Who: Cindy & Zelda What: Discussing Zelda's legal matters, and Cindy tells a secret When: Backdated to Friday Morning Where: Shoegasm Rating/Warnings: Talks of shady assassinations and kidnappings Status: Complete!
Shoes, shoes, shoes, so many fucking shoes. Not only that, but Cindy was also buried in paperwork (tickets, schedules, maps, directions) when it came to Fashion Week in the OC, which started around the middle of this month - it kicked off with a cocktail party in Newport Beach and culminated with a high tea that was also a jewelry trunk show; an exciting time, yet not something that Cindy herself gave much of a fuck about. She’d send Rachel if she could but the woman had long since flown the coop and Zelda took her place. It was Zelda who would be sent to Fashion Week instead and Cindy had registered her as a Buyer, and gotten her a Fast Pass for the tornado whirlwind of events.
In her office, tucked away in the back of the Shoegasm boutique, Cindy called for her dutiful young employee, the sparkly-eyed, elf-eared princess - literally, called for her, using the phone to ring up front and summon Zelda for a quick chat. Then she rolled her chair toward the mini-fridge and opened it up, absolutely starving, rummaging for today’s lunch which was a cream cheese and jam sandwich and some carrot sticks to crunch on. How she wished she could spike her water bottle.
One of these days, she’d also tell Zelda about the...other, flip side of Cindy’s occupation. It was only a matter of time before it came up, and by now, she felt like she could trust the girl. She was a capable assistant, much like Crispin Cordwainer had been before he royally fucked shit up with a deal gone sour - he ran The Glass Slipper in Cindy’s absence, while she was jet-setting as a spy, and dream life mirrored real life more often than not. Even if it tended to be a cracked reflection.
Honestly, Zelda didn’t know much about shoes. Most of her footwear were secondhand things, treasures uncovered after sifting through thrift stores and it’d be a miracle if she was able to find something that was almost new. And while she missed the hustle and bustle of running on her feet, ringing up tickets and listening to the woes of loyal diner regulars, being employed by someone who knew the very peculiar ropes of this place was a blessing - like, literally, one of those hashtag-blessed moments.
Made emergencies much easier to explain, should they arise and most of the time the emergencies were caused by whatever thinning of reality’s fabric that happened here. But she had learned a lot. About shoes, that is. Retail was easy when you knew a thing or two about the products you were selling.
It was slow upfront - she’d been busy making sure the window display was properly dusted, the glass wiped clear, the shoes polished, when Cindy had summoned her. “Hey,” she piped up, knuckles knocking on the doorframe as she peeked in. “Did I do something wrong…?”
Oh, and then there was the part of Zelda that was such a paranoid perfectionist that she was terrified she’d do something to get fired, just her luck.
Something wrong? Oh, the poor dear. Bless her heart (though Cindy actually meant that sincerely, as opposed to when her wicked stepmother tended to utter the words in her peaches and cream accent). “No, of course not,” she chuckled, waving Zelda further into the office. “I just wanted to go over a few things with you. Got you all set for Fashion Week, with tickets and schedules. The first night there’s a cocktail party at a hotel in Newport Beach, so lots of schmoozing and business cards to pass out. Do you think you can secure a plus one for it, or...?”
She unwrapped her sandwich, sitting back in her seat, crossing one knee over the other and idly swinging to and fro a little using chair mechanics - casual as can be, really, since obviously her fellow blonde wasn’t in trouble and certainly not fired. That would be stupid, and Cindy was not that. Eventually, Zelda would probably move on to greener pastures though, and she respected that.
“Fashion Week in general is fine though, right? I mean, I could always send someone else, but...” she shrugged. The other girls did well strictly in sales and stocking, not necessarily networking.
