Goodness, last time I posted a fic was... four years ago, maybe?
I wrote this a few days ago for some of my online friends, and they seemed to like it so I decided to share it here. There is a part two, if anybody wants a part two. If not, then I'll leave it as it is. I'm worried the characters might be slightly OOC, but this is my first real attempt to write MR characters, so I've done my best.
Also, I made no attempt to write in Lucy's accent, as I'm sure you can tell. I didn't want to butcher it. If anybody has any advice on how to write a Yorkshire accent, I would be very appreciative.Enough of my jabbering.
Constructive Criticism is more than welcome.
I obviously don't own Layton Brothers: Mystery Room.
Alfendi Plays Dress Up
"How did you get him to agree to let us pick out his outfit?" Lucy asks, digging out more shirts from the back of her mentor's closet. Hilda doesn't look up from task of rearranging the garments on her ex-boyfriend's bed. She cannot possibly tell Lucy how she persuaded the picky inspector to agree to what would essentially be playing dress-up. She thinks back to a few days ago, when she approached Alfendi about finding proper attire for an upcoming event at the Scotland Yard.
"No, Hilda! Would you leave me alone you insufferable woman?" Alfendi growls at the blonde standing in his office. They had been arguing for fifteen minutes, and his patience is long gone. Desperate for Alfendi to surrender and equally tired of arguing, Hilda decides to use the last weapon in her arsenal.
"Lucy says she finds a well-dressed man extremely attractive. If you would try dressing nicely for a change, maybe it would speed the development of things between you two along." Hilda studies the tall man's face, watching as several emotions flicker across his features in rapid succession.
"What on earth were you discussing to with her to warrant her mentioning such a thing?" Alfendi asks, keeping his expression as carefully neutral as possible. Hilda notices he doesn't deny his growing affections for his assistant.
"Just the usual girl talk is all." Seeing his incredulous glance Hilda continues, "Lucy and I do talk outside of work. I've grown rather fond of her, and I think her optimism is doing wonders for you. That is why you are going to let us help you pick out formalwear for… whatever that event you mentioned is." Hilda takes a breath, entirely ready for another round of arguing with Alfendi, but instead she is pleasantly surprised to receive no protests from the man in question. Instead, Alfendi looks contemplative, thoughtfully biting his lip -a habit, Hilda noticed, he learned from Lucy- before finally looking up to meet her gaze. He appears calm, but Hilda recognizes the look in his eyes as something distinctly different from what Lucy liked to call his "Placid Personality."
"Hilda, I think this little fashion show of yours could be just delightful."
"Hilda?" Lucy's voice breaks the older woman from her thoughts. She realizes she still hasn't given Lucy an answer.
"Oh! Uh, that's not important Lucy," Hilda breezily deflects. She grins mischievously at Lucy.
"All that matters is that he agreed, no?"
"I suppose." The honey-brunette glances at her suspiciously, but ultimately decides to let it slide. Lucy passes a few more garments to Hilda before joining her by the bed. The two sort through a multitude of shirts, trousers, suits and ties in a variety of colors, fabrics, and styles.
"Who knew the Prof had all this stuff?" Lucy remarks.
"He used to dress this way all the time, before…" Hilda trails off studying a dinner jacket thoughtfully.
"Oh," Lucy says soberly, understanding Hilda's meaning.
"He should start dressing like this again, don't you think so, Lucy?" Before Lucy can respond, Placid appears in the doorway.
"I like the way I dress, thank you. It might not be as fashion-forward as you would like, Hilda, but it's comfortable, and that's all that really matters." Alfendi leans against the doorframe, watching the two women sort through his former wardrobe.
"Are you almost finished?" His voice is pleasant, bearing no hint of his growing impatience.
"I should think so. I believe you are probably smart enough to piece together your own outfit," Hilda nods.
"If that's the case, then why are you here, exactly?" Alfendi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck exasperatedly.
"To approve whatever you pick out. I said you are capable of putting your own outfit together, but there's still no guarantee it will look presentable. You might still need our help!"
"Alright, fine," the lanky man grumbles, pushing himself off the doorframe, "but get out." He points to the now empty doorway and Hilda and Lucy obediently exit, quietly giggling at his sour command. The two women walk down the hall and take a seat on the couch, waiting for Alfendi to change.
Alfendi, meanwhile, stands in his bedroom, dutifully buttoning up a pale blue dress shirt. As much as Placid dislikes the clothing, he admits that he is curious to know if Hilda's statement is true. Will Lucy find him more attractive if he dresses differently? He supposes he will find out soon enough.
Potty on the other hand, is absolutely certain his change of attire will be the final nail in Lucy's coffin. He already knows she likes him; it's just how much she likes him that he is unsure about. Not that it will matter after today, when he finally renders her speechless.
Placid tries to keep Potty buried, fearing that if left to his own devices, his more volatile side will do something outrageous that will ultimately drive his assistant away, though he acknowledges the likelihood of that happening is slim. After all, she has remained by his side thus far, how much damage could a few more embarrassing incidents possibly do?
With a shake of his head to clear away the thoughts of Lucy that were plaguing his mind -a more frequent occurrence lately than he would care to admit- he hurriedly pulls on a pair of mahogany-colored trousers. He tucks in his shirt, careful not to wrinkle it, and selects a tie at random. Quickly, he knots the length of elegantly patterned material, and shrugs on the matching suit jacket. A brief glance in the mirror determines he's presentable, and at last, Alfendi emerges from his bedroom, striding confidently down the hall.
"How is this?" Alfendi asks, stopping in the center of his living room. He spins slowly, arms outstretched, allowing the girls a view from every angle. The grin drops off his face when he turns back around to face Lucy and Hilda. Neither woman looks particularly impressed.
"Well look at that. You really do need our help," Hilda observes drily.
"Excuse me!" Alfendi scowls at the blonde.
"She's right Prof. I'm no fashion expert, but even I can tell that those colors don't suit you," Lucy speaks up, and Alfendi's jaw nearly drops. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. She was supposed to be shocked and delighted, swooning at his feet, not criticizing the shade of brown he chose!
"Well what do you suggest, then?" Alfendi snaps, no longer Placid.
"Calm down, Prof! It's not that the suit looks bad on you, it's just…" Lucy trails off, unable to describe exactly what was wrong with the outfit.
"-it just doesn't look good on you either." Hilda finishes, earning herself another glare from Alfendi.
"No, wait. It looks better now. I think your suit clashed with purple." Hilda vaguely motions to his now crimson hair.
"Maybe you should try less… brown?" Lucy suggests, prompting the other woman to nod vigorously.
"Precisely! Try something other than brown. Maybe black or grey?"
"If you find brown so objectionable," Alfendi growls, "why did you pick it?"
"We couldn't have known it would look terrible on you if you hadn't tried it on," Hilda replies flippantly, as though pointing out the obvious. Alfendi resists the urge to scream in favor of storming back down the hall.
"Black, grey, or navy! No brown!" Hilda shouts after him, causing Alfendi to slam the door in response. Angrily rubbing at his face, Alfendi casts a despairing look towards the clothing spread out on his bed. This was not how he pictured the day going at all.
'It's your fault. I wanted no part in this,' Placid whispers disdainfully from the back of his mind.
'Shut up,' Potty growls back.
This is going to be harder than he thought.
(Thoughts?)