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[droppedstitch]

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[anashthetic]

Ash walks in and promptly laughs lightly in surprise. "Taking this very seriously, I see!"

[droppedstitch]

She looks over her shoulder at them and throws a yellow tank top in their direction. "I could do nothing instead," she challenges.

[anashthetic]

They snap their hand out to catch it nearly without looking. Interesting color! They will trust her fashion expertise here, but it wouldn't be their first pick.

Then again, a very large chunk of their wardrobe is black, so that's sort of a layered statement.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been looking forward to this."

[droppedstitch]

"No, but I can't have you walking around naked."

She looks over the top of the clothes.

"Well. Unless you wanted it."

[anashthetic]

"Not my style. Besides, I'm too pale, I'd blind you."

'Some' was technically true, in that 'one outfit' can be a 'some', though it's a bit of a stretch. Asking directly to hang out felt too strange and uncomfortable, though.

[droppedstitch]

She laughs to herself and comes out with a deep navy jacket. "This goes over the yellow," she tells them. "And do you wear denim? Uh...jeans?"

[anashthetic]

"Of course?" He looks a little laughingly offended they'd insinuate otherwise.

[droppedstitch]

She punches them in the arm. Or attempts to.

"Do you like it?" she amends.

[anashthetic]

Ashton just stands there and takes it like a champ, with absolutely no reaction to the punch whatsoever.

"Yes, I do." He successfully manages to not say Was that so hard?, because he doesn't know Istra that well that he can be comfortable actively ribbing her.

[droppedstitch]

Meanwhile, Istradez is falling face first into a friendship she so desperately needs. She knows that she does. Ash is the sort of friend that Istradez really wants, too, even though she's just now starting to figure it out.

"Then jeans it is," she announces, holding a pair up to them. "Go try it on."

[anashthetic]

Because Ash does take pleasure in being a nuisance, he changes his shirt right there and then, slipping out of what he's wearing (black t-shirt. so much of his wardrobe is black. so much.) and tossing it back at her as he puts on what she gave him.

As expected, without a shirt on she's still dead-pale, flat as a board, and has excellent skin.

And then he grabs the pants, takes a few steps back, and puts the rest of the outfit on. She's wearing leggings anyway, so she just opts to wear the jeans over them: less hassle, and it's good to establish a certain level of rapport -- one not quite reached yet -- before you strip down to your underwear in front of someone.

[droppedstitch]

She tries not to look. She tries her hardest not to look. But there's a quick peek as she lowers the shirt down from her face and clears her throat. "Don't forget the jacket," she tells them, though it would be a damn shame to cover any more of them.

Not that Istra is thinking about any of that, of course.

[anashthetic]

As it turns out, when your most capable combat form is a physical transformation that doesn't incorporate clothes, you get very comfortable with being naked around people you're at least decently familiar with very quick. Ashton may have a remarkable amount of convoluted hangups about her own naked body, but those are mostly in the context of having sex, which she thinks is a very different context from this.

"I've only got so many arms to put things on with?" She shrugs the jacket on. "And you're allowed to look at me, you know, if I cared about being seen I'd go change somewhere else."

[droppedstitch]

"Yes, well, it doesn't matter!" she protests. "Because you will make me blush like a child."

[anashthetic]

"Will I, now."

Fifty percent teasing! Fifty percent they hadn't realistically considered the idea she might be into them.

[droppedstitch]

Ever since they showed up at Ulla's party in that green dress, Istra has been fascinated by them. The way they walk and move and talk. The strange confidence they carry despite everything.

It's intriguing.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, now I have changed my mind."

[anashthetic]

"Oh, don't be that way," she grins, getting her metaphorical feet back under her. "If I wanted to see you blush, I'd ask for help with lingerie."

Not that Ashton, you know, owns any anymore. She figures she could probably stand to, but it's really not been anything near a priority at any point.

[droppedstitch]

That's just mean. Istra holds her reaction back, but she is very clearly affected.

"Is that true? Well, my friend gave me a pair or two."

She makes a move with her fingers for Ashton to turn around. She needs to see the fit from all angles.

"If you wanted to make me the model."

[anashthetic]

Unfortunately, Ashton is still an ass even in the best of circumstances.

"I wouldn't be opposed." They obediently follow her instructions, making sure she gets a good visual from whatever angle she'd like.

[droppedstitch]

The silhouette is good, the fit better, and she's satisfied. "When we are finished here, then. That's a good one. You can add some different shirts."

[anashthetic]

"You're certain the yellow works?"

[droppedstitch]

"Yes. I'm certain the yellow works," she says, faux offended. "It's just the right shade. Any lighter would wash you out. Any darker would look terrible."

[anashthetic]

"I defer to your wise judgment," he says with a half-assed pretense at humility and a sweeping bow, not bothering to disguise his smile, "madame Istradez."

[droppedstitch]

"Fuck you," she says with a rude gesture that may or may not translate.

"Do you want another outfit?"

[anashthetic]

It doesn't translate, but it's performed with such intent to it that he gets the gist. "Not in the middle of the Wardrobe, you won't," Ashton deadpans, and then switches the deadpan right back off for a "Yes, actually."