1965-01-10 - Getting the Measure of Things
Summary: A fitting of suits, and converstaions sans pants
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
able rogue kaleb 

New year means new suit. For those that actually care enough about these things to understand it is not a garment but a statement there was really one place someone turned to, and they better have some serious bankroll to back up that fine taste. The Finucci Bros., Pasquale and Vito, have single-mindedly steered the movers of New York for several decades with good reason. Today though it was as such there seems to be an odd chance meeting turning fitting sessions into an impromptu gathering for the men of Blue Team.

Standing there with his arms out for the last 5 minutes in his white and navy striped boxers and a suit coat that had more pins in it than a voodoo doll was Echo. Suffering was the key to perfection of fashion apparently. "I'm uncertain about the hunter green. I'm not used to colour."

Able has already been fitted for his own suit, which was far more sedate. He favors more traditional greys, blacks, and blues. Now that the hard part is done and it's been paid for, all he has to do is wait for it to be properly tailored.

"That's your choice," he says, shrugging. "It's a bit flashy for my taste, but I often need to look proper and blend in at the same time."

Is she really that bold to throw aside the sartorial rules altogether? It doesn't matter. Women in pants is still devastating to the conservative fashion world. Italian suit makers might agree to make a jacket, and one heavily tailored to be appropriate on a lady, but forget trousers. Pants are right out. An assistant with an apoplectic complexion has surely finished ranting about the place of women's fashion and a woman, specifically the tall redhead in a sunset minidress, is in a dress.

She weathers this tirade as patiently as she can. For the fourth time, Scarlett has to explain herself. "Be as that may, I am here to purchase a suit as a gift. The gentleman himself cannot come in or that would ruin the surprise."

As completely reasonable as her request may be, the assistant clutches his proverbial pearls. What's next, women CEOs? The gentlemen discussing colour do not receive the bat of an eyelash.

Kaleb looked to Able and had to agree, "Generally I prefer slate to pewter but as I have a wedding for my ex-girlfriend to attend? Subtly flashy seemed more fitting." He paused and asked Able with a squint, "You think a Thank You card to her new groom is too direct?" There were not enough deer to contend with how much salt Kaleb Miller could put out there. The voice however grabbed his attention and his head tilted bouncing his query off the walls until it reached her, "Scarlett?" He looked back to Able as the tops of his ears darkened just a bit. Great. "Come to think of it, Able, there's a thing coming up I may need to enlist your help in."

After speaking with Rogue on her goals for the visit, he sympathized with the difficulties she would face. He's also wise enough to know she can handle herself, so he stays well back from the issue, except to smile and shake his head.

Kaleb's words draw him back to their conversation and elicit a raised eyebrow. "I have no interest in weddings or marriages, can't help you there. What else can I assist you with?"

Bonjour, elle est tres jolie. The lovely scarf wrapped around Scarlett's braids gives her an air of respectability, and she can shift almost effortlessly into the girl around town rather than a bohemian found in a scroungy club full of artists and smoking folk singers. Gone, that wild air of creativity and in its place, mesmerizing gentility and charm born from a place no one dare name.

She doesn't turn up the sunshine often, but when she wants to, Scarlett gets a little overwhelming. "Allo, monsieurs. Fancy crossing your paths here." Her smile tips up, all but igniting the curtains. "Our little secret, naturally. I must say with your complexion and stature, try a burgundy accent against charcoal or a highly textured black. Honeycomb weave, for example. Subtle but distinct. You imply it's a red letter day for yourself while being dressed perfectly acceptably. It also carries a certain belligerence, which I gather you mean to twist that dagger a little further." Her gaze ticks to Able. "You too?"

Kaleb was slightly put off with being in a state of undress with familiar persons on premises but such was life. Then again his definition of 'undress' might also very well be caught without cuff links or sans vest. Able, though, got a slightly confused look before he shook his head, "No that's not what I- different thing. How familiar are you with State Dinners?" He looked to Scarlett faintly scowling, but not at the help. The young man took a deep breath and informed, "Yeah I was thinking that. I have several that fall into that category. This might get left to Kellan though. He is entirely too comfortable with the words 'do whatever'." How, sometimes, they shared a womb he doesn't know. "I like where that's going though." he sighed relenting that this was a sketch awkward but it was what it was.

Able cuts a flawless, sweeping bow. He's back in one of his usual suits, a slim, midnight blue affair. "I only twist daggers where my enemies are concerned, fraulein. Shall I prepare one for your tailor?" There's a twinkle in his eye. He may or may not be joking. "As for state dinners, I've seen more than a few in my day. As a guest, a trespasser, a bodyguard." Thief. Spy. Assassin. Et al. "Why do you ask?"

