. I had a couple of items in mind... oh, and I do have your measurements, thankfully. We shall not need for those, and yet... I suppose I should check you over, as it were. We have not had some time together, since then." There's nothing especially strange about a famous healer saying something like that, after someone went through multiple experiences of bodily transformation.
Petra Soroka	Petra has the gift card-- when she's prompted for it, she wordlessly holds up her hand, demonstrating that she's been carrying it with her, rather than keeping it in her wallet, her mirror, or... she doesn't have a purse, actually. Tamamo's tone seeps its way past her nervousness, visibly causing her to ease up slightly. The air of a dog guiltily presenting itself for punishment lessens at the soothing words, and Petra drops her arm back down to her side and bounces lightly on the balls of her feet to shake out more of her stiffness. "Right. Okay. A couple of things in mind? So I'm not-- will you w-want me to choose anything myself?" The response to that question doesn't seem to matter enough for Petra to delay following behind Tamamo wherever she leads. Her mind wanders, looking up and down the floors of the palace to scan the clothing from afar, wondering what Tamamo could possibly have planned for her. Miko outfit...? No, what would the point of that be? I'm not even one. Is she going to make me be one? Is it just going to be something meant to humiliate me? Karma's retributive weight is heavy on Petra's back, thinking about her previous and only visit to the Closet of Babylon, and the outfits she forced on Ishirou. It can't be a maid outfit. Not after everything that happened. There's no way she would bring me back to where that all started just to do that again. Not one single normal article of clothing enters Petra's mind. It's Tamamo's other suggestion that snaps Petra out of the reverie of the former. Petra's hand, sliding along the gilded rail, comes to a stop along with the rest of her, and she freezes in place, giving the wandering employees glances. She assumes Tamamo is referring to the geas, so it'd only be safe to hide from prying eyes, first. "Um. Like. In private? Right? Ma'am?"
Tamamo	A look over Petra's present outfit has Tamamo say, politely, "It would be rather unfair of me to force you to choose." Was that polite? Her tone was, at least. That makes it easier to not fully process the words, together with that look, right away. "Naturally, I do mean 'in private.' There is no need to display to others matters of your health, now, is there?" In the strictest sense, that geas is a matter of Petra's health. In several senses, in fact, it was vitally necessary to her life, even if only because Tamamo had been deathly serious about it. There's not even a shadow of that killing intent she'd displayed back then, right now, but there are still people watching, too. The only guarantee against it is the very same geas, as it ever has been. It's not like she couldn't forgive her. Tamamo had made that clear, too. It's only that what she'd consider penance worthy of forgiveness wouldn't be possible for any mortal being to survive. As they walk, Tamamo leading the way in her layered silks, she directs several attendants to fetch items of their own recommendation, with little input from her, though the words 'plain' and 'servant' are mentioned a few times. With the vague sense of there being some particular destination in mind, she walks them past lines of the modern and the Sumerian, furs and silks and cotton, here and there requesting someone to fetch a long-sleeved top or knee-length skirt or some other item and follow them, though none of that's terribly important, by how Tamamo treats the selection. "Ah, here we are," she says, at last, having reached an area with almost no selection, and no uniting theme for what's present. A shrine maiden's garb could be here without breaking any trend, but she's ignoring everything that is, and waiting for someone to approach, which someone does, as soon as she's recognized. "Honored customer, your orders have been completed," says an older clerk of immaculate grooming in perfect Japanese, a nationality he definitely doesn't belong to, before directing his eyes briefly toward Petra, reaching an Understanding of some kind, and continuing to address Tamamo. "If it pleases you, they are prepared for immediate fitting." Tamamo gives the barest nod. "To the fitting room, then. Come along." Petra's willingness to subject herself to literally anything Tamamo requires, with the one important exception, remains convenient for keeping down the length of time required for the shopping trip as a whole. It's simply assumed that she won't object, even without an in-place death curse, and everyone else deferring to the presence of divinity only makes that easier to establish. Of course it's a maid outfit. What's prepared for her in the fitting room couldn't be anything else -- one of the two outfits, at least, and the one Tamamo obviously considers 'the first.' The other is so thoroughly black that it's hard to tell what it even is, but the white and black lines of a maid outfit are immediately, easily distinguishable. If anything else was to be said of it, it'd be that it's curiously unembellished. It's not even what could be called 'frilled.' It might be 'traditional,' or even 'sensible,' were it not that the skirt is simply, obviously, too short, saved only by being followed by tights. The final result is something that manages to be neither a proper, serious maid, like Cecilia, nor possible to confuse with a cute, cosplay style of maid. "I see they properly followed the directions I gave them. 'Servants are not to be seen unless necessary,' is this not often said? To be minimally adorned better suits you." She sounds perfectly satisfied with the result. Relaxed, even. That doesn't make it any less cruel. Even if she hadn't been here for the maid-off.
