The Legend of Zelda, its characters and locations are all property of Nintendo. Any and all OCs and original locations belong to me unless specifically stated to belong to someone else.

Fashion Disaster
Chapter 2

Zelda's office, which also served as her photography studio, was a damn mess. Supplies and equipment littered almost every available surface, her desk overflowing with papers and contracts, and folders full of photographs she'd taken. They were beautiful shots, truly. Link's sister was one of the best photographers he knew, but in everything else she was one of the least organised people he'd ever met.

"Badge," he muttered, trying to sort through the clutter on her desk, hoping to catch a glimpse of the laminated piece of paper that would give him entry to the event. One of the folders fell to the floor, spilling pictures everywhere.

Eugh, he was operating on far too little sleep for this shit. He'd fallen asleep quickly again after ending their late-night call, but his alarm had rudely woken him up after what felt like less than twenty minutes that masqueraded as four hours.

He briefly considered cleaning it up, but...nah. Zelda could deal with it when she got back. They weren't negatives, so she could develop them again.

Something flashed in the fluorescent lights, something metal, connected to...a lanyard. He moved a thick-looking contract, and underneath it lay the badge, granting the holder entry to the exclusive fashion event's photo pit.

There were no personal credentials on the badge, only the name of Zelda's studio: Trifocus Photography.

That was good; meant he wouldn't have to argue with security at the show and have Zelda vouch for him in some unnecessarily complicated way.

What a relief, he thought as he hung the badge around his neck. And he hadn't had to spend that much time searching for the badge.

He smiled; that meant he had time to grab a proper breakfast before heading to the show.

Double-checking his camera bag, he grabbed a couple of memory cards from a small bin on Zelda's desk marked "Blank". He had plenty of empty cards in his bag, but one could never have too many. He also swiped one of Zelda's collapsible tripods. He doubted he'd have time or room to use it, but he liked being prepared. It fit neatly into his bag, so...

Locking up the office, he sent a quick picture of himself holding the badge to Zelda, as proof that he was doing her the favour he'd promised. She sent him back a big smile emoji, and a text message promising him all the cupcakes he could possibly eat when she got back.

That made him smile a little wider. Oh, she had no idea what she and her wallet were in for.

He took the elevator down to the underground parking garage and got on his motorcycle, which he'd named Epona. She was a sleek, beautiful sports-type bike, with green and blue detailing. He'd saved up for years to get her. Her engine purred as he started her up and put his helmet on, ensuring his bag was secured to his back and not about to fall off or flap about, and left the garage.

He stopped by a cafe on the way, getting an extravagant breakfast consisting of a cheese-covered, cheese-filled croissant and some sort of deli meat he wasn't entirely sure what was. He kept the receipt so he could charge Zelda for it later.

The location for the event wasn't far from Zelda's office or the cafe, luckily.

Located in the middle of the expensive street in the shopping district, it was a tiny mall that only catered to the truly high-end brands. The sort of place Link usually wouldn't set foot in unless someone held a gun to his head, and even then he'd struggle.

At least parking wasn't a pain as it usually was in this part of town. Flashing his badge at the attendants by the entrance to the garage granted him entrance, and he was pleased to see plenty of spots where he could place Epona, most of the regular spots taken up by the vans of the designers and larger camera crews...as well as security for the models.

He parked and locked Epona using a heavy chain on her back wheel (one could never be too careful) and made for the elevator, waving greetings to a camera crew he knew from downtown. They waved back.

The elevator door nearly slid shut when someone suddenly shouted, "Hold it, please!"

He barely managed to wedge the tip of his sneaker into the door, preventing it from closing, and a familiar, green-haired girl gratefully scurried inside.

"Thanks," she breathed. "These elevators are so slow, it's like—oh, Link, hi!"

"Saria," Link managed to say before he found himself with an armful of girl, her arms wrapped tightly around his middle, squeezing painfully. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good, I'm good," she said, stepping back and looking at him with a huge, happy grin. "Surprised to see you here, though. Let me guess, Zelly double-booked herself again?"

"Got it in one," Link said, nodding. "And you? Not really your usual haunt, these gigs."

Saria laughed.

"Really isn't, huh? Nah, I'm not here by choice, really. Mido forgot about the event entirely and didn't have any spare crew to cover it, so I got the job. Not that he's interested in any of the proper fashion, of course. He just wants me to take pics of the weird stuff, you know? Gotta give his rag something to make fun of; like millennials are ruining fashion or something like that."

Link nodded. Yeah, that made sense. Mido was, ostensibly, a friend, though he hesitated using that term. He was more of a mortal enemy, really. Link had worked for him once, and that was more than enough for him to know he never wanted another go at it.

How Saria put up with him was beyond Link's ability to understand. He could only assume she had some dirt on him.

"So," Saria said as the door finally slid shut and they were on their way up, "any good jobs lately?"

"I was just up in the Death Mountain range, actually," Link said, immediately eager to tell her about his hike. Saria was a nature photographer at heart, just like him, and they'd instantly bonded over it when they'd met years ago. "Took a bunch of pictures of one of the local wolf families." He reached for his camera, realising too late that he'd left that memory card at home. "Damn, I'd show you some, but..."

