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He’s got on a long green tunic, slit way up the side to show his leg, having tried on a silver suit, neon blue booty shorts and a tank top, and some sort of orange singlet. The tunic goes with the giant pink and white fur coat, he says, in case the night air gets a little chilly. No jewelry, except the usual rings and dangles on his ears: apparently bangles would clash with the coat, and he doesn’t have the right necklace for the line of the tunic.
He’s twisting and turning in front of the mirror, holding his hair up and then letting it down, frowning at his reflection.
“What do you say, Maggie? Up or down? Serious philosoph or approachable inspiration?”
Neither way that he’s got his hair says any of that to Magnus; then again, this isn’t exactly his area of expertise. But he does know some of what he likes .
“Braids? Does that split the difference?” He’s got a soft spot for the somewhat traditional look, not that he’d ever express it quite like that, certainly not directly to Taako.
“Indeed it does, m’dude. Down and flowing, with the going your own way vibe, but a touch of sternness getting the hair out of the face. I think you nailed it, bubbeleh.” He deposits a tiny kiss on Magnus’ cheek. “But, ugh, Lup is with Barrold, and it’s so awkward interrupting music nerd time.”
“Can I do your hair? I’ve been watching and I think I’ve got the hang of it.”
“My man, if you pull out a single hair the night before my big triumph I will wreck all your shit.”
“I can be careful.”
Taako looks at his hands, covered in little nicks from all of his carving work.
“Hmph. We’ll see.” But he settles himself down on the chair and flicks his head so that all of his hair cascades down his back.
Magnus hums to himself as he plaits Taako's flyaway hair into thin braids. It's a folk song that was popular in his hometown when he was a kid, and it's still comforting, something that helps him focus on this very detailed task.
He's almost done when he hears a second voice humming along, not Taako but Lucretia, standing in the doorway watching him work.
“Looks nice. Night on the town?”
“His cult is throwing a party before tomorrow's thing,” says Magnus.
“They're not a cult,” says Taako. “They're just an elite group of very smart folks who have picked up what cha’boy is throwing down. And yes, we're having a party.”
“Doesn't that seem premature?”
“If the accumulated aphorisms of forty-some worlds isn't enough for this Mountain …” Taako just shrugs.
“Hold still,” says Magnus. “I'm not quite done.” He ties up the last ends and steps back. Taako tilts his head, makes a face in the mirror, and nods.
“That'll do.” He spins to face Magnus and Lucretia, both essentially in their old IPRE uniforms. “This, on the other hand, will not. Matching khakis? You look even more vanilla than you actually are.” Magnus blushes; Lucretia rolls her eyes. Taako murmurs a couple of spells as his fingertips skim the collar of Magnus’ beat-up old jacket: Prestidigitation, and it was clean; Mending, and it looked as new as the day they stood in front of a crowd of reporters in their home world. “Lucky for you, my dude, those pants do wonders for your ass. I declare you presentable. Come with me, Creesh.”
Lucretia follows as he dives into the tangle that passes for a closet; it might in all honesty be a portal to a pocket dimension entirely composed of clothing. His eyes flicker to Magnus and his face takes on a wickedly conspiratorial look, and at the same instant a dress floats in front of them: red, open from neck to navel, with lacing criss-crossing the front, and a hemline that if she was lucky would leave her barely decent to leave the room. Magnus’ eyes are the size of dinner plates.
“No. Nope. Not even.” She crosses her arms. “That’s not even a dress.”
“It’s supposed to be that short. We’ll look fabulous together.” He leans against her conspiratorially, murmuring into her ear, “And think of the boy….”
She shakes her head, although she’s smiling just a bit.
“Try again.”
He disappears again, then emerges with surprisingly-ordinary-looking flowy dark blue pants, although with a needlessly complicated belt/chain assembly, and a matching long vest...and something that might be a top, or possibly a scarf, in pale blue.
“You’ll need to try this one on,” he says. “You might not be twenty forever; you should show it off.” She shimmies out of her very comfortable clothes and into this ridiculous outfit: which as it turns out is also very comfortable. Even if it also exposes most of her torso.
“You should wear that, Luce,” says Magnus. It’s not as overwhelmingly exposing as the dress, but she looks confident, like she won’t be hiding under a cloak or behind a wall all night. He puts a hand around her waist and she takes a sharp breath; he wraps the other arm around Taako, who leans into him, although not after flinging the braids to one side so they don’t get mussed.
“See, now we have an aesthetic . What would you chucklefucks do without me, anyway?”