Petra Soroka	Even though Petra would agree with the line of logic if spoken aloud, 'matters of her health' throws her off. Belatedly, she remembers that Tamamo is actually a healer, and that theoretically she could be asking about Petra's physical health. Petra considers this thought, but can't imagine Tamamo using any magic on her other than curses, so the connotation of 'inspecting her health' rapidly slides towards 'doctor' instead of 'healer'. Visions of nitrile gloves, teeth pried apart, and syringes full of mysterious pink fluids cross her mind. Awkwardly, after some time silent and blushing whenever an employee happens to look in her direction, she tentatively questions, "Is it okay to do that in a fitting room...?" Generally acquiescing to the subordinate position as Tamamo leads her around the store, Petra still shrinks at the verbal mention of 'servant'. Shoulders hunched forwards and steps flat-footed and shuffling to minimize the jingling of the golden lily hanging from her blisteringly-prominent collar, the humiliation lands, slightly differently than expected. Petra can declare her servitude to Lilian as much as she wants on the broadband. It's not even really a problem for her to say the same about Tamamo. She never explicitly says 'gay', but the whole dynamic is so obviously sexually-charged that anyone can see it, and Petra's mostly managed to maintain her composure despite, and slightly because of, that. Nowhere is so starkly different from the messy, angst-and-violence-fueled menagerie of the Elite broadband than the swarms of immaculately professional attendants inside of the opulent Closet of Babylon. Being looked at here, in that way, in this situation, feels like her skin is being lit on fire. Petra wraps her arms around herself, eyes on the ground. "Um... I don't really... wear skirts, much..." Her weak protests are almost certainly ignored. Petra's barely steadied herself enough to not wince when the clerk assesses, and summarily dismisses, her. The one thought that works, in terms of rebuilding her emotional foundation under these conditions, is conceptualizing this trip as a sort of training regimen, because it's something she simply has to learn to overcome and endure to be of any use. Petra believes she's steeled herself for anything she could see when entering the fitting room. Even pink syringes, if necessary. Being actually presented with a maid outfit is something else entirely-- the black fabric on the other hanger isn't given any attention. Petra isn't even sure it's clothes. "Um. Maid? Is that... am I..." Petra wobbles, looking between it and Tamamo as if she needs confirmation. Tamamo seeming as relaxed as she is still keeps Petra's mood in check; her tone mattering much more than the content of her speech. Accordingly, Petra sounds almost questioningly casual in return. "Minimally adorned is... I mean, I guess you weren't there for it, but I-- I had one made, before. Like, custom made, for my, you know, aesthetic, a-and, Lilian said she liked it, so...." So surely there must be some kind of mistake. Dehumanize her all you want, but Petra can't believe that Tamamo would intentionally give her something that isn't attractive.
Tamamo	Protests toward skirts are heard, but, "Surely you would not restrict yourself to shorts in warm weather?" is the answer that comes, as if there wasn't another option, and this one was clearly absurd. And then, in the fitting room. "Your... aesthetic?" Tamamo says this like she doubts the word could possibly apply to Petra, or perhaps as if she'd never considered it, and still finds it unlikely. Like 'aesthetics' are things that belong to other, better people. No one else is looking, now. Her tone is calm, but her eyes are sharp. Focusing on her gives the uncanny impression they suck up the light in the room. "Of course, it is true that you are unsuited, or rather, unprepared, for the high station of a maid. You might, perhaps, serve as an apprentice under one of greater competence, to one day be made useful, and to endeavour to bring as little trouble to the house until that day. Surely you did not think...?" She doesn't say what it is Petra wasn't allowed to think, leaving open numerous possibilities of transgressions, but Tamamo is already moving to the other outfit. She touches it, and makes a noise of approval. "Even for something like this, they do excellent work. Kurogo... they are known as 'kuroko' in the modern tongue, I believe. Have you...? No, I suppose you would not be versed in theater." Indicating the gloves and dark veil that goes with the all-black outfit, she continues, "It is not as if wearing all black makes one invisible, but when the audience sees one so dressed enter the stage, and hold up the edge of the heroine's clothing, and move as if it flutters in a wind that is not there, they know to not notice that person. They are not truly there. They are the 'kurogo,' what is written as 'black-clad,' though it can be written another way." The glowing lines Tamamo's finger leaves in the air would be helpful for someone who could read the language. Differentiating a blocky character versus a tree- or star-like one is as much as someone might be expected to do, otherwise. "'Black instrument.' They know that this person's -- rather, this figure's existence is only an instrument of support for those who act upon the stage. It is a form of invisibility granted by the crowd's agreement on that which does not exist." The fox smiles. "Is that not perfect for you? I instructed that these be made to your precise measurements." The rolled talisman she pulls from her sleeve might be familiar. Given the context, it's not hard to guess what that's for. Really, that's the matter more important than the clothing. Insisting that Petra dress to be forgettable and visibly subservient was just Tamamo's bonus. As if it were a completely normal thing to say, "I will not require your blood, this time. Transformations do not commonly break sympathetic lines, as difficult as they are for the schools of geomancy and perfected forms."
