68.3 Interlude Sabah
Sabah stood in the center of her empty atelier. The open studio felt dead without the familiar buzz of activity from the students who used the space. Sometimes to help with her work, sometimes for their own projects. They weren't exactly assistants, but she liked how there was a bit of prestige connected to working with her cape identity. It also provided for her own cover, a neat explanation for her association with the place.
Having a place of her own, it let her break away from the smothering aspects of her fashion program. Everyone in the class was dreaming of becoming a great designer while trying to ignore the realities of their situations. Those with connections and the means to springboard their careers might be able to line something up, an internship, an assistant role, something. Grunt work while they continued to fantasize about breaking through into the industry. For the rest, for the people starting out without any support, things were bleak. Take what you could get, and hope for a miracle that would let you somehow break through. To do something vaguely related to the industry you poured your heart and soul into for the last four years.
Well, two years for her. She knew there were people who resented her for transferring. Sweeping in late and trying to stand on the same level as the rest of the class. That was alright, she had been through that before, and she was stronger for it. Able to function on her own, without anyone trying to dominate her, to hold her by a desperate lifeline until she couldn't…
She shrugged off those thoughts, taking a breath to steady herself. She checked the time again, mentally counting down the minutes to her upcoming meeting. Normally she wouldn't be watching the clock this closely, but this was nothing like a normal meeting. She had no idea how things were going to play out. Whether she could make it through intact, or if this was going to be the disaster she was dreading.
Sending everyone home had been a precaution. She didn't want anyone to see this if her worst fears came true. Not that there had even been that many people to send home. Classes were still cancelled with more than a few students having left the city altogether. Her normally bustling atelier was barely staffed these days. Just the desperate and determined, people nearing graduation who hoped association with a cape might be enough to see them through to another job.
It was a mostly empty hope. She wished that she had that kind of influence in the industry. It stung, but she had to admit, her presence was mostly just tolerated at major fashion events. She was a novelty, not a peer. Nobody said anything, at least not outright, but she knew they looked down on her for her side jobs, the mascot work and commercials. Two years of fighting to be taken seriously, all leading to this.
Garment was coming. The thought filled her with a type of dread that was unusually deep and personal, particularly for someone she had never actually met. Never even contacted, really. Still, the cape loomed over her life, threatening to snuff out years of work and effort with casual indifference.
As Parian she had built a brand. She worked hard at it, finding ways to leverage her powers, interact with the public, and grow an identity that people could recognize. Sure, it was mostly for her stuffed animal displays rather than her fashion contributions, but there were people all over the country who at least recognized her, even if it was just as 'that fashion cape' or 'the doll cape with the animated mascots'.
Only now she wasn't 'that fashion cape'. That was the title that came up when people were talking about Garment. Mostly. At best it was split. She was either brought out with a question of 'which fashion cape?' or was defaulted to 'that other fashion cape'. All her accomplishments over the past two years were being overshadowed, if not swept aside all together.
And it was a personal accomplishment, something she could be proud of. Done on her own, without help or reliance on anyone. After the tragedy of her second year and realizing how trapped she really was she had set out on her own. The loss of her father, it had shaken her. Her family, they didn't always have the time or capacity to fully support her, but they always made sure she knew they cared. Even in the worst times, they were a comforting presence in the back of her mind, a support that she could fall back on. Something that kept her going through the worst of things.
With his death that security had fallen away and she realized how precarious things actually were. Alone, she could have dealt with it, but with everything else she was dealing with, struggling with, it was too much. It shook her, but it also gave her the strength she needed to leave her old program and find her own place in the world. Small steps at first, but she made it work. She was good at that, at focusing on a goal and making it her own.
Her mom had been disappointed, but understood. Things were better. She could actually connect to her classmates, she could find more friends, make her own way, and actually be herself without worrying about it all coming crashing down.
Well, less worried. She chose fashion because she wanted something different, something as far from her past as she could get, and because she didn't want to end up as a pawn in the city's cape conflicts. The early impression she had of the industry had been more than a little naive. Fashion, especially at the higher levels, was as cutthroat as any parahuman conflict she could have found herself in.
Trying to break into the industry, establish herself in fashion while also learning how to function in fashion had been arduous. Staying relevant was essential, but there were only so many opportunities for that, especially while keeping up with her classes, while learning the principles she was trying to put in place.
It had been two years of constant effort on every front. Public appearances, power displays, mascot deals, parade floats, and anything else she could do to stay in the public eye. Most of the money from her contracts that didn't go into maintaining her atelier or funding her work was poured into marketing, public relations, or cross promotions. Image was everything, and maintaining it took constant work.
Unless you were Garment, in which case you just fell into positive coverage and online celebrity status. More than that, the flood of content the woman had put out had drowned out Sabah's own carefully managed series of blog posts, podcasts appearances, and videos. Noctis cape, obviously, but worse because it was doubtful that Garment had any physical needs at all. By every estimate she appeared to work nonstop, putting out hours of content every day. Only a week online and she was already overtaking Parian's body of content, to say nothing of the quality.
