NationStates Jolt Archive


The Fashion Disaster (Open, Competition)

Roania
08-06-2008, 05:19
"Radmiel, you're late." Alessa said, tapping her watch as she waited before her throne. Radmiel and Daria had gone running in, hoping to sneak into the cabinet meeting before she had arrived.

"My apologies, your majesty." Her Grand Vizier said with a low bow. "My alarm clock stopped working." The Empress shrugged and pointed to the cabinet door. The two of them took off for the door and their assigned seats.

"I note, Radmiel, that you didn't tell her majesty that your alarm clock is broken because you shot it with your pistol." Daria sweetly said as she sat down next to her master. His hand gently pinched her arse under the table, eliciting a stunned, but fortunately muted, gasp and then a sulk.

"Now, if we may turn our attention to business?" Radmiel flipped through his notes while Alessa sat on her own chair at the head of the table and began to toy with her favourite piece of string.


"All right, does anyone else have anything to add?" Radmiel said a few hours later, turning over the last sheet of paper.

"Yes, um, if I may." Everyone's heads turned down the table to the very end, where a short little man with pince-nez glasses on coughed. "I wonder if I might point out a few irregularities in the recent trade taxes?"

"Huh?" Alessa's piece of string snapped in her hand. "What irregularities? And who are you?"

"Um...I'm Jeor Kasvhen?" She blinked at him. "Your Minister in charge of trade taxes?" A confused blink. "We met at the Guild Dinner?" A perplexed blink. "You roasted the guildmaster over an open fire because he was rude?"

Her expression cleared. "Oh yes. There was roasting. So, what's this irregularity?"

"Well. According to the Import/Export report for the past two months, each month the Midlonian KTC has imported twenty large shipments of tea for our luxury market." He flipped through some reports and passed the paper up the table to Alessa, who summoned a set of reading glasses and began to skim through it. Next to her, Radmiel made an urgent cutting motion across his neck to Daria, who stared at him blankly. "However, we have only received dues for 13 shipments. Now, I've checked and calibrated the machines personally, and they seem to have definitely registered twenty shipments going in."

"Hm. Good eye, Kashven. We'll put a stop to this smuggling, and I think that the best way to do that would be degrading and humiliating whoever their local contact is." Alessa hummed gently to herself. "Radmiel!"

Radmiel, who had for some reason started to turn pale, almost jumped. "What is it?" He managed after a moment.

"You like Midlonian Tea, don't you? I seem to remember something of the sort. Anyway, I think you're the best person to find this out, since you're still Justiciar." Alessa paused and studied her nail. "I think the punishment should be..."

"A light slap on the wrist and them being told not to do it again?" Radmiel hazarded. Alessa shook her head. "Being yelled at and smacked around a bit but essentially let go?"

"No, I think execution is the best way to deal with this for the time being. Daria, you'll be his assistant, of course. Um... Radmiel, is everything okay? You've gone very pale."

Radmiel was slowly sinking under the table, his eyes closed. Next to him, Daria seemed in the midst of an internal struggle, and then, suddenly, "Of course this is very important, Your Majesty, but I believe an even more important problem has come to my attention." She pretended to study her notes. "Now, your 200th birthday is in a few weeks. A very momentous occasion, your majesty."

"Well... thank you..." Alessa blushed a little at being reminded of how young she was. "But I... I mean, I fail to see how that's..."

"Clothing. Your majesty, your clothing isn't appropriate for such an... important celebration!" Daria improvised, and cheered internally when Alessa glanced at the mirror at her blue robes. "I mean, they're all very well for a 'girl', but a woman needs better. And, of course..." Daria allowed a very pregnant pause to develop, thrilling at once more having Alessa eating out of her hand, feeling almost herself again. It was a wonderful feeling. "There's your recent...development."

Alessa's blush deepened and she reached up to cover her mouth as an embarassed gasp left her lips. All the males in the room found reason to look away, save, of course, for the depressed Radmiel, who continued to stare blankly into space. The women in the room nodded. "I... it isn't... that's not..."

"Well, we've all been through it." Daria, who, of course, had not, patted her nervously on the hand. A Roanian puberty could be either a long, drawn-out process or a series of exceptionally swift stints of development. Alessa's had followed the latter course, and was, as she approached her 200th birthday, reaching the end of a particularly traumatic session that had made her physically fully developed into the beautiful woman she had always shown promise to be, but also left her aching and occasionally bruised. "But your clothes have barely survived the process, I'm afraid..." Daria frowned, afraid that had been a lie too far. If anything, the clothes looked stunning on her now, even if they had been initially designed for someone shorter and flatter.

She needn't have worried. Unlike Daria, Alessa was unable to resist the chance to get a new wardrobe. The young empress scowled, and pouted, and studied herself in the mirror a bit more, and then slammed her fist onto the table. "I need new clothing." She glanced around the room. "Right?" Everyone in the room managed a few nods of assent, even those males who had suddenly found it difficult to move or breathe. "Great. So... get me some!"

Daria kicked Radmiel in the shins, and after a moment or two of stunned inaction he leapt to his feet. "Quite correct, Your Most Angelic and Glorious Majesty." He bowed as low as he could. "In fact, I believe I see a way to make this work for the nation. We shall..." He paused, and then managed to continue. "We shall hold a competition!"

"A...competition?"

"Um. Yes?"

"Where people compete to design my clothing?"

"Um... yes?" Radmiel managed after a moment. "Of course, we'd open it to foreigners and the like, I think. And...maybe offer some trade concessions to the winners, or something." He frowned. "Of course, this would require you to have some measurements taken and some holographs made, but..."

Alessa's smile faltered. "Foreigners? But..."

"Your Highness, I know that many foreigners are uncouth." Daria slid in. "But think, my lady. There are many famous fashion brands that rulers like the Elentari and the Dread Lady purchase their clothes from...you know, like Ferrarro, Brocacelli..."

Alessa paused, thinking of Nathicana and Siri and their outfits at the Winter Ball. She smiled again. "Okay, so, what do I need to do?" She looked at Daria. In fact, they all looked at Daria.

The woman opened and closed her mouth a few times, and then coughed. "Well, obviously..."


"So, how'd you do that." Radmiel asked once everyone else had left. Daria tried to dodge away, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her in. "Well?"

"I made a career out of manipulating Alessa before my mouth ran away from me, you putrid excuse for a male." Daria hissed, trying to pull away again. He dragged her in close and kissed her, leading to her hitting him hard in the shoulder. "I could do your job, you know. And I will."

"Are you sure?" Radmiel said with a dry little laugh. "Remember, if I had been removed from office, you might very well have been restored to your former position." He smacked her on the arse. "And your former 'place', too." Her eyes widened, and then she slowly hung her head, realising the truth of Radmiel's words and knowing she had been defeated by her own cleverness.


A letter went out to national leaders, alongside a small collection of packages.

To the Most Illustrious Ruler of ((NATION))

Our Empress, Alessa Tyra Annirere, has decided that in honour of her coming of age ceremony in a few short months she would like to hold a competition for the designer of her new wardrobe. This competition is open to all comers and will have fabulous prizes for the designer who succeeds and the nation that hosts them. Amongst these FABULOUS PRIZES! are:

*Access to the Imperial Market without the limitations posed by the import/export system!

*A pile of money!

*A contract to design all of Alessa's wardrobe!

The competition will be judged fairly and honestly. All you have to do is provide us with the following items to judge!

*One dress.

*Underclothes to wear with said dress.

*A casual outfit of the designer's choice.

We have included the necessary information about Her Majesty in the package included with this letter. Please do not open this package yourself, but give it to the designer you believe would best win the prize for your nation.

~ From the Desk of Malham Fell,

Imperial Minister for Foreign Relations and Intergalactic Contact


Servant of Her Most Glorious Angelic Majesty, the Supreme Avatar of the Light, Her Illuminated Radiance, Lady-Empress Alessa Tyra Annirere.


When the box was opened, inside is a coloured whole body photograph of Alessa, a close-up of her face, and a list of her measurements. There was also a small doll designed to resemble, in basic terms, Alessa's body. When a switch on the back was tugged, a holographic image of the lady-empress, wearing a shirt and a skirt, appeared over it.

In this holographic representation, Alessa's strawberry-blonde hair fell down to the small of her back, gently tracing along her large-ish breasts. The young woman was busty, though not so much that she appeared topheavy. The waist (narrow, but not too narrow), lead down to slim hips, which themselves topped long, flowing, perfect legs. Bright blue eyes looked out from above a small, slightly upturned, but delicate nose, perched above soft ruby lips.


((OOC: Rules are simple. One entrant per player, you may provide pictures, but pictures will not be considered during judging. The contest will last at least two weeks, during which time you may edit and resubmit your design a maximum of three times. =)

IC questions may be asked in this thread, OOC questions can be telegrammed to me or asked me on IRC. Good luck!)
Revenia
09-06-2008, 01:06
Office of the High King, Caer Malant, Northfell, Exalted Star Supremacy of Revenia

Adrian Stark's glare had been refined through millenia of practice into a precision instrument, versatile and exact. He used it like a scalpel, excising foolishness and arrogance from those who displeased him. At present, the target of his glare was an aide. This was not unusual.

He reached across his desk, grabbed said aide by the wrist, and led her around to stand beside him, facing the massive windows that looked out over Caer Malant. On a clear day, you could see beyond the city, glimpse the carefully tended green of Northfell's equatorial band.

"My dear, this city is home to an army of administrators and bureaucrats who exist solely to push papers. There is a delightful detachment of Administrators over at the RDS Office who are there purely to handle the trivalities of international discourse."

He turned the aide around, slapped a print-out onto his desk.

"I am not a message-boy. Use that trained brain of yours, woman! Just because it has my name on it doesn't mean that I actually need to see it!"

He exhaled, "Take the package to Jase Reardon. I assume you know who that is? Yes, I thought so. Deliver it personally. Go."

The aide went.

Adrian settled back down into his armchair and returned to work.

--

Workshop of Mr. Jase Reardon, Reardon-Cross Compound, Niol Island, Nexus.

"Well, let's see the thing."

Lorelei Tobbs, an assistant, touched the switch on the back of the doll, engaging the hologram.

Jase looked at it intently, then shook his head, "How can anyone expect me to work with this! It's ridiculous, insulting, BLASPHEMY!"

Lorelei blinked, "Mr. Reardon?"

Jase sighed, running a hand through his perfectly arranged hair - dirty blonde, lightly spiked - before snatching the doll from Lorelei's hands and studying the hologram closely.

"But I've always liked a challenge, and I can't find anything wrong with the girl, in spite of this pathetic representation, other than a distinct lack of height. But I can fix that. Can't I, Lorelei?"

Lorelei nodded enthusiastically, "Of course, Mr. Reardon."

Jase smiled, then set the doll down on a stool, pulled a low-chair over, hunched over slightly so that he could rest his elbows on his knees and brace his chin with his hands, and studied the hologram intently. Minutes passed, and he did not move.

Nearly twenty minutes later, he jolted upright, overturning the low-chair he'd been perched on, and strode over to his workbench, fetching up his gauntlets.

"Lorelei! Make me a sandwich! And find where the rest of my minions have gotten off to. Tell them that I don't pay them to do whatever it is they're doing, and that they need to get back to work standing around, doing nothing, in HERE! GO!"

The sound of hastily retreating footsteps, which Jase instantly identified as Lorelei's size five heels, informed him of her exit. In the meantime, he had a vision to rough in.
Tseaby
09-06-2008, 09:20
Office of the Executive Branch of Tseaby

“Illustrious. Very nice. Oh, pile of money. That's always good.”

“Yes, but we don't have a leading fashion designer. Just a few design teams in the clothing industry and a group of schmucks that think black and red are the only colors.”

“Well, which one's the most popular schmuck? I certainly do like money...”

“If you do not mind me asking, just why have you taken this up personally? Surely you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“I don't. And don't call me Shirley. There's virtually no international dealings in this country anymore. With. With this country. Ever since we sold that space platform... I'm still wondering if that was just a coincidence. Oh, Lucetta, we have the civil services quality review tomorrow. Make sure to bring the pretty maps. You... know I don't like having to interpret percentages.”

He smoothed out the non-existent cloth on his desk.

“Yes, your fear of tilted division signs is duly noted.”

--

Office of Rodney Herring

“Well, it's like...”

Rodney sniffed.

“It's different. For sure. But like... It's supposed to be high class. I don't know if my soul can handle doing work for such a group. But, um, like I like the chance of steady work for a little bit. I've always wanted to try that”

“Dude, you'd be such a sellout.”

“It'd totally be non-conformist to not have to work at a restaurant, and like make it on my own, though.”

“Maybe. Also, I call dibs on your stuff if you get executed for insulting a...”

Rodney's friend grabbed the letter.

“A majesty-lady-empress.”

“You're such a jerk.”
The Ctan
09-06-2008, 13:59
Mitnal was a vast world, bigger than the Sol System’s neptune, orbited by many moons. It was a gas giant, on most people’s maps. However, this was simplifying what it was; after a certain point, the natural atmosphere of the planet gave way to metallic hydrogen, under tremendous pressure. And beneath that, a vast, unimaginable weight of the planet had been transmuted into living metal, to provide a sliver of the computing demands the necrontyr required from day to day for the ever increasing pace of research. Around it, orbited moons, some had been there originally, others, moved in a private habitats or experimental stations, or fabrication centres. Some of the moons of the Mictlan System’s outer planets were solid masses of self-replicating machines that had been rendered dormant, both of C’tani origin, and the work of others.

