Dressed for the Occasion

Posted on Fri Sep 23rd, 2022 @ 6:52pm by Oliver Lucas & Evelyn Reynolds

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: Hysperian market
Timeline: MD-02
3006 words - 6 OF Standard Post Measure

The moment the sunshine hit her face, Evelyn wondered why she'd waited so long for this visit. Not that her reservations were much of a mystery; aside from Freecloud, the last terrestrial location she'd spent any time on had lead to an incident that half of Starfleet wanted to deny had even happened. The sensation of being compelled to look over her shoulder constantly, to see ulterior motives in the casual glances of every passerby, did not lend itself towards relaxation nor recuperation but for that brief moment, waiting by the disembarkation point, being able to breath fresh air and experience the tickle of a light breeze brought back pleasant memories. The sound of music in the distance, and the general hubbub of voices and activity, made her feel less secure but she was curious too. Apparently the market was diverse and plentiful, and the preparation for the imminent start to the festival had already drawn in a number of the Mary Rose's crew. Excitement, as they said, was infectious and though Evie carried enough hesitation to act as partial immunity, she was still curious. It wasn't as if she couldn't leave if it got too much.

Alongside her, Oliver initially shielded himself from the sun. He'd not experienced much of life on a planet with a sun in his life post-teenage years. In some ways it was more uncomfortable to be on 'terra firma' compared to being on a ship or station. He shrank away just slightly, almost closer to the comfort having Evelyn there provided. Like a blanket. Especially in the flowing gown she was wearing. By comparison, his very simple grey-and-brown garb was neither flattering nor noticeable.

"I've never been to a festival before," he admitted. "I hear there's food? Would that be a good place to start?"

"It's supposedly reminiscent of the old Renaissance fair from back home," Evelyn mused, as much a student of history as she was of science. Such was the lot of a scholar's daughter. "According to our...friends...," she craned her head back towards the costuming tent that had pitched itself so closely to the arrival point that visitors had virtually no opportunity to avoid it, "the official opening hasn't occurred yet." Returning her attention to the distant rows of stalls and street performers, Evelyn pushed aside a small measure of self-consciousness regarding her sense of being over-dressed and drew in a deep, resigned breath. She understood enough to know that they would like blend in far better dressed like this, but she had not expected to contend with a trail of material and a square neckline that would lead to unfortunate sunburn if she wasn't careful.

It was an excuse to wear her hair loose, at least. Psychologically, that felt like a relief.

She was without her cane, at least, having decided to risk a slow amble as part of a necessary push to improve her stamina and correct her posture. With both hands free, Evie hitched up her skirts just a tad and took a step sideways down the handful of steps to the next level and onto the pathway that would take them through to the main street. "Let's check out our options first."

"All right." He was completely following her lead for the moment, which was, as ever, a comfortable place for him to be in. Maneuvering to avoid treading on her trail of clothing, he found himself trying to take in the sights while not losing the protective aura Evelyn seemed to project. "Someone said there were games, too. And shows. Feels a little overwhelming, to be honest..."

Exhaling softly, Evie unexpectedly agreed. "That it does." Glancing up at him, the blonde woman returned her focus to the slightly uneven path in an attempt to manage her footing and rummaged for the silver lining in this arrangement. If Oliver was likewise intimidated, then he wouldn't attempt to drag her into anything beyond her capacity to cope with. It made the incumbent history lesson a little less problematic. "These fairs were quite extravagant in their own ways, pivotal events on the community's annual calendar. I expect there will be quite a lot of things happening, simultaneously." Her brow flickered. "Thankfully not all of it is likely to be raucous."

"Not all of it..." he echoed quietly. The Hysperians didn't strike him as the sort of people that did things quietly or by halves. "Some of them are wearing swords. Combined with consumption of alcohol, isn't that a recipe for trouble?" He expressed that thought out loud, more of a rhetorical question than one that needed an answer. "Been a long time since I had to patch up a stab wound," he added, a nervous laugh escaping.

It was, admittedly, not an eventuality that Evelyn had considered and she wasn't sure she should thank the young doctor for the fresh concern. Nevertheless, his nervousness provoked gentle laughter and she looked back across to smile and dip her head towards him. "We could always treat this like a training exercise."

Oliver flushed mildly at her smile. "I don't think I follow," he said. Was she expecting him to attempt to get stabbed with one of those swords? Hopefully they were just for show and not actually sharp. But then there was also the chance of infection. The possibilities ran a little bit wild in his head for a few seconds as he waited for her to clarify.

As they moved to the outskirts of the main street, which stretched onwards in a winding cacophony of noise and bustling enterprise, Evelyn gestured towards the emerging scene with a sweeping gesture. "How many medical emergencies do you think we can avert?"

"I was so hoping you would say 'avoid'," he sighed, looking over the stalls and milling locals. "What are we talking, risk assessment? Because if you're asking if I want to play first aid for the festival...wasn't the idea supposed to be taking a break and having some fun?" he wondered.

Evelyn hadn't expected to be overwhelmed by the urge to laugh quite so frequently. Certainly, at the very best, she'd entertained the prospect that she might get through this visit with her pride intact and able to heave a relieved sigh at the end without having to explain a series of reactions she really didn't feel like delving into. Oliver, without even trying, had already settled her nerves to something close enough to manageable that she barely flinched as they moved past the first stalls into the imminent crowd. In an attempt to fit in, but also to mask feeling a little unsteady on her feet when the path ahead was too laden with traffic to predict, she slipped an arm through his and patted it. "Relax, I was joking."

