Summary:Emma and Sharon encounter Priscilla while shopping. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The leatherwear boutique on the Upper East Side is one of the most exclusive and high-end clothiers in the city that actually accepts walk-ins off the street; anything higher end than this actually requires knowing someone who knows someone, and an appointment to get in the door. And this boutique is unusual in that it did not start out here on this high-end real estate; it was originally founded in the arts distract of the East Village.
Everything made here has at least some leather, and many of the items here are entirely hand-crafted, highest-end and highest-quality leather. Jackets, purses, boots and belts are common. But there are other items as well. And that is what has brought in their latest walk-in: a very tall, exceptionally curvaceous mocha-skinned and raven-haired beauty currently hiding dazzling purple eyes behind slim-line sunglasses. Her outfit displays proudly some existing leatherwear, including some serious motorcycle boots and a purple-accented black motorcycle jacket, combined with a broad studded belt that is mere decoration draped around that waist and resting on hips sporting painted-on levels of distressed denim decorated to dazzling effect with beadwork.
The hint of the crew neck of an off-white t-shirt peaks past the jacket's opening as she steps inside and lets her gaze sweep the area. Priscilla Kitaen is here to visit their small but proud leatherwear lingerie section. Dancer needs a new costume!
Emma is in the mood to buy some more clothes, this is far from the first shop she and Sharon have been to on this jaunt. Eyes of sapphire blue scan the room with great interest, and definite approval when she sees just how high quality the goods are. It is really hard to miss a woman as striking as the mocha skinned and leather clad woman in the lingerie section.
Since they're out and about in public, Emma has been shielding her daughter and herself, nothing overt, it isn't like they glow or anything but to a psionic they'd be essentially invisible to 'other' senses.
As they enter, she looks to Cat. "Sharon, do you see anything you would like?" So far most of the items purchased have been for Emma herself, Cat just generally has little use for such things. "Really, you should have some more nice things, what if we wanted to go out to some place nice for dinner?" Her voice is very cultured, and there's a definite hint of her Boston origins in the tones of it.
And then she takes a closer look at the lingerie shopper, one thin eyebrow curling upwards as she studies her aura, sensing the raw and nearly undisciplined power there. To Cat. «What do you smell?» The thought sent along with an image of who's scent she wants checked.
Pris might very well feel the weight of Emma's regard, there's a sharp if not hostile, air to it.
Sharon and Emma have very different styles, Sharon tends towards denim and doc martins, Emma towards haute couture. Sharon loves purple, and accents it with white, black and grey, Emma tends towards a more starkly monochrome pallet. Leather goods, however, is one area where they tend to agree on. Leather looks good, allows freedom of movement, and protects more than most fabrics. Sharon is wearing sunglasses that hide her eyes, but there is no hiding that mane of lavender hair, or the tail twitching behind the young lady. Besides, at six foot even, it's rather hard to hide.
Sharon hmmms happily, "Need a leather coat for winter, too… Will settle for black, purple probably too much to hope for." She sighs. A long purple coat would also hide the tail.
Sharon is more curious than concerned about the woman, «Smells interesting. Mostly human, but not quite. Don't recognize the other… no gunpowder, no gun oil.» The later is a scent she always checks for since her kidnapping. Speaking telepathically with Emma is as natural to her as normal speech, more so really. She had Emma in her mind before she ever learned human speech, so she doesn't even pause in perusing the store to chat with her.
Priscilla is very used to being looked at, even stared at, and it does not seem to bother her. Even so, she is keenly aware of that regard, and the fact that her empathic senses are not getting a read on these two; that's curious indeed. Pris keeps her own regard subtle, but by no means utterly hidden, as she reads them the old-fashioned way: a lifetime of experience reading people's body language, attire, accent, word choice, and a million other details. That includes a rather curiously distinct feline scent from one of the pair.