Despite this remarkable scale, Mitnal was nothing compared to its larger cousin, Xolotl, a world greater than mighty Jupiter, which was home of great artifices that were nonetheless barely known by anyone outside the community who worked upon that world. Xolotl was home to life, too, and intelligence of its own, rudimentary but savant in strange ways. It was a world where the inhabitants of the Mictlan system sometimes went for answers to certain mysteries Duat, of course, was more impressive still, but it was forbidden to speak to outsiders of what lay beneath the surface of Duat, or Garm.

Messages to the Empire typically passed through Mitnal’s endless processors, and then flittered on to Garm or Duat, where most of the population resided.

In the palace of Tephet Sheta, where business was conducted by both the Elenaran and the senate, as well as the Offices of the Elenaran, the ‘most illustrious ruler of the C’tan’ lay, unsleeping, accessing at a phenomenal rate, the correspondence that was addressed to him, never a small amount, for he unfailingly and personally answered every ‘letter’ (though occasionally his replies were only insults to those who insulted him) he received. The mind of a C’tan could operate at variable speeds, almost computer-like, and they could alter time almost as they pleased, which allowed him to deal with so many requests for impersonal attention.

So, there was a brief reply to Malham Fell, and then the message was sent on to a few experts in the field.

Most interested of these recipients was Lewis Aratelli, a well known designer who worked most commonly in the Imperial Antiquarian style. For him, although he lived on Duat, it was late in the day. His home was distant from the capital simply because he found it far easier to concentrate on work when free of the many distractions that had been constantly to be found in the square below his pervious apartment in Tephet-Sheta, near the Ruti-Asar gateway port.

Hablachion, a Taurenori assistant, read the message with an uninterested shrug, and passed it on to his employer, who sat in a chamber with a hundred extinguished candles, and great, dusty books of fabrics and designs, piled high, some lying open on lecterns and stands, others, slowly gathering dust. Lewis sucked in air through his teeth for a moment, “Actually. I’ve the perfect fabric somewhere… Not sure about the cut, though…”
Pantocratoria
10-06-2008, 07:43
"What do you suppose is meant by casual outfit?" asked the Chevalier de Jeanville-prés-de-la-Mêr, the undersecretary to Monsieur le Secrétaire du Palais, le Comte de Fizabault.

Generally speaking, the Chevalier dealt with most correspondence directed to the Emperor about non-governmental business prior to it being officially dealt with by the Count. In practise, his dealing with it involved officially unsealing or opening the correspondence before handing it over to the Permanent Underundersecretary, who was a career bureaucrat employed in the Department of the Secretary of the Palace. The Permanent Underundersecretary would have the matter dealt with properly by his team of expert paper pushers, and then bring such matters as had to be dealt with by the officers of the court back to the Chevalier for approval. If the matter was pertinent and required higher authority, the Chevalier would bring it to the attention of the Count. While it sounded like the Chevalier and the Count didn't really do any work, they were kept almost constantly busy, as was the Department of the Secretary of the Palace. This was largely a function of the sheer volume of correspondence directed to the Emperor or the officers of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator.

"The general populace often finds that formal wear is impractical for many of their non-business related activities, monsieur." replied the Permanent Underundersecretary, without batting an eye. "Casual wear is worn to informal social occasions."

"I'm sorry?" the Chevalier asked.

"I beg your pardon, monsieur." the Permanent Underundersecretary began patiently. "The general populace, both of Pantocratoria and the world as a whole, frequently engages in social activities outside of their places of employment, churches, and clubs and the like, at which there is no particular expectation in regards to the standard of dress. Whilst engaging in such activities, monsieur, people generally prefer comfort to the tyrannies of fashion, and for such occasions they wear casual dress."

"I see. Rather like one might wear to bed if one did not have a levée." the Chevalier said. He didn't have a levée, but he had to attend at least one and often three others every morning.

"Rather, monsieur, except not just worn to bed, you understand." the Permanent Underundersecretary nodded.

"I see. What use should an empress have for such wear?" the Chevalier pondered.

"I am quite sure that I don't know, monsieur." the Permanent Underundersecretary said.

"Indeed." the Chevalier nodded. "In any event, one shouldn't ask questions of such high born women. In my experience, monsieur, the higher a woman's birth, the more capricious and illogical she is, as if by elevating a woman's natural social condition one also elevated her natural feminine inclinations."

"I shall have to defer to your greater experience with high born women, monsieur." the Permanent Underundersecretary smiled.

"Quite. Well, I shall sign here then..." replied the Chevalier, signing his name in a slow, deliberate and ornate calligraphy. "And no doubt your men will see that the invitation is extended to the most appropriate designers."

"No doubt, monsieur."
FSP-IRD
10-06-2008, 21:04
D’ron cracked open his eyes against the heat to glance over at the time, his internal chronometer telling him that he’d laid in the sun for quite long enough. His vision adjusted enough for his implant computers to project the hour in his viewpoint of the wall of Imperial House.

“Mister President,” came the soft, unobtrusive voice of Cyrano, the household EI, “You asked to be told when it was an hour before Citizen Un was scheduled to arrive.”

“Indeed I did,” the thirty-five year old brown haired man replied as he hauled himself upright on the lounge chair, running his gaze over his wife and son conducting swimming lessons in the pool. Daniel had on water wings and miniature red trunks while Lesley was in a conservatively cut navy blue one piece suit, her hand hovering protectively under the young boy’s stomach as he paddled about in the shallowest area of the pool.

The Imperial President, leader of more than ten billion people on five worlds, grinned at the simple domestic scene. Moments like this were rare as natural platinum, and increasing them for everyone in his country was his goal as President.

He walked to the edge of the pool, his movement catching his wife’s eye, his rare for him white oxford mostly unbuttoned to equally rare khaki shorts. This was, for the most part, his day off, the one day each week he demanded to keep his sanity. But this had been the time Thomas Un could come up to Imperial House, a break in his own equally busy schedule, and given the relatively benign nature of the meeting, and its expected length he had reluctantly scheduled it for Saturday.

While he had the authority to command attendance at any time he chose, exercising that authority just because he could was wasteful. Using that power sparingly kept people aware that when he did choose to wield his power, it was always of overriding importance.

As he knelt at the edge of the pool, his son paddled over to him, both parents keeping a watchful eye until D’ron extended his arms to pull his son out of the water, at which exact point, the child’s head bobbed under the water for a minute, reappearing before D’ron even had time to begin registering alarm…

And he was hit in the face with a stream of water projected from his son’s mouth.

Grinning, he shook his head to clear the water from his eyes and scooped Daniel up. “Who taught you that?” he asked, feigning anger.

“Mommy,” cried the delighted youngest as D’ron lifted him high in the air before swooping him to the tile around the pool.

“Mommy did, did she?” D’ron asked, grinning down at his wife, still in the water. “Mommy will have to be the one who gets punished then.”

“We’ll see about that,” came the soft alto voice of his wife as the man bent back down to haul her out of the water. An hour in the sun had made him lethargic, and unprepared as his treacherous wife grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and tugged him into the pool.

As D’ron came up, sputtering water, he was greeted by the sound of Lesley’s laughter and Daniel’s giggles as the young boy sat on the edge of the pool. “Daddy fall in!” he cried. “Daddy fall in!”

Tossing his head to get wet brown hair in need of trimming out of his eyes, D’ron turned on his wife with a gleam in his eyes. “Daddy had help,” he commented mildly as his wife raised her hands in futile denial.

“I surrender!” Lesley shouted as D’ron’s powerful arms lifted her nearly clear of the water before sending her flying towards the deeper end of the pool with a fairly large splash, prompting a scream of delight from the toddler.

By the time the red-head found herself sorted out, D’ron had hauled himself onto the edge of the pool and scooped Daniel up in his arms, cleverly hiding behind the child who was still giggling at his parents’ antics. Even still, her husband helped her out of the pool one handed. “Mister Un will be here in about fifty minutes, so we’d probably best put his one down for his you know what and get cleaned up.”

Lesley nodded, wringing out her hair, before extending her arms to take their son back. Once he was firmly settled on one hip, her other hand snaked out and calmly shoved D’ron back into the pool. “I win,” she stated, as he bobbed back to the surface, before heading in towards the house.

D’ron grinned. “Only for now.”

* * * * *

Thomas Un, designer of the extremely successful UnDressed Semi-formal and Formalwear lines for women, as well as Very UnDressed lingerie, the father of Nina Hartley, an accomplished designer of less formal clothing in her own right, arrived exactly three minutes ahead of the time he had set for himself to arrive, which in itself was five minutes early.

He was greeted by an elven member of the staff, he thought, though he had never been able to truly tell the difference between elves and half-elves. “Right this way, Mister Un,” she said calmly. “The Imperial President and the Lady Lesley will be with you momentarily.”

Knowing the design of Imperial House as well as anyone, Un was surprised when they turned to the left after entering, heading into the residence wing. He had thought that he would meet with the senior members of the Federation’s First Family in the working area of the house, probably inside D’ron’s office.

Very few people had ever been inside the actual Imperial Residence, excluding the Smith’s closest friends, and it made Thomas wonder what he would find, though he doubted the wilder rumors were true. After the woman of elven descent knocked calmly on the door, she waited a long moment before nodding to him and moving away, leaving the man standing almost foolishly in the hallway…

…until the door slid open. “Hello, Citizen Un,” came the very carefully modulated voice of the Imperial House EI. “Please come in.”

The two occupants of that front room of the residence rose as he entered. Lesley, in a sundress he recognized as one of his daughter’s designs, and D’ron in a black polo shirt and blue jeans, caught him aback. While he had, in fact, seen the First Lady in a number of different modes of dress, the idea of the Imperial President in anything other than the imposing formal blacks with a floor length cape he routinely wore caused Un a moment of stunned shock. The Imperial President only ever wore black and gold in the minds of the Federation’s populace. It was part of his image, an integral part of his identity. While Un was not a stupid man by any means, even he had unconsciously assumed that the President probably did not even own any other color clothing and probably slept in black and gold pajamas.

“Hello, Thomas,” the first lady greeted him warmly, bending down to kiss either of the short oriental man’s cheeks in the continental style.

The Imperial President’s greeting was more casual than expected as well. “Mister Un,” he said, offering a hand to shake.

“Hello, Milady, Mister President,” the man said, confused mightily about why he was summoned to meet with them there. The thought crossed his mind that they might have a personal, private commission for him, but he could not figure out for what.

After releasing the designer’s hand, the Imperial President gestured to one of the chairs. “Have a seat, Mister Un, and let me tell you why we arranged this meeting in such a unique fashion.” The man calmly sat down, perching on the edge of the chair he could tell was most likely sinfully comfortable if one relaxed into it, and watched as the younger man flopped onto the couch, his wife snuggling under his arm once he was settled… with bare feet on the coffee table.

Definitely not a normal meeting.

“Two days ago, the International Relations Directorate received a diplomatic transmission from the Empire of Roania, which is some far flung star empire that is impressively xenophobic and partially held in check by the Necrelfs.” Un nodded to show he understood what the President was explaining, but his eyes clearly showed a question as to why it was being explained to him. “The message was rather remarkable in and of itself. Apparently, their Empress is undergoing her coming of age birthday, and as such, requires a new wardrobe.” Un’s eyebrows rose, already seeing where this was going. “As you have no doubt discerned, they opened it to international competition, with impressive benefits offered to the winning entry.” The man leaned forward and slid a folder across the table. “This is their actual message.” Un moved to pick it up, then paused, unsure if he should be reading diplomatic communications. “No, go ahead, Mister Un. We’ll wait until you’re done.”

Of all things, the President closed his eyes and leaned his head back, appearing for all the world as if he was taking a nap, when Thomas picked up the folder and began to read, growing more amazed at the situation as he did so. Despite the instructions in the letter, the package that accompanied it was opened, and Un quickly discerned the method of operation of the holograph. He quietly put everything back as he had found it, after about fifteen minutes, then returned the folder to the table.

The second it was on the table, the President spoke again. “Interested?”

“I must say I am honored that you came to me with this, Mister President. It is a heavy responsibility to represent the Federation so.”

The leader of ten billion souls laughed. “That is exactly why we came to you, Mister Un. If anyone can represent us well in a competition such as this, it is you.”

“Again, I am deeply honored. Do you believe it would be acceptable to collaborate with my daughter on the project? She is much more in tune with casual fashions than I.”

The President shrugged. “I don’t envision that being a difficulty. One entry is all it requires. I don’t see a difference between a design team of one and a team of two, as long as you only send the requested three, er, two, er, requested clothing.”

Un nodded. “Do you wish to see the initial designs or have any input into the design process?”

The brown-haired man quickly shook his head. “Absolutely not.” He relaxed slightly as Un nodded again. “The government will, of course, pay your standard commission fee, as well as for materials. I believe that is your normal deal with clients.”

Un’s whitening eyebrows shot up into matching hair. “To serve the Federation this way, Mister President, I was prepared to eat the cost. Particularly if I were to win, the rewards would amply compensate me.” He smiled. “I am an old man, whose children are successful and sufficiently wealthy in their own right. Money no longer matters quite as much to me.”

Lesley spoke up for the first time since his arrival. “Are any of your other projects going to suffer? I’m sure that the fall line is moving into high gear about now, and surely you have other commissions.”

Un grinned. “While it is true I have other commissions, not so many as you probably imagine - only a couple beyond the dresses for Minister Cameron’s wedding, I’ll let you both in on a little secret. I do very little of the actual design work other than providing initial guidance and vetting each design for the UnDressed lines now.”

Lesley’s laughter filled the room and the President grinned. “We know.” Thomas blinked. That was a very closely guarded secret in his fashion house and his daughter’s, who knew. The President continued. “Who are you talking to?”

