That was a good question, what did he think and did it even matter in the context? Her lack of an answer was ultimately as good as being given an answer, and that eventual conclusion which was reached in silence had been betrayed by a faint sense of amusement on his face. And later, when she voiced her concerns about how this workshop seemed to be ill suited for the manufacture of evening clothes, she was once again given no assurance that he wasn't here for such a thing. Instead, she'd eventually see for herself.
Passing through a pair of surprisingly ornate wooden doors that clashed with the barebones nature of the concrete wall it was set in, they appeared to be in a section of this secondary workshop where all the designs for the uniforms they just saw were cooked up. Every conceivable corner had a drawing board on it, failed sketches or even just redundant ideas which might prove useful in the future were strewn across several antique tables. Despite the interesting nature of their newfound surroundings, they had startled all the occupants of the room save for one fairly grizzled looking old man. Like the door set in concrete outside, his visibly tanned skin clashed with his pale white beard and hair, the former of the two seemed long enough to essentially be a chronicle of his life story. His almost bronze colored eyes surveyed his two impromptu guests, and just when he'd opened his mouth to reprimand their rude entry, he began to recognize who the man that just entered truly was. Almost immediately his mannerisms changed, more grandfatherly and perhaps even warm. "Usually you make it a point to send a functionary entrusted to convey your measurements and fetch the finished product on your behalf. Why the change?" It was a fair thing to ask considering the track record the lead tailor seemed to elucidate albeit only briefly. "I was just excited to see what you came up with, since this is the first time you've had legitimate resources to work with and a free hand in terms of design. Well, besides my insistent suggestions." This caused the old man to beam broadly as he walked towards an expansive wardrobe and fetched a travel case made of fine and genuine leather, the uniform contained snuggly within and arranged in a manner so as to avoid any creases that would not be flattering.
Though at this stage, and while inside said case, the actual contents and its quality was uncertain. "I think we struggled the most with the boots. Odd blend you asked for, but I feel we managed to marry rugged practicality and sense of style quite well. Let us know if any adjustments are needed." Morreti was well aware that while this little exchange was going on, that his companion was likely bursting at the seams with curiosity, so this was her chance to speak up.
She followed her companion and paused for a few long seconds to look at most of the sketches showing all sorts of uniform cuts. The look of interest on her face suggested that she had been mulling over the designs, perhaps even picturing them in her head.
She was jolted out of her musings by the older man's voice and, for a very brief moment, her steely blue gaze almost iced over though the expression on her face remained warm and friendly. The ice left her piercing gaze as she heard her companion talking amiably to the older man.
"Good day to you, my name is Dawn Mayflower."
She politely introduced herself to the older man at the appropriate moment and gave him one of her warmer smiles, including offering her right hand for a courtesy kiss - a gesture that never quite left her.
"I almost thought you would had your formal wear made here - if the master of his craft had not so much praised the practicality of his design. A new, better looking flight suit perhaps - I guess that is where the practicality will come in handy with the number of hours you will be spending in it, Mister Doe."
After a brief introduction to the master tailor here, she turned her gaze back to her companion and, more importantly, to that mysterious box that was still unopened on the table.
"Edward Stace. Proprietor of Stace Fabrics." Though despite the old man's kind demeanor and decent manners, he did not acquiesce to her implied offer of kissing the hand, it wasn't something anyone on Houston was used to doing, and as such he missed the hint entirely. Despite this potential faux pas which he was entirely ignorant to, old man Stace seemed playfully offended at the implied nature of his work only being of an almost industrial nature and without the nuances of aesthetics. "He absolutely could have his formal wear made here, but the last time I offered he told me he didn't want to add any more items of that sort to his wardrobe. One day, I'm sure."
While the two spoke, Morreti unzipped the case he'd been handed and took a long look at the apparel contained within, it was obvious that he appreciated the amount of work that had gone into the entire ensemble. He even pulled the boots out and inspected how the two polar opposites for the design inspiration had been turned into one item. "Fantastic word, as per usual." His comment had the subtle enthusiasm necessary to imply that the greatest amount of restraint was being exercised to avoid trying anything on right now, but that would shatter upon even the slightest nod of encouragement.
She smiled politely at the elderly Edward Stace and indicated her apology by bowing slightly and lowering her eyes to the ground for a few seconds. Like her other movements, gestures, and body language - this was completely natural for her.
She was doing her best to be mistaken for a normal and friendly civilian. There was only one thing she could not hide - and that was her seemingly unnatural aura of calm with her almost infinitely fluid movements.
"I apologize for my low opinion of your work, Master Stace. I take back my words - if you will allow me, that is."
She then turned her piercing blue gaze, framed by long, thick lashes, on her companion, Damien Morreti, and the clothes he was in the process of pulling out of the box lying on his desk.