"Actually, depending on what shade you want, there's a rich plum wine duster on the back wall you might want to check out." Priscilla offers to Sharon with a smile; she sees no need to mention that she too is a lover of that color, as she's wering the proof. With her boots on, Pris is actually a bit taller than Sharon, but all three of them are rather astoundingly tall against the average. "Love the hair." she comments, as she lifts up a lovely purple corset to examine its details more closely.
Aware that there must be a reason she cannot 'feel' these two, Pris is on guard, but not yet panicking; she has met a telepath or two in her years, and recognizes the feeling of 'blankness' involved. She chooses, for now, not to project her own mindvoice; she has been told she 'shouts' far too loudly, and she doesn't want to come off as rude unnecessarily.
Yes, well, Emma does have expensive tastes, but Cat has seen the contents of some of her closets, she does dress casually sometimes, she even has a few pairs of jeans! They look older, so perhaps from when she was younger, but still look like they'd fit. "Well, let us see what you can find that appeals then, can't have my daughter without proper winter wear,"
Not like Emma can't afford to provide, that's for sure.
«Human and other, no guns, interesting. Her mental power is considerable.» Fortunately Sharon can feel that she's under shields, it is like a constant hug to the girl, probably. One of the best things about being around her 'MotherMotherFrost'.
When the woman they were just mind-discussing speaks up, Emma shifts course towards her, eyeing a white corset not too far from where she stands. "Ah, good eye." She offers a bright smile, though her eyes are not quite so bright, they're also not hostile — wary surely, but not hostile. "I'm Emma, and this is Sharon, who might you be?"
And yes, the shields around these two are /solid/. There's absolutely zero leakage, zero bleed, zero sense of the shields themselves, a whole lot of nothing…which is not easy to do.
Sharon hums happily at the mention of the plum wine coat. "If not too red, that would be perfect!" She is working very hard not to purr, but there's a bounce to her step as she heads toward the coat, despite her heavy doc Martins. "And if not made for shorter person. Would like to find the mythical person that everything fits off the rack." And bury them somewhere deep! Seriously, try on three pair of size 12 jeans, and no two will fit the same way. It makes clothes shopping so frustrating. She snags the duster to try it on, going through a range of stretches to check her ability to move in it.
Since Sharon heads off past her, Pris just smiles and steps back to let her go, then forward again to offer her hand to Emma. "I'm Priscilla. Nice to meet you lovely ladies." There is a definite air of open appraisal from Pris, as if she is checking both women out, though it is more an air of curiosity than anything else.
"Normally, I'd recommend a splash of color to liven things up." Pris murmurs to Emma in a gentle, non-confrontational tone. "But on you … that monocrhomatic thing really works." Pris shrugs and smiles again. "You definitely could rock that corset."
But Priscilla is not actually staff here, and the staff do come to check solicitously on their patrons, checking to see what folks want or need and how they can help. Meanwhile, Pris herself glances around until she spots the sign for the changing room, and starts in that direction, deciding she'd like to see how her own find fits.
A fond smile tracks Cat as she bounces off, just shy of actually -bouncing-, she approves of the restraint.
Turning her gaze back to Pris, Emma shakes hands and then smiles again. "Priscilla." And then a nod of thanks for the compliment. "There seems to be a concentration of lovely here today." She observes, clearing referring to Pris. "Oh, believe me, I do occasionally 'splash', but I do tend to favor the simplicity of white."
Em is presently in an eggshell ankle length jacket, woolen, very high quality. Her blouse is a sheer silk with pearl buttons, and loosely fitted, worn tucked into white pants with flared out ankles. All of it clearly costly and immaculately kept.
Emma is polite to the staffer, but continues past Priscilla to the corset, taking off the rack and holding it to her chest as she looks into a mirror. "Mmm…I actually think this might do." She says, looking back to the mocha-skinned beauty via the mirror.