Really, the 'quality' was the part that burned the worst. It would have been fine if Garment had stayed at the level of her debut video. Low quality, static webcam footage of a power display. If not for the skill at work, and the pandering towards PHO it would probably have gotten lost in the shuffle within a few days, one of thousands of sloppy introduction videos you found on the White List or the introduction boards on PHO. Even her actions during the Cape Blackout would have just been a blip of popularity.
But it wasn't a blip. It was a surge. Following the blackout there had been that damn press conference, letting her show off more and even bringing in the tinker enthusiasts, the most obsessive cape fans out there. Because of course Garment was a fabric tinker, as well as a shaker, breaker, a possible Case 53, and a potential thinker, at least in some of the theories about her presentation abilities were true. And, looking at the quality of her videos, it was hard to argue with those theories.
Parian had been careful about her level of exposure. As an independent cape you had to be. It was too easy to be seen as desperate or deluded. To burn out public interest, becoming a joke. There was an art to it, one that required as much effort as her fashion work. Build on public interest, don't try to drive it yourself. Avoid looking like you're inserting yourself into people's lives. Make sure they want to see you, that they look forward to your appearances.
Or you could just spam hours of content on a daily basis and end up ignorantly praised for it. If it had been nothing but videos of Garment making clothes then she probably would have burned people out by now. Instead, Garment had escalated in both content and quality. Moving from simple assembly videos to breakdowns of complicated outfits and detailed looks at historic assembly techniques. Quality quickly advanced from basic webcam recordings to professionally shot video, complete with masterful editing and studio level production management.
Worse, she didn't even seem to care about the reception of her videos. A few comments got single word responses, but she always looked forward, onto the next advancement. Her rate of production was becoming a meme in itself, not that there was any shortage of memes about Garment. She should know, she was featured in more than a few of them.
Then came Saturday night. The shift in Garment's content, taking her from a novelty to something else entirely. Videos of complicated dresses being assembled were impressive, but they drew in a niche audience. It was an audience Parian had been fighting to secure, which is how she knew how niche it was. There were only so many people who would watch fashion videos, even with parahuman powers dressing them up. She had never dreamed about breaking out beyond the circle of diehards and cape enthusiasts. Not like Garment had done.
Garment was already putting out feature length works. The length of her videos was already a joke, and would have been a point against her if they weren't so carefully paced and edited. But they were still just hobby videos. People watched them for the flair of the demonstrations, or to follow along with the assembly, or seemingly just as a way to relax. Then, on Saturday night Garment suddenly stepped up her game.
It was a nightmare. Parian could admit that to herself. Garment was bad enough when she was just spamming dress videos. Suddenly, like someone had thrown a switch, she shifted to educational videos. Not demonstrations, but incredibly intuitive presentations of concepts and information in a way that stuck in your mind without you even noticing. Her own professor had sent out a recommendation for Garment's video on color theory, with the implication that the rest of her content would be valuable viewing as well.
As if it wasn't clear how bad things were before. Now, Parian's own web presence was working against her. Two years of effort, overshadowed in a week. She had endured the worst of the internet, the criticism of everything she did, from her public conduct to her designs. The handful of amateurish missteps from her early designs were held over her and brought up every time she attempted something new. Her private work was seen as juvenile and childish, something not helped by her choice of costume and theme. And now, thanks to Garment, the very mechanics of her work were being picked apart.
What had been nothing but a horde of random trolls parroting outdated opinions were suddenly becoming unusually well-educated inquiries into her design choices. Why she chose a certain color palette. The logic behind a certain type of stitch. Asking if she really understood the intention behind the stylistic themes of her latest designs. It was bad enough that Parian had to wonder if Garment was intentionally going after her, pecking at weak spots in her works through seemingly unrelated educational videos.
She wondered that a lot. Garment had a near perfect public image. No past or even real identity to speak of, a publicly outgoing and generous personality, and just enough heroics to make an impact without entangling her in any serious conflict.
Because Garment could afford to take that kind of risk. Sabah had seen the state of the dress that Garment had handed over as evidence. It was as much a show of her own resilience as a testament to what she had done for the community. Something she had received no end of praise for, to the point that it couldn't have been anything but a strategic decision. Just like everything Garment did.
It was like she was pointing out the fact that Parian didn't do hero work without any direct accusations or chance for a rebuttal. At the same time, she was making sure that Parian knew not to do hero work by demonstrating the kind of damage that could happen in a single night against non-powered opponents. A combination of 'you don't do this' and 'you can't do this'.
Sabah took another breath and paced around the open space. The minutes were ticking down and she was getting even more anxious. The line of thinking that consumed her wasn't helping, but she couldn't break away from it, not this close to the event. She had to be ready.
