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text βΈ action
βͺ in fact, she will be a little late, because keeping precise track of minutes is a bit of a challenge, and she is still used to the hours having names rather than numbers attached.
but her excitement stands! courtesy of regulus' generous holiday gift, she has a purse to bring and coin to spend (and a map of bavan), and she wastes a precious minute before dashing out of the door on kissing tybolt on his lion's nose. oh, and on penning a note on sticky-paper to be pinned to the kitchen fridge, so that fenris and rafe have no reason to fret.
when she finally makes it, her smile is potentially bright enough to make up for the way she just... happens to have missed the fifteen minute mark. β«
Tara! You are entirely right, it is freezing. Three years of winter, and what do I get upon my arrival here? More winter!
action it is!
[ she doesn't bother checking to see if cersei knows that one - if the other girl is confused, she'll say something when they meet up. tara isn't a super timely person, but there she is, fifteen minutes later: a small figure leaning against the brick façade of the aforementioned department store. if it weren't for the golden yellow of her eyes and the light fuzz of furr on her cheeks, tara could have passed for a human, given the extent to which she's bundled up.
a black knit hat is jammed down over her ears and covering most of her hair. under her leather jacket, tara appears to be wearing several layers of jumpers in an effort to protect from the cold. add several pairs of leggings and some scuffed boots, and you have tara's outfit. it's complete with mittens, completely covering her paws and their beans from the frigid winds. she straightens up upon seeing cersei, though, offering a brief smile. ]
Yeah, no shit. How long do winters last where you're from?
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baratheonlannister, full-time queen and part-time idiot, doesn't read 'cya' and think to herself that tara must have typed out a sweet cat noise. might be because she is used to sounding out badly misspelled words.cersei is in her bright-red winter coat, her hands vanished in the sleeves for warmth. only when she stops in front of tara does she remove them, revealing her freshly-grown claws. she rubs her hands together against the cold: the westerlands are not known for their chilly temperatures, though she reckons tara might understand, seeing how bundled up she is. β«
A year or two, at their shortest. Three and more are not so uncommon anymore. Are you from one of those places where they just last a few turns of the moon?
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you know, like, cya?tara eyes the claws appreciatively, raising one eyebrow. she won't remove her mittens to form a comparison - it's too goddamn cold for that. but the golden claws certainly merit a bit of appreciation. tara certainly prefers them to having paws. ]
Nice. Do they retract?
[ next time she takes off her gloves, tara wants to poke the claws. to see how sharp they are, of course. ]
And yeah. Winter only lasts a few months, depending on where you are in the world. When I was a kid, it felt like it lasted forever. But never longer than half the year. [ her eyes flicker to the entrance of the department store. the nattenfest decor has just been taken down, at least. tara isn't really ever in the mood for too much cheer. ]
Okay, so. Clothes shopping, first. Then, a warm diner with ice cream floats. That's the plan. You got anything else you wanna do?
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βͺ woefully inconvenient, that. still, she overall seems to be quite proud of then, and their uses certainly outweigh everything else.
same as the way tara's winter last a mere half-year at their worst. enviable, but it must mean her summers were equally short, which, all told, seems like the worse end of the deal.
at any rate, the entrance to the shop β more, a whole market in the disguise of a singular entity, distracts her from both claws and winters. β«
Lovely plan. There is a celebration I mean to attend, I was hoping to find a gown for it as well - surely you, too, will be there? βͺ She still hasn't moved much towards the door. β« 'tis my first time to β shop.
βͺ shop for clothes. like this. β«
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[ tara has mixed feelings about it, truthfully, but that's beside the point.
she strides towards the door, confident. unlike cersei, she's pretty used to department stores. bavan has some pretty nice ones, too.
the door is one of those revolving ones. tara slows down and holds it with one mitten-clad hand, assuming that it's the first time cersei has dealt with one of these things. ]
And - don't be intimidated, dude. There's gonna be a lotta stuff. You'll get used to it. No one sucks at shopping.
[ hopefully. a department store could be...overwhelming, maybe, for someone with cersei's background. whoops? ]
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either way, her declaration that she will attend as well earns her a beaming smile.
less so the revolving door, and slots in alongside tara, keeping very close so the demon door won't catch her. β«
This strikes me at once as worse than the grocer. Exciting too, though, I have only rarely left court β βͺ and they're inside, where everything is happening so, so much. β« Sh-shall we begin with the training clothes?
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[ tara hasn't done her nails in a hot sec. she'd hated the idea as a kid - she'd only learned before going undercover, to stop her from biting them. so it wouldn't be too bad to let cersei file them. that's what female friends do, according to all of the media that tara has ever watched.
tara shepherds cersei through the revolving door. tara had never thought of herself as a protective person - not until defiance, when she'd felt some kind of protective something for kid flash in particular. it's a little different with cersei, who clearly doesn't need to be sheltered, but simply comes from a totally different world.
once they've braved the trial of the revolving door, they're in the department store. tara immediately beelines to the map against the wall, categorizing which areas they'll need to check out. she glances back at cersei, waving her over. no use in overwhelming the girl too badly. ]
Yeah. The Women's Athletic section is on the second floor. Have you ridden an escalator before...? [ tara realizes that this is a ridiculous question before she's finished asking it. ] Never mind. Stay close.