Sharon, on the other hand, is monopolizing her staffer. A book of color samples has been produced, and there's talk of leather pants and alterations and dancer's gussets. Sharon writes down her measurements, hands them to the staffer, then strolls down the aisle looking casually at things as the staffer starts searching through the inventory for pants that meet Sharon's requirements and can be altered to accommodate a tail. Sharon looks amused by the scurrying, and pauses at some leather gowns that fall slightly more to the side of 'evening wear' than 'fetish wear'. She holds one up to her, then sighs putting it back when it's obvious she just doesn't have the chest for it. The whole time she keeps an eye on Emma and Priscilla, careful not to look at Priscilla's back directly. Even normal humans can feel when someone stares at them.
And Sharon can be quite clear that Priscilla is most definitely not 'just a normal human'. There's something about the way she moves, stands and walks that evokes interesting thoughts; instincts like Sharon's identify those as movements of great balance and economy, with likely more strength than one might assume. And there's an aura of … capable danger about the woman.
Priscilla emerges about five minutes later from the changing room, having doffed her jacket. She is now wearing that corset she found earlier: a truly purple leather corset, carefully done up. And like this it is impossible to ignore this woman's curves; there's no downplaying them when they are on such proud display.
Pris watches Emma for a moment, and then turns back to regard Sharon. "You should talk to them about the gown, too. You'd look awesome in it, with a simple alteration. Gotta work the best you can with what you have." Not everyone has curves like Pris, or like Emma, and Pris is apparently used to encouraging others to have confidence in spite of any apparent lack involved.
Emma has no concerns about Sharon, in fact she's quite pleased to see how well she's doing with the shopping. On rare occasions there have been staff the were rude to her daughter, it is a fine thing that this is not one such. The corset placed back on the rack, she moves over to watch Sharon, a faint smile curling expressive lips. Moving to the gown Cat puts back, she smiles when Pris returns in that striking purple corset. "Oh, that's lovely, Priscilla. Suits you very well."
At the other woman's comment about the gown, she nods firm agreement. "Indeed." The gown is given to the rather harried looking staffer, the young woman taking it. "Take in the chest to fit my daughter, please." The request is more of a demand, Emma being used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Looking back towards Priscilla, Emma asks. "What is it you do, Priscilla?"
Sharon smiles at Emma, "Thank you." She looks at the poor staffer, "Measurements provided are correct, but would it be better to try it on?" Her grammar is slightly odd, as if English isn't her first language, but she doesn't have an accent at all. Her voice is a pleasant contralto, and slightly fuzzy rather than sharp, as if the corners have been knocked off of the tones. Emma knows it is because Sharon is trying very hard to keep the purr out of her voice, and is most successful.
She's in the dressing room for a while, the dress has to be tried on, adjustments made and marked. She takes the time to try on a few leather halter tops as well, eventually emerging in one that does show off what little bosom she has as well as a corset would, and has an arrangement of straps with shiny silver buckles that looks more complicated than it is. She strolls out, turning around slowly so Priscilla and Emma can see. "Is the top too much? Can't decide." She has the lazily stroll of a predator, and the slowly waving tail behind her seems less house cat and more something bigger. More dangerous.
Pris is looking herself over in a mirror, and watches Emma and Sharon behind her through the reflection. "Mmm? Oh, I'm a dancer. This place is way too expensive for costumes on stage, but I really like nice things, so sometimes I come to places like this to get things to wear off-stage." Yeah, she didn't exactly specify what kind of dancer she is, not explicitly, but there are hints there that could be picked up on.
When Sharon emerges Priscilla turns to watch her just a skosh ahead of time, as if she knew when Sharon would emerge. She smiles warmly, and even offers a soft golf clap of approval, rather than anything so gouche as a full-on moment of applause; Pris may not be a woman of high style, but she cna read a room better than almost anyone. "I think you in that top is scrumptuous." she offers the purple-haired girl encouragingly.
Emma moves over to where Cat is, settling into a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She nods as one of the staff approaches with tea, accepting the beverage and smiling. "Scrumptuous is a good word, actually for both of you. Quite fetching." Emma studies both Pris and Cat appraisingly. "Sharon, did you want to try a few more tops? And Priscilla, a lovely woman should have lovely things, get whatever you like, my treat."