Petra Soroka	Petra reflects on the past summer. She went to jail in April, before the weather was too hot in temperate regions for her to wear jeans, and her various states of undress in jail hardly seem to count as seasonal clothing. In June, when she got out, she would've felt pleasantly warm swimming outside of the terrestrial dome on Europa, which conveniently allowed her to continue wearing pants to hide all of her Silver-weeping wounds throughout the warm weather. Wounds scarred and flesh re-wetted, the only thing preventing her from wearing shorts after her deroboticization was the fact that the weather was already beginning to cool. Petra thinks further back, to the year before stealing the Kana. Io's seasons are mostly artificial, since most of its heat comes from within the moon instead of the sun, and usually it hovers around a cool enough temperature that Petra... just wore jeans, year-round. Out loud, she mutters, "When was the last time I wore shorts...?" Maybe, she thinks, it's good to have Tamamo make these choices for her; a thought that becomes completely insane when looking at the wider context of this shopping trip. 'Unsuited' would raise a complaint with Petra; the kind where she'd spiritually pull out a clipboard and gesture to her scores in the maid-off, and indignantly insist on her willingness to learn, ranting in her defense for minutes before stopping to consider what she's actually defending. 'Unprepared', though, is accepted, and Petra cuts off her prepared sales pitch with just a small noise leaving her mouth. When Tamamo leaves her sentence hanging, Petra politely waits a few seconds to give her space to finish it before jumping in. This only gives Petra the space for a few words before being bowled over by Tamamo moving on to the kurogo. "Well-- well, Cecilia's been..." Petra isn't versed in theater at all, much less kabuki. She's still staring uncomprehendingly as Tamamo introduces the garment to her, though the kanji for 'kuro' sparks dim recognition in her, from somewhere she can't place. When the realization hits, Petra's mouth opens in a stunned 'oh', and she twists her fingers into the hem of her cardigan in something at least adjacent to horror. "That's-- is this because you heard the, the 'human prop' talk? Is that why? That-- I thought that, that being u-used and seen as an, an accessory would be good enough, right? In the stage metaphor? But this is-- this is, even less, that's..." Petra hesitantly touches one of the gloves, then looks at Tamamo, like she's not sure if she should be asking permission to. Lifting up the veil with one finger makes Petra imagine actually wearing it, and she can immediately see in her mind's eye how invisible it'd make her to everyone. Not being looked at or acknowledged even when actively serving and present, the dissuasion from speaking out loud is overwhelming even in her imagination, and she shakes her head to break the fugue state, collar jingling. "There's-- there's no way you want me to wear this at-- outside the manor, right? Around other people? Just-- just inside?" Then comes the real matter of the day; the talisman, which Petra is so unsurprised to see that she starts digging around in her back pocket before even being prompted. Then Tamamo continues, and, "Oh. Okay." Petra flips the pocketknife closed and slides it back into her pants. Petra wavers for a second, staring at it, but her hesitation is quickly explained by something other than reluctance when she blinks and reaches back into her pocket. "Wait, no tea like last time. Um, I have my water, it's just with Qetra, give me a moment to..."
Tamamo	What Cecilia might have done or said is left behind in the motion of the conversation, and the recognition of the purposes of specialized clothing. "It is possible," Tamamo says, "that some may not recognize the intent, and it will be ineffective. The maid dress is more clear in its purpose, in many worlds to which I have visited. It is possible, as well, that you will prove unable to... pull off the look, yet I shall give you the opportunity to make an attempt." Which means she does expect her to try. Outside. "Bringing tea into a fitting room would be strange, after all," says Tamamo, who brings tea pretty much everywhere, thermoses hidden in pockets too small for them. She does not mention this, but waits for Petra to bring out her water with a soft 'hmm' of acknowledgment, as she finishes folding the talisman over and over. With that prepared, her hands disappear into her sleeves as she waits, staring precisely as one would with arms crossed, only lacking that style of body language.
