Newly ensconced within Port Luna, the neophyte Fen, Van Loan, had his inaugural utility epiphany.
“Gah, I’m surrounded by ‘Eighties action figures!”
He had to do something about all the senshi costumes that crinkled, ill-fit & flashed cheap fabrics constantly within the sphere of his new existence.
He sought the Lunar leader.
“I’m hanging a tailor’s shingle.”
Tanith Curtis attempted to smooth down an all together too rigid, too shiny and far too plastic looking skirt as she navigated around her cluttered office desk to offer her guest a enthusiastic, firm handshake.
“Real clothes? You don’t know how sick I am of our Hallowe’en wardrobes! What do you need to start?”
“What don’t I need?”
She made a call.
“Bev, can you make a shopping run with...”
“Van Loan,” Van Loan offered.
The voice on the other end of the speaker phone sounded more than a little dubious : “I’m pretty busy down...”
“He’s a dress maker!”
“I’ll be right there!”
That’s how he met the second boss lady, Beverly Hayakawa. A Stellvia & Greenwood shopping excursion commenced : he acquired fabrics from the latter, the tools and resources for jewelry design from the former. Feeling a little giddy at the most that he had ever been in hock at any one time, Van Loan was return moon-shuttled by a
future-wardrobe enthused Hayakawa.
“True tiaras! I can’t wait!”
****
It was with his new found goal and his new found stock that he discovered that there was more to his recent ‘Waviation than just turning blue. On some fundamental level, he fabricated outfits that were well beyond his official ken. Oh, if he concentrated he could make perfectly acceptable outfits ; but if he released his consciousness in favour of...muscle memory? generational genetic recall? voodoo?...he was the Carl Fabergé of costuming!
It was nice when the membership expanded into the realm of the ‘action girl’. Van Loan, now established Fen, Dr. (unofficial) Drakken, welcomed the enrichment of the costuming orders : seifuku & magical girl outfits, while his rye & churned cream, tended to fall within the dual spectrums of repetition & perversion. The one he was finessing now fell well within the gravitation of the far pole of the latter ; but at least by extension of this wanton fabric abandon it was far from a routine build. Holding up the ‘wide belt’ & scant-more-than-pasties top, he informed the outfit, “Your owner is a naughty, naughty girl!”
“Do you always harangue your outfits?” The wry comment originated directly from his six o’clock blind spot.
He jumped, but only a scant three feet : hardly a start at all. “Only the very vulgar variety.” He replied, rapidly re-stuffing his metaphorical heart, and other major & minor organs into his chest cavity.
“yes, it is a filthy, filthy getup : exactly what I ordered!” The über pneumatic satirical sass enthused. (sass: (noun) A brash, bumptious, brazen being) She held it up against the plentitude of her physique. “Umm, how is this supposed to stay...attached?”
Van Loan handed her the complimentary case of spirit gum.
“What’s this?”
Trying his best to remain somewhere within the bounds of professionalism, Van Loan found himself applying considerable amounts of adhesive to equally considerable amounts of a girl who was far less of a Lorelei than she immediately let on. For his troubles, Van Loan received an ample sum and an equally bounteous quantity of gratitude for gallantry.
After the lass had left, Van Loan poured himself a double of his very best single malt. He hoisted the weighty Scotch glass in a self-toast:
“To the girl I don’t have to be professional with!”
He proceeded to salve his soul with the honeyed silk of a twelve year old Cardhu.
“Gah, I’m surrounded by ‘Eighties action figures!”
He had to do something about all the senshi costumes that crinkled, ill-fit & flashed cheap fabrics constantly within the sphere of his new existence.
He sought the Lunar leader.
“I’m hanging a tailor’s shingle.”
Tanith Curtis attempted to smooth down an all together too rigid, too shiny and far too plastic looking skirt as she navigated around her cluttered office desk to offer her guest a enthusiastic, firm handshake.
“Real clothes? You don’t know how sick I am of our Hallowe’en wardrobes! What do you need to start?”
“What don’t I need?”
She made a call.
“Bev, can you make a shopping run with...”
“Van Loan,” Van Loan offered.
The voice on the other end of the speaker phone sounded more than a little dubious : “I’m pretty busy down...”
“He’s a dress maker!”
“I’ll be right there!”
That’s how he met the second boss lady, Beverly Hayakawa. A Stellvia & Greenwood shopping excursion commenced : he acquired fabrics from the latter, the tools and resources for jewelry design from the former. Feeling a little giddy at the most that he had ever been in hock at any one time, Van Loan was return moon-shuttled by a
future-wardrobe enthused Hayakawa.
“True tiaras! I can’t wait!”
****
It was with his new found goal and his new found stock that he discovered that there was more to his recent ‘Waviation than just turning blue. On some fundamental level, he fabricated outfits that were well beyond his official ken. Oh, if he concentrated he could make perfectly acceptable outfits ; but if he released his consciousness in favour of...muscle memory? generational genetic recall? voodoo?...he was the Carl Fabergé of costuming!
It was nice when the membership expanded into the realm of the ‘action girl’. Van Loan, now established Fen, Dr. (unofficial) Drakken, welcomed the enrichment of the costuming orders : seifuku & magical girl outfits, while his rye & churned cream, tended to fall within the dual spectrums of repetition & perversion. The one he was finessing now fell well within the gravitation of the far pole of the latter ; but at least by extension of this wanton fabric abandon it was far from a routine build. Holding up the ‘wide belt’ & scant-more-than-pasties top, he informed the outfit, “Your owner is a naughty, naughty girl!”
“Do you always harangue your outfits?” The wry comment originated directly from his six o’clock blind spot.
He jumped, but only a scant three feet : hardly a start at all. “Only the very vulgar variety.” He replied, rapidly re-stuffing his metaphorical heart, and other major & minor organs into his chest cavity.
“yes, it is a filthy, filthy getup : exactly what I ordered!” The über pneumatic satirical sass enthused. (sass: (noun) A brash, bumptious, brazen being) She held it up against the plentitude of her physique. “Umm, how is this supposed to stay...attached?”
Van Loan handed her the complimentary case of spirit gum.
“What’s this?”
Trying his best to remain somewhere within the bounds of professionalism, Van Loan found himself applying considerable amounts of adhesive to equally considerable amounts of a girl who was far less of a Lorelei than she immediately let on. For his troubles, Van Loan received an ample sum and an equally bounteous quantity of gratitude for gallantry.
After the lass had left, Van Loan poured himself a double of his very best single malt. He hoisted the weighty Scotch glass in a self-toast:
“To the girl I don’t have to be professional with!”
He proceeded to salve his soul with the honeyed silk of a twelve year old Cardhu.