Emma truly does believe that lovely deserves lovely, to wit - her own self! Why not a stranger? Besides, the woman is interesting, the 'other' scent that Cat found, and the strong mental emanations she sensed, but not a mutant, that much she can tell. "A dancer, mm? Stage or perhaps otherwise? I used to dance, when I was younger, I worked at the Hellfire Club, actually."
Sharon considers her reflection in the mirror, tapping her unusually thick nails thoughtfully against her leg. "A couple more, yes. But keep this one." She does try on a few more things, though she tends to choose purple, grey, or black, though mostly purple. She nods at Emma's mention of having been a dancer. Of course she knows her adoptive mother's history and sees no shame in it. Why should there be? Humans are so -silly- about things!
The raven-haired dancer flicks her purple - yep, purple - gaze over towards Emma for a few moments, as if weighing the beautiful and exceptionally classy blonde. "Your treat? Really?" She doesn't sound like she's calling Emma a liar so much as she's wondering just what the heck is going on in this woman's mind that she would decide to treat a stranger like that, pretty or not. Hells, even when she's pumping out the jams on stage she rarely gets that kind of open-ended gifting. "It's really not necessary." Sure, she's a stripper, but she knew what this place would cost and came in here anyway.
"Small stages, usually in the dark, with shiny chrome accessories." Priscilla offers honestly to Emma, rather amused that this high class woman seems to have no issue with her origins, when everyone she has ever known took issue with at least one thing, whether it was her mixed race, her chosen profession, her open acceptance of 'sinful lifestyles', her lack of education or a dozen other things. Honest acceptance has been pretty rare for her, and usually a cause for suspicion; that she cannot 'feel' Emma only augments that caution for her. "Never heard of the Hellfire. I'm headlining at the Obsidian right now. I tend to travel a lot."
"My treat, really." Emma will even expand her shields so the dancer can feel her surface emotions, but it gives them a small bubble of privacy. This woman's got some serious telepathic skills to do that so seamlessly - in fact, the staff are specifically excluded, but she can feel Emma and Cat just fine inside those shields. Yeah, pretty impressive display, of course Shielding IS Emma's particular forte, though it is unlikely that Pris would have any way of knowing that, especially since she doesn't know who Em actually is. "Priscilla, trust me, it is a very small thing, pick whatever you like."
She sets her tea aside, hand bag held in her lap by a hand curled over it. "Necessary? No, of course not, but I'm here for fun and to spoil my daughter a bit. This is fun for me." Emma's definitely curious about Pris, but no, definitely not judging her at all. She's DONE the job, she knows what it is like, and is familiar with teh stigma attached. Skin tone? Trivial. Education is something that can be corrected, so again - trivial. "Well, if you'd like to check it out, there's some very good opportunities at the club." She takes out a card. "Here, give this to the doorman, tell them Emma Frost sent you, it will get you an interview and tryout if you're looking."
She looks to Cat. "Perhaps something formal? I have a function at the club in a few days, I'd like you to attend."
Sharon mmmmms, and nods to Emma. "Not black then… Purple or a pale grey, yes?" People love making mountains out of molehills, and Emma's adopted daughter showing up in -black- to a Hellfire Club formal event is just the sort of thing for someone to blow up out of proportion. "And heels, yes?" Because six feet isn't tall enough? Well, no, the taller the better, heels are expected, and being told she shouldn't wear something because she is too tall just puts her fur up.
Sharon rummages through the gowns, to the shoe section, back… she loads the options onto a poor sales person, and vanishes into the back with a sense of wicked but somehow also innocent amusement.
When next Sharon emerges, she is in a pale lavender leather evening gown that looks runway ready, right up to the slit up the side that goes VERY high up the thighs, and shows off the nearly equally high white leather boots with high heels she is wearing beneath. The dress's slit probably misses showing her underwear by about the same half inch that the boots leave of skin showing. She gives Emma a grin, "Maybeso?" Even better, she hands Emma a box with a matching set of the boots in Emma's size. She'll have to keep her tail down, but she's used to suffering through that with dresses.