Ah. That would, in fact, explain how they knew. Lesley took over once more. “You can coordinate the work and anything necessary through my office. If you’re having a hard time acquiring special fabrics, or need something not normally available, or need more workers, or whichever, just let my office know and we’ll arrange to fast track it.”

Un nodded. “I’ll be sure to let you know of anything. I can tell right now that I’m going to need models, though. None of mine nor any of Nina’s will fit this body shape and height.”

Lesley nodded. “We’ll arrange something. Would you rather your name be kept out of it for the time being, or is releasing your name acceptable?”

“I would rather remain anonymous for now.” Un thought for a moment. “You are aware of my requirements for my models?”

Lesley nodded. “No biosculpt except to repair significant damage due to traumatic injury. Self-confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can have,” she recited, quoting word for word from the contract each of Un’s model’s had to sign.

The designer nodded. It was rather uncanny, speaking with the people the entire FedNet and all of Intelligence Division reported to. “I have no objection to hair or eye color modifications, as they’ll need to match this Alessa’s, though natural would, as always, be better.”

“Anything else, Mister Un?” the President asked. “I know you have your Saturday night family dinner to get to.”

By this point, the Smith’s knowledge of his person, secretive work habits, and personal life had ceased to shock him. Thomas agreed. “I think I have everything I need, Mister President.”

“Very well.” The President shifted from around his wife and rose. Un rose with him and allowed himself to be led to the door. “I wish you good luck with this, and we’ll be looking forward to how it comes out.”

“Thank you, Mister President, Lady Lesley, for your assistance and your trust. I won’t let you down.”

“Of that, I have no doubt, Mister Un,” the President said with a smile. “Bye for now.”

The door closed, leaving Un in the hallway again, that same elf woman waiting calmly for him to escort him back to his vehicle.

What have I gotten myself into now?
Revenia
11-06-2008, 02:19
"JR!"

Jase smiled warmly and opened his arms to accept the slender woman into a friendly embrace, lasting no longer than thirty seconds. Just long enough to be mildly scandalous and inflame the rumor mills -- as was proper.

"Hello, Jeanette. I'm glad you could make it."

Jeanette Crane shrugged, "No trouble, but you said you needed my help?"

Jase nodded and led the way back into the depths of the Reardon-Cross compound, to the workshops. Each of the Niol Island design houses had their own preferred set-ups -- Jase had a workshop. Quite odd, for a professional 'idea man,' but he was the foremost of Niol Islands' designers -- he could be as eccentric as he wanted.

Jeanette sucked in a little breath when she laid eyes on the garments 'floating' in the primary holotank.

"Jase...?"

He walked over to his desk, brought the console up, and showed her the message. She read carefully, then looked at the roughs again. She walked towards the tank, slowly, studying the roughs, a curious look in her eye, then she whirled about.

"Jase, is that...?"

He nodded, "Every edge I can get, Jeanette. Fabric is one."

Jeanette shook her head, "How the hell are you planning on getting enough Versilk to make all that?"

Jase grinned, "No way that I could, were I using Ascended Versilk, but I'm not planning on doing that. RevTek's perfected a very, very good fake -- spin-off development from their thinsuit program. They can't produce large quantities, yet, but I can get enough to make a couple of dresses."

Jeanette nodded, then turned her attention back to the roughs, "This dress isn't your style, Jase. It's too..."

"Plain?"

She nodded, "Exactly. I mean, looking at the measurements, I'd say it was technically perfect...but a machine can do 'technically perfect.' Where's the flare?"

Jase slid his gauntlet on and began to manipulate the rough, adjusting the dress slightly. Because he was working with Versilk, he could include far more elements than he generally allowed himself -- much of his success was due to his unwillingness to compromise the functionality of a piece of clothing to make a statement -- he designed his clothing to be worn by real people, not just models on a runway.

He slashed the material on the underside of the bust, then added in a spun 'mesh' allowing a silhouette to show through, but little more -- which was the intention. He applied a similar treatment to the sides of the skirt, to similar effect. Rotating the rough about, he then cut much of the back out, using instead a series of slender bands to provide for structural integrity -- only a few, though, grouped together to provide an interesting effect.

Then he swiveled his head to consider Jeanette, quirking an eyebrow.

She began to nod, "Still conservative for you -- but I see what you're getting at. Something simple but still eye-catching. She's not very tall, so you're keeping the waist high and lengthening the skirt out -- but you're using the cut-outs to show leg...it's all very delightful, but..."

Jase grinned, "But she's a 'Most Glorious Angelic Majesty?' You'd prefer a scandalous body wrap that stays in place only because its supported by gravitics? Perhaps the militant angle...diamond scale? That's not my style, Jeanette. The point, here, is not a dress that is a spectacle in and of itself. The point is to create a dress that accents what is already present. Hints. Entices. A flash of leg, the shadow of the breasts -- something sensuous but still tasteful."

Jeanette directed her attention to the lingerie, which began to make much more sense in light of the modifications made to the dress. She was suddenly aware of a need to do something with her hands, satisfied that by placing them against the rim of the tank and leaning in a little.

"Black under black? That's a little conservative for you, Jase."

He nodded, "Shadow games, my dear -- she's not a stripper, so she doesn't need things to get more interesting as the clothing comes off. Practicality, therefore, is the order of the day, though the brassiere was a bit of a challenge to achieve the affect I wanted."

Jeanette studied the item in question, "Well, it's...unique. Definately you -- you design bras like a structural engineer. She's...gifted, though, yes? It looks a little..."

Jase nodded, "That's sort-of the point. A normal brassiere would defeat the purpose of the bust cut-outs. It'd be a torture device if it wasn't Versilk. Seeing as it is, I'm told that it is quite comfortable. Lorelei has been wearing a test model -- obviously to her specifications, but we're testing the concept here -- for the last few days."

Jeanette noted that the panties -- though she would call them that only her head, JR hated the word, were quite simplistic black bikini briefs. Almost unworthy of comment.

Then she turned her attention to the casual outfit, and found herself nodding -- here was something that, were she to encounter it out in the world, would have her immediately assuming the existence of the little 'JR+' tag marking it as one of Jase's pieces.

It followed, loosely, the trends that he'd been exploring in his most recent Signature Collection -- warm colors, contrasts of tight and loose, a distinct softening of the 'hard edge' that Jase was known for.

"I'd wear that."

Jase laughed, "You'd wear anything with my name on it, woman! There's a point where a designer's clothing stops having value solely because of its merits as clothing and begins to gain value simply because it is designed -- or supposedly designed -- by that designer."

Jeanette shrugged, "I'd wear anything with your name on it because I know you wouldn't allow your name to be put on anything that doesn't meet your standards. That's the whole point, isn't it? Pleasing yourself?"

Jase grinned, "You're starting to get it, Jeanette. I've got to admit, I'm a little nervous about this whole thing, precisely because I haven't had to please anyone but myself for so long."

Jeanette frowned, "This casual outfit, though..."

Jase nodded, "Blouse, skirt. I had Henry do the shoes -- I've never been much for shoes. He's working on a pair for the dress, haven't seen a hair of him for two days, now."

The blouse was patterned with reds, all muted. Jeanette could imagine the effect that Jase had intended -- draw focus to the face, using the reds to accent the hair. The skirt was patterned with blues to contrast with the shirt, but did away with the light background of the blouse in favor of a deeper color, for contrast. It was cut short, but not exceptionally so -- the theory being to trick the eye with the proportion of leg.

It was just edgy enough to stand out, just a little bit beyond 'normal.' Just enough to snap the wearer into focus in a crowd...which was quite an achievement for a simple skirt and blouse, when you got right down to it.

Jeanette nodded in finality, "So, I'm impressed. And jealous -- you put a lot of work into this, Jase. So...exact."

He grinned, "That, my dear, is why they pay me the big bucks." His grinned vanished very suddenly, "You realize that this will be my first major exposure on the international scene? Not for Reardon-Cross, of course, we've been selling internationally for a long time, but for me, as a designer. This is the first big job I've done for a client outside Revenia..."

Jeanette looked Jase in the eye, "It's the next step, Jase. You've already got Revenia's elite walking around in clothes with a 'JR' tag, honestly, I think we're a little spoiled, having you all to ourselves."

Jase laughed, "Good enough!" Then he looked about the workshop, frowned, and shouted, "LORELEI! Where'd she get off to..."

Lorelei came running, a sandwich in her hand, "Yes, JR?"

Jase sighed, taking the sandwich from her without comment and taking a bite. He nodded his satisfaction before fixing her with his Designer's Gaze.

"Lorelei, I want a first run off these roughs done in a hour. See to it."

As Lorelei ran off, Jeanette noted that her breasts were showing slightly more bounce than they usually did -- but in a controlled fashion. Jase hadn't been joking about testing his product on his staff...
Dread Lady Nathicana
11-06-2008, 02:33
“Well this is unexpected.”

“Given the desire for ever-improving relations, and our borders on Mars, they saw fit to make sure this came to your attention as soon as all the proper scans were finished,” Gianni says, nodding to the raven-haired woman sitting across the desk from him.

“Several designers leap to mind,” she continues thoughtfully. “Ferrara, Partuzzi, Bernasconi, Mercati, Brocacelli … all quite talented. I’ve commissioned or bought off the rack from all of them at one point or other. Perhaps if we were to contact them all, and see who rises to the occasion, so as not to imply Imperial Preference inadvertently?”

“Or perhaps a minor contest amongst peers to see who the fashionistas think would stand the better chance? It could very well spark a revival of sorts, and that’s always good for business. A short time period with a show and judgment to follow?”

“Gianni my dear, you are always thinking on your feet,” Nathicana says, smiling warmly.

“It’s why you keep me, I know,” he replies with a nod and a wink.

“What contest?” pipes a pair of voices from the hallway, soon followed by the entry into the home office of two dark-haired children, bursting with inquisitiveness.

“Ah, mia bambis. It seems a nation’s leader is looking abroad for new clothing designs, and people from our nation have been asked to participate in a contest. Gianni suggested we allow several to compete here for the honor.” Nathi wraps an arm around each child as they lean in on either side, peering curiously at the package as they hug back.

“Girl or boy?” Naiya asks.

“She’s a lady,” her mother says. “I believe I’ve even seen her a time or two, though I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. Remember the party, and the pretty lady who had a bit of a … well, an accident and changed a bit when she got upset?”

“Oooooooh,” they both say, with Marcus nodding thoughtfully. “She looked at me and smiled once – she didn’t seem bad. I think she was going to fall out of her dress anyways, so maybe its best she had to go change.”

“That’s not nice, Marcus,” Naiya tells her brother, frowning slightly.

“Well I don’t mean it bad, but it was having a hard time staying put, Naiya. Probably not her fault, though. That big lizardy guy kept shifting a lot while she was on his lap, and it was very soft-looking material,” he says in all seriousness. “It probably wasn’t designed for a lot of relaxing, just sitting there and looking pretty.”

Nathicana clears her throat slightly, and gives Naiya one of those ‘looks’ and a very brief shake of her head. Just let it go, dear. Just let it go.

“In any case, I think Gianni has a wonderful idea and we should do it. And perhaps we can make the excuse to get some new things for the both of you while we’re at it?” She then says, one brow arching slightly.

“Well, we do have—” Marcus began, only to be overrun by his sister.

“Oh, can we? That would be wonderful! I loved going to the shows last time, and they had so many pretty shoes too! And maybe something new for riding? Giselle had this pretty blue jacket at class last time, and she said she got it from Mercati …”

“It would seem we have a winning proposal?” Gianni asks, grinning.

“I’ll write the reply, you get to making the arrangements, per favore,” Nathi says, giving her kids another hug, and ruffling Marcus’ hair.

“Mamaaaaa,” he groans, trying unsuccessfully to straighten it back, looking so much like his father for a moment that Nathicana can’t help but laugh.

To: Malham Fell, Roanian Imperial Minister for Foreign Relations and Intergalactic Contact
From: Nathicana D’Aquisto, Dread Lady and First Imperatrice of the Dominion

Greetings and salutations.

We were of course honored to be considered as a source of potential designers for your Illustrious Lady-Empress. It would of course be our pleasure to provide Her with the best our Empire has to offer. Expect a response from the proper persons within two weeks time, most likely with any questions they may stand in need of to properly fulfill this challenge.

Have no fear, only the designer chosen will receive the contents of the package, as you’ve requested. Please know that discretion is something we value, and the safety of Her private details is assured, and will be returned on your request should our designer not be the one chosen to produce the wardrobe.

With respect,

--Nathicana D’Aquisto
Kajal
17-06-2008, 03:10
"Hmn. You're sure this isn't a joke?"

"...yes, Imperatrix. They actually seem to be... serious."

"...Do we even export anything in volume to Roania? Do they have anything we want?"

"Not that I know of, Imperatrix."

"Right... "Her Most Glorious Angelic Majesty, the supreme.... By the gods, she's full of herself."

"...er... She's Roanian."

"Yes... I should pick someone with a similar temperment, then... Though I'm not sure he'd design underwear..."

"You wouldn't. They'd want him executed!"

"Oh, please. They wouldn't dare. Not after asking."


To: Malham Fell, Roanian Imperial Minister for Foreign Relations and Intergalactic Contact
From: Lady Lirella Keral, Imperatrix of the Federated Imperium of Kajal

Soraii, Minister Fell,

I must admit, we were taken by surprise to be considered to design an ensemble for the Empress. Of course, we are more than happy to do so, and I have selected from our most popular designers one who I believe will be well suited for the task at hand.

