Author's Note: I admit, I came very close to abandoning this project. I dropped out of the Selection Discord (I don't hate you guys, I just get stressed out by notifications!), I was really stuck on how to introduce The Girl and every once in a while I just get this urge to Quit Something Big. Ultimately I decided my readers and my characters both deserved better, so on we go! Things will get messy soon but for now have a Meet Cute.
The day started with a question Derek hadn't been expecting. Well, it started with waking up, calling up breakfast, ironing Ms. Kojima's outfit for the day and planning her schedule, but this was the first change in the routine.
"What do you plan on doing during the fittings?" Ms. Kojima asked. Derek looked up from the schedule.
"Er…that depends on what you need me for."
Ms. Kojima set down her teacup. "Derek, you know that I don't consider your gender an obstacle in my line of work. Most of the time."
Realization dawned on him and Derek looked back down at the schedule again so he wouldn't have to make eye contact. "Oh, of course. Wouldn't want to embarrass any of the Selected."
"Indeed not," Ms. Kojima said. "A few of them are models and actresses but most would likely find the prospect of undressing in front of a strange man uncomfortable. This should grant you some free time during the day. The palace and its grounds should be accessible to you; from what I understand security is more concerned about external traffic."
"Thank you," Derek said, even though she wasn't really giving him anything. "I'll try to stay out of trouble."
"I am not entirely sure you could get into trouble on your own," Ms. Kojima said.
"Regardless," Derek replied, even though she was probably joking. "I'll probably try the garden."
"Very good."
Derek didn't actually get to the gardens until after noon. He spent most of the morning in the suite and far too much time trying to explain to a former client that no, he couldn't guarantee any openings in Ms. Kojima's schedule for the next few months at least. In his opinion he handled it very well, only making one sarcastic remark about Selections. He left the suite with a messenger bag full of art supplies over his shoulder, feeling like he'd earned the time off.
The grounds were ringed with tall trees, blocking out the sight of the city at ground level. Most of it was flat and green, classically boring, but Derek did spot an interesting hedge wall marking out a space the size of a large room. As he got closer he heard the sound of running water, which turned out to be a large, ornate marble fountain. There was a gravel path and spaced around it stood beds full of pale purple flowers. Derek didn't know a lot about flowers; these ones were shaped like little pine trees, rising out of green bushes.
Derek spotted a bench and sat down, pulling out his sketchbook. He liked to start his drawing sessions with a still life of whatever was in front of him; it was a good warmup before he had to try and be creative. He focused on the fountain, just a basic uncolored sketch gathering the shape and moving water. A quick sheen of blue and green and it was done. The way the water fanned out reminded him of the skirt of a ballgown, and on the next page he decided to try and replicate it. Sketching out a quick female figure, he added a brimming, rounded skirt that went down past the ankles and a sleeveless neckline. It had to have layers, so he added those, gathering them just below the natural waist. The bodice stayed simple, no sleeves or shoulders, tightly fitted. He used a lot of colored pencils to get the iridescent look just right.
In the middle of Derek's third concept he heard someone coming. Assuming it was a guard he closed his sketchbook and looked up. Through the archway in the opposite wall of the hedge crept a white figure. The fountain blocked most of Derek's view, but it definitely wasn't a guard. In fact, it was a girl dressed in a white bathrobe, a towel turban and slippers.
Derek stared at the girl in bafflement. Was she one of the Selected? That explained her appearance but nothing else. What was she doing out here by herself, sneaking around the palace grounds? Well, probably nothing sinister; she didn't exactly blend in. Not that it was any of Derek's business anyway. He reopened his sketchbook and tried to get back into his flow.
"Oh!" The yelp made him look up again. She'd come close enough to notice him. She was clutching the collar of her robe shut, a mortified expression on her face. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came out for a breath of air."
Derek pursed his lips and shrugged a little with deliberate casualness. "Not my problem, it's not my air."
It wasn't even funny but the girl smiled. A few corkscrew locks of brown hair had escaped her towel. There was something about her appearance that bothered Derek, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Do you live here?" She asked.
"Temporarily. I'm working for someone here," Derek replied.
"Oh, okay! I didn't think you looked familiar but I wanted to make sure you weren't someone important—not that you're not important, I think everybody is," the girl added hastily. She had a slight accent, but Derek wasn't sure which one. Spanish maybe? "But you're not one of the royal family or something."