Oh, phew. It wasn’t one of those ‘pink slip’ visits. Logically she knew the paranoia was absolutely silly, but some feelings of anxiety were too stubborn to go away completely. “Oh, all that’s perfectly fine - I’d love to go.” For the atmosphere, the experience - even if it was work-related, it still sounded like a good time. Zelda got herself comfy on the spare seat, hands clasped over her lap. “And I’ve got a couple options for plus ones, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Midna being the first to come in mind, actually. Assuming she wasn’t tied down by other responsibilities. Work, school, she was busy and officially on the side of the nocturnals, and their schedules when it came to seeing each other had been rough because of it. It all worked out in its own way and, hey, maybe the cocktail night could be a date thing!
Otherwise her next option was Jonathan, and it was a hit or miss whether or not he’d appreciate Fashion Week. “I’m actually surprised you had asked me about it. I thought you’d select Leliana for something like this.” Their eccentric part-timer with that had a legitimate romance with the store itself, though that’s all Zelda really knew of the redhead.
Cindy couldn’t fight the grin that appeared at the mention of Leliana, who was very much into the merchandise. Best thing about it was that she also would stab shoplifters, literally, and had keen hawk eyes to catch anything untoward going on either with the employees or customers - there hadn’t been, not lately, but it was nice to know that Nightingale would protect the Louboutin’s with her life. “I’ve got tickets for her to attend a few catwalk shows here and there, so she’ll get her fun in. For you, I think you’d appreciate the experience. It’s good business too.”
Lunch on the go, during an impromptu ‘meeting,’ since Cindy happened to be a bit of a busy beaver herself. Later, she’d put the finishing touches on some reports when she went to the FBI building. Luckily, the latest OC voodoo hadn’t been anything that needed to be explained. Bad moods were just simply that, and could be a result of the heat wave too. “Anyway, here...” She dusted off her hands after popping a bite of sandwich into her mouth and handed Zelda the folder with all the documents and info stuffed inside. “If you have any questions, let me know. How are things going otherwise, with the job? I know it’s not the most exciting career option, but...” It was something, and Shoegasm with its retro, pop-art themed interior and funky 80s, early 90s fun vibe (she was kind of channeling Betsey Johnson) was well-known and seemed to thrive.
Zelda only had a minute to skim through the folder’s contents; later, up front, she’d focus on the details and make the arrangements for herself. Hopefully she had something nice buried in her closet somewhere - some kind of classy cocktail ensemble that didn’t scream ‘Good Will,’ for one thing.
“Oh, it’s--they’re going alright,” she responded, lifting blue eyes from the paperwork. There was a thought caught on the tip of her tongue. Cindy should probably be in the know about the lawsuit that was about to erupt. Better to hear it from her mouth than what media coverage would come from it, and she was begrudgingly accepting the fact that there would be that kind of public nonsense. Maybe it was better that way - it meant all eyes would be on the ones accused and watching their every move. “Um, I did want to talk to you, now that we’ve got a minute.”
Folder closed, she laid it on her lap. Her foot tapped restlessly. “It’s personal, but it’s also on the verge of not being personal, so…” Deep breaths. “I’m sort of starting a bit of a legal shitstorm?” Curse words felt odd coming out of her mouth, Zelda always had to cringe at her use of them. “Someone got their hands on my father’s company through the means of assassination. So I’m seeking out justice, in a less blood-filled sort of way.”
A conversation fitting of tea. Alas, if they only had some. Spiked.
Wow. Wow? Alright then. Cindy swallowed a bite of carrot, after crunch-crunching like a rabbit - Garrus would forever make fun of her, most likely, but oh well. Her eyebrows lifted sky-high too, at this sudden information. Luckily the door was closed - it didn’t sound like the type of thing that the other employees needed to be discussing.
“Sounds like it’ll definitely be a shitstorm,” she agreed, swishing blonde bangs from her baby blues with her fingers, flash of engagement ring catching the light. “But good for you, for undertaking that. Anything you need in terms of scheduling or even if you need a break from the store? Fine with me. You’ll always have a job here if you want, though seems like you’re going to move up the ladder a bit.” Another roll of her chair toward the small freezer, and she pried loose the slim bottle of cherry-flavored vodka. It wasn’t the cheap kind either, so all the deliciousness stayed where it was supposed to.