She let her power flow out, suffusing the tools and fabrics laid out across the space. Her space. The feeling of control steadied her. The power wrapped around scissors, pins, and other small pieces of equipment. None of the larger tools where her power would either fail, dissipate, or only manage clumsy, jerky movements. Unlike with the tools, the power sank into the bolts of fabric laid out on the surfaces. The energy she put out was normally unstable, fading if not maintained, but it could infuse fabrics and other materials, allowing more precise control of larger objects. If sealed she could even fill the interior space with her telekinesis, like a balloon filled with weightless steel.
But that wasn't what she was doing now. Just having her power in place was enough. She reached out for the final pieces of her costume. Her mask, wig, and the outer layers of her dress flew up and assembled themselves around her. Infused fabric didn't have the strength or power of her constructs, but wrapping herself in it, sealing herself off from the outside world, it steadied her. Made it easier to think.
A week ago, she would have been able to dismiss the thoughts that Garment was specifically working against her. When she had found out about another cape with nearly the same powerset she had been shocked. It was jarring, but not in a personal sense. Even the inevitable comparisons were something she could accept.
Secretly she had hoped that Garment would join the Protectorate, just to get her into a different space, but no. Garment's intentions were clear. There were two fashion capes in Brockton Bay. Maybe it would have gotten more press, given her a chance to respond or take some initiative, but not with the week the city had endured. Gang wars, fires, and kidnappings, and Garment kept chugging along like it was nothing, even planning to set up business in the middle of an effective war zone.
More memes. Pictures of Garment's damaged dress. Jokes about suffering for art, ignoring horrible attacks to keep on sewing. It should have been insensitive, but with the persona Garment had cultivated she was able to head that off. To come across as a hopeful element in the conflict rather than someone out of touch.
Garment, with her silence and her gifts and her plethora of videos was easy to dismiss, to overlook. Even people who were convinced she had some planning or presentation thinker power weren't worried about it. Maybe Sabah could have brought herself to believe that, if not for what Garment had brought out last night.
Debuted after she scheduled the meeting. After that shrew of a lawyer who had been hard-lining everyone in New York had reached out on Garment's behalf, out of concern for the presence of the Elite. Really to make sure that Parian knew where she stood. That Garment had been spontaneously visited by Uppercrust, a cape so wealthy and powerful that it defied description, while she hadn't been contacted at all. Even now, all she had was an email from his assistant inquiring about her schedule for potential business proposals.
Of course, Garment had stepped things up once again and done so in a way that proved she was working on more levels than just spontaneous creativity. Boundless Music. The channel had sprung up out of nowhere with a complete backlog content ready to go. A handful of clearly older videos, probably whatever the creator had planned before Garment got her hooks in, and then the newer, more polished content, serving as a free advertisement for Garment's works.
Garment was able to take something as seemingly simple as having someone play music in her clothing and turn it into a master stroke of strategy. She'd already had to listen to rants about the quality of the music being produced, how incredible it was for apparently live performances. People were watching just for the showmanship, even if you couldn't see the man's face. And they were being directed back to Garment, who was simultaneously benefiting from the man's original compositions.
Because Garment had a theme. A theme that premiered last night and already had people producing music theory videos about it. A theme that was so insidiously catchy that she couldn't get the fucking thing out of her head. The closest thing Parian ever had to a theme was that department store jingle from the commercial that she had provided an animated mascot for. Something she wasn't even officially associated with and had to actively work to break away from.
No, this wasn't just a happy coincidence. Garment had gone looking for someone, someone with the skill and talent to carry her even further. According to the channel's comments he had been playing since he was seven years old, the age when most people would be struggling with entry level music lessons. But Garment had found him and set up a debut that elevated both of them even further in the public's eyes.
Where was this going to stop? Garment wasn't just a talented cape, or a skilled showman. She was building an empire. That's what frightened Parian. The thought behind what this meeting could mean. Was the warning about the Elite a veiled threat? A show that she would be absorbed, one way or the other. Rock and hard place, she had nowhere to go.
It also burned that the man behind Boundless Music was keeping his face hidden. All the comments about the focus being on the music and clothing, how a face would distract from the art didn't hold up. Not for her. It was a gimmick. More than that, it was her gimmick, her strategy, only in her case it had been two years in the making.
It was hard to make a name for yourself in the fashion world. Even being a parahuman wasn't enough to stand out. A handful of major capes already had clothing lines and the industry wasn't about to fall over itself just because someone had powers. She needed something to make a bigger impact.
Something like an identity reveal. It would have to happen eventually. The restrictions of working under a cape identity were too restrictive to maintain. Her choice of identity, the blond wig, the Victorian clothing, it had partly been chosen to set apart her identities. Make the connection harder to put together. It had worked too. Beyond the select friends who knew her secret most of the speculation as to Parian's identity was pointed in the wrong direction.