"To honor Master Stace's work here, you should try it on to see if it fits properly. How else is he supposed to vouch for his own work if he does not try it properly on his customer, mhm?"
She blinked long and slow to add a point to her words, the slight amused smirk on her otherwise calm face never fading.
Someone insisted and that was all it took, prompting him to raise his hands and concede that he would go through with it. "Fine, fine. Let's see how it looks." Having said this, Stace gestured at a nearby door and Morreti followed with a nod, passing through it as the old man gently shut it behind him and waited with the woman who had arrived with his "customer".
It took exactly three minutes, perhaps it would be a much shorter process in the future if he became familiar with the ensemble, but once the time had elapsed the door swung open slowly again. The first impression was how clean the shade of white used was, combined with the striking but somewhat dull red and even calmer grey of the pants and other accessories. The shoulders were crested with what seemed like padding, but made of a gel layer rather than the conventional fabrics that would prove too stiff for any grace or elegance, it might have even offered some degree of protection, but all the same the two red stripes on either shoulder signified his position and boasted insignias.
Morreti himself seemed to be focused on the gloves and how they were fitted, stretching his fingers out before rapidly clenching back into a fist, and for that initial moment of silence it wasn't clear what he thought of the set now that he'd put it on. But the smirk which followed said more than words could ever hope to convey.
At the sight of her companion in his new uniform, she gave a slight, amused grin and started her slow, again completely silent cat walk towards him. She squinted her steely blue eyes slightly and began to coil a lock of her long, glossy black hair around her right index finger. She did not say anything for a long moment, just walked around him to inspect his new uniform from all sides.
"If you were a woman, I could have a few complaints. However, I have yet to meet a man who did not like a well-fitting uniform."
She added in a low melodious voice with the ever so slight hint of a smile on her young face as she took a closer look at his sleeves.
"Try tightening it, Mister Doe, it seems to me your sleeves could use loosening from the bottom."
With a deft motion that Stace quietly suggested to him, Morreti folded his elbows as if trying to aim two pistols and caused both the inner shirt and the jacket on top of it to properly set into position. Once he'd done this, he looked to his sleeves as his companion suggested, but found that this minute adjustment seemed to entirely change how the piece looked on him, from being somewhat grungy to utterly seamless so far as the fit was concerned. "Better?" He turned and asked his accomplice, the smirk he was wearing still readily apparent and at the forefront of well defined features in addition to the clothes.
While he was most certainly pleased with Stace's final product, something must have been on his mind, because there was a second's worth of hesitation where his wit seemed to lapse in the wake of something else. Rather than express what it might have been, even if it was anything at all, he nodded at Stace and walked back into that same room he'd just used to get back into his disguise.
She nodded slightly as he adjusted his new uniform and with the fingers of her left hand, she brushed a messy strand of glossy black hair away from her face. Silently, she studied his movements and facial expression before he turned and went to change into his travel clothes.
She folded her arms across her chest and leaned comfortably against the wall as she waited for her companion to change.
"Shall I get my red dress ready for Manhattan? Red is in my repertoire as it matches well with my hair, after all."
As soon as he came back, she turned her gaze back to him while still leaning against the wall as was customary among the bums on the streets of Houston - a gesture she had clearly learned from the locals. She tilted her head to the right side so that that unruly lock of hair once again covered the left side of her face. She pouted her lips in amusement and watched his reaction.
"A red dress and a red rose in my hair. What do you think, Mister Doe?"
Her suggestion caused him to ponder for several seconds and with a visible but slow and deliberate sway of the head from side to side, but soon enough he shot out an answer. "If that's just so that you match the colors of my personal crest, I'd be flattered, but I think I'd prefer something more thematic." With a raised index finger he added onto that thought somewhat immediately. "I'll think about it."
With Stace seeming thoroughly satisfied that his customer and close ally was thoroughly pleased with the fruits of his labor, the two exchanged a silent nod of gratitude. It was time to leave now, and Morreti gestured for his companion to follow him. "I'll take you back to the starport, assume you have places to be and things to do." There was something witty in the back of his mind that he wasn't bringing up just yet, likely waiting for a reason to do so.
Strangely enough the walk back outside felt shorter than the walk they'd taken on the way in.
She silently followed her companion and guide out of the tailor's shop and reached their hoverbike, from which she picked up her black helmet with yellow-orange flowers. She carefully put on her helmet and buckled it under her chin before lowering her visor.
"I do not think I would be as busy as you, Mister Doe, I am quite a free woman in that regard and my own boss."
She sat behind her companion on the hoverbike and wrapped her left arm around his stomach. She sat down on the seat for comfort and visibly raised the thumb on her right hand in a sign that they could hit the road.
"Red would be themed with our hair - me in a red and black dress with my black hair and - you in a white and red dress with your white hair."
She added slightly amused on their shared radio frequency, pouting her lips under her helmet.