"Aw, that's okay," she said, patting his arm. "Why don't you mail me a couple of the ones they don't end up using? You always get the best shots!"

"I will!"

There was a cheerful ding, and the elevator opened up into pure chaos. The lobby area of the mall had been converted into a catwalk, with line upon line of chairs surrounding it save for a narrow strip directly around the stage which served as the photo pit. Those seats were only small, back-less benches.

A big, burly monster of a security guard in a suit stood in their path, giving them and their camera bags a cursory glance. "Photos? Badges, please."

"Kokiri Mail," Saria said, showing her badge to the guard, who scanned the QR-code with his phone and, after a moment, nodded and waved her in.

"Trifocus Photography," Link said, letting the guard scan his badge as well.

"All right, you're good," the guard said, standing back. His name badge said Daruk. "Press area is over there," he said, pointing towards the photo pit. "Seats are first come, first served."

"Thank you, Daruk," Saria said brightly, grabbing Link's wrist and dragging him towards the pit. "Come on, I want the good seats!"

Link allowed himself to be pulled along, trusting his friend to take the lead on this. He just wanted to take photos and go home, and possibly get some more sleep.

He hated events like these. Models were snooty and the designers were crazy. Everyone was so wrapped up in the supposed glamour that they didn't realise just how ridiculous it all was. Oh well. It was just for a few hours, if everything went according to schedule. He'd grit his teeth and bear with it.

And then go wolf down a buffet somewhere. The event was catered, so maybe he'd have his fill there.

"There, right there!" Saria said, pointing to a pair of empty seats near the front corner of the catwalk, increasing her speed and bowling aside a pair of photographers like they were nothing. "Come on!"

Link just let himself be carried off by the force of nature that was Saria.

The atmosphere in the backstage area of the show was uncomfortable to say the least, especially with the looks Sheik got as he made his way towards the dressing rooms (really just repurposed mall admin offices). The looks came from both models, designers, and other crew members as he walked past them, hands in his pockets and his hood pulled up to cover his head. Maybe it wasn't the hoodie itself, but the roaring tiger print that dominated the back of it.

Well, they could fuck off. Tigers were awesome—he'd named and styled his Dojo's logo after them! And who the hell were they to judge him when they wore, at best, DIY projects for a living anyway? He could do the same thing with a hot glue gun and bedsheets!

They probably saw right through him; that he wasn't a professional in the industry, like them. Hah, like he'd ever want to be part of this club anyway!

But then...

This was an opportunity to give them a middle finger and knock 'em all down a peg! Sheik wasn't a model by profession, but damned if he wasn't just as good, if not way fucking better, than any of them! He was going to show these amateurs how this shit was done!

He stuck his nose in the air and straightened his posture, striding purposefully through the backstage, heading for the office door with Kafei's designer house's name on it.

Shinobi Designs.

Simple and easy.

Just like Kafei.

He chuckled at his own joke, marching past the arrogant bastards around him and finally reaching the door, surely giving the most dignified and arrogant walk of his life.

That is, until he tripped over a stray power cable that hadn't been taped properly to the carpeted floor and nearly slammed his face into the door itself. Luckily, he managed to shift his weight and spin around, so that only the back of his head crashed into the door.

Ow.

He leaned against the door and pulled his hood off, rubbing the spot where his skull had connected with the hard wood, knowing he'd get a lump there, ignoring the amused looks and badly concealed laughter from those who'd seen him (which was pretty much everyone in the hallway).

"What're you looking at?!" he snarled. "I'll show you—"

He was cut off as the door he leaned against opened inwards, and he was suddenly lying on his back, staring up at the confused face of a suit-clad Paya.

The hall outside was filled with howling laughter now, and Sheik could only give her a pleading look and ask, "Pull me in?"

She obliged him, swiftly dragging him inside and shutting the door, blocking out the laughter.

"That was certainly an entrance, cousin," Kafei said from behind a desk, where he seemed to be making last-minute adjustments to one of the outfits. The small office was cramped and filled to the brim with models, clothes, and designers, all employed by Kafei.

"I enjoy a good spectacle," Sheik replied as Paya pulled him to his feet, ignoring how his face was burning with embarrassment.

"You okay?" Paya asked, looking him over.

"I'm fine," Sheik said. "Mostly embarrassed. How're you, Paya-nee?"

"I'm fine too," she said, smiling and patting his cheek affectionately. "You look good. How's the dojo?"

"It's great," he said, grinning excitedly. "You should drop by sometime. We can spar!"

"I'd like that."

"Touching reunion!" Kafei shouted. "But I'm afraid we'll have to cut it short—we've got work to do!" He paused. "Oh, right, introductions! Everyone, this is Sheik! He'll be replacing Kiro for today! Sheik, this is everyone! Ask them if there's anything you're confused about!"

There was a quick round of hellos, and Sheik didn't catch anyone's names. Everyone was too busy with their work, anyway. Outfits were being prepped, models were getting their makeup and hair done, and Sheik was no exception as he was hounded into a chair and immediately assaulted with a variety of beauty-enhancing products.