Pris does find it odd; Emma's accent is definitely one she would associate with the pushest of the posh, and those sorts never have anything but disdain for the likes of her. But she's not going to call the well-shielded woman a liar without proof, either.
"Seriously? Well, alright. Can't hurt to at least try out." Pris murmurs. She likes the Obsidian, and the people there. But a woman on her own has to look out for herself, and if this Hellfire place is as high-dollar as this chick, it has to totally be worth checking out. A week's gig there could pay as much as a month or more at the Obsidian! (Little does she know.) Pris steps forward and takes the card, tucking it quite predictably into her purple-clad cleavage. "Emma Frost. Got it." She may not be able to read that card, but she has an excellent memory, so she won't forget the name. Or the pale beauty and majesty of the woman.
Priscilla glances at Sharon and then at the racks, consideringly, as if she might have some kind of advice to offer the younger woman. She strolls around Sharon, looking at her from every angle as she taps her chin in deep thought. "I gotta say, that's pretty gorgeous. You wear it well. Too bad it's not a rear-slit, though; that'd be more comfy on your tail." Pris strolls along the racks now, plucking at this or that item; she doesn't use a salesperson to hold anything, but carries it all herself as she gathers up her selection and heads into the dressing room.
What?! Emma said she'd cover anything. So sue Pris, she's gonna test that theory!
About fifteen minutes later, the curvaceous mocho-skinned beauty emerges once more. No more jeans; now her curves are wrapped in a nearly floor-length deep wine-purple skirt with a single side that is not so much slit as just buttoned closed at the waistband. Her torso is covered - and displayed - by a black bustier with scarlet lacing and accenting which leaves a broad expanse of that toned tummy and small of back bare to view. And she is wearing a pair of mid-thigh high black platform stiletto-heeled boots.
"Purple and grey, Sharon, that's fine." Emma nods, indulgent smile shown. "And heels, of course." Em is not ever going to tell Cat not to wear heels, as far as she's concerned the girl has the grace to rock them, so why not? Emma continues to sip her tea, taking out a small tablet to work on some emails as she waits on Sharon and Pris to change, one nice thing about being the boss - she sets her own hours, one /not/ so nice thing, she's pretty much always working on SOMEthing. A CEO's work is never done!
Sapphire eyes study the image of her daughter in that gown. "Excellent." She looks to the sales person. "Modify for her tail, we'll need it for final fitting the day after tomorrow." Yup, she just dictates terms, doesn't even think about it. And then laughs at the matching boots. "Very well, I'll have to make an outfit to match." Oh, the horror, more pretty things! Clearly Emma is suffering.
Pris taking her at her work earns the girl a smirk as she ducks into the changing room. When she returns, Emma studies the changed look, and nods approval. "You have excellent taste, that outfit is stunning." A nod. "Definitely you should come to the Hellfire Club, believe me, the opportunities there are like nothing you'll see anywhere else." And no, Em is definitely not kidding.
Sharon nods at the comment about the slit in the rear, then smiles radiantly when Emma says to have it modified for her tail. "Poking it through a hole is annoying, but used to it. And better than dealing with Dumbasses that get ideas seeing tail through rear slit. Don't dare try anything around Mother." MotherFrost. She pauses to avoid saying the full name trying HARD to sound normal, "But easier not to give ideas in the first place." She sighs, "Breaking wrists is not appropriate etiquette for formal parties." She says the last like it's something she's been told, perhaps repeatedly, and regrets being true.
Priscilla chuckles wryly at Sharon's 'faux pas' and shrugs her bare shoulders. "I've never really been to any formal parties, but I'm guessing those hoity toity types don't go for the broken wrists, no. Totally works for me, though." Pris makes no bones about the fact that she knows how to guard herself and can - and does - do so quite well, thanks. "Even so, sometimes it's even more fun to humiliate jerks in other ways. Broken bones heal. A shredded reputation takes a lot longer, if ever." Pris has no idea how much Emma would agree with those sentiments, but she offers them anyway.