But there was another advantage to that misconception. People had built up certain assumptions about who Parian was. With the direction of their assumptions, she had the perfect opportunity to subvert expectations with her reveal. In addition to making more of an impact than simply announcing her name, it was a chance to start a dialogue on the subject. If she could make sure the event achieved some exposure and that the right people got offended then she had the chance to leverage that into the start of a serious brand.
She'd had the chance. Past tense intended. That wasn't the case anymore. She could still do the reveal, but with someone like Garment on the scene, a Case 53 fashion designer, anything she tried would be more than overshadowed. The fact that Garment's pet music channel was playing up the same trick was just salt in the wound.
It felt like everything she achieved, everything she worked so hard to secure for herself was all being snatched away. Worse, it was being done blindingly fast by someone who barely seemed to care about her. This meeting seemed like it was more of an afterthought on Garment's part. The final nail in the coffin to let Parian know how badly defeated she was.
It felt too much like what happened before. Her hard work cast aside because of everything aligning against her. Nothing she could do, no matter how hard she worked. It wouldn't be enough. It wasn't fair.
She took a deep breath. The time was getting close. She needed to have herself together for this meeting, no matter what form it took. Her mask adjusted itself slightly, nudged by her power to sit just right. The concealment it provided was comforting. She only needed to worry about her eyes and voice. Her expression could falter and the mask would carry her through. It felt like something she could rely on, a vestige of control that wouldn't betray her.
With a final check of her costume, she confirmed everything was in the right place. No gaps or tells that could betray her. Even her wig, infused with her power, was styled perfectly. It was the same check she did before every public appearance and the routine had a calming effect. It was almost time. She wondered if she should fall back to her office to avoid seeming like she was hovering around waiting. A dozen scenarios of how she could play things flashed through her head, leaving her paralyzed.
And then a knock echoed up from the front entrance.
For an instant she froze before realizing she was waiting expectantly. Any other time there would have been someone to handle the greeting for her. To answer the door and then come and get her. It would have let her play up her importance, but she had weighed that against the potential disaster of the coming 'meeting' and decided on privacy instead.
And now she was shorthanded, standing in the middle of an overly large atelier without the workers that actually made it an atelier rather than just a studio. She had to restrain herself from rushing down to the entrance. Everything was critical now. Every impression mattered. She could afford to seem like she was keeping them waiting if it meant avoiding any appearance of being desperate or rushed.
She descended the short flight of stairs from the studio floor to the entrance hall, her mind reeling as she scrambled to remember everything she could. Garment was coming, and there was more than enough media for anyone to get a feel for her. But she was also bringing her lawyer. That was about the worst sign possible, even if Garment could pass it off as a translation assistant.
From what she had heard, Delphine Mertens had come out of nowhere and torn into anyone who dared offer the slightest obstruction to Garment's 'charity' auction. She had also managed the logistics of Garment's shop, and in such record time that there had to be something sketchy going on. Parian remembered the nightmare that was involved in setting up her atelier. There was no way that Garment's lawyer had closed the lease on a property in less than a week without some serious backroom dealing or legal terror in play. Probably both.
It was in line with what she'd heard from New York. A few friends of hers had some choice words about how the woman was handling Garment's affairs around the auction. In addition to being ruthless she was terrifyingly competent and had absolutely no qualms about casting aside social necessities and blatantly calling out anyone who was obstructing her 'good work'.
Of course, because that charity auction was definitely about helping people, not blatant self-promotion. It should have been a joke. A designer who's barely been active for a week with no shows or accomplishments to her name putting up her 'early works', like it was a big deal. Seeing the way people fawned over both the act and the clothes in question, it was almost offensive. Somehow, probably thanks to that hag of a lawyer harassing half of the New York fashion scene, she had even browbeaten some high-profile models to show off the outfits.
Things like this, they didn't just happen. Garment's lawyer, her music collaboration, even the connection she had apparently made with the Protectorate, it all spoke to some plan, a scheme that would see her rise to the top while everyone else fell aside, and nobody could see what she was taking all for herself.
She paused briefly before the door and took a final breath to steady herself. She would get through this. No matter how many things aligned against her, no matter what happened, she had to get through this, or everything would fall apart.
She pulled open her front door and was greeted by a wash of red. A red dress, one of Garment's signatures. It made the white gloves, her primary signature, pop in contrast. And the gloves certainly did pop. But Parian wasn't ready for this.
Garment had appeared in evening dresses, business wear, and coordinated outfits, but never anything as elaborate as this. In front of her door stood an animated ball gown. The hem swept gracefully across the pavement; each fold perfectly arranged. The gown cinched at the waist, then rose to outline a body that wasn't there. Long white opera gloves covered most of the 'arms' and were held in an almost eager arrangement.
