riverviewlogs | [ open ] leave me here a little bit longer

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[ open ] leave me here a little bit longer

who: maia + anyone!
what: open post & catch-all
when: august
where: various places
warnings: will add as needed

[ Maia is not as lost as he was in his first few weeks here; he's gone from gawking at everything in bewilderment to taking in his surroundings in a slightly more dignified manner.

For the last half of August, bolstered by Csevet's arrival and by the friendships he has begun to foster here, Maia sets about trying to follow the advice he'd been given after his anonymous post on the network. He tries to make the most of his freedom, to be spontaneous, follow his whims, educate himself, and try new things. So he can be seen around the city, at the library, at museums, coming into various shops. Maia's abandoned the stuffy robes long ago, but there's still something a little unusual in how he carries himself; a little too straight-backed and formal, even if he has discovered jeans.

He tries new foods, he silently walks through the various temples and places of holy observance to check them out, he even has started to pluck up the courage to ask questions to strangers, when his curiosity about this or that gets to be too much. ]

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[ Maia lifts his eyebrows, a corner of his mouth lifting even though he is trying his hardest not to smile. It is so rare, to hear Csevet admit that he is not skilled at something. Not because Csevet is conceited, but rather, because he's just so damn competent at so very many things. Maia recognizes, though, the unease in his posture, the slight dip to his ears and his tense shoulders. So he leans in, voice all warm and conspiratorial as he admits: ]

No, we are not inclined towards them, either. It was always best to leave those things to Nemeh and just go along with it. But together the two of us can manage, we think. There is a turn of phrase we have heard here. 'Two heads are better than one'.

[ He lets the door fall closed behind them, and then the two of them are ensconced in the air-conditioned quiet of the store. It's mostly empty, which is a good twist of luck. Maia drifts towards one of the racks of clothes near to the window, lifting a hand to idly shift the hangers. Before he starts to consider in earnest, however: ]

Are there... any considerations we should keep in mind? Anything you know you would not like to wear?

[ Before Csevet can even answer, Maia gives his own example, wanting to set his friend at ease, show that he is allowed to set parameters. ]

For instance... we know that it is the custom here, to wear garments with very short-cropped sleeves, or none at all, but we have preferred to stick to longer ones. To- avoid questions.

[ Csevet might not have a head for fashion, but he has a good memory. Maia trusts to that. So he trusts Csevet will understand, when he says that and makes a vague gesture in the air with his scarred arm. No need to say any more than that. Maia's heart is beating a little fast, to mention it so casually, but he trusts that Csevet will not make the moment uncomfortable. ]

[When Maia admits that he, also, is not inclined to fashion or adornments, Csevet's smile widens a little, his cheeks and ears flushing just slightly at the tips. He's polite enough not to mention that he didn't expect Maia to be well-versed in fashion or adornment considering the sheltered nature of his upbringing, but he's sure that that's what Maia means. Despite that, however, it's good to hear that Maia isn't inclined, not just well-versed. It's something they have in common, though Csevet is well-versed but not inclined.

He follows Maia into the store as the door bumps closed behind them, and trails behind his emperor as he goes to the racks of clothes. For a moment, Csevet just looks at them, curious, before he steps forward to look at them a little - brightly coloured shirts with flowers like he's seen outside the walls in the jungle, not at all something he'd wear. Letting go of the fabric, he glances up at Maia as the other young man asks if there's any considerations to be kept in mind, mentions his own preference not to wear short sleeves.

Csevet certainly knows why, he understands, having seen the marks on Maia's arm, having seen the reason why those scars exist, and while he's never found them ugly, he understands why they are something Maia would want to hide. And while Csevet has marks of his own born from moments that he would prefer not to think about, they aren't something he wants to hide, he feels no shame.

For a moment, he feels the intense, gut-wrenching need to help Maia understand that he shouldn't feel any shame for his own marks.]

We understand.

[It's simple, an acknowledgement, before he moves on, changes the subject to something else, so as not to dwell.]

We think we would prefer things not so...bright...as this.

[Smiling a little, slightly crooked, a sort of quiet, tentative joke.]

[ From the sound of that, Csevet isn't going to set down any very serious boundaries he doesn't want to cross. Whether that's because those boundaries don't exist, or because he still is hesitant to speak up... well Maia can only hope.

