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"Why, of course. Who else might you ask?" said Titus, obligingly, as he walked his sister toward the airlock. They strode arm-in-arm in perfect pace, footfalls syncopating over an eternity of life. The bay door slid open and shut with a soft "hiss, whoosh."
An Arachnid splice waited with an appropriately ostentatious showcase of garments. He bowed deeply to the royal siblings, his many arms and fingers shaking slightly in nervous apprehension. Eight eyes (and several furry fingers) turned anxiously to the showcase, presenting with pride a collection of meticulously embroidered gowns, capes, and robes.
"Only you, brother," said Kalique softly, casting her eyes over the dresses. "You are the only one I could invite to help me choose my wardrobe splices. You have such style. What do you think?"
"You simply must try them all," Titus mused. "See how they feel on your skin." He ran a finger idly up the softness of Kalique's elbow: a benign, unconscious touch, like the brush of fabric.
"I will be grateful for your opinions," Kalique said. She unwound her arm from her brother and ventured into the pattern of display-sims. They were posed like mannequins but they maintained an eerily intelligent, robotic readiness. "I never do know what to seek, with gowns. Your tastes are exquisite. And unique."
"My tastes are yours, for as long as you wish," he said, bestowing on her a charming smile. She returned it gladly, then went to examine the cloth. Kalique ran her hands up seams, inside and out. She checked for anomalies of size and discoloration; patterns and stitching passed under a weather eye.
"These are spun in Kinabulem, aren't they, Mr. Grosgran?" Kalique questioned the Arachnid splice. He chattered an obsequious assent. "It'd be heinously gauche to import, with the markets as they are…"
"He knows nothing of gauche, my dear," Titus interjected, lazily. "They don't understand us. What we like. What we…look for. They aren't like us."
"Oh no, of course, not," Kalique replied. She wrinkled her nose at him. "These splices, why, they're animals. Not even our same species," She spoke in such a delicate hush, a refined purr. Titus treasured these conversations.
"They cannot imagine what it is like to live forever like Gods. To wear clothing for centuries. No one can understand us as we know each other, for we are each others' only true company." Titus took Kalique's hand and pulled her away from a frolicsome cyan gown. "Not that one. Try the silver silk."
"This one? Too many buttons, I think," she pouted.
"Not at all. Unfastening buttons is one of life's great pleasures, sister." He regarded her with a mischievous grin.
"Oh, you," she scoffed. "Now now. Help me."
The Arachnid splice handed Titus the device: a disintegrator, with dials already turned and buttons already punched. Titus flipped the switch and Kalique's raiment melted away, replaced instantaneously by particles of silver silk. Disintegration: the height of propriety and convenience. Titus found it a terribly clinical at times. In his own dressing room, he preferred the human touch whenever possible. Of course, how many could really be counted as human, nowadays?
Titus stared intently, watching every inch of fabric materialize over his sister's figure. The silk was unbearably sheer. "Yes," he murmured, "I do like that very much."
"Do you?" She gave a quick whirl, and the Arachnid splice looked positively relieved. That is, as relieved as a spider-faced person can look. "How about this decolletage? Too revealing?"
"Let me see…" Titus moved across the airlock like tulle in a light breeze--a rustle, a sweep. He came up behind his sister, hands circling her stomach, sliding upward to grasp the seam under her bust. He gave her body a firm squeeze, pulling the fabric tight. "No, just revealing enough."
"Hmmm," Kalique sighed. "Hmmmmm." She was obviously displeased. "I think you're right."
"About the dress?"
"About no one understanding us," she whispered. She rested her head against his shoulder, staring disdainfully at the carefully-arranged sequence of sim-models. "We are so elevated, you and I, aren't we? Tasks like this can be so…isolating." With lilting volume, she called to the designer: "Mr. Grosgran!"
The spider splice jumped to attention, blinking his many eyes. "Mr Grosgran," Kalique said, "I see that you have tried your hardest, but you simply have no understanding of my aesthetic. You are useless to me. I am sorry."
She turned to Titus, then, a devious little smile on her face. "Do you wish to, or shall I…?"
Mr. Grosgran began to protest, wildly, as Titus caught his sister's meaning. His eyes gleamed wickedly. "Be my guest."
Kalique lunged to the great lever on the wall. A glass barricade sealed the airlock and Mr. Grosgran (and several of his subpar dresses) were swept out into space. Kalique watched as the splice flailed, pincers clacking, caught in a silent scream, disappearing into the abyss.
Titus nearly doubled over with laughter. His sister, poised at the lever, was pink with thrill, flushed across her cheeks and bosom. "We'll just have to try another stylist, tomorrow," she gasped.
"But did you see!" Titus smiled. "How delightfully he squirmed."
"Only briefly," she insisted, "I'm certain his death will be very humane."
"Moreso than his dress-making. That cyan bit was a nightmare." Titus held out his hand, and Kalique came to him, allowing him to kiss her wrist. "Of course, it would have suited you, my dear. Your beauty cannot be matched by any dress."
"Liar," she whispered. She knew her brother's observations were flattery--a ploy to exact funds or affection. Yet he was the only one, the only soul who could truly savor the game. The selection of the suitable, the rejection of the unfit; Kalique preferred that these experiences of consumption remain playfully uncomplicated by ambivalence or responsibility. And when Kalique thought of playfully uncomplicated, she knew just who to call upon…
Why, who else should a girl take shopping?