She unscrewed the top - shh, drinking on the job, don’t tell. “You need a shot? And I’m also assuming you’ve put together all the necessary people to get some shit done?”
An offering of an alcoholic beverage wasn’t what Zelda had expected, but never the less, the princess was actually more than grateful for it. “Yes, please,” she said, ever polite, considering it was her boss encouraging shots during work hours. Much didn’t surprise Cindy, but then again she was a seasoned veteran of all things out of the ordinary. This probably sounded much more normal to her than hell squeezing out demons at Disney, or the storm clouds of the apocalypse rolling through.
Now, nothing on her face translated to anxiety and nerves but she had her telltale habits - restless foot-tapping syndrome, the drumming of her fingers against the folder. Time had allowed her to come to terms with it more, and the idea didn’t nauseate her like it used to. Now it was anticipation. Uncertainty. It’d be delightful if her visions kicked in to allow a glimpse of something. “Thank you, though. Really. I don’t know how bad it’s going to interfere with everyday life…” A sigh was bit back. Probably a lot. “But as soon as I know, I’ll let you know too. A friend of mine is taking on the case, and Wendy’s doing the paralegal side of it.” She and Midna had magic coming in, and Impa had a skillset still honed prior to her days as a ‘nanny.’ “I’d be naive if I didn’t expect backlash.”
Not like Cindy gave a shit about one shot - she poured some of that boozy ambrosia into two tiny glasses - and she trusted that both she and Zelda would remain professional while in the hallowed halls of Shoegasm. But hey, sometimes you just needed something to take the edge off. “Backlash, sure,” she agreed, because it seemed likely. About at 100% odds, really, if some shady creep had gone through all the trouble of assassinations to get slimy hands on a company that was, Cindy guessed, not your average mom n’pop store. Probably, we were talking lots of zeroes here.
“Guess now is a good time to offer my help too.” She knocked back the shot, and a shudder rippled its way through her in a flash of heat. “Listen...it’s just what we do here for each other because this is a weird place to live, but. Shoegasm is kind of...just a cover. It obviously runs like a normal business, but it was put here in the OC so the FBI can monitor the goings-on, and that’s where I come in. Only...I don’t exactly tell them everything,” she grinned slyly.
Protecting the home base and people’s interests, yada yada. This called for another shot, which she gladly took. “Anyway, point is, I’m well-trained and know the ins and outs of playing this game.”
This place just had a tendency to make you want to drink, didn’t it? Though with Zelda, she wasn’t one for straight liquor - it was always mixed with something sweet and sour, the bite of alcohol drowned by fruity flavors. Or a glass of wine she’d sip on. Not something she’d shoot in her mouth and swallow in one gulp, but certain situations called for sucking it up and just taking it.
This was one of those.
There was a hint of cherry but most of it was simply blaaaargh ick, and her face contorted in such a way to express that so. The cough after that was supposed to be dainty, up until Cindy confessed that she was a FBI Agent. What?!
“Excuse me,” she sputtered, just so she had a second to finishclearing her throat and swallow some much needed oxygen. “Did you just tell me you’re with the FBI??”
Yes, that’s exactly what the fellow blonde across from her had said. That she was an undercover agent, the shoe store merely a cover, all while they were still on the clock and indulging in alcoholism. Something should be illegal about this.
“I am, but I wouldn’t go around saying that too loudly. Otherwise I might have to kill you,” Cindy snarked, okay, she wasn’t being serious about that. But it was still not exactly information that needed to be shared. They probably had enough of the booze for now (Zelda’s eyes were watering, she was coughing and turning pink - all signs pointed to this) so Cindy just set the bottle out of reach for now. Not fully away, back in the freezer, yet. Depended on how this conversation went as to whether or not they were done for good.