I believe that the Lady Empress may be familiar with the works of the designer I have selected; he has done work in the past for several dignitaries as well as my own collection and is quite versatile.

He will contact you within the week with a preliminary design. As he says, the perfect article requires many revisions... Please direct all further communications to the office of Manu Seratani, if at all possible.

~ Lady Lirella Keral
Revenia
19-06-2008, 03:35
Henry Cross was not a tall man. He stood an inch under five and a half feet tall, but effected an aura of fitness about him that compensated quite nicely. He had jet black hair that, in its natural, unruly state, was the envy of many who spent thousands of dollars and dozens of hours to achieve an artificial, but inferior, version of the same.

He was, at present, wearing a pair of black jeans and a white button-down shirt, un-buttoned to show his carefully sculpted muscles. Quite the contrast when compared to his partner.

Jase Reardon was tall -- over six foot -- with dirty blonde hair, artfully spiked. He was a fit man, but his appearance was not defined by this characteristic -- he was presently wearing a white t-shirt and 'stone' khaki shorts, with brown-leather sandals and a dark leather belt. In the face of his partner's powerful build, Jase had a dancer's body -- long, slender, lithe, but powerful.

Jase sighed, resting his chin in his hand as he watched the models parade before him in variously specced versions of his design for the Roanian empress. Noticeably, they were all barefoot. This would change, soon.

"Henry, talk to me."

Henry chuckled lightly as he dropped a steel hardcase down onto the table beside which Jase was sitting and popped the latches with his usual gusto. Lifting the lid, he spun the case within so that Jase could see the contents -- being, a shoe. A single shoe.

A thing of sweeping lines, it was, with a heel that probably ought to require registration as a deadly weapon. This was unusual for a Henry Cross design -- but as far as this shoe was concerned, it was probably the least unusual piece about it. The little platinum buckles that fastened the black strands that wove about the foot like some sort of spider's web was an extravagance...but the whole thing was an extravagance, so what did you expect?

Jase picked the shoe up and spun it about in his hand, testing the balance.

"How many?"

Henry grinned, "Oh, only five inches."

Jase answered with a miniscule nod, then set the heel of the shoe upon his index finger and spun it -- the balancing act was an old trick, would have been nearly impossible if not for his minor telekinetic talent. Then he nodded ever so slightly.

"Pare it down to the bone, Henry. I like it. A bit blingy for you, though."

Henry shrugged, "I don't usually design for Empresses. Pray she has good feet, hmm?"

Jase nodded, then snapped his fingers, "LORELEI! SHOES! BUILD! NOW! Also, two sandwiches, sweetheart, thank you."

Henry shook his head, "I'll never understand how you get away with treating her like that."

Jase grinned roguishly, "I wouldn't do it if she didn't love it, Ry."
DaWoad
19-06-2008, 04:53
Toronto, Province of Canada
"Hmm interesting offer," Said Professor Bold, Leader of the ASD skunk works. "I wonder . . . ."

three weeks later a design was in place. It consisted of a long flowing robe made of water silk interwoven with ASD military "smart Fiber". A thin gold Crown and 6 inch heels accompanied the dress. The effect was . . . .interesting. The water silk and smart fiber mixed to form a garment that looked as if it was a nearly translucent, while at the same time Shimmering and appearing to be flowing towards the floor. The strapless dress was design to be incredibly form fitting but with the flowing effect this helped to make the dress more enticing than revealing. The dress itself could shift color based on commands from the wearer. The crown itself was a pure gold band with a single brilliantly cut sapphire in the middle that seemed to radiate a light blue light onto the wearers face. The shoes were made entirely of ASD military smart fiber and could change colors or even seem to disappear completely leaving the wearer to literally "float" across the floor. as a standard, though, the shoes were a color to match the dress but inlaid with small silver scales that gave the shoes the same shimmer as the dress. The undergarments changed color with the dress in order to avoid them showing through. That being said, the undergarments could be warn alone if . . . .so required When this occurred the garments would change to a scarlet red with tiny golden flakes throughout the weave. As always Bold built in certain other helpful features. Using the military grade "smart fabric" the dress itself was actually fully bulletproof and Stab proof. It could take a .50 cal round from a distance off anything beyond 100 feet and the ranges got smaller as the caliber dropped. In cases of danger, the wearer could also command the dress to form a "protective bubble" around the wearer allowing greater protection against incoming fire across all vital areas and the undergarments actually improved this capability. The dress could also go full camo allowing the wearer, if not moving, to blend in very well with terrain of any kind. Finally the dress and undergarments were both self cleaning and would never wrinkle or crease. It was also entirely one of a kind. The dress was sent to the competition.
Tseaby
20-06-2008, 05:45
Office of Rodney Herring, Cedarwood strip-mall

Rodney tapped his display a few times. He was unsure of the dress length. Having never made or much looked at formal clothing, the look bothered him.

Longer. Definitely. “Hey Luca... Mind looking at this?”

As Lucasta walked over, Rodney finished altering the design and put it to display across the entire screen. Wrapping her pale, mesh covered arms around his neck, she leaned in.

“It's nice.”

“Anything bad about it?”

“No, it's nice. I like the curvy bit there.”

“Does it look formal enough to you?”

“I prefer netting.”

Rodney traced down then center, then curving out like a sans-style J. The top was like a vest, and the rough-patterned, dark blue fabric met roughly three centimeter wide pieces of brown diamond-shaped scales on barely visible, dark yellow skin where they buttoned in the front. The strips more than doubled in size as they rotated to trace along the waist, meeting in the back.

“I think the scales look as good as fishnet, but keep it closed. And! And even though the top opens as much as she wants, the bottom skirty bit there is closed. See how the split curves to the side a little then poofs away? There'll be a nifty drawstring there to keep the low part of the split closed.”

“Shouldn't it be really poofy?”

“No, I think those are ball gowns.”

“I thought those were tight, for dancing?”

“That's a slower dance, I think. So it doesn't matter that it's poofy.”

“Oooh. So, what kind of dancing is this for?”

“I don't think this is for dancing. Just looking important.”

“And she needs special clothes to make her look important?”

“Yes, and apparently I'm the only designer available in this country that can make her look important enough.”

“More like the first one they're willing to sacrifice. The big companies probably paid to not have their design teams abducted for this.”

“You're not being all that helpful, you know...”

“So go date an assistant instead.”

Rodney sighed, then kissed Lucasta on the cheek.

“OK, Luca, as long as you keep making me lunch.”

He laughed, then leaned his head on hers.

“By the way, Luca, I need your opinion on the underwear, as I'm afraid I might wind up insulting her with this if I do it wrong. It's kind of like a loincloth. It's a leather belt that goes on, then you pull the flap under from the back and over the top of the belt in the front. It then drapes down from there midway down the calf. The part I'm concerned about is this second leather strap. It starts at the, uh, butt crack, and continues towards the front on the outside, and then it goes in front of the belt, pokes through a hole in the fabric and goes through loops on the front of the drapey bit.”

“That's... neat. I like it. Can I get one with studs around it?”

“Yeah, sure, but I just want to know how the strap going underneath would be.”

“Hee... As long as no one pulls it, it should be fine. Also, I want an, uh, add-on for mine.”

She giggled at the thought, and jaunted back over to the booth filled with pillows in place of a table and flopped onto them. Shaking his head at her comment, he printed the design for later.

“Not bad at all. Now for the casual one. This should be much more fun.”
Tseaby
24-06-2008, 20:28
Workshop of Rodney Herring, Cedarwood strip-mall

“Oh, what's this?”

Lucasta asked Rodney as she entered the workshop. She picked up something involving a long leather strap and started inspecting it.

“That's the bra. The loop goes around the back, under the breasts, and around the neck. It's got two little loops to put a necklace on 'cause they'll be showing from under the top.”

“Won't that hurt her neck?”

“Well, she's not that big, and it has a brass piece that goes into a fabric loop in the front, so it mostly acts like a strapless bra, but has more support.”

“I thought she was that big.”

Rodney yawned, then perked up.

“You're thinking of Rachel.”

“Woah. You're right, she does look like Rachel. To be honest I think Rachel looks better than the princess.”

“Empress.”

“Right. So. What're you doing now?”

“The casual clothes.”

“For the empress? How much time are you spending on her?”

“As much as I need to.”

Lucasta sighed.

“Just don't forget about meeee.”

Rodney put his arm around her back and pulled her onto his lap.

“I couldn't forget about you even if I tried.”

“How sweet, but I won't ask 'Really?' because I know you're going to be smarmy about it.”

“You know me too well.”

“Mmm. So...”

“What?”

“How's the casual outfit coming along?”

“I'm done with the design, I just need to finish making the damned thing. I like the bottom design, though. It's basically black denim shorts, but the legs combine into a skirt that go down to the ankles. It keeps the pockets and belt loops, but splits from the knees-down on the sides, which helps show off the boots.”

“You're actually making those crazy things?”

“What's wrong with them?”

“They go up to your crotch, that's what. How do you expect to walk in them?”

“For starters, they bend very nicely at the knee, and also I'm not giving her the same exact ones. I'm sticking with the overall design, but they'll only go to just below the knee.”

“But you're sticking with the, what, eighteen divided... nine pairs of hooks up the shin and four pairs of loops along the foot? And the weird ratcheting tightener at the top? And what was that other thing, a metal plate or something on the heel?”

“A thin sheet of diamond-plate with a metal lug at the center to give it a high-heel click sound.”

“Why?”

“Because it's awesome that way.”

“That's hardly a convincing reason.”

“But it's a perfectly valid reason if you accept that it is indeed awesome.”

Rodney took a deep breath, then continued.

“I figure a three-ish centimeter thick heel will work well. I'll keep the boot print design, as it's easy to clean and it should push mud away, though I've not actually tested that... I figure I'll use that dark-brown blast-resistant material they make those army boots out of. Oddly enough, it's rather inexpensive.”

“It's probably the fact that the army buys so many boots. I think you'd find material cheaper if you bought it by the freight-train load, too. It's a bit of a shame that leather's gotten so expensive.”

“Everyone stopped making it after that company promised they were going to commercialize a way to vat-grow it.”

“That still creeps me out.”

Lucasta shivered and hugged herself, and was then hugged by Rodney. She got up and brought a chair over next to Rodney, spun it around, and sat down. As he started his work again, he continued discussing the design.

“The top's like a fitted tank-top, with slightly thicker straps and a slightly squarer chest cut. Where it pulls in just under the breasts and around the bottom, where the waist is, are dark raspberry leather straps that buckle in the front. They're thin blackened-steel buckles that compress the straps a little to stay flush. Between the straps is fishnet with a finer, softer, translucent mesh weaved into it. The front and back have vertical rectangles made from some stretchy material with strips of the same fabric as the top down the sides. They have smooth studs in each corner and in the middle on the sides. The top and middle pairs attach them to the straps. The whole top, except for the black mesh, is the same color as the leather.”

He pointed at a drawing on a sticky note.

“Like that, but less smudged. I'm also thinking of making arm... things.”

Lucasta arched an eyebrow at the comment.

“Arm things?”

“Mini corsets for the lower arms. They wouldn't be tight. Kind of like arm warmers, just an extra little something if you want to wear it. I figure I'll put some shiny bits on it. Probably wind up using the scraps from the boots. Which reminds me, I found someone to help make the boots. I have to call him later.”

“Anyone I'd know?”

“Do you remember Dave?”

“Yes. He's going to help?”

“No, his dad's friend's son who Dave knows knows someone who makes custom boots. He said he'd talk to him. We'll see what happens, I guess.”

“And if this chain of So-I-Know-This-Guy falls apart?”

“I'll get a professional to do it, which will probably wind up happening, and then charge the account they gave me for this project.”

“They gave you an unlimited charge account‽ Why didn't you tell me‽”

“Because they monitor it, and I'll wind up being charged for anything not for this project.”

“Poo. An unlimited charge account would have been nice.”

“Very.”
Dread Lady Nathicana
28-06-2008, 07:26
The event was, as hoped for, an unparalleled success. Not only were the intended clothing designers present, but all the peripheral industries were represented as well. It was the biggest fashion event of the year, and Devras was all abuzz with the rumors of the potential prize involved throughout.

Collections of accessories, jewelry, new fabric lines, printing techniques, and everything else imaginable had been on display in the various buildings around the Piazza, with a fabulous outdoor stage set up in the center for the actual show. Of course, all the local eateries and shops had done their best to attract the patronage of the increased crowds, and amongst all the vendors there were various drawings and contests for a further draw.

As the overall theme was ‘fit for an Empress’, the designers had gone all out, sparing no expense when it came to materials. It had already been announced that the designs that were not chosen for the final offering would be up for auction – the social elite and the nuveau royales had queued up for a chance at being able to claim they owned an original design intended for foreign royalty. The betting rings as well had been immediately packed with prospects. Everyone it seemed had gotten in on the act.

Given the names involved, and the efforts that had gone into it, surprises were plentiful. But none more surprising than the previously specialized Mercati design house – a group formally associated with more rugged gear, sports, and casual wear – coming out on top when all the votes were tallied. And those votes were tallied and verified by three separate independent companies, just to make certain all was above board, as shocking as the concept of an honest shake might be to some.

The dress offered as their entry when all was said and done, consisted of blues, creams, golds (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/Fabric/?action=view&current=Blue_selections.jpg), and assorted precious stones.