He turns to see the clothing that has earned that wry little twist of humor in Csevet's voice, and he cannot quite hold back his immediate, soft snort of laughter. It is a very loud piece of clothing, and it doesn't surprise him that Csevet isn't fond of it. The man is a lot of things, but attention-seeking is definitely not one of them. ]

No. We shouldn't think so.

[ It does put the idea into his head to suggest something bright and hideous later, to see if maybe, he might be able to coax a laugh out of Csevet. To be able to do that would feel like quite the accomplishment. ]

But we do hope you'll give a little color a chance. Dyes must be very inexpensive, here, for there are so many colors to be had...

[ Dyes were more varied than they had been in Ethuveraz in times of old, but they could not match the profusion, here. Just another strange result of the advanced technology - progress spreading out in unexpected ways, impacting all facets of life. Maia wondered how many years it might be until they had such dyes in Ethuveraz. If the day would ever come. ]

Personally, we were delighted not to have to wear so much white, for a little while... it doesn't exactly flatter us, but, well...

[ White was the imperial color. Tradition is tradition, and there's no changing it. Even if, for the first time, the emperor himself had a complexion that didn't quite blur into those snow-white garments quite the way previous emperors had.

Lifting a shirt that is a rich, deep blue, Maia holds it up to Csevet, asking: ]

What about this? We think the color might look well. Especially with your eyes.

[ Said without a hint of irony or self-consciousness. Csevet's eyes are a beautiful blue, and surely he must be aware of that? ]

[When Maia looks at the shirt and laughs, a soft little snort that leaves him with a huff of breath, Csevet feels a little thrill of pleasure that leaves his heart fluttering with excitement. To see Maia laugh, in response to his joke, feels good in a way that he can't quite explain, even to himself.

The smile he gives Maia is warm, and he nods a little.]

If you wish it, Maia, we will certainly try.

[Rather than being resigned, something he says just to mollify his Emperor, it's another gentle joke, his eyes are bright, his cheeks pink. Lifting his hand, he pushes his thick braid behind a shoulder, letting it fall down his back to his waist, eyes flicking up to Maia's face.]

We think, Serenity, that there is no colour that wouldn't flatter you.

[And while it could be a joke, could be another gentle tease...it isn't. It's genuine, and spoken as if there's no question, as if it's a commonly known fact, as if it's something no one could deny.

After a moment, he turns his attention to the shirt, and he reaches out to lie his hand against it, brushing fingers against the texture. When Maia mentions his eyes, he blinks, looks up at him.]

We suppose. We have not had much leave to choose the colour of our own clothes to be flattering.

Csevet...

[ Maia can tell there is no unkindness or humor in the remark, but the idea that Csevet might mean it, in all honesty, strikes him as too unlikely to imagine. No, there is a much simpler explanation: Csevet is doing what Csevet does best, and handling an uncomfortable situation with grace and tact. But Maia doesn't wish to be handled. He turns his face from Csevet, feeling a heat on his cheeks as he says, quietly: ]

Please remember that we have told you that you need not treat us as your emperor, here. We would not... we would not have you flatter us with falsehoods. We have no delusions about- about our ugliness.

[ He drapes the blue shirt over his forearm, and keeps looking at the rack of clothes, pushing a few more hangers aside to look at something which is a pale green, the fabric strangely heavy and yet almost liquid in its movements. The neckline is a generous scoop - something that might look odd at court, but which Maia thinks might flatter Csevet's pale neck. He did, now that Maia thinks of it, have a lovely neck. Why not show it off a little? Surely, there might be some men in this place, that Csevet might take interest in, who would appreciate...

He stops his thoughts there. ]

[For a moment, when Maia gently chastises him, reminds him that he asked him not to treat him as an emperor, that he wants no flattery or falsehoods, Csevet is genuinely confused. His head turns abruptly, his brows furrowed with confusion, and he blinks slightly at Maia, tilting his head. It makes sense, suddenly, when Maia says he has no delusions about his ugliness, and in spite of himself, Csevet makes a noise that's somewhere between disbelief and disgust, somewhere in his throat.]

Serenity! [A pause, and then he exhales.] Maia. We are not given to flattery with falsehoods. We had thought that surely you must know this about our nature?

[Turning a bit, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against the fabric of Maia's shirt, at the shoulder, his eyes on Maia's face.]

Maia, there is nothing ugly about you.

[It's genuine. Csevet is not entirely given to speaking his mind either, but here, away from the Utheileneise Court, having been here for nearly a month, Csevet feels slightly safer in expressing himself, in speaking openly, for there is no one here to overhear and take things the wrong way, to make things awkward for either of them, to sully the emperor's name by spreading rumours about dalliances with his staff that aren't even true.

