The Seer

by MacArran, Ariel

  “Oh,” the saleswoman cooed, gathering Arissa’s hair and twisting it in her fingers. “With your hair up to show your neck. Oh, isn’t that lovely?”

  “I’m not sure this is . . . it’s a little much for me to carry off.”

  “You know, there are excellent salons onboard,” the woman said smoothing Arissa’s hair back down and pretending to be absorbed with the beaded detail on the skirt. “Maybe a haircut, perhaps some new cosmetics? A little eyebrow shaping to bring your eyes out?”

  Arissa’s face went hot. Her mother had always cut her hair but it had been nearly nine months since the last time and her curls had gone shaggy. She didn’t even own cosmetics and had never worn anything besides a little tinted lip balm.

  Her whole life had been about hiding. Enhancing her appearance and trying to be attractive would have just made it harder to stay invisible.

  Arissa’s mind went to all those holodramas she’d watched, the clothes, the make-up, how she’d longed to be like other girls while she was growing up.

  Tears stung her eyes. “I’d like to. I mean, I always wanted to be pretty.”

  The woman met her eyes in the reflection, a tiny frown touching her brow. “You are pretty and with just a little effort, you could be beautiful.”

  Jolar’s blue eyes flashed in her mind and Arissa blinked the tears away. She reached out to find him growing ever more impatient in the little sitting area outside the boutique’s dressing room.

  Arissa swallowed. “Would you—I mean, I don’t even know what to ask for—”

  The woman gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’ll make an appointment for you, shall I? I know one of the ladies just adores this sort of thing, she’ll take you in hand.”

  She didn’t have any money of her own so she’d have to ask Jolar but—

  “Okay. Yes, please.”

  “I’ll take care of everything. Your husband asked especially to see this one. Are you ready?”

  Arissa took one more look at her reflection. She regarded her skinny, pale arms, the bones of her chest showing, her now tiny breasts half revealed by the plunging gown and tried not to groan.

  Jolar had to be nearly ready to quit. They’d been here for almost two hours now working their way through dresses and tunics and pants for casual day things and now eveningwear.

  And it might have even been fun if Jolar didn’t insist on seeing everything on her. The saleswoman selected clothes and Arissa put them on to show Jolar who would glance up from his datapad and gave her a quick once over. Usually he gave a short nod of approval but a handful of times his eyes widened and she caught a sense of— not admiration, exactly, but appreciation?—before he tamped it down. Sometimes he would frown and demand to know if she liked what she were wearing—which even a non-telepath would be able to tell plainly meant that he did not like it at all.

  Still, considering how high the pile of ones he liked was growing, and the prices, Arissa was beginning to feel very much they were now wasting the saleswoman’s time. They couldn’t possibly buy all the ones he’d picked already.

  The saleswoman led the way and Arissa dragged her feet.

  Jolar’s head came up.

  “What do you think?” the woman asked brightly. “The silver color is absolutely lovely against her dark hair.”

  Arissa felt the blush go across her chest and up her neck under his hot stare.

  “It’s too long,” Arissa mumbled, more than ready to escape back into the dressing room and away from those piercing blue eyes.

  “Well, you’ll need heels to wear with it, my dear.” The woman laughed lightly. “And proper underthings of course.”

  Jolar’s looked back at his datapad. “No.”

  The dismissal was so abrupt, so sharp that Arissa blinked.

  “Oh,” the woman said. “Is it the color? There’s one more of this design in the black but it would need to be altered to fit—”

  “I said no,” Jolar snapped, not looking up. “I’m sure you can find something that won’t have every man on this ship ready to fight over her.”

  Arissa frowned. She could barely parse the jumble of generosity and tenderness, irritation and eagerness—the mix of emotions came off Jolar in waves.

  Arissa felt the saleswoman bite back her anger. “Of course,” she murmured.

  Jolar seemed to be growing more agitated by the minute. Of the next six evening dresses she modeled for him, he only liked two.

  He sent her to put the tan clothes back on and she threw a discouraged look at her reflection. After seeing herself in the other outfits, what she was wearing now seemed doubly unflattering.

  “Well,” the saleswoman asked smiling. “What will you be taking?”

  Jolar gestured toward the tall stack of things he’d approved. “Those.”

  “You mean everything?” Arissa wet her lips. “Jolar, really, I don’t need all this.”

  “Don’t you like them?” he asked. “If you don’t—”

  “No, I like them.” How could he even ask? Everything was beautiful.

  He held her gaze for a moment. “Give us a minute,” he said to the saleswoman.

  “Of course,” the woman murmured, gathering a few of the things from the rejected pile and moving to the back of the store.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked when the woman was out of earshot.

  “Did you see the prices on those things? Jolar, it’s too much.”

  He frowned. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

  “Jolar,” she whispered. “One of those dresses costs eleven hundred credits.”

  He folded his arms. “I’m confused. You want the clothes but you’re worried about how much they cost?”

  “That dress costs more than twice as much as you agreed to pay me for five nights,” she hissed. “And it’s just a festering dress!”