Well, anyway. People always had that reaction too - the few that she’d told, that is. Veronica and Rogue had been shocked, though Sharon took it in stride. Probably thanks to her own Agency background. “Undercover agent. Protecting our fucked up little asylum as best I can,” she even saluted patriotically there. Maybe sarcastically.
Well then. Suddenly the weaponized Pumpkin Carriage made sense. Something told her you needed a special kind of license to maneuver that particular vessel of war around without authorities investigating those machine guns attached to it. One shot was well enough for now, and she daintily wiped residue vodka from the edge of her lips. “Thank you for your service,” she chuckled, a bit choked - mostly from her cough-fit recovery. “Your secret’s safe with me. I promise.”
Zelda knew all about keeping identities quiet. Something Impa told her well. “My nanny - or roommate, I guess now,” she corrected herself, because she was a little too old to have a nanny now, wasn’t she? “Did some strange...black ops stuff, in the Middle East, before my father hired her. She taught me a couple things merely for self-defense, but she’s not as spry as she used to be.” Impa had already gone prematurely grey and then opted to cover her hair in white dye to get it over with. Made her very distinguished, but she didn’t need to touch it up as much as she used to anymore. “Anyway, the point is, I get it, I do. And really, it makes sense there’s a rogue sect of the government trying to keep this place off the radar - last thing we need is to be on a medical table with our brains dissected.”
“Exactly that,” Cindy nodded, and she saw a few choice morons on the network (Sharon’s best friend, for example, that cop who was wining and dining the top of the list of America’s Most Wanted or whatever) who got on people’s asses about ‘transparency,’ but to that she would simply say don’t be a fucking idiot. She didn’t care who you were - the general public did not need to know what people in the OC dreamed about, and what they were capable of. Didn’t need to know about their other lives, the demons they carried to this one, their struggles and their torment. Maybe it was easy for Plain Ol’ Joe Blow to spew rhetoric about, but let’s just pause for a second and consider what would happen if it got out that her fiance was an alien. He’d be on a dissection table, sliced and diced, faster than you could say Benihana.
She’d help Zelda too, however she could. Now that the girl knew the truth, then it’d be a lot easier for Cindy to dig in and do some dirty work if necessary. “So, you know. Black Ops is like my bread and butter, mostly. If you need something and it’s better for Impa to stay out of the crossfire, then you can always come to me. I have connections, shall we say,” she smiled slyly.
Impa had taught her stealth, on the other side of reality’s fabric - the way of the Sheikah, blending in with shadows (they were also known as the ‘shadow folk,’ the shade of Hylians). Zelda had needed to be taught a couple things in order to survive those seven years under Ganon’s curse, up until Link’s grand awakening. Some things came like instinct. Muscle memory, in a way. Quick reflexes, feline movement, some of it she thought she could maybe imitate.
Teeth nibbled her bottom lip. “Would you mind helping me, on a physical level? I was trained, in the dreams, as part of this tribe that were practically elven ninjas. I think I might even able to imitate some of the moves, but I haven’t exactly tried, either.” A wince. “I’ve got magic, but I can’t always rely on that, either. I just want to be as prepared as I can be. For whatever happens.”
“You mean like martial arts and things like that?” Cindy asked, dunking another carrot stick into her tasty hummus dip. “I can, yeah. I dream of being a spy, I did it for many years, and was well-trained there too. With firearms and hand-to-hand, and also swordfighting. Learned that from the pirate Bluebeard,” she snickered. Hey, the guy was a pretty decent fencing instructor for a lot of people in Fabletown. Before her asshole ex-husband tossed him down a Wishing Well. Sad.
But here, they could spar or something. She wouldn’t mind doing that with Zelda. Not like she really got to with anyone else, not lately. The FBI building had a gym within, but she didn’t practice much in there.