But there is only so much of himself he can expose at once, and so he turns his attention to the pale green shirt that Maia is looking at.]

You think we could wear this without looking ridiculous?

[ Maia looks up at Csevet, then, face full of quiet disbelief and, a moment later, confusion. Of course, Maia has thought often how impossible it is to know another person, to be sure of them and the true inner workings of their mind and heart. But if there is anyone he knows, anyone he trusts, it is Csevet. There is no hint of mockery or strain in his face or voice. That sound he had made had been wordless, but genuine, and eloquent.

So Csevet does not believe he is ugly. He does not merely ignore Maia's ugliness as immaterial to his ability to be a just and good emperor, but he doesn't believe he is ugly in the first place. Maia hooks the pale green shirt over the rack, hardly noticing the way his hands draw together, wringing, twisting his signet ring in discomfort. He would have thought he would be happy at this moment - but the feeling in his chest is far more complicated than that. He doesn't want to trust to something so far-fetched. So, voice small, he merely says: ]

Oh. I see.

[ He can feel Csevet's eyes on him, watching him, and his stomach twists. It must be that Csevet has some philosophical objection to the concept of ugliness itself; that he would declare no one ugly. Yes, that must be it.

That thought stabilizes Maia a little, grounds him, enough for him to lift the green shirt once more and suggest: ]

We are not sure, but there are rooms intended for changing, so that you may see how the clothes look on you before you buy them. Perhaps we should cast a wide net, and gather quite a few options, and then you may try them one by one. That is how we found the clothes we're wearing presently.

[Maia may not notice the way his hands draw together, the way they wring, the way he twists his signet about his finger, but Csevet does. He watches the way the discomfort and awkwardness change Maia's body language, as he ponders what Csevet has said, and something inside him aches at the thought of how ugly the Emperor must find himself if being told he is not causes such discomfort, such distress. But all Maia says to him is 'oh, I see' in a sort of flat tone, his voice small and subdued, and Csevet's heart hurts all the more.

But what can he say? Repeating himself will only wound Maia further, and he has no way to force him to feel as Csevet does, to believe that he is the furthest thing from ugly, in body or in soul.

Instead, Csevet does as Maia asks, he nods and looks through the racks of clothing as Maia explains that there are rooms intended for trying on clothing before buying, and suggests they cast a wide net. Making a noise of agreement, he slides the hangers along the poles of the rack, eyes flicking up to meet Maia's across the top of the rack.]

The clothes you've found certainly flatter you, and so we believe that your choices may flatter us as well. We should like to try on that shirt, and perhaps....

[Delicately, he pulls out a grey-green shirt, something like a tunic, a little longer than the others, just long enough for the hem to rest across his thighs, bearing a delicate leaf-like pattern woven into the fabric.]

This one?

[ Maia feels that remark as a faint pressure, a gentle insistence reinforcing what Csevet had already said about his clothing, and his looks. However, he knows better than to dispute it, or even make any acknowledgement of it. Instead he keeps his mind strictly focused on the task of finding Csevet clothes. ]

Yes, we think so. And this.

[ The two of them together fall into a kind of companionable quiet as they move through the large store. Every now and then Csevet will lift a garment with a quick question or raised brow, and Maia will nod or shake his head. Maia also picks a few things - some pants with an unusual cut he'd never seen in Ethuveraz, an array of shirts in subdued blues and greens and greys and even a lovely lavender.

Once their arms are full, the two of them make their way to the changing rooms. Maia laughs as he almost drops his whole armful of clothes while hanging them up, but he manages to salvage the situation at the last moment, and then he says. ]

There are chairs out here. We will wait for you. And- and we suppose if there are any items you are unsure of, you need only call out or come to us and we will be happy to weigh in.

[Csevet is aware that his words hold a certain amount of...pressure, of insistence, and he is equally aware that Maia isn't engaging, isn't agreeing but isn't disagreeing either. Letting it go, gently, Csevet moves on from the topic but hopes, somewhere deep inside of himself that Maia thinks about what he's said, that he lets it sit in his mind, even at the back of it, and dispel some of that confidence in his own ugliness. Hopes that his words mean that much to Maia.