And there was no face. Parian thought she was ready for that, but she underestimated the effect. Her eyes kept dropping to the bust of the dress, making her acutely aware of the fact that there was nothing inside it. Considering Parian's height, she wasn't exactly looking down, but she could see enough to recognize the empty shell of the gown, and the way it was still shifting, accounting for every muscle in a body that wasn't there and even seemed to breathe in and out.
For a horrible moment she was frozen. She didn't know where to look, what to say, or what she was supposed to be doing. She had been so focused on Garment as a person, seeing her in terms of what she was doing and the consequences of her careless and probably malicious actions, that she had overlooked the fact that Garment was very much not human, in any sense of the word.
The gloves kept moving, gesturing in what might have been a greeting, but Parian couldn't follow it, not with what was in front of her. She stood there in confusion, grateful for the concealment of her mask. She seriously doubted she would have been able to control her expression without it.
A flicker of motion drew her eyes to the side, and up, and suddenly Parian became aware that someone else was with Garment. Someone tall.
"Parian? It is nice to meet you. Thank you for your time." The voice had a slight accent, vaguely European, but with a controlled tone suggesting education.
Looking over at the woman Parian was struck with the realization of just how connected Garment had become in such a short time. It really didn't help her composure as she struggled to figure out why Garment had brought a model to their meeting.
The woman had to be five ten, even before counting her designer heels, making her tower over Sabah's barely five-foot frame. She had long blonde hair, impeccably styled with just the slightest curl giving it a bounce. Her features were classic runway, sharp and angular without being overly severe. She was wearing a fitted knee length black skirt and a matching single-button blazer over a delicate white shirt.
Sabah found herself racking her brain trying to place the woman. So many features were just iconic, she was sure she should recognize her. Really, she couldn't imagine overlooking someone like that, but for the life of her nothing was coming to mind. No, she wouldn't have overlooked, especially with a look this close. And personal.
Suddenly she was grateful for her mask concealing a very different reaction from the one Garment had elicited.
She did her best to pull herself together with the experience of two years in the fashion industry. She wasn't about to be awestruck by the first made up model that crossed her path. Not even one as… everything as this.
"My pleasure." She said with more sincerity than she would have been able to muster a few minutes earlier. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met?"
"Oh, my apologies." The woman said with the same subtle accent. "I'm Delphine Mertens, Garment's legal counsel. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Parian froze again. Well, her brain froze. Her hand reached out to shake the woman's own offered hand, mostly on reflex. Through the act she couldn't help but note how the grip was both firm and incredibly soft, even through the gloves of Parian's costume. Before she had time to process the information she found herself shaking Garment's disembodied hand. The cape's handshake was much more enthusiastic than her apparently-not-a-shrew lawyer, but the jarring experience of going from one extreme to the other nearly gave her whiplash.
Somehow she managed to force herself through introductions and invite them inside. As she ushered them in she spotted a car parked across the street from her atelier. A classic Lincoln town car in gleaming white. The presumed driver was a rugged but well-dressed man leaning against the hood. He gave her a nod as she retreated inside. Luxury car and private driver. She had to wonder if it was another dig, a way to leverage their relative positions.
That was something that was going to make the coming encounter exhausting. Nothing would be straight forward, not with Garment. She had seen the layers of strategy behind the cape's actions. It was a situation where she couldn't afford to take anything at face value.
For instance, Garment seemed to regard her workspace with awe, or at least as much as she could try to convey through body language and gestures. Parian didn't know if that was a commentary on her workspace, an attempt at a positive opening, or a way of reinforcing how difficult Garment was to understand, even in person. Fortunately, the lawyer was much more personable, not to mention capable of eye contact.
"Um, could I offer you something to drink?" She asked as she balanced her concerns with having Garment here, inside HER space, with the desire to avoid looking at the inhuman collection of clothing whenever possible. "Coffee? Tea?"
"Some tea would be lovely, thank you." The lawyer said in a nearly musical voice. Parian nodded and extended her power. Towards the sideboard. It wasn't her most precise work, but an opportunity to show off was important with power dynamics like this. Delphine Mertens, and Garment, watched as cups arranged themselves as the kettle turned on. Working with that kind of weight was tricky, but she could manage pouring it when the time came.
Meanwhile she led them to the meeting table, now cleared of the assorted project work it tended to collect over the term. She was a little proud of how her atelier could serve as a second home for her friends in the fashion program. Even if they were technically helping her and working in her space, it still provided a place for them. How long that could continue, given the approaching end of her program, and the rest of the chaos in the city, she could only guess. And that was, of course, assuming that this meeting didn't end in any of the disasters she was afraid of.
The three of them settled into their seats around the table, with Garment managing her dress in a manner that would probably have been impressive without her documented telekinetic abilities. Parian used hers as well, but was more subtle about it rather than sweeping an immense gown into a perfect arrangement for sitting.