"Which state?" One mustn't laugh at the notion of such things. The redhead departs from the company of the flummoxed assistant, who jabs pins into the cushion on his wrist and assuredly looks most perplexed about the behaviour of such women. Of course presents are good, but a skirt missing most of its fabric is still shocking. And women in pants. Never!

Her head inclined, she returns the bow in usual gravitas reserved for the one time she's bothered to make a splash; notably, convincing Bruce Wayne to throw her a large party to suss out an alien. And no one even saw her, go figure. "I believe he wants you to take his seat to free him from the ordeal. Chances are fair they might mistake you for his twin, and you can field uncomfortable questions while he takes a long nap at home." That's the life.

Kaleb tilted his head to the side with a faint shrug getting a glower from the artisan pinning the coat. Silently chastised Kaleb sighed and replied to Scarlett, "Noooo that is what Kellan is for. In this case we have an agreement, he covers sciences for me, and I cover political and corporate obligations for him" Taking a deep breath he looked to Able having no qualms about what Pasquale heard because had already blotted the sound around Pasquale anyways. To say all of Kaleb's conversation were private was an understatement. "Sadly my twin brother has less a stomach for politics and business than I do." Still it seemed he had an awareness for these things. To Rogue he concluded, "I'm still finding that out. Capstone's on a bid for building something for some government and they all have to go play nice for a while in this meet and greet situation. Honestly this Penglai business has been a burden and a financial blessing." Especially when one makes their cash off fortifications like Stark pulls funds off weaponizing the same governments. This wasn't bragging, it was a pain in the ass that was obligating his time and dealing with people he didn't care about. "I have a body guard after that… issue we had." He looked to Scarlet. yes, Live. She was there. "However, in recent months I've been targeted twice, and though one was incidental, the other was directly related. I was thinking in this case? You might be an asset I can trust in this regard to help me know what we need to know and get home at the end of the day. If you have the 2-3 days for that. Expenses paid. Time compensated."

The doctor isn't accustomed to being surprised, but today seems to be an exception. Coincidental meetings and interesting requests will do it to you. He pauses for a lengthy moment to digest everything that's been said. One can see the wheels turning.

Finally, a glance is shot from Scarlett to Kaleb and back again. He tilts his head to the side, then shakes it. It's not a denial, though. "I don't accept compensation for helping a friend," he says. "Just handle the expenses and brief me as needed. If I'm not otherwise occupied, I'll be happy to look after you and keep an ear open. It's not outside my area of expertise, after all."

Surprise exists in only so many forms. Scarlett, in all interests of disclosure, merely smiles; the hint of amusement lingers in her lips and the sheen of her eyes, brighter than bright can be. Let the pair of them work out their dealings. "Just avoid black and white pinstripe. Too cliche." Of course either option alone might be acceptable, but not that kind. Her attention turns briefly to the fabric swatches, and she glides among the presented choices with a practiced eye and, moreover, fingers. For that rare moment, the risk to everyone in the room is terribly high. Gloves off. Fingers perusing. Slip, slide, delicate as can be.

Kaleb wasn't so accustomed to actually asking for help but courting it like business at least gave him a sort of middle ground. He confided to Able in that comfortable matter-of-fact social bulwark, "I'm… I'm not used to the friends-not-business thing works. I'm still working that out. But," He looked to Scarlett and relaxed faintly, "Thank you, Able. It's appreciated. Not… here… I'll get you a debriefing. I'm nervous as the man that's currently blackmailing me will be there and I get to work with him. Joy." It was not joyous. Still, he was feeling better about this with Able on board. It was oblique venture but apparently a correct pathway. There was a faint grin to Scarlett, "You know I generally only ever wear black in a tux. That's his colour, not really mine." Looking between the two of his teammates the absurdity finally brought him to some faint amusement to ask, "Aside from bearing witness to my unfinished state, I know Vito's working on Able's jacket… Scarlett… Why are you hear? I heard something about a suit and a gift. What's up?"

"Blackmail?" Able muses. "I've been on both sides of that sticky wicket. Normally I'd say the simplest way out is to kill him, but I'm turning over a new leaf."

The doctor shrugs lopsidedly. "Anyway, think nothing of it. What's a bit of espionage between friends, right? Keep me informed. If I can be there, I will, new suit and all. Scarlett, always a pleasure. I'll see you two back at the mansion."

Never one for grand entrances or exits, he just nods, turns, and heads out the door.

"Who exactly is causing that kind of trouble? I would imagine with the clientele they get here, blackmail is unfortunately commonplace." The question fired over her shoulder in the absence of a doctor is something of an indiscreet query, but being discreet for a lifetime has served Scarlett well. There are times when it doesn't make sense; one must appreciate the niceties. Her gaze nonetheless measures those who might be listening with that distinct opinion loose lips sink ships. Down thee go, spy.