  She sensed his inner flinch and he took a quick step back. “Purchase whatever you want with an ID scan, there’s plenty of funds available to you. Go ahead and buy those,” he said with a nod at the clothes. “And buy anything else you want, shoes, nightgowns—whatever you like. Just meet me back at the suite at nineteen hundred hours for dinner. I’ve got to focus on work.”

  It was clear there was no point in arguing with him and he was striding away before she could even try.

  The saleswoman edged closer, reverberating anxiety at the possibility of losing such a huge commission.

  “I guess I’m taking all of it,” Arissa murmured, her stomach tightening as she did a quick mental calculation of the total.

  “Wonderful.” The woman beamed. “We’ll get you all set here and then I’ll make that appointment for you.”

  Arissa eyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror of their suite and tried to calm the flutters in her stomach. Even with no limit to her spending she’d swallowed hard at the salon bill. Still, she couldn’t complain about the results.

  She scarcely recognized herself.

  The facial took the dull look from her skin and left it glowing. Her hair had been trimmed and shaped, the mad curls layered into pretty, glossy black ringlets that framed her face and cascaded over her shoulders and upper back. The woman at the salon was both dismayed that Arissa didn’t know anything about cosmetics and delighted at the opportunity to effect such a transformation. She oversaw the whole process as Arissa’s eyebrows were shaped, her lash line darkened, her naturally thick black but stick straight lashes permanently curled.

  Arissa’s inexperience made the woman press for lasting enhancements. The cheek and lip color as well as the dark lining around her eyes would stay perfectly in place and vibrant for several months then gradually fade. The semi-permanent color that reddened her lips, naturally such a pale color, made her mouth look twice as full. Over it she wore a plain balm to keep her lips soft.

  The full, red mouth made her eyes look more balanced in her face. Now they looked okay instead of big as a frightened sercat’s.

  The wash-away eyelid colors Ari
ssa would change for day or night looks and the woman wrote out detailed directions for her on how to use the shadows. Arissa applied the evening shadow palette with painstaking care, though it still didn’t look perfect. She finally decided on a gown she had chosen herself at another store after Jolar left. It was a deep green with an over layer of semi-transparent material. Sleeves of that same semi-transparent material were slashed from shoulder to wrist but four pieces of horizontal trim held the pieces together – at the bicep, at the elbow, mid-forearm and wrist.

  The effect left her looking like she was showing more skin than she was. The semi-transparent layer over the solid one had the added benefit of filling her body out and made her look a whole lot more like she used to.

  And not scrawny like she was now.

  I’m going to have to leave this bathroom sooner or later.

  Jolar, while not back yet, would soon collect her for dinner.

  The woman at the salon had been delighted with the result of her work. Even the tan clothes that had so washed her out before the cosmetics looked better and Arissa had drawn the eyes of a number of men on her way back here.

  This is ridiculous. I certainly look better than I did. I’ll just open the door and go wait in the living area.

  She squared her shoulders.

  I look okay. I look nice.

  Blue eyes flashed in her mind.

  Jolar was back.

  She anxiously smoothed down a curl and with one final nervous glance at the mirror went out into the living area to meet him.

  His back was to her when she came in, his emotions heavy and troubled. He tossed the datapad onto the couch and ran his hand through his hair.

  “Are you ready for dinner?” he asked absently.

  “I think so.”

  Jolar turned toward her and went very still.

  His sense was as stunned as if she had actually grown those wings after all.

  Arissa felt the blush creeping up her neck as his gaze ran over her. She expected him to say something, a complement maybe or a terse order for her to change, but he didn’t.

  Her cheeks were burning now. She had a sudden fearful thought that with the combination of demi permanent make-up and her own reddening face she must look like she’d come down with a raging case of vermillion fever.

  Maybe I should have worn one of the ones he picked out instead . . .

  She cleared her throat, nervously fingering the skirt of her green gown. “Is it all right?”

  He looked away. “Give me a minute to get ready.”

  “Sure,” Arissa mumbled.

  He was careful not to come close enough to touch her, his emotions like a maelstrom and instinctively she drew inward telepathically. The distance he kept and the speed at which he fled the room actually formed a lump in her throat.

  This was hardly a date but it was the closest she’d ever come to one and Arissa swallowed back disappointed tears.

  He could have said something kind, even if he didn’t mean it.

  She certainly didn’t want to pick up on whatever he was feeling now and distracted herself with the audio system, scrolling through to see the music selections. The whole thing had her wondering what would happen after she helped him with whatever he needed to do. She didn’t even care if it turned out to be illegal although she would prefer it were not immoral. She was very much hoping it didn’t involve hurting anyone.

  But once she helped him and she had that permanent ID, there could be a whole life of possibilities. A career, a home, friends, maybe even someone to share that life with . . .

  “Let’s go.”

  He was dressed in a black shirt, trousers and boots and he’d shaved too. The dark color of his clothes made his light hair more striking but their style was only a little more formal than what he had been wearing earlier.

  Maybe I’m overdressed.

  Jolar looked anywhere but at her and he didn’t stand any closer than necessary even when they were on the crowded lift.

  The lift door opened and she started when he touched the small of her back to urge her out. He sent out prickles of annoyance at her reaction.