She took a breath and tried to refocus. She had to be on point for this, be ready for whatever was coming. She put on a false smile under her mask as she looked at her 'guests'. The expression was grating, but it helped her regulate her tone.
"I was quite surprised to receive your message." She said in a massive understatement. "What can I do for you?"
There was another brief exchange between Garment and her lawyer. Parian had to wonder if she could actually decipher the arcane movements, or if this had been prepared in advance.
"In all honesty, Garment has been looking forward to meeting you for some time." The woman, Delphine, said, her voice still on the edge of music. "Without the conflicts in the city I'm certain she would have reached out much sooner."
"How… nice." Parian replied, noting the kettle reaching temperature. In a display of her developed skills, she extended her power, preparing the tea while she responded. "However, I had the impression you had a more concrete reason for this meeting?" She asked as the cups and tea bags danced behind her. Unfortunately, it didn't earn more than a passing glance from Delphine, and she still couldn't place where Garment was directing her attention.
"Indeed. As I mentioned in our earlier correspondence, with Uppercrust active in the city and the potential of more agents of the Elite in the future, Garment wished to reach out to you regarding the matter, both as a precaution and an offer of support." The woman explained.
Parian drew herself up. "Thank you, but I have been able to manage quite well by myself." Plus, the line about 'more agents of the Elite' was clearly fear mongering. She knew Uppercrust would be gone once his work was complete, and it wasn't like any member of the Elite could just waltz into the city and set up shop, not without provoking a major response from one of the gangs.
"Of course." She said in reassurance as Garment flailed incomprehensibly. "However, given the recent turmoil, it seemed a prudent point to raise, if just to ensure that all parties are fully informed of the situation."
"Of course." Parian said as she floated a cup of tea towards them. Her own mask prevented her from indulging, as did Garment's inhumanity, but fortunately Delphine Mertens had no issue indulging alone. She politely declined the offered sugar packets and took a dainty sip from her cup, smiling politely at the taste.
"Um, does Garment have any plans to join the Elite?" She asked, partly to address one of her primary concerns, but mostly to distract her from the display playing out in front of her.
"Garment currently plans to remain independent, though she is not averse to working with the Elite or Protectorate in an associated capacity." The woman said politely, with the firm implication that such work would be forthcoming if it was desired. Parian only wished she had half as much confidence in her future. "That said, there are cases where associated work has led to entanglements that have brought a Rogue fully within the Elite's sphere of influence. Garment is vigilant against such scenarios and wished to extend the same caution to you." She took another sip of her tea and Parian had to bite back a sigh. "Not to diminish your own legal resources, but I would be happy to offer my assistance on any matter involving offers from the Elite, as a goodwill service."
"Uh, thank you. For the offer." She said. Her brain momentarily managed to pierce through the elegance on display in front of her, mostly from near traumatic memories of the legal bills she'd had to contend with for even minor matters. "That's very generous."
The interaction between Garment and Delphine made it clear that the generosity was mostly from Garment's side. She was willing to extend her lawyer, her hot, young, incredibly competent lawyer, deployed at her expense, just to offer Parian some good will. It was the kind of situation that screamed trap. Even with no obvious snares, the offer had hidden teeth. An acceptance of being reliant on others, not being able to stand on her own compared to someone who'd been active for a sliver as long.
She wasn't ready to burn that bridge just yet, and not just because of the way Delphine's hair bounced artfully across her jet-black blazer that caught the light just right. It was a stunning image, marred only by the fact that she was almost certainly admiring Garment's work. But there might be a time when she needed that help, either with the Elite or another matter. It wasn't like Delphine and Garment were joined at the hip. She could insulate the woman from her obvious and justified issues with Garment.
"If I receive any offers or similar pressure I'll be sure to contact you." She said politely.
"Please do." The woman replied with a smile that could grace a hundred magazines. Parian glanced over at Garment who seemed completely unmoved by her lawyer. Was that part of an act, or could someone who saw the world like Garment not even connect things properly?
Not for the first time she wondered how Garment functioned. What were her senses? What drove her? People speculated nonstop with everything from permanent breaker states to possessed objects, but nobody had a clear answer. Even Garment's own replies were as opaque as ever. There was a person tearing down Sabah's life, taking away everything she had fought for, and Sabah wasn't even sure if she was a person, or at least if she functioned as one.
People had hopes, dreams, friends, passions. There weren't just collections of fashion knowledge and presentation powers. Everything about Garment was artificial. Even the moments that might have shown concern or a level of care fed so precisely into her mounting image that they couldn't be seen as anything but strategic decisions.
Speaking of which…
"I've heard about Garment's upcoming auction in New York." Parian said as diplomatically as she could.
"Indeed." Delphine said with another million-dollar smile. "In fact, it was something Garment wanted to speak with you about."