"No, those at the club are oddly hesitant about some idiot getting free with the person of a pretty girl getting a broken wrist." It is VERY plain that Emma thinks that isn't nearly enough, but, it is what it is. A smile then. "Definitely against proper etiquette, however." And no, they would not even consider getting handsy with Emma's daughter if Em was in sight. "Men can be very predictable creatures." She says, "A bit of skin and then they prove that though they have two heads they generally lack the blood supply to keep both working at the same time."
Emma looks appraisingly at Pris. "Well, you -could- attend one, were you so minded and were you comfortable with such, though perhaps not the Hellfire Club at first, bit like learning to swim in shark infested waters." She bares her teeth in a decidely feral fashion at the last. "Oh my yes, that IS satisfactory, Priscilla. FAR more lasting results as well." She looks to Sharon. "What was the Sheik's name?" She probably knows, but this keeps Sharon involved in the conversation.
Sharon answers without hesitations, "Sulaiman Al Amoudi… And after getting what was saying in Arabic translated later, would have broken a few more things if known at the time." She sighs, "Have learned to keep temper in check since then, but not as much -fun-." Her tail twitches under the skirt of the gown. "Should change back to own clothes, and yes… Hellfire Club parties like swimming with sharks, all sleek grace until someone smells blood, yes?" She smiles at Emma at the description. She has NO PROBLEM with her mother being one of the biggest, baddest sharks. She likes it that way.
She vanishes into the changing room, emerging shortly in her own clothes, and running her hands over her tail to get the fur settled back the right direction. The sales person is given more items for her pile, the dress needing immediate alterations thoughtfully on top. And if the saleswoman is being worked hard, well, no doubt the thought of her commission on this little shopping trip is soothing her feelings if not her aching feet.
"I swim pretty good." Priscilla offers to Emma with a saucy little wink. "And I've heard tell shark fin is yummy, especially with a good Cajun roumalaude." Pris lets her bajou accent deepen a bit on that last, just to prove a point. "Still, I do love a good party." That said, the mocha-skinned dancer nods to both ladies and then slips back into the changing room, emerging about ten minutes later with all of her items on their hangars, and herself once more attired in the outfit in which she started.
"'Scuse me, Miss? This lovely lady said she'd cover my bill today. Y'all mind if I lay this all on the counter?" Priscilla comments to the young woman raking in the Queen's share of the commission today, before heading towards the checkout counter with her selections. "I wish you a lot of luck, Miss Sharon, on your big party. You've got a good Momma, there, takin' good care of you, and teachin' you right, how ta' take care o' yerself." There's a hint of something … empty, almost sad, at those words. That is something Pris herself has never known; she cannot even remember what it was like to have a mother, except from the minds and memories of others.
Emma nods. "Yes, that was it, thank you, Sharon. I strongly approve of your restraint. I think you'll be quite happy to know that it seems a little bird sang to the authorities overseas about some of Sheik Al Amoudi's less…savory…practices. I believe his family quite thoroughly chastised him. QUITE." The satisfaction she feels is richly evident in her tone, and the tenor of that oh so wicked smirk. "He was even able to walk again, I'm told." Added off handedly, before she looks to the hovering attendant with the teapot, her cup raised for a refill.
Teeth are bared in a smile to match the wicked, both from Cat enjoying having a big shark momma, to Pris who apparently just likes dangerous waters. "Well then, you should pick something formal as well, Priscilla, if you're free I'll have you with us as my guest. That will save you any difficulty that might arise for not being a member." She looks over to the cashier, a brief nod. "Anything she likes, yes." And then a challenging smile to Pris. "So…up for swimming with the sharks?"
