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“Yellow?” Sister asks, and can't help her flicker of wariness, even though she can't even imagine that could be some kind of cruel joke. Not from a Jedi. Not from this Jedi especially. “Is that—I don’t know that that’s my color.”
Just being out of armor is strange enough. Having to think about what suits her, what’s meant for her, is entirely bewildering when that thing isn't mass-produced and perfectly identical to what her brothers wear.
Stass blinks, like she hadn’t even considered that, and glances back at the dress in her closet. “Is it yellow?” she asks, bemused, though her smile invites Sister to laugh at her. “Tholothians don’t see colors on the same spectrum as Humans. I suppose I hadn’t considered that. I just thought the cut would be flattering.”
Oh, Sister thinks, and has to laugh at herself. she reaches out, lightly brushing the cloth, and—it’s soft. She knew it would be, but she didn’t expect the way the fabric slides smooth and quick across her calluses. “Soft yellow,” she says. “Like sunlight.”
It’s pretty. It’s very pretty, and nicer than anything she saw in shop windows while wandering through Coruscant's lower levels, overwhelmed and dizzy with all the choices. Commander Neyo, always a little intimidating, had found her just as she was about to give up entirely on her quest to find an actual dress for herself, and even though she’d expected him to snap and snarl, he’d instead dragged her straight to Stass.
“Would you like to try it on?” Stass offers, smiling, and her voice is just as soft as the dress, warm all the way through in a way that makes Sister’s stomach knot a little.
She’s not going to flush just because Stass is pretty, she tells herself firmly, even though it’s probably already much too late for that. “Are you sure?” she asks. “It’s so pretty, don’t you want to keep it?”
She wants a dress of her own, because she’s always wanted one, has pictures of the prettiest ones she’s seen squirreled away on a pad in her bunk. The backpay for the GAR is still coming in installments, though, and it’s been frustrating trying to set enough aside. Stass's offer gave her a jolt of hope, but—
It’s all just new still, having her own clothes, her own permanent bunk, her own credits and her own life. Not being pressed up against almost a billion other bodies that she’s just a little too different from for comfort, has never quite fit with even if she knows her brothers all love her fiercely.
“I don’t wear anything but my Jedi robes, so it’s wasted on me,” Stass says easily, and pulls the hangar out of her closet, hooking it over the door before she leans in. “Adi and I have family on Coruscant, though, and I think they keep hoping we’ll leave the Temple and become diplomats like they are, so they try to tempt us out with pretty things. I’ve been keeping them because I have no idea what else to do with them, so hearing that you were looking for a nice dress was perfect.”
The next one she pulls out is more lace and tuille than solid fabric, a vivid and almost eye-watering pink, and Sister can't help her burst of laughter at the thought of someone as practical and no-nonsense as Stass ever wearing it. She slaps a hand up to contain her giggles, not wanting to offend, but Stass just pulls a face.
“Are you sure I can't pass this one off to you?” she asks, holding it out like it’s a threat.
Sister laughs, dropping her hands and taking it. “This definitely isn't my color,” she says. “I don’t think it’s anyone’s color, honestly.”
Stass laughs too, and the brush of her hands as she takes the gown back makes Sister’s cheeks heat. “Probably not even Senator Organa could pull it off,” she says, and drops it on the bed before leaning back into her closet and shoving several sets of robes out of the way. “This one?”
“Not blue,” Sister says, a little too quick. Blue is an armor color to her, and she doesn’t mind it, but—it’s not something she wants on her civilian clothes, if she has a choice.
“Hmm, then not this one, either.” Stass brushes past another without any apparent offense, then pauses. After a second, she smiles and draws something out of the very back, then holds it up. “Yellow again, but—Adi is actually the one who gave this to me, though I've never worn it. I think it would suit you.”
It’s a lot simpler than the other yellow one, and Sister takes the hangar carefully, runs her fingers over it. It’s silky across her skin, like nothing she’s ever felt before. The sleeves are gauzy, wide until they gather at the cuffs, and the skirt is shorter than anything she’s worn before, but—
It’s beautiful. It’s one of the most beautiful dresses she’s seen.
“I—you don’t mind if I try it on?” Sister asks.
Stass smiles, shaking her head. “Of course not. You can have any of these you want, or even all of them if you want to switch bits out and try to sew your own.” She steps closer, touching the back of the dress, and tips her head, her tendrils sliding across the shoulders of her robe. “The laces make this one a little complicated to get into, so I might have to help there, if you don’t mind some assistance. Or I might have a simpler one somewhere, though not in this color.”
“I like this one, and I don’t mind,” Sister says, though her cheeks feel a little hotter than they should. Stass has always been as intimidating as Neyo, though in an entirely different way, and the way she steps close makes Sister’s heart race.
That’s unfamiliar, too. Even on leave, the number of women who ended up near Sister’s squad were limited, and she’s always known that she was a woman, but—talking to them feels like it has a learning curve.
“Good,” Stass says, and it’s a little bit softer. She reaches up, touching Sister’s knuckles lightly, and gives her a soft smile. “I'm so glad you agreed to this, Sister. Your hair is always so beautiful—I love the way you braid it, and I was hoping you would show me.”
Sister’s heart flips at the compliment, and she can't help but smile, so bright her cheeks ache just a little. “In exchange for the dress,” she offers, and—it’s a bold thing to do, but she turns her hand, brushes Stass's fingertips—
Stass catches them, squeezes as she takes a half-step closer. “A deal,” she says, soft. “After you try it on, would you like to join me for lunch in the garden? I know a quiet place that looks out over the canals, if you want.”
A date, Sister thinks. And…even if Stass doesn’t mean it that way, that’s what it feels like. She takes a breath, then says, “I—you’ll definitely have to help me with the laces, or we won't get there until dinner.”
Stass laughs, and it feels like a victory, bright and thrilling. “I wouldn’t complain about dinner with you, either,” she says, and when Sister leans in, not able to help herself, Stass's long, beautiful dark fingers come up to cup her cheek, and she doesn’t hesitate to lean back.
She definitely means it as a date, Sister thinks like a revelation, a knot of golden heat in her stomach, and kisses Stass again.