The fitted strapless bodice was a light cream color, closer to white but with more warmth. Embroidered in gold threads across it all were tiny dragons representing that of the Roanian flag, each encrusted with tiny diamonds and pearls, both in the dragons, and in the connecting diamond-tucked design of soft curves and lines. It fit in such a way as to uplift and enhance the natural attributes of the wearer without having them spill right over or be overly-crushed beneath the rich fabric. It was of course Dominion silk of the highest quality and weave, and a pure pleasure to have against the skin.

Skirting continued the theme, with layers of a ever so slightly darker cream color than the bodice as the underskirt, and a split overskirt of deepest sapphire blue of similar silk, that looked darker in its shadows, and somewhat shimmered in the light. The overskirt was lined with a rich cerulean as a counterpoint, which could flash on occasion as the wearer turned or shifted just so. It had a hand-embroidered trim, again decorated with gold thread, scattered diamonds, and little pearls, though in a complex design of curves and loops only. In addition, the material was gathered in the back here and there for soft layers of drapery and added elegance and fullness, each tuck accented with a diamond and pearl ‘dot’.

Armlets accented the dress, covering several inches of the wearer’s upper arm, beginning with a delicate golden band of interwoven curved lines, with a beautifully-crafted replica of the dragon motif set in each center – just large enough to not detract from the overall design. Each was encrusted with tiny diamonds, and sported a sapphire for their eyes. Through the woven gold, the same dark blue of the overskirt extended down to a couple inches above the elbow, again lined with the lighter shade, and cuffed with the softest cream silk tulle that fell gracefully down over the elbow, then lengthening as it circled around under the arm, the longest point reaching mid-thigh.

For the accessories, the curved design (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/Fabric/?action=view&current=SilverMoon_circlet_necklace2.jpg) prevailed, as did the gold, diamonds, and pearls. An ornate pin, much the same as the dragons on the arm-pieces yet more detailed, was set as a brooch in the very center of the bodice top – light enough to not drag down on the fabric overmuch, and certain to draw just enough attention.

A belt of interwoven gold was designed to fit along the bottom of the bodice, with cleverly-hidden hooks to make certain her Imperial Majesty was never bothered with slipping accoutrements. A very large oval pearl cabochon was the centerpiece, encircled by small diamonds, with the gold design dipping down in a beautiful twist, with another teardrop-shaped freshwater pearl dangling at the end, capped with gold and tiny diamonds.

The same design, proportionate to the wearer’s neck, was mirrored in the form of a necklace, with a more ornate setting for the circlet, which was designed to assist in holding a fanciful updo for the wearer’s hair. Along with this came tiny clips studded with a single diamond each to intersperse through the hair as desired, including the intended fall of perfect curls at the back. Delicate earrings completed the ensemble, with a simple drop of pearl and accents of gold caps set with diamonds. A ring sporting a teardrop sapphire was likewise accented in pearls and diamonds, and a bracelet for the other hand made the jewelry collection complete – this a simple tri-band of pearls with a diamond bar clasp.

The shoes were intended to look beautiful without sacrificing the wearer’s comfort, knowing that some state events could be hard on the monarch’s feet. They had just enough heel to uplift without putting undue stress on the balls of the feet, or calves. A bit of extra padding and a hidden gel sole had been specially built in to the open-toed design of overlapping cream silk that curved around the wearer’s foot from the outside in, and gently cupped the heel. Accents were once again in tiny hints of gold thread, and a touch of diamond for a bit of sparkle.

A simple gold-clasped handbag of diamond-tucked velvet, lined with black silk, with little seed pearls at each intersection on the outside was included, for one never knew when a lady might need to have something in which to place this or that.

On the offhand chance the wearer was chilled, or wished to look more formal and imposing, a capelet was also designed, of the same rich velvet as the handbag, meant to fit gently about the shoulders, fastened with hidden clasps underneath. It was accented around the higher neck, and the entire outside in white ermine, complete with the little black accents, and lined in the same dark sapphire silk as the overskirt. Fur activists be damned, every piece was authentic.

Now the undergarments for this were intended to be as comfortable, yet functional as possible for the wearer. A bustier in cream-colored silk was the basis for it all, providing the necessary support for the dress itself, in fact including strategic hooks for the dress to attach to, assuring there would be no unfortunate ‘wardrobe malfunctions’. It contained genuine whalebone for the boning – as there was simply nothing to replace the classics, and there were always whalers at work somewhere in the world, and money, after all, could get one anything. A very delicate bobbin lace trim accented the top and the bottom, made of soft silk threads and a fine weave.

A thin garterbelt fit just over the hips and upper thighs as a tiny skirt of sheer silk, again decorated in the bobbin lace, this of a more intricate design, and longer than that on the bustier. The belt clips could be removed entirely if desired, and were of course done in gold with a single pearl on each of the tab covers. Simple silk panties, trimmed with just a touch of upward-curving lace, and very thin bands and back were of course included.

Sheer silk stockings trimmed in the repeating pattern of bobbin lace, though these threads had more stretch to them, for functionality, completed the collection.

The casual set had been designed in tones of mink and taupe (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/Fabric/?action=view&current=mink_final.jpg), and very much intended for functionality and comfort.

Loose-fitting pants sported drawstrings at the bottom, but for those times where different looks were desired, thin zippers had been cleverly worked in so that the pants could be further shortened to just above the knee, the drawstrings hidden inside when worn long, or to one’s upper thigh for shorts. These were in the darker color, and made of soft, lightweight linen of a fine weave with cotton drawstrings. Pockets were of course included for the front at least, leaving the back smooth and seam-free.

A more form-fitting camisole of lighter silk, ending just above the belly was worn first on the torso, and held enough light support hidden underneath that a bra need not be worn. Thin straps were adjustable at the back, and rather than plastic, had ivory fittings.

Over the top of that, in slightly darker material, was a sheer silk tulle tank top, the straps being one inch wide at the shoulder, with ample arm holes and a drop curved neckline that showed off the cami underneath. This was trimmed in a delicately-scalloped embroidery of darker thread that had a gentle paisley design, accented in tinted pearls along the bottom four inches, and draped down over the beltline of the pants.

A light jacket was included, of the same color and material as the pants, in a pseudo bolero style. It did not close at the front, had a mandarin collar, and curved from the neckline down in almost semicircles to the waistline, just where the pants met.

A belt with a repeating rondel pattern was a bold counterpoint to the softness of all the fabrics, done in antique bronze and gold tones, darker base, lighter centerpoints. It was set on leather strips that were all but unseen underneath the larger metal discs, including the closure in the front. It was designed to rest on the hips, and had enough adjustment if needed to it for comfort.

Earrings, a band bracelet, and a multi-strand necklace were included, the bracelet repeating the antiqued tones of the belt in a layered band about three inches wide. Earrings and necklace were made of semi-precious Picasso stones (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/Fabric/?action=view&current=stones.jpg), beads both of glass and dark wood, and metal fixings of antiqued bronze, all intended to look natural and warm.

Flat leather sandals were designed to be worn laced gently up around the lower calves, about four inches above the ankle. The criss-crossing straps were accented with antiqued bronze rondels and beadwork along the center of the foot.

A shoulder bag of functional linen had both an adjustable shoulder strap which could be removed, and fabric handles which tucked away inside when not in use. Several pockets were to be found inside, all closeable to prevent small things from randomly falling about, with the top of the bag open for easy access by the wearer. The simple design was intended merely to accent the ensemble, not to draw any attention away from the outfit itself, and thus retained a very simple curved-bottom design.

As an added courtesy, soft cotton hipster panties were included, in a light taupe color.

After the design drawings, the fabric samples, the detailed lists of materials, photos from the show, and the designs themselves were properly – and very carefully packed – and the designers readied themselves for the upcoming presentation.

“Mazzie darling, I will simply have to find out what she uses. Her skin is fantastic.”

Dalmazio Mercati nodded to his sister as he went over the shipping list yet again, his brow furrowed. “Indeed. And she has fabulous hair as well. It would be a singular pleasure to work with her, no doubt – though laying hands on her royal personage is unlikely to happen. I’m certain it would cause offense, and there goes our potential contract.”

Domenica Mercati smiled wistfully at that. “A pity, though no doubt true. One can’t have everything, one supposes. Have you heard anything about our potential competition?”

“Not a word, Domi – which has been frustrating, let me tell you,” her twin replied. “No amount of ah, ‘encouragement’ could garner me more than a hint that there are some very talented designers hoping for this particular pie. At least we shan’t be humiliated by being forced to share. I’d rather lose outright than that.”

“You’re such a snob, Mazzie,” his sister teased, toying with a lock of her long, dark hair.

“One has to have standards, sister dear,” he said with an upward tilt of his nose and a smug look, which soon melted into an impish grin. “I do hope you’ve packed appropriately? We too need to dress to impress.”

“Have I ever let you down, brother mine?”

“Of course not, but I do so love to tease you. Now lets make certain not a single thread has been overlooked, forgotten, or is out of place. We’ve proven the Dominion fashion set wrong in saying we were limited in our designs – now lets prove to the rest of the world that we are indeed, the designers to flock to with all their myriad currencies, hopefully with scads of zeros following each denomination.”


occ: Links are meant to give examples of inspirations that moved me, or colors to help visualize the designs - no more, no less.
FSP-IRD
09-07-2008, 03:27
Thomas Un, most successful fashion designer in the Federation of Sentient Peoples, in terms of notoriety, wealth and per capita spread of clothing, sat in a simple desk chair, spinning about slowly while he contemplated the hologram he held in his hand – a glowing representation of what appeared to be a young human woman with large blue eyes and reddish blonde hair.

Finally, he spoke. “Ansel, can you throw this onto Main three so I can work with it?”

A cultured voice, one that could easily hide a thousand hidden meanings in each word, replied calmly. “Of course, Thomas.” The hologram shimmering in Un’s hand suddenly duplicated itself in one of the main bays of the workship, but it was still far too small to actually work with.

Un grinned. “Proportion, Ansel. Height is One-hundred fifty-seven point five centimeters.” The hologram grew appropriately, all the measurements expanding until the height was correct.” Nodding, Un stood up. “Remove the clothing,” he ordered the EI, which instantly complied, leaving most of the hologram as a wireframe model with insufficient data to fill it in. “Extrapolate,” he ordered, and waited patiently for the computer to process the request. When nothing happened for a moment, he sighed. “Ansel?” he asked.

“Oh, did you want something?” the computer replied.

Un ground his teeth together in frustration. Sometimes this EI infuriatingly acted much dumber than it was. “Extrapolate the missing skin data.”

“Detail level?” the electronic intelligence asked as skin began to expand outward from the exposed areas.

Detail level one used to be Un’s preferred level, until he had gotten married, that was. Ogling naked holographic models in precise, intimate detail had had to stop. He considered using it for a moment just to try and shock his daughter, whom he knew was coming by soon to talk with him. “Level two,” he finally decided. A doll’s level of detail without any genital areas would be sufficient for this. Besides, while she looked human, he was fairly certain this Empress lady was not. No need to get it wrong if there was anything different about her. The rest of the simulated skin filled in near instantaneously.

“Alright,” he said as he concentrated briefly to activate the holograph manipulators that ran throughout his hands. “Establish this as a base and save it under security level seven. Then copy it to Main One, Two, and Four.” Security level seven was only accessible by the EI, Thomas Un, and his daughter, Nina Hartley. And probably a lot of people working for the government, but they would not be looking as far as Un knew. The other three cubicles of the workshop blazed to life with duplicates of the model, fully ready for Un to set to work. “Load workspaces TUF1 through TUF4 into the corresponding work areas, Ansel.”

Behind each model, a set of fabrics shimmered to life in holographic reality, perfectly ready for Un to grab at a moment’s notice. Colors stared down at him from a hundred different textures of nano-fabric, as well as the occasional regular fabric. Sometimes the nano-fabrics, though theoretically perfect in every way, just could not quite cut it for what Un wanted.

Some people designed still by drawing out their designs, then picking the fabrics they felt did them justice, while others used a more advanced approached, simply thinking their designs into existence. Thomas preferred a more hands on approach, feeling the insubstantial fabrics of light motes slipping through his fingers as he manipulated it.

Might as well get started while I wait for Nina.

He reached for the black, slightly sparkling fabric just over the doll’s shoulder…

* * * * *

Lesley Ann Smith, née Collins, First Lady of the Federation of Sentient Peoples, nodded to the two guards on either side of the doors to Thomas Un’s workshop. “Tom, Frank,” she said. “Mister Un requested that I come as soon as possible. He said something about a problem.”

Tom, possibly the senior of the two, and certainly the more talkative, smiled. “I don’t believe it’s a big issue, milady. But you are more than welcome.” Not just anyone could walk into Thomas Un’s workshop in the middle of a project. In fact, the number of people who could do such was probably able to be counted on both hands without using the thumbs.

The two guards tried not to look pale as the foreboding, eyeless gaze of Lois Resnick in her black semi-powered armor swept over them, nor did they miss the barely perceptible start of motion of her right hand to her pistol as she detected the weapons the two men wore. The three knew each other well, but even still, members of the Presidential Guard trusted no one. Shoot first, ask questions later if still necessary.

The two private security guards did nothing to provoke this, in their little game with the Second Lieutenant. Private security always lost the game, but it did not prevent them from trying to win. That was the kind of people it took to be good bodyguards, after all.

Lesley, followed by her guard, swept into the workshop, and after warmly greeting Thomas and his daughter, turned much more serious. “What’s the problem, Thomas?”

“There’s actually two problems, milady, related to different aspects of the assignment.”

Lesley frowned. “Well, you called my office, so obviously you think I’ll be able to help you resolve them. Start with the first one.”