"Oh, really?" Parian asked in a voice that was only slightly brittle. Once again there was an exchange between Delphine and Garment that was incomprehensible and possibly existed just to conceal plans that had already been put in place.
"The actual auction will be conducted in New York this Wednesday at two in the afternoon, but an arrangement has been made for streaming in order to facilitate bidders from out of state." Delphine explained.
Parian frowned under her mask. They were really serious about this auction. The good cause, addressing the damage and helping people in the city, would only draw people so far. She'd seen the way people responded to disasters and charitable causes. This was more than that. They were expecting serious bidding. Probably high four, maybe even low five figures for each outfit.
It was insane. The outfits were nice, particularly in the photo shoots they had put together, but they weren't THAT nice. That kind of money came from designer clout, and the idea that Garment had that kind of influence after such a short period was insane. Barely a week and people were seriously acting like she was a grand couturier.
Honestly, if not for all the accounts of Delphine making sure every penny possible was precisely accounted for and made its way to charity she could suspect the entire thing was some kind of money laundering scheme. No, more likely Garment was just using her seemingly innate sense of spectacle to take advantage of an early surge of popularity and good press in a way that would build even more popularity and good press.
"While Garment will unfortunately be unable to attend the auction, she was planning on hosting a parallel event." Warning bells rang in Sabah's head as Delphine continued. "It would serve as a secondary source of fundraising, and present an opportunity to formally open the location of Garment's business. Garment would very much appreciate it if you would be able to attend."
The excitement radiating from the pile of clothing in the next seat was almost obnoxious. Parian steadied herself as she replied.
"So, this would be at Garment's store?" She asked, putting a concerned inflection on her words. The excitement drained away from Garment's movements and Parian tried not to show any satisfaction at the response.
"Yes, that was the original plan. Do you anticipate some problem with that arrangement?" Delphine asked, briefly checking on Garment.
Sabah considered the problem. She was barely comfortable interacting with Garment here, in the heart of her operations. Flipping the script, being placed in Garment's hands, while Garment was potentially using that suspected thinker power to control everything, to steer everyone's impressions and responses in an environment she controlled as precisely as that gown she was wearing?
No. Just no. There had to be another way. There had to be an excuse that would get her out of this. No, that would be worse. Cutting Garment loose, surrendering more territory towards her advance. She needed to get the event out of there.
Desperately she rolled ideas around in her head, drawing on every ounce of experience she had amassed from the past two years. "Well, if this is a charity event, it would be the first one following the Ungodly Hour. Especially if it's coordinating with something like the New York auction there would be a lot of focus on it. I know Garment would like to host, but you might want to consider a larger venue for something like this."
Garment perked up at the word 'larger'. Of course she did, clearly it was all about exposure for her.
Fortunately, Delphine nodded along with her words. "We hadn't wished to impose on people during the recovery effort, but if you believe a larger event would be welcome it would certainly be more beneficial towards the cause. Though, at this level of notice finding a venue could prove challenging."
"The Regency Center would work." Parian replied quickly. "It's hosted various other charity events and I know it's not committed to anything this week. The organizer is open to waiving non-essential fees for charitable endeavors. I can speak to her on your behalf." Anything that would get it away from Garment's complete control.
Garment continued to bubble with excitement, oblivious to the near impossibility of arranging something like this in two days. For a moment Delphine seemed like she might reject the idea, but after a moment's consideration and another incomprehensible exchange with Garment she gave a shallow nod, triggering an explosion of excitement from the clothes.
"I believe that is an excellent idea. I would appreciate your assistance in broaching the suggestion, but I believe we can manage within the allotted time frame." She replied.
Sabah almost felt sorry for her. Whatever they could pull together was unlikely to have any cohesion. A slapdash charity event might fit the current feel of the city, but it wouldn't do Garment's reputation any favors. On the other hand, dressing things up too much could set the wrong tone, not to mention arranging the guest lists, assuming anyone could come to something like this in the current situation. Plus the dozen other ways that it could go wrong.
But she didn't need to worry about that. She knew the Regency Center, both the building and the staff. However this event turned out; she was confident she could manage to come through intact. And as for the event itself, unless you had someone with a superhuman mastery of organization, logistics, and the fashion business there wasn't a hope of this coming together.
Garment was a lot of things, but she doubted the woman was quite that capable. She would probably give Delphine good odds of clearing the license and permit hurdles, but there was more to an event than even the best lawyer could manage.
And it wasn't like the charity event would really fail, or even impact anything. People were still going to overpay for Garment's outfits at the New York auction. That would still help enough. The Brockton event wasn't really that important next to it.
In fact, even if the event was less polished, the larger numbers might see more donations brought in, even if Garment didn't come out of it in quite such a shining state. She wasn't sabotaging things for the victims of the attacks. That was important. Her family, her friends, the people close to her, they had made it through. Miraculously even dodging the aftereffects of the attacks. She knew a lot of people weren't as lucky, but she had to stay focused on those close to her.