Quietly, the two of them pick through the store, finding items that might look good on Csevet, and he slowly adjusts to the feeling of it, the quiet companiable feeling as they do something that's more in the league of friends than Emperor and Secretary. When they've both got arms full of clothing and Maia is laughing again, almost dropping his, Csevet feels some of the pressure and awkwardness fall out of the trip, and smiles in return, helping to hang all the clothing up in the room.]

We would be pleased to have your input, Serenity.

[His eyes are bright, and he slips into the room, closing the door. Sifting through the clothing, he hesitates for just a moment before picking out that scoop-neck shirt Maia had first chosen for him, then the pair of strangely-cut pants. Sliding into them, he takes a breath, looks at himself in the mirror - the low and wide neckline of the shirt exposes much more of his neck and collarbones than he's used to showing off. Taking a deep breath, he opens the door and steps out, slightly hesitant but still as graceful as he can be, lifting a hand to pull his braid from his shoulder so it lies heavy against his back. Barefoot and feeling somewhat exposed, he looks at Maia with a question written between his brows.]

Maia?

[ There were many things that were hard about being emperor. The complication of it all. The constant monitoring. The lack of freedom. The very real possibility that his own ignorance might lead others to suffer.

Something he never would have anticipated, though, was how hard it would be to reign in his own fondness for others. The need to moderate his praise and affection, when possible, to prevent embarrassment and confusion on the part of his household.

He'd never had the occasion - the opportunity - to really look at Csevet before and consider how he is dressed and how the clothes enhance or detract from his beauty. Now that he is, though... Maia feels an unexpected but unmistakable revelation. Csevet is, without question, beautiful. Not only for his wit and competence and loyalty. He is, on a purely physical level, charming in every possible way. And these clothes seem to highlight the best aspects of his colouring, his build, the slim grace of his limbs. ]

You look-

[ He falters, doesn't even find the right words, but it is clear from his smile and bright eyes that they would be complimentary ones. ]

You must get both. They're gorgeous on you. See?

[ And he reaches out, taking Csevet's elbow very lightly and leading him over to a niche with an array of mirrors. The pants, though they might look odd or frumpy on another, seem elegant and a bit alien on Csevet. He is, to use a phrase Maia had heard once or twice here, 'making them work'. And the shirt itself... well, Maia had never actually seen Csevet's collarbones before, but there is no denying that when they are visible, they add greatly to his fine-boned, delicate beauty. ]

We- we will of course understand if you wish for neither, but if they are comfortable... well, it is our opinion that, well, that is to say- should you seek out companionship while you are here, such an outfit cannot but aid in that.

[For a few moments that feel very long, Csevet stands in the door to the changing room, his heart beating hard, his eyes on Maia as the younger man looks at him. It's as if he can feel Maia's eyes on him, as if his gaze were a physical thing, and by the time Maia is exclaiming that he looks...that he looks...

For a moment, he holds his breath, while Maia's eyes go bright and he smiles at him, saying that he must get them, that they're gorgeous on him. While Maia takes hold of his elbow and gently guides him over toward the mirrors, Csevet's ears and cheeks slowly go red, the rosy flush of it moving down his exposed throat and to his chest.]

We...we suppose that they are somewhat flattering...

[Glancing over at Maia again, his cheeks still red, he exhales and lifts a hand, trailing it across his chest while he looks in the mirror. It isn't as if Csevet is unaware of his own appealing traits, physically speaking, but it had simply never occurred to him that someone like Maia might see them as well. And then Maia is going on to say that if Csevet is seeking companionship in this place, that this outfit would help with such things. His ears go a shade redder at that, and he ducks his head a little, unable to look at Maia or meet his eyes, even in the mirror.]

Serenity, we...

[He isn't sure how to finish the sentence. The truth is, there's some measure of excitement about the possibility of finding companionship, someone attractive who finds him attractive in turn, but to hear Maia encourage it...

The emotion is complicated, a twist of pleasure at the idea of Maia thinking him attractive enough to find such companionship and unhappiness tinged with longing at-

Csevet cuts off the thought process there, refusing to acknowledge it even in his own mind, refusing to put words to it. His stomach feels twisted in knots as he lifts his head and meets Maia's eyes through the mirror.]

We will purchase them then.

[A pause, and he smiles slightly, takes a breath, and lets go of that complicated twist of emotion.]

We admit to being interested in the idea of finding some sort of companionship.

