Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-24 16:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, arielle chiaro, magnolia paget |
elles viennent se mettre à l'abri sous son grand sombrero
Who: Mag Paget & Ari Chiaro
What: this amazing hat shop in Lowtown Stupid hats
Where: A shop in the Commoners' District
When: Friday afternoon (backdated)
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
Anything that kept Mag from dwelling on her worry, she welcomed with open arms—which was why she and Ari were now inside a shop in the Commoners’ District whose walls were lined floor to ceiling with every kind of hat known to mankind, and a chubby clerk wearing a princess tiara and a measuring tape around her neck, some kind of alternative fashion statement. Around the shop, two equally chubby assistants flitted back and forth like oversized bees tending to their queen’s every command. “Why have I never been here before?” Mag wondered aloud with a look around. She’d thought Ari’s suggestion would be a good chance to acquire a top hat, but once here, the idea of trying on all sorts of ridiculous hats seemed far more appealing. “I love this place already.” “Because,” Ari said, “this city always finds new ways to surprise you. I only found it myself a few weeks back and it seems it has been here all along.” At least, the small lettering at the bottom of the shop sign proclaimed, in business since 1999, so she had to assume she had always missed it previously. She pulled a very large, very gaudy hat festooned with a literal cornucopia of fruits and vegetables from the shelf and placed it upon her head, ignoring the bunch of fat grapes that hung off of it and partially obscured her vision. “You are encouraged to try on the merchandise,” she said merrily. “I challenge you to find something at least as ridiculous as this to wear for the duration of your visit. Then we can hunt your tophat, I suppose.” Mag grinned. “You’re on, Chiaro. And may I say,” she pointed at the grapes hanging off of Ari’s hat, “that shade of purple flatters your complexion.” “Oh, darling,” Ari said in a voice rich with amusement, “every shade of purple flatters my complexion, naturally. How nice of you to notice.” With a giggle—this place was wonderfully ridiculous, really—she followed Mag down the row of shelves. Mag had to wonder if some of these hats were actually in demand, or if they existed solely for the amusement of potential clients; she suspected the latter, unless some ridiculous new fashion had taken root among the nobility. On display between a hat with a blue owl perched on top and another which seemed to have been devoured by flowers, Mag found her winner. She tried it on and turned to look at Ari, who nodded approvingly at her choice. “I’m sure you like my hat better than yours.” It was a black-and-white monstrosity, shaped like a grand piano with its cover lifted; it was made of felt, and guaranteed the wearer would be the center of attention anywhere he or she went. “I would say you are ready for the chocobo races,” Ari said, “but let us be frank -- even at the races, a pianoforte for a hat is, shall we say, a bit eccentric. Though then again,” she said, “a friend and I did once manage to start a short-lived trend for ‘viera’ headbands. If we can convince people to wander about with rabbit ears upon their heads, no trend is too ridiculous, I’m certain.” “Now that I would pay to see,” Mag laughed. “I’d say I win our little contest for most ridiculous hat.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and gave Ari an impish smile. “Best out of three?” “It wasn’t a contest, it was a challenge,” Ari said. “But very well—if you want a contest.” She grinned. “I’ll be right back.” With that, she disappeared between the shelves. She did not intend to lose the second round. |