  Arissa followed the other passengers to the dining room, her glance darting about to take it all in. A large room, it was already full of diners. The clinking of glasses and the hum over conversation floated over the instrumental music.

  The ceiling above was lit with blue light but as they waited she saw one side change to purple then the color change slowly sweep across the ceiling. A crystalline sculpture in the center of the room kept pace with the color change and the table lights themselves changed.

  “It’s so beautiful!” Arissa exclaimed.

  Jolar shot her a surprised look. “It’s nice,” he allowed.

  A few guests nearby were led by one of the hosts into the dining room. A quick glance showed there was no one else in earshot.

  “Do we just wait here?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “For them to take us to our table,” she said. At his perplexed pulse, she added, “I mean do we go up or what?”

  “We give them our name and then they seat us.”

  “Do we pick where we sit or do they?”

  His brow creased. “They do.”

  “Okay.” The host had come back and timidly Arissa stepped forward.

  The man was already feeling tense and overwhelmed though none of it showed in his expression. “Name?”

  “Arissa.”

  “She’s joking.” Jolar shot her an annoyed look. “The name is Legan.”

  The host gave her an uncertain smile. “Please follow me.”

  Her face was hot with embarrassment but it was a thrill just to be here, to be able to go in, to sit down with all the beautiful artwork and elegantly dressed people around her.

  She smiled at the host when he gave her a menu. She looked around at the other diners, at the décor, at the dresses the other women wore, at how the lights were now a rose pink and changing to red. It was like being in a holodrama.

  Jolar’s bewildered glance followed hers. “What are you looking at?”

  “Everything,” she murmured.

  Their waiter appeared tableside, to fill their glasses with ice water and welcome them. He spoke quickly about the menu’s offerings, describing the chef’s dish in glowing terms before asking for their drink orders.

  The man looked at Arissa expectantly, harried beneath his polite expression.

  “I don’t . . . I want a shooting star!” One of her favorite holo characters growing up always drank them. Arissa had never even tried one. “Do you have those?”

  The waiter nodded, his face emotionless. Arissa wondered what he found so amusing.

  “Two?” he asked Jolar with a raised eyebrow.

  Jolar gave him a narrow look. “Wine. One of the Neman vintages if you’ve got it.”

  “Dry or sweet?”

  “Dry,” Jolar said shortly, his eyes on his menu.

  “Thank you,” Arissa called after the waiter as he hurried away.

  Jolar stared at her, oscillating spikes of annoyance and confusion.

  Arissa ducked her head and scanned the menu. “Everything looks wonderful,” she said shyly. “I don’t even know how to choose.”

  Jolar put his menu down. “The chef’s dish sounds good.”

  “Oh, uh,” Arissa pitched her voice very low. “I wouldn’t.”

  His eyebrows went up, his annoyance rustling. “Why not?”

  “Because our waiter wouldn’t. Like it’s—” She considered, frowning a bit. “Like it’s cobbled together to get rid of something that’s going bad. They’re probably making him suggest it.”

  Jolar’s glance darted about around them.

  “No one’s listening, I che—”

  She broke off at his sharp, warning look.

  The waiter returned with their drinks. Arissa looked at hers for a long moment, enjoying the fizzling pale pink color of it, the pretty, feminine, frosty glass. Sh
e took a sip.

  “Oh,” she breathed at the fruity-sweet, light taste. “It’s wonderful.” She beamed up at the waiter. “Thank you so much!”

  The waiter’s smile was his first genuine one of the evening. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  Jolar lifted his menu again. “Well, I guess I’m skipping the chef’s dish.”

  “Wise,” the waiter said under his breath, placing the wine glass on the table.

  “What would you recommend?” Jolar asked him suddenly. “If you were going to eat here?”

  The waiter hesitated, throwing a glance back where the hosts dawdled.

  “The sular steak or the spring medallions are excellent,” he murmured as he poured the wine.

  Jolar gave her a questioning look.

  “Both sound great,” she agreed. “I’ll take the medallions.”

  “The steak,” Jolar said, handing over his menu. “Done medium well.”

  Jolar took a swallow of his dry wine as the man moved off.

  “Maybe the sweet is better,” Arissa offered.

  “Yeah,” Jolar said, looking into his cup. “I was just thinking the dry is—” He broke off, the knuckles of the hand holding his wine glass suddenly showing white.

  Nipping her lip, Arissa moved aside her cutlery, smoothed the napkin over her lap.

  Jolar put his glass down.

  “How was shopping?” he asked at last.

  “Fine. How did your work go?” she asked as he was putting his napkin on his lap. “Well, maybe after dinner I could help you with whatever you found so frustrating.”

  He went still. “Do you mind letting me be part of this conversation too?” he asked tightly.

  Arissa looked at her clasped hands. “Sorry.”

  Jolar nodded toward her nearly full glass. “Is your drink all right?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s perfect.”

  “But you aren’t drinking it.”

  “I just want to keep it as long as I can.”

  His brow creased. “Why don’t you just order another one?”

  “Can I?”

  He passed his hand over his eyes. Arissa shifted in her seat as the waiter placed the salad course in front of her.