Nina broke in. “I’m afraid this is more of my problem than my father’s. The instruction to include a casual outfit in the entry was extremely vague. Casual outfit can mean so many different things, but then, so can ‘dress’. We ran with the assumption that the dress was formal evening wear, as we’ll get to in a minute, but excluding formalwear, the categories for the remainder are much to broad. Casual could range from something you wore while shopping on a Saturday afternoon to your clubbing outfit on Friday night, or your outfit for lazing around the house eating ice cream without makeup on, or something you don’t expect anyone to see outside your bedroom. Compared to a formal gown, casual could even mean some sort of suit or robes for working in. Casual has too many interpretations.” Nina smiled calmly. “Of course, in our society, so many of those functions overlap, especially with your husband permitting some more risqué things to be seen in public in the last few years. But this Roania, I know nothing about.”

Shifting her weight to a more relaxed pose, Lesley briefly considered before responding. “The problem with that is we don’t really have any idea of what passes in Roania for fashion or culture than you do, thanks to their xenophobia. I’ll see if the IRD can make some discreet inquiries to find out what they meant.”

“Thank you, milady. Hopefully we’ll get the response soon.”

The first lady nodded to the younger designer. “We’ll see. In the meantime, design one of each of the different types of outfits you described.” Seeing the expression on Nina’s face, she amended, “Or at least get started on what you feel is most likely. Anything else about that?”

Looking slightly relieved at Lesley’s amended instruction, Mrs. Hartley shook her head. “No, milady.”

Nodding, Mrs. Smith turned her attention back to Thomas. “I assume, then, Thomas, that the other problem has to do with your piece of this project?”

“Indeed it does,” the designer replied. “Ansel, bring up ADM4, as well as AERP-UC-1 through -4 and AERP-FG-1 through -4 in the appropriate work spaces.” Four holograms shimmered to life in each of the work areas in the workshop, each of them with the standard base doll model of Alessa that Un and Ansel had extracted from the hologram that had been sent to them. Layered on top of that was a hologram layer representing the underclothing for each outfit, and on top of that were the four dresses Un had designed. “The problem is that I am unsure which of these four designs I should submit. Nina and I disagree significantly. She likes two and three, while I prefer the other two.” The old man pointed out which ones his daughter preferred as he spoke.

Lesley chuckled. “Am I to be the tie breaker, then?”

“Well, at least to help us limit the field some, milady,” the man replied with a slight grin.

“Show me what you’ve got, then.”

Un escorted her over to first display. The dress was quite modern in styling, and for a moment, Lesley had a difficult time deciding if it was black or a very dark blue. Finally, as she shifted her weight to examine it more clearly, she decided on a very dark blue. Glimmering like sequins in the fabric were the tiny flickers of diamond shaped energy collectors, and she knew this was the enormously expensive mark II nano-fabric. Able to be stretched and shaped however the wearer preferred under normal circumstances, it could also be set up to only allow variations on a theme. Most designers, of course, chose the second option – why let the uninformed, fashion-unconscious public decide how to rearrange their clothing?

As Lesley opened her mouth to ask, Ansel, for once, took the initiative and slowly rotated the design so she could see all of it. Un scowled slightly at his partner’s proclivity for treating women better than men, even though he certainly understood. The fabric, a single piece of arranged nano-fabric, started loose on the back, hanging down between the shoulder blades in such a way as to swish with the motion of the person wearing it. Delicately wrapped around the throat, the fabric then came up over the left shoulder and wrapped down across the breasts, which were completely covered, even, Lesley thought with a glance towards the other three gowns, minimized somewhat in a mature sort of way. But by no means did the dress lose any of its provocative nature by covering what was clearly Alessa’s most prominent feminine asset. The fabric wrapped down under the right arm and then around the back, coming back to the front at roughly waist level to cross over and meet itself once again on the right side, leaving a triangular portion under the left arm and in underneath the breasts, as well as the midriff, completely bare. The right shoulder and arms were both uncovered as well.

Once more the fabric wrapped down and around, reappearing in the front, low on the hips. So low, in fact, Lesley thought it might be scandalous from behind if the woman wearing it were to sit down or bend over. From the hips down, the dress became a sheath for the legs, and despite the demure way the doll model was standing, Lesley recognized the distinctive fold that signified a split up the right side of the dress. The hem of the dress fell to the ankles, and the feet were wrapped in delicate, strappy, open toed heels exactly the same color as the dress. The shoes added about six and a half centimeters of height, enough to bring the relatively short female upward, but not so much it would appear she was trying to cover up the fact she was somewhat lacking in the height department.

“How high does the slit go?” she asked, but before Un could reply, Ansel shifted the doll model to a different pose, one leg out to the side, revealing that the slit went literally to the hip, leaving less than three centimeters of fabric holding the dress on the body. A fractional widening of her eyes was all that demonstrated Lesley’s surprise. She would not want it cut quite that high herself, but nearly so. She was fairly certain any sort of vigorous movement would reveal the undergarments

“It’s…that high,” the designer responded after a momentary delay, scowling slightly in the direction of where he knew the closest visual pickup for the EI was. Ansel was showing off for the First Lady.

“And underneath?” the leading lady of the Federation prompted, and Un nodded.

“Ansel, remove the dress,” Un ordered, and the EI complied. With the dress missing, the differences between a doll and real being were rather more apparent, as the only piece of clothing that remained was a fairly demure pair of full coverage, though low cut, panties in a matching deep blue. The sparkles in the fabric were still present, though less numerous than those of the main article of clothing, many of which were probably more decorative than functional. “As you can see, the solar receptors are not nearly as numerous on the lingerie, in part because it would look odd, but mainly because the nano-fabrics are fed extra power from the gown, which is why it shimmers so.” Un’s explanation made the difference in power density make far more sense. “Also, the dress has a second function related to the under garments. Ansel, simulate the effect of wearing the dress.”

A good third of the fabric of the undergarments faded to invisibility on the right side, but not evenly. Slashed across the top of the pelvis and wrapping around the hip, the effect was obvious. When the dress was worn and the active camouflaging was in effect, the panties would be functionally invisible no matter how one moved, and all the bits would be appropriately covered.

After a long moment of considering the affect that blended the fabric into the skin, Lesley turned a considering gaze on Un. “No bra?”

“No,” the designer replied, shaking his head. “The open design of the back doesn’t allow for it, and the way the cutouts are placed just doesn’t permit any of the standard ways of dealing with a backless dress. So in addition to slightly minimizing, the upper portion of the gown will hold everything in place. Another reason for the extra power – to run that reinforcement.”

“Creative,” the first lady replied. “I’m guessing two hundred on the open market without your name on it?”

“Probably a little bit less, but not much. The advanced programming features of the mark two nano-fabric still make it obscenely expensive, even if the price for regular M2 tunic has come down significantly from when they were introduced.”

Lady Lesley grinned. “Of course, with your name on it, you can easily charge half again, Thomas.”

The designer smiled back. “Of course. Shall we move on to the others?”

The second dress could have been designed as the exact antithesis of the first. While the first dress had been extremely modern, this one fairly screamed antebellum fashion. The most obvious differences started at the neckline. While the first dress had covered the breasts, this one displayed them prominently, pushing the doll’s generous allotment up and together to create impressive décolletage revealed by a lace edged square neckline.

A deep burgundy layer was draped over a base of crème that respectively brought out the reddish highlights in the doll model’s hair and the pale skin, bringing more fully to life the delicate beauty of the subject. Instead of bringing out the way the blue eyes gleamed in bright light, as the first dress had subtly done, this outfit almost took away from the eyes in bringing out all the other features of the young woman it was designed to be worn by.

Classically shaped, the dress emphasized the wearer’s small waist by drawing attention to the bust and the hips, which the design of the dress caused to appear even wider, draping out in layered fabric to the floor, of which the dress filled nearly two feet in all directions. The base layer of the dress was solid crème, sleeveless, with no variation in design or silken texture. Over this was a burgundy brocade layer, with shoulder-baring, puffed out cap sleeves, that formed a sort of vest over the torso, laced with golden piping in a nearly invisible latticework. The burgundy continued down as a single piece of fabric, splitting in the front at the waist and curving back over the hips and down the sides of the skirt, the golden strands merely edging it before fading into the dress.

The sleeves, attached to the burgundy overlayer, were the same crème as the main portion of the dress, but were instead a silken lace, shot through with the tiniest hints of gold. They ran tightly down the arms until spreading out to encompass the base of the hand on the far side of the wrist, growing looser for the scalloped ends. This matched the lace edging on the neckline and the triangular piece of lace that linked the two areas of burgundy on the skirt from waist to hem. A matching wrap of burgundy and what Lesley assumed was crème nano-fur completed the outfit, draped through the arms supported by the clasped hands of the doll.

Lesley studied the dress carefully for a moment, then gasped. “The lace is changing.”

Un grinned at her, glad to have caught her off guard. “Yes, milady. The living lace is the newest thing. Many of my clothes will be incorporating it in the fall season.”

Shock still reigned across the first lady’s face. “Living?”

The designer shook his head. “That is merely the name. It isn’t actually alive, but it is really changing its pattern, though you cannot feel it doing so. It’s an amazing piece of work by Ansel. He did the programming himself.”

“It’s beautiful, Ansel.”

“Thank you, milady,” came the EI’s mellow voice.

“Ansel,” Un continued, his voice prompting. The EI who had worked with him so long knew exactly what he wanted, and as before, the dress faded away, revealing the underclothing. Two layers of petticoats faded one after the other, the first one of the same living lace pattern and the second one solid. Beneath them were slightly heeled slippers for the shoes, crème with gold accents, and pale lingerie, somewhere between white and the crème that made up the gown and petticoats, again made from the living lace, some stronger looking solid fabrics, and golden strings and fasteners – a combined corset and bustier, a garter belt and panties, and silken thigh high sheer stockings, topped with the living lace that was everywhere else in the outfit.

“Exquisite as always, Thomas,” the Imperial President’s wife commented. “I can hardly wait to see what is next.”

“Something very different,” Nina commented as her father led the party around to the third workspace.

Different was an understatement.

A combination of modernity and the classical, the third dress that had been designed would be better off not seeing the light of day in the competition if Thomas wanted to keep his life, Lesley decided at first glance. Appearing at first to be strapless, the solid black bodice was V-shaped, plunging low between barely contained breasts to expose the navel. To either side and in the back, the black fabric continued to hang down, but in the front it was replaced by a singular piece of shockingly bright white. Unlike the previous design, this cutout was rectangular, rather than a triangle, coming down square from the hips.

Other than at the waist, the white and black pieces of fabric were in no way connected, so overly vigorous movement would send them flying apart, exposing what was underneath, which Ansel would get to in a moment. But the rest of the design had to be examined first. Overlaying the dress was a X-shape of gleaming chainmail that precisely matched the cut of the dress, cut to expose the cleavage and then settle onto the hips. Knowing Thomas as she did, Lesley was aware that the strapless gown was more than likely actually held up by clear fabric to prevent the metal links from touching the skin. “Platinum,” she guessed softly, recognizing the sheen.

“Yes, milady. Not functional, but extremely decorative, much like the other bits.” The other bits were the very functional looking longsword in an open tipped scabbard decorated with rubies and the fire-breathing dragon whose wings were covered by the chainmail on the back of the dress and whose head reached out below the waist to breathe fire down the black skirt, which crackled along the hem with life-like motion.

“Let’s see the rest of it,” the first lady murmured and the dress shimmered into nonexistence. The underwear was just as elaborate at the outer layer. Skintight leather boots with impossible heels rose to just below mid-calf, while sheer, hold up stockings adorned each leg. The right one was black with delicate white living lace, while the left was the reverse, white with black lace. The panties were pure living lace, black shot through with swirls of white. Again, there was no bra, the dress having to do the supporting work on its own, though it had clearly been capable.

Lesley shook her head. Un was still a man, after all. “Thomas, you were supposed to design a formal gown, not fetish wear.”

That prompted a snicker from Nina and a smile from the old man. “You never know. Some countries out there are strange, and we don’t know very much about Roania.”

I like it, milady, came the soft transmission from Lieutenant Resnick.

You would, Lesley shot back silently with an electronic smirk.

“It’s a beautiful design, Thomas, but I’m not sure it’s something we should include as our first overture of contact. I’m not going to tell you to not show it to her, just don’t show it to her first.”

Un knew an order when he heard one. “Yes, milady.” He paused briefly. “Shall we move on to the last design?”

Nodding, Lesley turned towards the last workspace and smiled. The last dress was made of pure white shimmersilk, so fine a fabric that it barely showed up at all in direct sunlight. Cap sleeves flowed up over the shoulders into a low, round neckline, and the fabric gathered under the breasts in an empire waist and then flowed to the floor. The only offsetting color was purple, a thin ribbon under the breasts than wrapped back around the front in an X to cross once more behind and tie in the small of the back. The ends of the ribbon hung down to the floor.

In the right lighting, shimmersilk effectively became invisible, only the presence of a body inside it casting a shadow kept the gown from being obscenely revealing. Inside the gown was a second layer of shimmersilk, actually dyed white instead of leaving it the natural pure white. This was the only lace in the four designs which was not the living lace. The swirls of delicate lace shimmered behind the original layer of the gown, only truly visible when the top layer vanished in the light. Truly the simplest design, the exquisite detail and fabrics made it perhaps the most beautiful.

“It looks like a wedding gown, Thomas. It’s beautiful, but it’s far too white for this.” Lesley grinned. “If I wasn’t already married, I’d probably ask for it.”

Nina smiled. “The purple would not go with your hair, milady.”

“Of course not, but I’m sure that would be an easy change, wouldn’t it, Thomas?”