Firearms. Swordfighting. Oh, dear. Zelda’s eyes went wide with the options of all that, and she honestly thought she’d be clumsy with a gun. Something sharp, maybe? The Sheikah’s weapon were usually knives, something small and flat that’d slide under clothing for concealment. “Nothing that detailed, don’t worry,” she laughed, a hand waved. “I don’t think you’ve got the time to train me into full-blown spy mode, but probably enough to make sure that I don’t punch someone and hurt myself in the process??”
This princess wasn’t particularly fond of violence. Sometimes, yes, she was aware it was necessary - even participated in the dance of brute force in self defense - but Zelda wasn’t a killer (sans the demons in the diner, anyway). It wasn’t in her blood. “Just, if something happens, I don’t want to be a sitting duck. I need to be able to defend myself or at least escape, and I want the reassurance that if for some reason, I can’t use my magic, I have other means.”
Cindy understood - she was of the same mindset too, that you had to be able to call upon the skills involving melee weapons or even good, old-fashioned fists just in case the supernatural decided to act up. Here, you just never could tell what would happen. “I think I can manage that,” she promised. “I’ll give you some knife-fighting tips, how to disable with a knife without outright killing, and also some on the general art of escape. Because it really is an art. Trust me, I know...I was, uh. Kidnapped, for awhile.”
And they had problems with her. Problems like nothing they did to her made her crack, and she would break out of her bonds more often than not - it look literally starving her, depriving her of food and sometimes oxygen, to get her weak enough to quit being such a bitch.
That all sounded excellent! Some stuff Impa had taught her before but it’d been awhile, but she at least wouldn’t be starting entirely from ground zero - a lot of those things described what she did as Sheik, Link’s shadow through his adventures in Hyrule’s darkest possible future. Hopefully it’d feel something like learning how to ride a bike again. Magic felt that way, in a sense. A couple hiccups at first but then harnessing it as the dreams progressed came naturally.
Zelda’s hands clapped together in excitement. Initially. Until the kidnapping tidbit, which caused her face to falter considerably. “How long ago was that?” Surely before her time, but it perked a curiosity she didn’t know was welcomed or not. Not a lot of people probably wanted to recant a kidnapping tale. “I’m sure the captors got what they deserved, right?” Death, or jail.
In this case, she assumed death.
“A few months ago,” Cindy shrugged, but just to dislodge some tension from her shoulders. “A rough time but we got through it. My fiance’s old enemies resurfaced, shit got personal, but it turned out fine in the end. Let’s just say, yeah - “ She smiled crookedly; fairytale princess she may be, but the Cinderella from Fabletown had a little bit of a cruel streak. That was just in her nature - it had bubbled to the surface during the whole debacle with the crime wave, and had erupted in that abandoned place of holy worship with Leliana and their unfortunate victim. “The scum was taken care of.”
She waved a hand, as if clearing the air of that whole mess, however. “Anyway, you just let me know whenever you want to start. And keep me updated on the legal proceedings,” Cindy added. “I’ll do what I can to help make it smoother for you.”
A few months ago. That wasn’t a long time ago at all, and Zelda’s brows furrowed with concern. Cindy spoke so casually of it all, but now she knew the woman was a professional - sometimes, wasn’t that scenario expected with the kinds of jobs she probably had to carry? “You definitely bring an interesting spin on the Cinderella tale,” she chuckled softly, a teeny smile with it. The things that took root in this county were deeper than just magic and strange abilities; connections, skill honed by training the physical body and earthly senses. And when she thought she had this place at least somewhat figured out, something else would always surface.
Folder in her hand with all the Fashion Week pamphlet shenanigans, Zelda stood and gravitated to the door, but tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Thank you, by the way. For everything. It’s also good to know that every princess I’ve met here so far is no damsel. Helps kick all those fairytales and video games in the nuts, huh?”
Cindy nodded, rolling back to her desk to finish her lunch as Zelda made her way to the door. “No problem. And yeah, you’re right about that. Here’s to us princesses, dispelling the stereotype.” She’d drink to the notion, but...there had already been enough boozy shots on the job - hey, she’d attempt to stay at least somewhat professional.