"No, I am not." Was she actually trying to have a conversation? Did she not feel awkward? She was wearing something under the bathrobe, surely? Derek stopped that train of thought before it could leave the station.
"Anyway, I'm Cintia. What's your name?"
"…Derek Porter."
"Oh, right. Cintia Otieno, I'm here from Dominica for the Selection, but you probably guessed that already. Should I call you Derek or would you prefer to be more formal?"
"Derek is fine."
"Okay, Derek. Is that a sketchbook? Are you an artist?" Cintia craned her neck to look at the book on Derek's lap.
"Of a sort," Derek said, resisting the urge to slam the book shut before she could see anything. She wasn't actually doing anything wrong, but this conversation rarely ended well. Best-case scenario the other person would start talking about their artistic aspirations and why they couldn't achieve them, and at worst they'd start making assumptions about his motives.
"Oh, sorry, I don't mean to intrude on you. I know some people don't like their art to be seen before it's finished."
"It's fine," Derek said, even though he wasn't entirely convinced.
"What do you like to draw?" Cintia asked, walking around the fountain towards him. He flicked through the sketchbook to remind himself what it was he drew.
"Still lifes, I guess," he said. "Just objects I see around me." He closed the book as she got closer.
"Do you draw only, or do you use paints and things like that?" Cintia asked.
"I like pencils. I have some watercolors I use occasionally but they're smeary." Why wasn't she going away? Most people only needed a few one or two-syllable replies to realize they weren't going to get anything out of him. Especially pretty girls, and Cintia was very pretty. She had warm, fawn-brown skin with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
"Oh, white," Derek said abruptly.
Cintia paused, brows furrowing. "I'm sorry?"
"That's what was bothering me. You're wearing white," Derek said. She was still staring blankly at him. "You've got an autumnal complexion, you need rich, warm colors to complement it. Pure white makes you look washed out."
"It does?" Cintia glanced down at herself. "I didn't know that. I just wear what I think looks pretty most of the time."
"That's how most people think. It's just a matter of coordinating your appearance, like matching your shoes to your dress," Derek replied. "It's easier to create a good look if you're not fighting your natural features."
"Hmm." She was looking at him with a rather different expression now, as if he was an unexpectedly difficult puzzle piece. "Is this something you care about also? Clothes and colors?"
"Yes, it's part of my job," Derek said, fudging the truth a little.
Cintia cocked her head slightly to the side, hands slipping into the pockets of her bathrobe. "Is it something you like to talk about?"
"Most people don't find it very interesting."
"Does it interest you, though?"
Derek didn't have a deflecting comment ready for that one. "…Well, yes. It's hard to explain." Cintia just looked expectantly at him, and against habit Derek found himself explaining. "The way I see it, fashion is like a way of creating a character, or a persona. It's like how really good animated characters are instantly recognizable from just their silhouette. You take these shapes and these color schemes and you—you make a piece of art that's unique for every person who wears it. You can create something that people want to put on because they're not just putting on clothes, they're putting on this character or this persona that they want to be. It's art that you don't just look at, you can use it and make it part of your personality, how you present yourself to the world…" he felt a stab of self-consciousness and trailed off. Breaking eye contact, he ran his hands over the sketchbook cover. "Anyway. Yeah. I don't know if that makes any sense."
"No, no," Cintia said hastily. "I think I see what you mean. It's almost like when you dress up as a superhero and it makes you feel more powerful."
"Something like that," Derek said. There was a strange feeling humming in his gut. He needed to go. Now. The opening of the bag seemed smaller than before as he tried to stuff the sketchbook inside. "I should probably get back to work—and someone's probably going to come looking for you."
"What? Oh, yes." Cintia folded her arms across her stomach, even though the bathrobe was holding up admirably. "I should probably go back. It was nice meeting you, Derek."
"Mm-hmm. Bye," Derek said, zipping up the bag.
"Bye." Cintia smiled and backed up to the fountain, then turned and darted back out of the garden. Her slippers slap-slapped softly away. Derek looked all around to make sure he hadn't dropped any of his pencils before he left, going the opposite direction. The logical part of his brain reminded him that he didn't have to go anywhere, she was already gone and he could just keep sketching, but somehow all Derek wanted to do right now was leave. Maybe he could check Ms. Kojima's emails again or see if she needed anything. Ms. Kojima usually had tea around this time in the afternoon, didn't she? He could take care of that...