"Black? I shouldn't know, considering 'tis the one I never wear." Truth enough, though when she does, the world tilts. Redhead powers, really. "Hence why I recommend charcoal, as a lovely compromise. Not blue, everyone does blue. And ye gods, never brown. A brown suit is a thing of mourning and carpet bagging. As I am here, it will be for a black suit, something to demolish all sensibility and require a certain modicum of torn seams afterwards."

Kaleb was pretty reliable for his conversations not being overheard regardless, and likely had Scarlett's back so she might speak freely if she didn't have means as well. Still from all evidence historical shown he was in agreement on charcoal, slate, pewter and any other shade of grey from his abundance of it, and occasionally jewel tones. Very occasionally. The kid loved classic, and like Scarlett, knew style. He just was not a huge fan of Mod. "Woooould this be for a certain silent someone?" An eyebrow arched curiously, and unlike his more expressive half, seemed to have no strong opinions on Blackbolt, but seemed, genuinely, curious for her. He could help without judgments when he was so inclined if it would help his friend out.

Grey on grey is a pretty good palette, as long as he prefers any number of shades but fifty. Because there's naught worth having about fifty shades, save there could be more. She inclines her head slightly and slides the next hanger over, examining the cut of the coat there. Not to her taste with the narrow profile, but the pinch of wool gives her an idea of its weight and quality. "That would be telling. I know exactly what I need, however, though I thought about sketching it out. Easier to have a few photographs and make a go of it that way. Stop worrying about me, though, turn the focus back upon you. Tell me more this blackmail situation. That sounds particularly troubling, no?"

Kaleb only needed 5 good ones, and Pasquale knew what the young heir liked and landed that mark every time. The tailor looked up, looked to Kaleb and looked to her and said in a thick accent that made his T's sound like D's, "I go pull out something else I think you might like. I got in, give me a few minutes." Kaleb nodded and he was off and Kaleb went to put his arms down before getting stuck by pins. "Wait can y- " sigh. Carefully he tried again and lowered his arms. He fixed the front of the shirt it was being fitted with clearing his throat, dignity restoried to his posture if still lacking pants to cover those pasty legs that did not care much to see sunlight. He waited to follow Pasquale out with his eyes and didn't quite know how to sum up. To that estent there was a small *pop* as sound shifted not unlike rolling up the windows driving down the highway and hitting that pocket of clarity.

"You remember last summer? When Um…" Normally analytical he fought to be presently and took faith in Scarlett's crazy shared history with him 'People got taken? I mean they still are but when they grabbed me. The people holding me at the time and started messing with my DNA… either directly or indirectly work for my father. Short story. There's… more to it but that's the crux and it's complicated and I'm trying to sort out what it means and figure out if I'm protecting my family, or myself from my family, and how much about… things they know." Like he said, a little messy. He offered, "Our parents don't know we're… ya know." Really any of those 'you know' parts.

"How many students have similar stories? Tried to keep their secrets, protected for the family honour and reputation," muses the girl with a name and without one. Her fingers keep walking and she pulls down two jackets with care, for all the assistant is peering through the door to make sure she isn't doing anything wretched in there like harassing a paying client. Two are laid up in time, the first black and the second black. She'll take anything that looks right as long as it comes in black, a modern Henry Ford. The slope of the shoulders on one is sharper than the other, the fall obviously distorted by the fact double-breasted jackets - or single, for that matter - aren't really meant to accommodate the feminine physique in the same way. Her gaze flickers over the mirror, practiced at pulling out sharp details in relief. Smiling only a little, she turns the suit edge on and switches the coat for the other, clearly comparing the two. "The greatest loss in all that is family. I feel terrible they would reject a son or daughter or sibling because someone is different, but no one can force acceptance. We can set a better example and that's about it."

Kaleb observed with unwarrented opinion, "I think I like the second one better if it's for you. Commanding but not hostile." And that was his insights on that. The woman had taste and would figure out what she wanted though without more to go on: event, occasion, people in attendance? These things mattered. Silently he wondered the same thing: what his silence may cost himself, others, and how many others were in the same boat of living in fearand the very unfortante wonder when it might happen again. He took a deep breatha dn shrugged, "Too many. Even one of us is three too many. I've been working on working it out over the last few months, but… it's always there. It's going to be." He accepted that reality, but what to do with unwinding the ball of string was another. They've never really spoken of family before, and the truth was, it reached him enough to be candid. "You have any idea what my family would do, or what people would do to our family if they knew about us being Mutants? If they knew about Vic? Or Max? This world is… it's insane. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really the crazy one." Something he was not entirely comfortable saying out loud, but there was apparently a trust there not to turn into some judgemental bleeding heart on him. This was a mark in her favour. He murmured, "Trying to be that better person. Ain't easy. I promised Jean I'd try."