That was the trick, really. Build a space where you could be comfortable, where you understood what was happening and could ensure that you were safe. That the right people were around you. Her atelier, her home, her class, they were all places like that. They had been threatened, shaken, but they had held. She had held.
She wasn't running off to Garment's employ. She wasn't using the cape as a shield from the Elite or a ticket to tangential success. The hooks were there, the traps that could see her put under Garment the same way junior students worked under her, but she wasn't taking the bait. No matter the power gap or the impression online, or the number of people who Garment brought into her employ, Parian would stand alone.
Disasters avoided, she accepted Delphine's translations of Garment's prompting for a tour of the atelier. There was actually a spring in her step for the first time in a week. It was her space. She could control it, both figuratively and, to a limited extent, literally. Her power flowed off her as she guided Garment and Delphine through the space from one project to another.
She explained the works of the other students, walked them through some of her old designs, and answered prompted questions about her equipment and materials. Materials that could come to life in a manner that made her display with the tea seem like child's play.
Entire bolts of fabric unfurled themselves and rolled back up just as quickly. Fabric danced and spun through the air. She felt alive again as the world answered the call of her power, the force of it infusing the very material that surrounded them.
"…and these silk samples were from the term project last fall. You can see the embroidery." She explained, causing the shimmering fabrics to dance around Delphine. The woman had the grace of a dancer as well as the looks of a model. How she ended up with a law degree Sabah could only guess.
"I see. Quite lovely." Delphine said politely as the swarm coalesced into a scarf. At Parian's will it briefly floated up to the woman's neck before dropping again.
Sabah glanced over and noted Garment's interest. She swallowed before addressing the woman. She had minimized her interactions, the lack of a face and uncanny arrangement of clothing still unsettling her. Still, things were going well. It couldn't hurt to reach out.
"Uh, Garment?" The movement of clothing might be able to be interpreted as a response. "Would you like to see them as well?"
There was an excited response and Parian prepared to send the samples of silk work over to the cape. Then, suddenly, they moved on their own.
Parian froze, stock still and barely breathing. Garment seemingly didn't notice as she examined the stitching on the samples. Carrying on like nothing had happened, like she hadn't just completely deliberately pulled the rug out from under Parian. Like she hadn't shattered her confidence and ruined the only moment of joy she'd had since the city went to hell.
The fabric had moved. It was completely infused with her power, and it moved. It wasn't pulled, or forced. There was no contest of wills, none of the tests of power strength that she'd been worried about. Everything about how her power worked said the fabric should be locked in place, held fast against the full force of her telekinesis.
And Garment had moved it. There had never been anything like that, no equivalent experience in all the time Parian had used her power. It was still there, still holding the fabric, still able to push and pull in any direction. It should be held fast, resisting any attempt to shift it even a millimeter. But it was shifting, and much more than a millimeter.
It was like whatever Garment did, it worked on an entirely different level from her own power. All the mechanics that she needed to go through, the infusion of power, the careful management of every object under her control, it was still present. But the second Garment wanted to look at a piece of fabric it meant nothing. Her power was so thoroughly trumped it would have been funny, if it wasn't terrifying.
One last holdout crumbled in Sabah's mind. She knew that she was losing in terms of influence, connections, visibility, and popularity, but she still had one hope. The idea that if things turned truly bad that her constructs might win out. That she might be stronger in combat. That didn't mean much in terms of popularity, but it was something.
And now it was nothing.
Garment returned the swatches with a cheerful gesture that completely failed to gloss over the act she just perpetrated. With Parian's enthusiasm clearly dampened, the visit wrapped up. Garment was overly expressive in her confusing, and now possibly threatening, way. Delphine was much more cordial, probably because she didn't know what had just happened. Of course, there was no damage, no injury, just a clear show of strength. Because that was all that was necessary.
"Thank you for your suggestions, and assistance in arranging the venue." The woman said cheerfully. "I will coordinate with you as the details are confirmed."
"Right. Thank you." Parian shifted her gaze to include Garment in the statement, saving her from having to give a direct goodbye. She watched as they climbed into their luxury car and drove off, then sagged in exhaustion.
It wasn't as bad as she feared. No threats, veiled or otherwise. More of a showing that threats wouldn't be necessary, but she could process that later. She couldn't overpower Garment, but that was never what this was about. Maybe it was better to clear that up, get it out of the way?
No. No it wasn't. Still, it was something confirmed. She didn't have to worry about it anymore because she knew how bad it was. Now she had other things to worry about.
Two days to prepare. Barely enough time for her to get ready for the event. Garment would be in over her head, assuming the city stayed stable long enough for it to even happen. Still, one way or another she had dodged the bullet. Now she just needed to see where it landed.