Sharon smiles at Priscilla, "Know am very lucky… most people would not adopt a teenager, much less someone… different." She swishes her tail, perhaps in agitation, perhaps to emphasize the difference. "And speech patterns make people assume worst of my intelligence, but just… wired differently. And Mother could have said 'Adult now, goodbye!' like some parents do, but never crossed her mind." She still can't quite manage pronouns, but is getting a grasp on possessives. Then again, trust a cat to understand the concept of 'mine'.
Her outfits being run up and written up for alterations, she joins Emma, accepting a cup of tea with a small smile and polite nod. Making body language work for her is easier than English is.
Priscilla looks back at Emma consideringly as she listens to Sharon and nods. "Well, anyone stupid enough to think less of you deserves their comeuppance, Sharon. And if you ever need to hear that from someone who didn't adopt you, you let me know."
Pris shrugs as she looks the racks. "I thought lat last outfit was pretty good for formalware. But you're the expert. I don't usually swim your waters, Captain." She gives a little one-finger salute from her forehead with her right hand towards Emma as a slightly mocking gesture of respect. "If it's a test to see what I pick, that's fair. But if you have a suggestion, I'm listening." If only Emma had some idea how rare it is that Pris ever takes anyone else's advice on personal styling and attire.
"Bah, you've earned everything I have ever given you, Sharon. You're my daughter in all but flesh, and that's more than enough." Emma shrugs, smirk brilliantly intact. "Anyone who underestimates you deserves their fate." She agrees with Pris, clearly, and makes room for Cat to join her if she wishes.
"Truly, that outfit /would/ be striking, though it lacks for one thing…you need some sparklies." She taps her cheek a moment, thinking. "I believe I have just the things, would you be adverse to adding a diamond solitaire necklace, or do you prefer rubies?" A nod. "Matching necklace, and earrings…those would be lovely."
Sharon hums happily, so hard not to purr! She takes a sip of the tea, sitting with Emma. "When female, have to work twice as hard to get half the credit. When different -and- female? Meh. Sooner or later, stupidity is its own punishment, yes? Good enough seldom good enough in long run, and Universe wins all ties." Slightly cynical from someone in her early twenties, but she's seen enough to justify her belief.
She studies Priscilla when Emma suggests jewelry, nodding thoughtfully. "Color is good with either. Rubies don't suit my coloration." No, given the fur on her tail, the lavender hair and eyes are natural, and reds… no, too pale for them. She'd have to dye her hair a darker purple for that.
"I think diamonds are that girl's best friend." Pris offers with a smile, pointing at Emma herself. "Beautiful indeed. But I think rubies would be more my speed. That, or black sapphires. But the beggar ought not be a chooser. Least that's what they always told me back home." The mocha-skinned dancer smiles. "Still, if you don't mind the lending, I certainly wouldn't mind the wearing, for effect."
Priscilla considers Sharon and smiles. "You're right, you know. Female, different, no family … it's not easy. But you've got the right lady to lead and light the way." That's her opinion, at least.
"Well then, I could use with a bite to eat." Emma states, then looks to Pris. "Do you want to have any alterations done? Anything else you'd like to get? If not, why don't we grab a bite, and then we can see if anything I have will suit." She looks to the cashier. "Two days, send them over with fitters for final adjustements." And then she sets her teacup down, and unfolds from her seat with lingering grace from her days as a dancer and many years of practice at such polish.
"And Sharon, if anything you're underestimating the degree, but we all of us like our little challenges." And she particularly enjoys putting someone foolish in their place. A trait Cat definitely shares, and by the sound of it, so too does Priscilla. "I could go for some steak, or would you rather Italian?" This to both ladies.
Sharon perks at the mention of food, thankfully her ears are human otherwise they'd be standing straight up. "Steak sounds -lovely-. Especially if can convince restaurant what RARE means." Warm it to the temperature of a fresh kill, then hand it over! It's a -sin- what some people do to good meat. She can even understand spices and condiments, but she will NEVER understand a well-done steak.
to be continued