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ACTION LOG: Fitting Setsuna
Setsuna had only been in the room for roughly ten minutes, but he had already had more than enough. Sumeragi-san had agreed, at least, to do measurements over his clothes (the Celestial Being uniform was rather tight-fitting already), which minimized some of the discomfort, though not all of it. He couldn't help flinching away from busy hands, though, and the tape measure around his chest felt constricting in a way that he forced back, closing his eyes and concentrating on taking breaths, on what was around him rather than what was actually happening to him. He had done this before, had ample experience with it, but he was still somewhat surprised and relieved when he found himself calming down some, or at least lacking the instinct and sincere desire to run out of the room like a scared animal.
That lasted the ten minutes, got him through uncomfortable measurements and Sumeragi-san's busy chatter that he knew was more likely than not for his benefit. He didn't like when she commented on how tall he'd gotten, ducked his head when she said it and waited for her to finish. He was expecting to be let go, so he didn't try to push the issue, muttered vague responses to the few questions she asked him. Picked a color (blue).
She pressed something cloth in his arms and asked him to "try it on," which baffled him momentarily and it showed, his expression going slightly blank before he realized. The bathroom was the only place he could change, and it felt a little claustrophobic going through the motions of removing his uniform there, the door locked shut and secure but he didn't exactly feel it. He had always had issues with being naked, and while it rarely bothered him in the comfort of his own room, here it was uncomfortable in a strange way, a strange bathroom, Sumeragi's things lined up on the tiny sink's ledge, her shower curtain (pink, with big yellow flowers, it looked like something Christina would have picked out and he had to look away). He dressed quickly, awkwardly, looking for tags and trying not to put anything on backwards. The top went on alright, loose-fitting on him, the tiniest bit too short. He looked awkward in the mirror, brown eyes wide, the sailor collar with its yellow ribbon that had tangled when he pulled it on. The sleeves were short, which he didn't like, but he shook it off to put the rest of the clothes on. The skirt that went to just above his knees, fitting loosely on his slim hips, pleated and almost too proper to even begin to look right, and a pair of stockings that slid down loosely on him.
It was comic. It would have been comic if it wasn't so thoroughly uncomfortable. He looked like he was borrowing his older sister's clothing.
Neat, at least, he set his uniform on top of the toilet seat, loosely folded, and debated briefly opening the door. Sumeragi-san had said to put on the clothes and come out so that she could see how it fit, but he didn't want to see. Didn't want to be touched wearing this. To consider it.
He didn't have much of a choice, though, turning the knob and stepping out, discomfort plain on his face, looking down to fix the end of the shirt, trying in vain to pull it down to cover the waistband of the skirt; if he were one inch taller, he would have been showing skin there. He wasn't sure what was worse: that he had to wear this, or that he actually managed to look somewhat like a girl in it. Sort of.
"...owatta."
That lasted the ten minutes, got him through uncomfortable measurements and Sumeragi-san's busy chatter that he knew was more likely than not for his benefit. He didn't like when she commented on how tall he'd gotten, ducked his head when she said it and waited for her to finish. He was expecting to be let go, so he didn't try to push the issue, muttered vague responses to the few questions she asked him. Picked a color (blue).
She pressed something cloth in his arms and asked him to "try it on," which baffled him momentarily and it showed, his expression going slightly blank before he realized. The bathroom was the only place he could change, and it felt a little claustrophobic going through the motions of removing his uniform there, the door locked shut and secure but he didn't exactly feel it. He had always had issues with being naked, and while it rarely bothered him in the comfort of his own room, here it was uncomfortable in a strange way, a strange bathroom, Sumeragi's things lined up on the tiny sink's ledge, her shower curtain (pink, with big yellow flowers, it looked like something Christina would have picked out and he had to look away). He dressed quickly, awkwardly, looking for tags and trying not to put anything on backwards. The top went on alright, loose-fitting on him, the tiniest bit too short. He looked awkward in the mirror, brown eyes wide, the sailor collar with its yellow ribbon that had tangled when he pulled it on. The sleeves were short, which he didn't like, but he shook it off to put the rest of the clothes on. The skirt that went to just above his knees, fitting loosely on his slim hips, pleated and almost too proper to even begin to look right, and a pair of stockings that slid down loosely on him.
It was comic. It would have been comic if it wasn't so thoroughly uncomfortable. He looked like he was borrowing his older sister's clothing.
Neat, at least, he set his uniform on top of the toilet seat, loosely folded, and debated briefly opening the door. Sumeragi-san had said to put on the clothes and come out so that she could see how it fit, but he didn't want to see. Didn't want to be touched wearing this. To consider it.
He didn't have much of a choice, though, turning the knob and stepping out, discomfort plain on his face, looking down to fix the end of the shirt, trying in vain to pull it down to cover the waistband of the skirt; if he were one inch taller, he would have been showing skin there. He wasn't sure what was worse: that he had to wear this, or that he actually managed to look somewhat like a girl in it. Sort of.
"...owatta."
sick
creative