[ before embarking to tackle the dreaded escalator, tara needs to adjust. the temperature inside is warm, almost stiflingly so with all of the layers tara is wearing. she removes her hat and gloves, sticking them in her jacket pockets. after a moment's hesitation, she offers her arm for cersei to take. gotta be a gentleman, right? ]
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granted, the escalator is... ah... initially indescribable. β«
An electric stairwell?
βͺ fascinating, and by no means a reason to back down on her quest of what she is certain will be highly daring training's clothes. perhaps she finds a bit of reassurance in holding on to tara's arm as they 'board' the escalator.
apprehension turns into a truly transcendental experience for cersei, who, while still holding on tight, is smiling a far more honest smile than usual as the stairs just move upward all on their own. a discounted version of taking flight, in a way, but closer than she would normally get, and she makes an effort to keep her excited peeking down the railing as subtle as possible. β«
Oh, we will have to take these again once we head back out, won't we?
βͺ ... she is trying not to sound extremely chipper, and failing. β«
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watching cersei's smile as the stairs carry them upwards is charming. tara can admit that. it doesn't make her soft to acknowledge an objective fact. ]
We will, [ tara confirms as she gently prompts cersei off of the escalator. ] And if the fancy shit is on another floor, we might have to ride a couple more.
[ they probably don't, but maybe tara can find some kind of excuse. ]
Anyway. Athletic wear. S'over there, so - let's get to it.
[ small as she is, tara proves remarkably adept at steering cersei towards their first goal.
the athletic wear section is fairly well-stocked, and not all of it is ridiculously old-fashioned. there are leggings, for one; a section of shorts and sweatpants that tara has already since raided. there are sports bras further to the back, where the section fades into women's pajamas and lingerie, but they'll get to that later if need be. for now, tara surveys the section ahead of them before glancing back at cersei's expression. ]
See anything you like?
cw: uhhh medieval internalised misogyny issues?
which is... not entirely unusual for her, but the urgency with which she wants that is most definitely strange. perhaps she should invest in more mirrors for her room.
the athletic wear section pulls her away from that notion, and she steps forward to run her hand over various sweatpants and leggings options, feeling the fabric. all of it is strange and absolutely not the finery she is used to. β«
I am not used at all to wearing trousers. βͺ the faith's sense of modesty and her father's way of raising her are at an especially odd clash here. all told, the loose-fitting pants would be more modest than the leggings, but the leggings look, on a mannequin, as though they are more like to accentuate the body she does have β and it is her body that bought her the crown. either way, once she finds a pair of leggings in a truly alarming shade of red, she's eagerly selecting those. β« Just no yellows.
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she watches cersei touch the variety of clothing, plainly looking for some kind of texture that she'd find more pleasing than the others. tara considers a pair of leggings for herself - they're a nice heather grey, thick enough to keep her warm when she goes jogging with rocky - but is distracted when cersei picks the loudest pair of fire hydrant red leggings. tara stifles a grin. ]
You should prob'ly get a couple of pairs. And some tops to go with it. Also, sports bras? They compress your chest so you don't have to deal with your tits bouncing all around when you're running.
[ not that she's looked at cersei's chest! ]
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βͺ she watches tara pick out the northern-most colour for her own pair, and shuffles through her corner until she finds some nice forest-green ones. whether leggings need bring out her eyes or not is a different question entirely, it'll simply make her happier. β«
They are much more comfortable than stays and bodices as is. Much less trouble, too, I would not wish to have to battle the laces by mine own self each morning. βͺ she smiles, all girlish conspiracy. β« And they sure do draw in the eye, I would wager. If I could have some made of Myrish lace...
βͺ she riffles through the shirts next, immediately discarding most things that do not cover her shoulders. β«
cw: non-serious self-mutilation reference
[ tara gestures at her own chest, although cersei really doesn't have a frame of reference for what she looks like when she's wearing one of her other mainstays. she follows cersei's gaze to the shirts, watching her choose between them - and noting the fact that covering her shoulders, of all things, seems to be the priority. ]
Yeah. I wouldn't want to have to lace a bunch of bullshit off to keep the girls in check. I'd probably just chop 'em off and pretend to be a dude.
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βͺ cleavage does not seem to be a thing she shies away from, but perhaps the previous mention of bodices and stays and all explains that particular twist. she selects a few, albeit she still seems to steer heavily towards colour, particularly bright reds. β«
I should like to try one of those sports bras. βͺ her eyes absolutely do stray to tara's own chest, and it is true, she does seem... quite flat, and it does raise that question of what amount of this is the sports bra's work.
not really a thought that should go voiced, though the tips of her ears go pink. β« Are these enough?