"Not for me, as I said. For someone who ought to wear this sort of thing," laughs the redhead, sliding her body out of the range of the mirror. She puts down the second jacket, considering the first instead. The palatable lines slide and flow in sharp, light appeal that probably accommodate all conservative tastes. Light and groovy is not what they do here, understandably. Her gaze flows along the sleeve, then returns to Kaleb again. "One is too many, but the reality is parents are afraid of their children, their neighbours' reaction to the child, and everything in between. I do not accept this as an answer but I have compassion for them. We need to add a little more colour and brightness in their lives, if we can alleviate that fear or curiosity."

Her hand slides over her hair, smoothing out the braids. Her hip cocked, heel flat, she stands contrapposto where she is. "This world is confusing and I verse, not one place or one entity that thinks. We see one aspect of society or others. I walk through their lives, an endless inquiring mind trying to decipher their worries, thoughts, issues, and dreams. I like to stay abreast of the times, and inquire into their future states of mind. I don't call it insane. I recognize the areas where I can relate and show sympathy where possibility. It's very easy to forget they have no idea of what they are dealing with. They do not want to satisfy violence or wage a war. As human beings, they have to overcome that desire to reject the unfamiliar. But it means consciously changing their behaviour."

Kaleb fussed with his sleveve and itched the back of his bare calf with a dress sock. "I'm not going to die holding my breath on that. Trust me, growing up all your life in fear? Real fun. I used to think maybe it'd just be easier if people know. And then I look at Jay. It's a different kind of rough." Too close to home. Echo bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, "Ya know, when you and I were in the mountains helpin?" Yes, he remembers her in Attilan, "for once I actually felt at epeace with things even in the chaos. In the end, that helps one and fixes nothing though." Because it was hiding. There was a silence from him that was deafeningly complete in its absoluteness for what seemed a protracted moment before he offered words sadly foreign in use to him: Gratitude. "Hey, Scarlett? Thanks for that incidently."

"I kept quiet on them for a very long time, but yes, I remember the mountains." Her smile hangs on a moonbeam, her gaze serene. Scarlett is not given to extremes in emotion at the moment, though her fingertips scale through her hair anew, finding the fussy bobby pin and shoving it back in place. Something about that feels particularly satisfying, the scritch to her scalp a welcome escape from the unfamiliar. Her breath plays out a sigh and finally the bohemian sits down in a chair. "Thanks for what? Stopping people from being slain? That's rather what I do. Sometimes it feels like the only thing, anymore. Sit, listen, wait to be a good shield. It comes down to finding a way to use my talents well, I suppose. You needn't thank me for doing the right thing, though I am grateful you are fine. "

Kaleb actually smiled a bit runnign his tong along his lower lip in thought, admitting, "Yeah thanks for being a decent person, but… yeah. Thanks for the help." Those blue eyes cast down for a moment ina small social retreat from that vulnerability of being 'human'. He admitted, "It was …it was scary, but you know after? Just…" He scowled slightly, "Look I'm bad with words but yeah. I… don't have a lot of friends but I'm glad you were around." There. Simple and though it completely lacked eloquence the point was there with sincerity.

Scarlett inclines her head, flashing an easy smile wrought out of sunlight and acceptance. "Likewise, I find myself glad it turned out. I would be intrigued by the social unrest in any case, but that's not why I acted as I did. If I could have interfered sooner to avoid violence, I would have. Desperation makes people choose badly, sometimes." Her breath held, she puts back the second jacket and keeps the first, waiting the return of the tailor before she puts in that order. The result will be a profound transformation of cloth into wondrously beautiful clothing, something formal, and above all, respectable. "Our friendships fuel a sustained assault on loneliness and weak relationships to the part of the city, of society itself."

Kaleb hopped off the fitting pedestal and went to go get his glass of water. Lifting it to Scarlett in agreement he nodded, "And here's to hoping we figure it out and it works… You know if you're free later? You're welcome to come down to the 6th and take a listen to the new album I got my hands on. Jay and I were going to kick around and give it a listen." There was something startlingly normal about that that seemed a comfort between chaos, explosions, kidnappings, and political espionage. She was right, it was the small things that battled the violence of chaos and lonliness. It was then though Pasquale came back in and shooed Kaleb back up to the pedestal to continue on. He told Rogue, "Round 8… I'm being wrangled." And with that went back to being fitted.

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