“Of course, milady,” he designer said. “Are you going to be able to help, though? We are truly stuck for a descision.”

Lesley nodded. “I know which one I would choose to send, though it really is between the first two, isn’t it?”

The two clothing designers nodded, and, joined by Ansel’s voice, replied in unison “Yes, milady.”

You’re going to choose the blue one, aren’t you? came the voice of the first lady’s bodyguard in her head.

Of course. What other choice is there?

The fun one, milady.

Oh, grow up.

I have, milady. Lois’ last transmission included a very suggestive smirk, and Lesley struggled to hold in her laughter.

“I would definitely recommend the first design you showed me, the navy wrap dress. It’s mature and suggestively flirty at the same time, without being overly exposing. A good choice, I think, for a young empress.” Having been such a person herself, a lifetime ago, it seemed, Lesley had the experience to recommend that.

“Very well, milady,” Un said rather formally. “And our other problem?”

Nodding, Lesley smiled. “I’ll take care of it. You’ll have whatever response we receive as soon as possible. Anything else I can help with”

Un began to shake his head, then Ansel spoke up. “The models, milady?”

“Of course. We had Cortana add a search parameter to some of the Justice Monitors and have identified five girls that would probably suitable. Rebecca and myself were planning to interview them tomorrow – appointments have been arranged. One, two or even all three of you can participate if you think it necessary.”

The two humans shook their heads, having all together too much work to do, but Ansel spoke in his pleasantly modulated voice. “If there would be a way for me to observe discretely, that would probably work. I have no need to be physically present during the interview.”

“I’ll see what can be done, Ansel,” the first lady replied. “Anything else, gentlebeings?” When there was no replied, she smiled. “You’re doing a good job so far. You’ll do the Federation proud, I’m sure.” She sighed slightly. “As much as I would like to stay and chat, I have a lunch meeting, then another lunch meeting to attend.” The redhead began to move towards the exit. “Come along, Lois.”

Aye, aye, ma’am.

Stop that.

* * * * *

Minister Malham Fell,

While your proposal is most interesting, it comes with perhaps not quite enough information. The design team that is working busily did have a question – what precisely was meant by casual? The degree of casualty can vary greatly, and if more guidance as to that degree can be provided it would greatly assist the design team in their efforts to produce the best possible outfits for Her Imperial Majesty.

Sincerely,

Lady Lesley Ann Smith, nee Collins
First Lady of the Federation
Tseaby
10-07-2008, 05:27
"And that's that."

Rodney finished packaging the clothing in a long crate, complete with bubble wrap, packing peanuts, and a steel frame to reinforce the edges. He drove it over to be sealed and shipped. Tseaby, not having its own shipping capable of bringing anything to places as far as Roania in a timely fashion, had several foreign companies permitted to operate interstellar shipping operations inside the nation.

He signed the paperwork, payed for the shipping, and went back to his office to hope nothing would happen to it.
Revenia
25-07-2008, 06:35
Cloudsilver Fang Shop, Niol Island, Nexus, Revenia

Pulling wire was not something that one would generally find a Master doing, but there were certain cases, certain reasons...certain commissions that required the utmost skill from beginning to end, and Jase Reardon had wanted the best commercially available. Cloudsilver Fang's Master Craftsman was the best available, short of such august personages as Prince Dysaryn himself.

He was a tall man, with powerful hands -- long-fingered and slender but leaving no illusion of their strength, and with his apron on and his white-gold hair tied back to keep it out of his eyes, he was every bit the Master Craftsman -- you'd hardly expect that his work for Cloudsilver Fang was little more than a hobby, when you got right down to it.

He had been commissioned for several pieces, and was presently working on the earrings -- magnificently cut blue sapphires set in an intricate silver wire net. The choice of gem had been his, and he'd been in a sapphire mood. He had already completed the necklace, which featured a sapphire-and-diamond pendant suspended from a silver chain, and the bracelets were little more than interwoven silver wire, when you got down to it. There wasn't much technically difficult in what he was producing, but the exacting detail that was a hallmark of his work was in evidence throughout -- remarkable how the same precise control necessary for proper operation of a suit of powered battle armor meshed so well the precision of fine manipulation in jewelcraft.

He secured the silver net into place with heat and a bonding agent, essentially making the entire thing one contiguous whole. It was a strong as it was going to get...and he was relatively satisfied with that. Yawning, he placed the earrings in the small hardcase, next to the bracelets and the necklace, then sealed it shut and handed it to one of the shop apprentices -- he had things to be doing that were somewhat more important than running the Hardcase down the street to Reardon-Cross.

Julian Chovas smiled as he worked the kinks out of his arms and hands, but his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Roania
02-09-2008, 08:18
The security officer on duty that day frowned as he studied the wall of packages. "And you're sure these came for the Lady-Empress?" He asked, studying the shipping manifest intensely. "But... why would they come here?" He checked his

"Dunno, man. But, like, these all got put on my ship and I was, like, paid to bring them here. And, like, Planetary Express always delivers. So, if I could, like, get past you and get, like, this Alessa chick's signature, and then we'd be cool, right, man?"

The Roanian hissed through his fangs. "I am not a... man. He almost spat the words, his finger twitching on his trigger. "And no, you certainly may not enter the palace in order to obtain Her Holy Majesty's signature. No one may see the great and glorious Lady-Empress!" He pulled himself up to his full height and glared at the human through his helmet. "Not no-way, not no how."

"Dude, you're totally bumming me out here. I just, like, came 50,000 lightyears, and, like, I can't deliver these packages or go home until I get a signature. It's, like, planetary express policy. Come on, stop harshing my vibe."

"Do those words actually mean anything?" The Roanian asked, yawning and closing the gate in his face. "On second thought, don't answer that, I don't care. Have a good night."

"They're here! They're here they're here they're here!" The gate was suddenly forced open and a blazing ball of energy lit through the courtyard, bouncing around on the packages, peering into each and every one of them before coming to a halt in front of the deliveryboy. "Thank you!" Alessa said with a radiant smile, and then the packages lifted into the air and vanished. A moment later, so did she.

"Hey, like, you can't do that!" The deliveryboy shouted, trying to get past the gate.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the gate. You have ten seconds."

"Huh, wait, what? But... she just..."

"One... ten." A coruscating wall of electricity shot from the gate, cooking the human into a fine pink ash which floated away on the breeze. "Oops. I forgot to count." He settled back into his guardhouse.


"Your Majesty, I advise caution. It is inappropriate for you to try on each outfit yourself, as if you were some sort of... model." Radmiel yawned and stroked Daria's hair as she knelt next to him. "Daria, dear, change position. My feet are tired and I want to rest them." Daria gritted her teeth and did as instructed. "Good bitch." He brought his legs down hard upon her back, eliciting a shocked yelp of pain.

Alessa paid neither of them any attention, instead alternatively cooing and frowning as she studied the outfits as they were removed by her servants and cleaned from their interstellar voyage. "I like this one." She nodded. "I like this one a lot." She fingered the fabric of the FSP contender and sighed as it flowed through her fingers.

"Your majesty, are you even listening to me?"

"Nope!" She responded, cheerfully. "But these are nice too..." She touched the outfit from the Dominion and sighed, looking over the other two. "Hm... I had hoped for more clothes..." She shrugged and smiled. "Oh, well. These are perfect." Then, suddenly, Alessa gave an exceedingly pleased little shout and dived into the package. "I love it."

Radmiel stared at what she removed, and then slowly his head fell forward into his hand. "Of course you do." He mumbled as he looked at the third costume from FSP, the chainmail outfit. "Of course you do. But... your majesty, I must strongly advise that in a matter of importance as this, you should really call forth your senior advisers and let them guide in this choice. After all, you aren't just some penniless exile anymore. You're the Lady-Empress and Avatar of the Light, daughter of two Emperors and holder of more honorable titles than I care to go through right now. We can't have... Your Majesty!" He shouted, sharper than he intended.

Alessa's attention had wandered away, and she was gently running her finger over the dragon design, smiling as it seemed to react to her touch. With a sigh she pulled herself back to the present and looked at her Grand Vizier. "What is it, Radmiel?" She murmured in that increasingly low tone she took when she was growing angry.

"Your Majesty, I must, again request you summon your senior advisers and let them choose from the outfits. More is at stake than simply the clothes you will wear." Radmiel shifted his boots again, driving them harder into Daria's spine.

Her shriek of outrage, though hastily swallowed, brought Alessa's attention to her. "What do you think, Daria?" She asked with a smile.

"I'm allowed to think now?" Daria snapped. "I thought I was just some sort of sextoy for my great and powerful successor." Alessa frowned, and then glared up at Radmiel, who removed his feet with bad grace. "If you expect my thanks for your interference, you shan't receive it."

"Oh, don't be silly, Daria. I simply want to know what you think. Am I not Lady-Empress? May I not do whatever it is I choose?" Alessa fell back onto her big high-backed chair, her tiny frame sinking into the cushions. She looked longingly at the dragondress and its longsword, clutching at her side where, long ago, in another life, she herself had carried one.

"Well..." Daria began, and then nervously stood up, glancing around as if expecting Radmiel to clip her around the ears and force her back to the ground. "You are the Lady-Empress, yes, Your Majesty. But... you're... I mean, you're also a young lady. And you want people to take you seriously as a ruler, don't you? And as a woman, right?" Alessa didn't respond, and Daria sighed and pinched her nose. "Alessa. Do you or don't you?"

"H-huh? O-oh. Of... of course I do!"

"Well, part of becoming a ruler is learning to listen to advice, young lady. You can't do everything. Especially when you haven't shown any sign of wanting to do anything, you spoiled little brat!" Daria was enjoying herself far more than she had in years. This was fun. "And part of growing up to be a woman is learning to think about what... other people think of you... and controlling your own desires enough to listen to..." Daria's voice went distant for a long moment, as she stared at her hands as if she had never seen them before.

A moment or two passed, and then Alessa, in a very quiet voice, mumbled, "Daria?"

"H-huh?" Daria looked up, remembering where she was. "Oh! Right. Well, part of growing up to be a woman is learning that as important as it is to do what you want to do, it's equally important not to let what you want get in the way of what... of what you need."

Alessa sighed and pursed her lips, looking into space. "Fine." The young Lady-Empress kicked her heels once or twice. "Summon the greater houses, then." She mumbled, her fingers twirling in space. "Oh, and Daria?"

"Y-yes, Your Majesty?"

"If you ever speak to me like that, ever again..." Alessa's voice became wrathful, "I will make you believe what I did to you last time was merciful. Do I make myself clear?"

To her credit, Daria stood her ground. "And what could you do to me worse than you already have, Your Majesty?"

"I'll... I'll..." Alessa considered this seriously. "I'll turn you back into a man!" She slid off her seat and sighed. "I'll go and prepare for receiving my most hateful of subjects. You two go and summon them, please. Quickly, before I change my mind." She glided from the room.

Daria stared after her, her mind a whirl of confusing thoughts and feelings. Behind her, Radmiel coughed. "Well, we better get to work, right?" He stood up and slapped her hard on the ass as he walked past.

"D-don't touch me." Daria whispered. "I hate you. Don't you put a finger on me ever again, you monster."

Radmiel paused. "Oh! She develops a spine!" He rounded on her and summoned a cigarillo to his lips, puffing on it once or twice. "And what, dear, sweet, Daria, will you do if I was to do as I please with you, like the good little whore you are?"

Daria took one or two deep breaths, trying to center herself. "This." She jerked her leg back, and then forward. Radmiel fell to the ground, and she kicked him hard again in the stomach, then leaned down, took his cigarillo away, and then ground it right into his eye. "Alessa just accidentally told me something, you fucking animal." He looked up at her, unable to speak. "I was only your slave so long as I wanted to go back to being the way I was before. So long as I couldn't accept and control this... body. But, you know something? I think I can. Anything to never have to touch you again."

"I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what?" She laughed, bittersweetly. "You'll cast a spell? Turn me into a toad? Kill me? Anything's better than what you've already done to me. Go ahead, you worm. Kill me. Right now. But don't think you can run far enough or fast enough to escape my curse or our mistress' fury." Hot tears ran from her lips and she brushed them away. "Well?"

"The empress..."

"Will do nothing, because that's the kind of person she is. The first law, remember, Radmiel? No one is anyone else's slave. You have no claim on me, not now that I deny the claim you've forced on me. And she can't give me to you, either." Daria rose to her feet and kicked him again and again. "There's a human saying for these times. What is it... oh, yes. Go to hell, Radmiel. I'm going to take my job back, and I'm going to have you put through a thousand years of agony for every night. Every slap. Every insult. Have a pleasant evening." Daria walked out after the Empress. She pushed her head back in. "Oh, and speaking of me not being your slave," She said, sweetly, "please go and contact the Greater Houses, and maybe I'll kiss you better."

"How... how dare you..."

"Mmm... well, how about this. I'm a woman, Radmiel, darling. I used to think that meant weakness, but, you know?" She grinned slightly. "I think I've had the real power all along. You want me far more than I want you. But if you're a good boy, maybe I'll let you have me. Better hurry up, though, I have some reports on tea to file."
Roania
07-12-2008, 01:45
"Your Majesty, will this take much longer?" The servant inquired at the door to the changing room. "Your court is anxious to help you choose your new clothing." The servant paused, and knocked again. "Your Majesty?"

"I'm coming!" Alessa called out, cursing to herself as she struggled with the underwear provided by the Tseaby designer. "I... no. I'm not." She managed to pull herself out of it and threw it across the room. "This isn't happening. No panties need to be this complicated. What else have we got...?"

"My lady, the council cannot be kept waiting indefinitely."