Petra Soroka	The motion of withdrawing inventory from Qetra is rote, at this point; Petra flipping open the compact mirror to reach into it and expect Qetra to hand her whatever it is she needs. Instead, when she presses her palm to the mirror, another hand reaches out and grabs onto her wrist, pulling Qetra out and into the fitting room with the pair. "Hey--" "Hi~i, Tamamo-no-mae! You can give me one of those too, if you want!" "Hey! What the fuck! I only needed my water bottle, you--" Petra slips behind Qetra and pulls the battered metal water bottle out of her left jacket pocket, exactly where it always is, while Qetra eagerly explores the room. Petra busies herself temporarily trying to get the light to catch on the bottle in a way that'd make it reflective enough that she can re-contain Qetra with it. "I already have the mark, but I don't know if I was ever actually affected by the geas, ahaha!" Qetra lifts up the front of the Creature Mode t-shirt to demonstrate that the brand of the Celtic-knotted sun is, in fact, right there, despite being gone from Petra. "I never tested it, you know.~" Qetra's fingers run along the black fabric a lot more delicately than Petra's did, and she nods approvingly at her prime iteration. "A kuroko! That's really nice. It fits, ahaha~ Good job, ajoeto." "How do you--?! Come on, you know the difference; unlike you, I worked hard at being personally useful, so of course something like that, compared to the maid outfit--" Petra blinks and abruptly turns away from Qetra to address Tamamo instead, hands that were upraised in emphatic gesturing relegated to awkwardly uncertain ones instead. "Wait, that one? Is for public? Wouldn't everyone...?" Imagining the reactions she'd get from wearing a maid outfit out on Elite missions inspires reflexive embarrassment, but only for a moment. Going by specific individual's reactions, she actually becomes more confident, the more she thinks about it. It's an obvious demonstration to Kale that she totally won the maid off, and he can't even complain that she's relitigating the results again, because she was just ordered to wear the outfit! Not to mention the obvious benefits of making Lilian a little bit insane, or the admittedly appealing aesthetic of fighting in a maid outfit. "Okay." Her mouth moves faster than her brain. "But I'll work on earning a cuter one." Petra buries her face in her hand after the words leave her mouth, closing her eyes to collect herself while Qetra pats her encouragingly on the shoulder and cheerily praises her for doing something good. Then, Qetra looks up, and pats the the pocket that held the bottle. "Oh, wait, I need to give you the water, so you can..." "I already got it, dumbass." There's no need for theatrics or discussing terms, on the second go around. Petra takes the talisman, hesitates, rolls it up a little tighter so it'll go down more easily, and tosses it back with a mouthful of water.
Tamamo	Tamamo's second meeting with Qetra is met with less shock but no less staring. Her reaction is quick enough to say, "Will the reflection of a dress not be enough for you?" She doesn't actually know, since, up to this point, nobody has explained to her how a mirror-person came to sort of exist. It's incidental that comes out sounding like she's offering an illusion of clothing. Her eyes naturally move to lock on the mark of the geas, one hand raised to her chin in thought. "It would be simple to test it in a manner you would not survive. So long as you are obedient, that would be rather wasteful, and so..." Tamamo gives Qetra a 'come here' gesture, palm down. She doesn't actually need to get closer for Tamamo to make a few passes in the air drawing a briefly glowing, complex figure of perfectly ordinary analytical magecraft, but it would make it easier to focus if she's not running around. Determining whether or not her own geas is affecting someone isn't a particularly difficult thing for her to do. As an aside, "'Ajoeto,' is she?" There's no need to explain the geas again, because it's exactly the same, and it's only 'being aware of the terms of the geas' that's necessary, apart from the talisman, for it to activate. The conditions fulfilled, Petra gets to immediately feel that same, mysterious 'something' settle inside of her. It's a feeling that can be forgotten, more quickly if one becomes used to it. No matter how it's intended to be used, the death curse is more like a poisoned needle, near but not touching, than like a leash. "There you are, Petra." When did she last call her that, and not Ms. Soroka? "For what are you waiting? We must be sure the fit is correct." In the end, it's the doctor tone, after all. "Now, strip." Though it hadn't included the magic words. She won't yet end herself by hesitating, unless Tamamo gets impatient. It was right to think she wouldn't use any healing abilities on Petra, but beyond the plan to have her walk out of the Closet wearing her maid dress and carrying her stagehand clothing -- or passing it to Qetra, which may be acceptable -- clinical examination has a small benefit to Tamamo's present and future efforts concerning both blessings and curses applied to a subject. It isn't entirely for the sake of making Petra suffer under a gaze both heavy judgment and fully capable of making those vague utterances that become vastly more concerning when delivered by a medical professional, only to end with, "That suffices."