[ Maia worries for a moment that, in his excitement at being able to speak more freely here, that he'd gone too far. Csevet's fair complexion betrays him, so there's no question that his words had provoked some kind of reaction. But is the flush happiness? Embarrassment? Discomfort? Carefully, Maia watches for signs that Csevet is trying to fight down unease, but he doesn't seem tense. Of course, he cannot be certain, but he thinks mere embarrassment is the likely cause.

Too often, he has been the one who was embarrassed, and Csevet the one providing gentle assurances. Maia wishes he had his secretary's skill for it. He meets Csevet's small smile with one of his own. ]

If our praise causes any distress, please forgive us. We merely... wished to speak honestly.

[ Maia feels a strange twinge of envy when Csevet says he does want to look for companionship here. It is wrong of him, and he knows it, but the feeling is there nonetheless. He would never let Csevet see a trace of it; Maia dismisses it as he does his moments of unjust anger, his little petty urges and bitter thoughts. He cannot plant such thoughts, allow them to grow. He cares for Csevet deeply, and should want what will make him happiest. Even if the thought of Csevet, tucked away with some man, whispering in his ear and kissing him, makes Maia's blood feel cold with a sudden loneliness. ]

In that case, we are sure you shall have no difficulty in doing so. The question merely is whether anyone in this place can come close to deserving you.

[ Maia is more than certain that none of them will, but that's neither here nor there. ]

Try one of the other shirts? If you drape this one over the door, we will take it and keep it aside for you.

[When Maia apologizes in case his praise has caused distress, Csevet shakes his head, glancing up at him again.]

We apologize, Serenity. It was not distress, but pleasure at your words. We...we know that you are not given to flattery with falsehood any more than we are, but your words are far too kind.

[Ducking his head a little, Csevet smiles a genuine smile that only fades slightly when Maia says that he will have no difficulty in finding companionship, that strange complicated bittersweet feeling welling up again in him, particularly when Maia suggests that he thinks few men here might deserve him. For a moment, Csevet feels petulant, and then he lets go of the feeling, ducking his head in agreement and slipping back into the changing room.

Once inside, he slips the shirt off and drapes it over the door, pausing only then to give himself a moment of shameful childishness, to allow himself to feel the discontent and longing, even if he still won't allow himself to think the words that accompany that emotion. Making a face at himself in the mirror, he sighs and then scoops out one of the other shirts, a long knit thing that comes almost to his knees, and which he's somewhat uncertain of. It clings close to his torso, but has a more concealing neckline than the first shirt he'd tried, with slits at the side up to his hip for easy movement.

Slipping out of the dressing room, he slides his hands down the front of it, one brow raised.]

And this one, Maia?

[ Maia wonders - because that is just the way his mind works - what he would be thinking in this moment if he had not had that conversation with Csevet, the day he and his friend were reunited. In a way, that conversation had forced Maia to acknowledge some things that had been buried in his own mind. If he had not admitted to being interested in men, hadn't put words to it in a way that had shifted his view of himself, would he be reacting the same way he is now?

Because when Csevet walks out wearing that knit shirt, Maia's first response, as involuntary and inexorable as a reflex, is to think that he looks incredibly attractive in it.

There's no way of saying whether he would still be in denial or not, if Csevet hadn't gently nudged him towards self-knowledge and self-acceptance. Imagining one way or another does not change the urgent and unignorable fact that Csevet is standing there waiting for his response and Maia is just staring, mouth slightly open. He realizes a moment too late how rude that must be, and closes his mouth. The heat on his cheeks is terrible, but at least his complexion won't show his embarrassment. ]

We- we think it even more suitable than the first.

[ It's not just the shirt, though. Those same clothes on another might look silly, or strange. It's Csevet's body and the way he moves, and his hair and neck and face and way of holding himself, way of smiling somehow with only his eyes. Maia swallows, feels a moment of sheer panic, before he shoves all those thoughts down, because he can't sit here thinking about how attractive Csevet is. He just- can't. It's disrespectful, and the last thing Maia wants to do in the world is to disrespect Csevet. ]

It- it will prove useful, too, when the weather turns colder, for we have heard that it is not always this warm here.

[It simply does not occur to Csevet to wonder in what way or whether Maia finds him attractive - it seems impossible that someone like Maia would find him attractive in any way beyond casually, or considering whether others might be fit to be his companion. Csevet is good at reading expression and body language, it's part of why he's so good at containing his own, but he can't quite find it in himself to acknowledge what might be behind the way Maia looks at him, lips parted and pale grey eyes slightly wide, when he comes out of the dressing room.