"Hm," Kafei said, popping by to inspect. "His eyes need to stand out more. Put some eyeliner on him. Not much, just to make them pop a little."

"I am not wearing eyeliner!" Sheik protested.

So there he was, desperately trying not to flinch as a makeup artist was putting eyeliner on him, hoping the day wasn't going to end with him getting his eyeballs poked out. All the while, someone was running their fingers through his hair and the sensation wasn't all that comfortable.

"What about this?" the hairdresser asked, tugging at Sheik's locks. "There's no time to cut it."

"Just braid it," Kafei said. "It'll work well with the outfit. Gives it a naughty look."

"Naughty wha—"Sheik tried to ask, but then something was sprayed in his face, choking him.

It was just a whirlwind of activity, of people pulling Sheik's hair, smearing stuff on his face, and taking his clothes. His beloved tiger hoodie was ripped off and tossed somewhere, his jeans tugged off by someone he couldn't see because he was forced to tilt his head back at neck-breaking angles so the hairdresser could get the plait right. He supposed he should consider himself lucky they didn't grab his underwear at the same time!

"All right, hair's done!"

"Get him over here!"

Still blinded from the spray, Sheik was pulled out of the chair and dragged further into the office.

"Right, get the baby powder!"

"Baby powd—?"

He really should have stopped talking as he probably inhaled a metric ton of powder that was suddenly everywhere around him.

"What the hell are those? Get those boxers off!"

Oh no, not his boxers too!

"Seriously, Sheik, ducky boxers?"

"I like duckies!"

"Right, off they come!"

Sheik was immensely grateful he was blind at the moment and couldn't see just how many people he was just exposed to. Luckily, it didn't last long as something else was pulled on him covering him up again. The material was soft...though a little constricting.

"Ah, perfect," Kafei's voice said. "What do you think, Sheik? Oh, oh dear. Will someone wipe his eyes, please? I think we blinded him."

Sweet relief for his eyes arrived in the form of a wet cloth, and he was finally able to open his eyes again...revealing that he was standing in front of a full-length mirror. His hair looked fantastic, braided simply but elegantly, and it smelled like...like beauty itself.

Now, if only he wasn't wearing panties, he might not have found this whole thing so bad.

He opened his mouth. "What the fu—"

"Here, put this on!"

More activity as Kafei's minions surrounded Sheik, starting to force him into various articles of clothing. His legs were forced into long, black stockings that ended just above his knees, and then into a pair of knee-high, high-heeled pleather boots. A short skirt was then hastily yanked up and around his waist, leaving a great deal skin between the hem of the skirt and the top of the stockings visible.

His arms were yanked up and forced into what seemed to be a long-sleeved pleather bolero with straps crisscrossing his torso, which were tightened to painful degrees. The bolero had a high, popped collar, around which a black-and-white scarf was tied in the style of a sailor uniform.

"How about a bow? Should we give him a bow?"

"I dunno, seems a bit overkill, don't you?"

"I thought the whole point of this was to be overkill?"

"Hm..."

As the discussion between Kafei and his minions continued, Sheik could only stare into the mirror at the travesty of an outfit he was wearing. It was like...like...

"What do you think?" Kafei asked, noticing Sheik's analysis. "Beautiful, right?"

"I'm...wondering about what mistakes I made to land me in this situation," Sheik said slowly, trying not to focus on what was, essentially, a thigh window. "What I did to deserve this."

Kafei sniggered. "Oh come on, Sheik! You always pretended to walk the catwalk when we were kids! This is just the culmination of your childhood fantasies! You always pretended to be a model—what's so different now?"

"Because I wasn't imagining myself wearing what could best be described as a schoolgirl outfit for leather bondage enthusiasts!" he exclaimed, glaring at his cousin's reflection.

Kafei gasped, looking immensely offended. "Excuse you!" he hissed. "I don't use leather! My collection is one-hundred percent cruelty-free!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sheik hissed back. "Pleather bondage enthusiasts!"

"That's better," Kafei said, his scowl disappearing. "I refuse to entertain that sort of talk! My pleather comes from purely recyclable plant material! Fruit skins, apple cores, and other food waste processed into a very passable—from a distance—leather alternative! No plastic bullshit here!"

"No plastic bullshit!" his minions repeated, like a bunch of red-eyed zombies.

Sheik stared at Kafei for a long moment. "I'm wearing compost?"

"Pretty much!" Kafei said brightly. "Still chafes like a bastard, though, hence the baby powder!"

Sheik felt like crying. Looking in the mirror, he caught a glimpse of Paya, who stood guard by the door. She gave him a very sympathetic look. Why hadn't she warned him?

"Now," Kafei said, clapping his hands and looking Sheik up and down. "Outfit fits you perfectly. You and Kiro are identical in size. I'm so pleased!"

"I'm not," Sheik muttered.

"Shush, models are meant to be seen, not heard," his cousin said, pulling and tugging at the clothes. "Hm, the skirt is a bit long. When you're out there, make sure you do a fast twirl so they can see the panties too! They're viscose, also cruelty-free!"

"What is the matter with you?!"