"The council will wait as long as I tell them to wait." Alessa finished undressing from the rejected Tseaby concoction and carefully piled it back up for reference later, then turned naked to the other three choices.
"Hm..." she chose the Revenian one at random and opened the package, separating the clothes.

"Well... this doesn't look at all interesting. Well... this does, but it also looks... I don't know. Uncomfortable, I guess." She lifted the bra up and held it to her breast, contemplating the feel of the fabric upon it. "That feels okay." She said after a moment, snapping it in place on her chest and taking a breath or two to test its support. "Better than okay." She giggled, tugging the panties up her legs. She was glad to note that these weren't a difficult item, though... "I don't like black." She shivered at the color but turned to inspect herself in one of the omnipresent mirrors.

The young woman pursed her lips and tilted her head on its side, inspecting her appearance in the underwear. After a moment she nodded, deciding to try on the dress. Then she saw the cutouts in the bust, hips and legs, and paused, a blush colouring her lips. "I don't... think so." She paused, but tried on the dress anyway, relieved to see that the bra matched the dress precisely.

"But I don't like being reliant upon a specific designer who lives in..." she checked the tag, "Revenia for my bras. Or for a dress that specifically requires a bra." She turned from side to side, watching as her breasts bounced, knowing there was almost no fabric underneath them, feeling almost exposed. Alessa blushed and quietly slipped it off, shaking her head and moving it into a new pile, then looked at the casual outfit. This seemed to be the right colour, at least. She moved it to the side for future reference too, then stripped from her clothing and moved on to the next item, from the FSP.
Roania
07-12-2008, 02:42
Alessa gasped in surprise at the item she withdrew, and giggled despite herself. She liked what she was holding a great deal, but she wasn't sure quite how well it suited her. She instinctively knew how to place the wrap around her, but left it for later, looking into the box for the remaining articles of clothing. Her eyes flickered in embarrassment when she realised the sole other garment was the pair of panties, and slowly she pulled them up, sliding them into place and shifting from leg to leg. "Okay." She said, smiling at the feeling of the fabric. "Next..."

The dress posed her a moment or two of difficulty, but she eventually managed to figure it out and pulled it on, studying herself in the mirror. It was... open. That was the first thought that occurred to her mind, as she gently touched her flat waist with the palm of her hand, moving the fingers along the cut-out, from the bottom to its top right under her cleavage. She took a breath and blushed, knowing the support was there, but feeling as if it was absent entirely. The blush deepened as she thought of showing up in front of her soldiers or her guards wearing this outfit, yet she liked the feeling of the fabric, and enjoyed, but only just, the feeling of her breasts being unconstrained for the first time in years. It almost made her feel like a child again as she crossed the floor, testing the shoes, the only clothes she was wearing her dress and her panties. Almost, but not quite. Her eyes closed and she tried to focus herself, her hands wandering the fabric, feeling the little electromagnetic pulses of the dress under her sensitive hands. Her leg crossed, and she watched the way the slit on its side shifted, uncertain as to her feelings towards this. She liked how beautiful it made her seem, or she thought she did, but then she thought of men looking at her, of men seeing her in this dress, and her cheeks turned bright red.

A thought occured and she hiked the slit away, relieved to find the panties made sure no one would notice anything she didn't want them to, but not feeling overly comfortable anyway. She did like this dress, but it seemed almost too much for her. Her nerves, high-strung as they were from her growth into womanhood, would not let her leave in this almost too revealing, certainly too... free... dress. Her soft hand reached up and she quietly tugged on her earlobe, considering her reflection in the mirror. Slowly, she made her decision and regretfully removed the dress, folding it up carefully and placing it to the opposite side from the two rejected items, along with the panties. Maybe someday she'd be able to wear it, but not yet, and certainly not now.

That left only one. She looked at the tag and smiled a bit anxiously.
Roania
07-12-2008, 02:59
The Empress opened the package and sat on the bed naked, thinking back to what she knew of the dominion. She knew that Nathicana ruled there, and she had always admired the strong woman ruler. And the thought of the clothes that the Dread Lady had worn to Menelmacar for the party reassured her

She reached into the box and carefully withdrew the dress. The young woman carefully inspected the components, feeling the stiffness of the fabric and smiling as she placed it next to her, then reaching in to find the undergarments.

Alessa bit her lip as she saw the bustier. Holding it up to her soft breast she was relieved to feel the fabric was far more comfortable than it first appeared. With a moment, she placed it on, and closed her eyes. "Perfect." She muttered, taking a breath and feeling the whalebone keep the bustier in shape. It was a new, slightly constricting feeling, but not that different from wearing a bra, and she actually thought she preferred this to the bra, as it made less of her newly developed assets. This comforted her a bit, though the realisation made her blush.

She closed her eyes as she dressed the rest of the way, feeling the stockings as they slid up her legs, the dress as it slowly settled against her, the belt as it closed around her hips. Alessa opened her eyes and looked in the mirror, and stared, her eyes tracing down the fabric from her bodice to her legs, and then back up. "I..." the words were spoken out loud, as if to test that she was indeed the same as the woman in the mirror. She trembled and reached out to touch the glass, her fingers shaking with trepidation. "I look... I look like a woman. I am a woman." She said dumbly.

A finger reaching up to check her hair, her face, everything, just to make sure that this was not an illusion in the clothing themselves. For the first time in months, Alessa could see herself as a whole woman, instead of something simply carrying about a pair of oversized newly blossomed breasts or aching from her widened hips. And she was more than happy with this holistic view of herself, she reflected, gently biting her tongue and turning from side to side to see herself in the mirror, fascinated less by the dress and more by how it made her look, made her feel, made her see herself. Her breath came slower and calmer now as she studied the dress, now lifting a hand up to her chest to feel the support of the whalebone, now running a finger down the side to feel the fabric on the small dragons that decorated the sides, now trembling as she slipped her small hand along the skirting, watching the fabric ripple under it, delighted.

Not wanting to take the dress off yet, she swept to the shipping container, carefully removing the casual outfit and studying it, finding it too to be fit for an empress, but more importantly, fit for the woman she had, almost without realising it, grown into. She slowly sank into a chair, watching herself a bit more, a faint smile growing across her face.
Roania
10-12-2008, 03:36
Dear Master Herring,

We thank you for your submission. However, we have chosen an alternative design that more closely matches the Empress' current needs. We shall keep you in mind for future contests. Please find enclosed a credit chip that will provide you with access to a sum totaling five million universal standard dollars, and we wish you well in future endeavors.

Sincerely,

Malham Fell - Minister to Her Majesty the Empress Alessa Tyra Annirere


Dear Master Cross,

We thank you for your submission. However, we have chosen an alternative design that more closely matches the Empress' current needs. We shall keep you in mind for future contests. Please find enclosed a credit chip that will provide you with access to a sum totaling five million universal standard dollars, and we wish you well in future endeavors.

Sincerely,

Malham Fell - Minister to Her Majesty the Empress Alessa Tyra Annirere



The other letters were written in a small, neat cursive and signed with an elaborate A in blue ink.

To the eminent designer, Sieur Thomas Un,

I greatly appreciate you taking the time from your schedule to create this work of art for me. I will cherish that you crafted it for me for as long as I live, as I do the knowledge that this object of beauty was what you thought of when you saw my image.

Sadly, I cannot give you the imperial warrant you feel that I am leading up to. My feelings are difficult to put into words, as I both admire your dress and yet must confess to being slightly afraid of it, of the way it makes me feel. It is something I could not explain. Yet, with your permission, honored designer, I will keep this dress in the hope that someday I will be the woman who could do your work the justice it deserves.

I know that nothing I could say could possibly do you or your work justice after the insult I feel I have given you, yet any insult in my words, if there was one, is directed solely at myself. You will find enclosed a small sum, fifteen million universal standard dollars, both to purchase the garments you have sent and as a token of the thanks, not of an empress, but of a woman.

Speaking as an empress, while I have, with the advice of my councilors, made an alternative choice that I feel more comfortable with at present, I have circulated that I would not be displeased should the Federation of Sentient Peoples receive trade concessions. I would also not be displeased if I were to find a catalog of your standard line in the diplomatic mail from my Mars Outpost.

Sincerely,

A


To the Esteemed Designers of Mercati House, esp. Lady Domenica and Lord Dalmazio

It is with great pleasure and delight that I write this letter, as I am more than satisfied with the work you have produced for me. Simply put, the work is everything I have been led to expect about the craft of the Dominion and more.

I speak not as an Empress, but as a woman, when I say that no clothes have made me feel as comfortable with myself since I reached maturity. And I speak as both woman and Empress that no dress has granted me more confidence in this occasionally difficult role as yours have. Perhaps this feels too effusive a remark, yet I am not inclined to either formality or leaving success unrewarded.

I look forward to having one or both of you as my guests in the near future to discuss my new wardrobe. I am willing to provide you with any assistance that I can, including access to my person. Please find enclosed a credit chip for fifty million universal standard dollars as my first payment; a signed order granting you and your required staff free imperial-class travel on the monthly cruise from Sol to Rudan, for use whenever you decide to pay me a visit; the Seal of Imperial Appointment for you to place on any promotional materials or shopfronts you might choose to open within my empire. You may also assure your honored Queen Nathicana that the Freedom to Trade article will be on her desk in her very next courier bag from Mars.

With my thanks,

A
Sentient Peoples
13-12-2008, 21:43
Thomas Un reread the letter, well, more note, from the Empress of Roania again, surprise still covering his face, even on the third read through. “Ansel,” he finally said. “Contact Imperial House and arrange a meeting with the President. He’ll want to see this. Also, make sure to pay the government back their fee and pay our corporate taxes on this money.”

“You’ll be dumping it into the company accounts, then?” the EI asked, slightly surprised.

Un shrugged. “Of course. I hardly need the money.”

“Very well,” replied the mellow voice. “Shall I contact your daughter and inform her of the response, as well?”

Un nodded, as if the EI were physically present in the room and looking at him. Which, of course, in a sense, he was. “Also, if you wouldn’t mind, book us a trip to Roania. This Alessa is intriguing, and I think the business can plod along without us for a while. I can always design enroute. Further, set my production line to produce the second and third dresses I designed for the Empress. We’ll keep the white one in reserve in case she needs a wedding dress at any point.”

“Understood,” the electronic intelligence replied melodiously. “Production underway,” continued almost immediately. Un nodded again and went back to work. He did have to finish the alterations Minister Cameron had requested for her wedding dress before he departed.

* * * * * *

The meeting with the President had gone splendidly. Both he and the first lady had expressed the appropriate commiseration that he had not, in fact, won, but were happy that the representation Un had presented for the Federation had, in fact, gotten them a new nation to trade with.

And now, Un, his daughter, and the First Lady were cruising serenely along at thousands of times the speed of light, traveling in style in a Federation Space Navy International Relations-class FTL Packet, the S.P.S. Cultural Understanding, on their way to Roania with altered, haut couture samples of every piece of clothing offered by UnDressed Clothing and its subsidiaries, the two remaining, unpresented dresses Un had designed for the contest, and a holographic electronic catalog, modified to display the Empress as the model for every item.

Thankfully, Cortana’s Intelligence Division had picked up on the fact that the Roanians took issue with any form of electronic intelligence, sentient or otherwise, so Ansel was staying behind to maintain the business. The ship’s CEI would refrain from contacting system control upon arrival, relying somewhat more heavily the human crew for simple things than would be normal.

Oh well, only another few days and they would arrive. Then perhaps Un could breathe unrecycled air again. He had decided after the first day he did not like being confined on a ship for an extended period of time.

On the other hand, it was meaning he was getting a lot of work done, since he had brought along an extruder just in case. The First Lady was only too happy to model for him and Nina, who was also busily working.

No rest for the wicked, as they say.
Dread Lady Nathicana
20-12-2008, 17:32
“Oh Mazzie,” Domenica says with tears in her eyes as she reads the missive. “This … this is what we design for. Oh, she’s such a dear. Lord and Lady, even – how delightfully sweet of her!”

“As is this,” Dalmazio says, fingering the credit chip, eyes wide. “Dear God in heaven, Domi. I don’t think I’ve ever imagined holding so much in my hands at one time.”

“Oh you’re such a pig. And do you see? She’s granting us direct access as well. Unheard of for these people from what I understand. Mazzie darling, we simply must hire someone to take over operations here. It would seem we will be abroad often, and I would hate for local business to fall on account of our new responsibilities.”

“Of course, sister dear. I’ve someone in mind already, if you approve. Constanza would seem to be the obvious choice – her experience, dedication, and eye for fashion, nevermind her proven loyalties and ah, appreciation of the subtleties of the business?” Dalmazio offers, still examining the chip as if questioning its existence.

“Granted, granted – she would most likely do the best job. And we’ll have to review the staff and see which of them are willing to make a long-term commitment of traveling back and forth, with ample monetary encouragement of course,” Domenica adds thoughtfully, carefully dabbing at her eyes. “Oh, and do have our offices contact the Trade Ministry with the news – though likely, they’ve already caught wind of it. We’ve responsibilities here as well.”

“Not a problem. I’ll begin making our travel arrangements as well, as per our new charter, and get our offices going on potential opening plans we can provide for the Roanian’s perusal, given their offer of storefronts. We’ll need to study a bit more on their preferences so as to play up to them for advertising, but I would think given what we know, there are several directions we can take initially.”

“Quite. I’ll get right on penning up an appropriate response to the dear Empress, with our humble thanks – and prepare a quick news release. We’ll have the other design houses frothing at the mouth.”

“One can hope,” he replies with a rather impish grin. “Sister mine, we have arrived.”