A little self-consciously, he brushes fingers down the front and sides of the knit shirt, over the lines of his body, eyes on Maia's face, and when his Emperor says that he finds it even more suitable than the first, he smiles slightly. The smile may be small, but Csevet's ears and throat go a little pink, and he ducks his head.]

You are far too kind, Maia.

[It's genuine, because part of him can't let go of the concept of Maia being the Emperor, and therefore better than him. Perhaps it's difficult to let go because, even were he not the Emperor, Csevet may feel that Maia was better than him, simply by merit of how good a person he is.]

We have also heard that the weather turns much cooler during the winter months here. It is part of why we thought to get this top, for even now it is sometimes cool in the evenings.

[For a moment, he's quiet, holds his breath, and then exhales.]

Perhaps another?

Yes. Another.

[ They go on in that manner for a little while; Csevet trying on clothing items, asking Maia for his thoughts. A few they both reject. A few more, Maia approves of, though after his initial fluster he manages to keep himself under better control. Which is good. Csevet is his loyal friend, who trusts him, and deserves better.

Once they've found everything Csevet will need to build himself a new wardrobe - even a few pairs of shoes - Maia suggests that perhaps, they might reverse roles, and Csevet might help him to find a few things for himself. He insists that he has a few outfits already, but (as Csevet has doubtless noticed in the time since he arrived) they are fairly plain. Maia had figured out long-sleeve button-down shirts, and that's pretty much all he's got. It had been a kind of antidote, after all the elaborate and luxurious robes he had had to wear as emperor. It's only now that he's been here a while that he is starting to think perhaps he might want a little bit of variety.

He tucks himself away in that same changing room, with a dozen or so items that Csevet had darted around and collected for him. Maia spends a great deal of time fussing, though the checked shirt, denim jacket, and denim pants were all easy and quick to put on. He keeps looking at himself in the small mirror in the changing room, wondering if he should take it all off and abandon it before even giving Csevet a chance to comment. Through the door he says: ]

Csevet... we implore you to be honest with us. Even if that requires you to be a little rude.

[ And Maia slips out the door, looking sheepish and uncertain. ]

[It's almost something of a relief when they are finally finished choosing the items for Csevet's new wardrobe and the attention is off of him. Of course, though, that means the attention shifts to Maia, which may be better for Csevet, but which he understands will likely be uncomfortable for Maia, who rarely enjoys having people's attention focused on himself.

Csevet makes quick work of the store, having already noted a variety of things he thinks would be flattering on Maia - a dark blue long-sleeved knit shirt, a denim jacket, a shirt with a checked pattern, another with shoulders a different colour than the body. Now that it's his turn to wait outside the room, it seems to drag on forever, the wait. His eyes stay on the door until Maia speaks, his voice soft and hesitant, asking him to be honest even if it means being rude.]

Of course, Serenity, though we are sure that you will be much flattered by whatever it is you've tried on.

[And then Maia is slipping out of the room, looking uncertain and a little shy, and Csevet looks him up and down, his eyes skimming the length of Maia's body. With his hair braided to the side and the shirt that sits a little closer to his body under the jacket, Maia looks casual and comfortable and lovely.]

Oh...Maia, you look...

[His voice trails off, he feels slightly breathless for a moment, his eyes bright, cheeks red.]

You look very good.

[ Maia notes the flush on Csevet's cheeks - how could he miss it - but easily categorizes it as feeling a bit proud at picking an outfit that worked so well. A little hesitantly, Maia glances at his own reflection in those large mirrors. There is no denying that (no thanks, he thinks, to any virtue of his own) the outfit is a good one. It is modest and comfortable enough, and yet will blend in with the other people here far more effectively than many of the other clothes he had found on his own. ]

You do not think it is-

[ He struggles for a moment, searching for the right words to express his faint unease with the outfit. It is not the price of it, or the feel of it, or even the look of the clothes themselves. Still, something is holding him back, and after a moment or two of hesitating, he asks: ]

- think it is as if we are some kind of imposter, attempting to appear something we are not?

[ How many times had he felt that way, in all his robes and brocaded silks and jewels, as the emperor. But that, at least, was a matter of law. Unfit as he might have been in many ways, he was emperor, by blood and by rites. This, though... this act of choosing himself clothes that in some way will represent him, and the person he is, to others... it's daunting. He's never had much room, to choose the person he wants to be. The freedom is exciting, but also, makes him nervous. ]

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