As someone not used to physical contact, her warm hand against his arm almost triggered an anxiety attack in the young man. But he realised that it was intended as a casual comfort more than anything else. He'd never really let anyone get close, and for the woman to feel at ease with it was a feeling he had never anticipated ever having again.

"Okay," he whispered. "In that case, would it help if we were more...in-character?" he asked, a little more bold than he was used to being, but her approach seemed to be set on helping him to let that guard down a little more.

A faintly surprised pair of eyes studied him for a moment, swinging between his face and the crowd ahead, darting occasionally to the side to appease the compulsion to mark the passage of those who passed too close. Evelyn considered his question, robbed of an immediate response by the fact that she had not considered it a viable strategy for blending in. Certainly, historically, there was accuracy to the practise. "I..." The blonde doctor hesitated. "What would you choose if we were?" Her quizzical gaze settled on him for a moment, intrigued by his response.

"Well..." His limited knowledge of this historical period of Earth's history left him a little short of ideas, but the rumblings from other members of the Rosie crew had filled some of that gap. At least, in Oliver's own interpretation of their explanations. "Given the way we're dressed, I believe it's custom for me to demonstrate some sort of chivalrous behaviour?" he said, not entirely sure how he was supposed to do any of that. "I could call you 'my lady', for instance..."

An attempt at scholarly contemplation was Evelyn's best effort at not grinning at his suggestion. "Mmmn," she agreed with an exaggerated pensiveness, nodding slowly. Looking down at herself, she dipped her head in further acknowledgement. "They do seem to have outfitted me as a member of the gentry, if my medieval fashion is accurate." The rake over her gaze over his outfit followed as additional scrutiny. "You could very well pass as royalty trying to hide amongst the peasants though." Her eyes were sparkling, mirth without release because she genuinely didn't want to make fun of him. For a moment, Evelyn ignored the occasional jostle of the crowd, her attention monopolised by his emerging narrative. "But were that the case, you'd be unlikely to step out with a lady of the court."

"Hmm." he followed her line of thought, considering carefully. Rather than finding this an interpersonal aspect to navigate, his mind was in more of a clinical mindset. "So would you say I am in the role of a servant more than an equal? Or are we treating this more as a disguise?"

"Oh, definitely not a servant."

There was no need for any clairvoyance to predict how awkward that would become, even if Oliver's natural disposition probably meant he would find it the easiest role to adopt. In many ways, that was what made Evie balk at it, never one to find the prospect of superiority all that comfortable. His tendency to default to her hadn't gone unnoticed, and though that was probably understandable in a professional sense, there was really no need for it in his social life. There had been no way to express as such, because it would require explaining her own current challenges, but Evelyn found a lot about Oliver's reintegration admirable. Having an entire population see him as subservient was ludicrous; there was every chance he was more composed and in control than she could claim to be.

For a moment, her blue eyes studied his features before Evelyn succumbed to the slow realisation that this conversation, which she had been treating more as a distraction than anything else, was something he was latching onto as a coping mechanism. The more it seemed likely that he was being genuine in his desire to adopt a different persona, the more she felt obliged to be honest with him. "Etiquette wouldn't really allow two members of the gentry to spend time alone unless there was...respectable intent."

Oliver's brow furrowed a moment, not quite tracking, until his eyebrows shot up in alarm. "You mean...we..." His jaw worked itself for a few seconds. She was very beautiful - especially in the dress - and he wouldn't dare speak otherwise. But there were any number of reasons why that might be awkward, even in a pretend role-play to 'fit in' with the Hysperians. They were student and teacher, for a start. "I...don't know anything about medieval courtship..." he finally said, concluding that it was one possible escape clause from his initial reaction.

Sympathy tempered Evelyn's own discomfort with the premise, which was admittedly mild. Historical hypothetical scenarios didn't seem half as daunting as, say, negotiating the persistent interruptions from stall owners calling out to peddle their wares. Once again, her alert levels elevated and Evie distracted herself by squeezing his arm with hers reassuringly.

"Out in public like this, etiquette would have dictated a fairly strict formality. Our ancestors might have been wicked and naughty behind closed doors but they played a mean game of charades in the public eye."

With her own family tree proven to stretch back into titled peerage, Evelyn was very sure her own great-great-great-many times-great grandparents fit the description. Wrenching her gaze from the wary scrutiny of a nearby portrait artist, the blonde doctor took note of Oliver's expression and lifted her eyebrows in gentle amusement. "If it's that much trouble, you could always try passing for my brother." Vanity didn't play too deeply into her concern, though there was never any easy way to find out you weren't someone's type, even as a made-up narrative.

"I would find that a much easier personal relationship to muster," he said, thankful for the small get-out clause she had offered. "Despite never having siblings, I imagine I could try being a younger brother for a few hours." At the very least that would be an arrangement that was far less fraught with controversy and potential gossip. And if there was one thing Oliver was desperate to avoid, it was controversy and gossip.

It seemed unkind to point out that there was very little they could do, bar intentionally announcing their fabricated connection to everyone they walked past, to influence the opinions of complete strangers one way or the other. In her distraction, Evelyn realised that she had not fully grasped why he was so enamored with the idea of alternate personas in the first place but, realising by the nervous dart of his eyes that this was as stressful for Oliver as it was for her, Evie relented kindly. "It may not even matter," she pointed out as they moved towards the centre of the market, which branched in several directions from a large circular pathway. "I'm not sure anyone will find us interesting enough to scrutinise." It was a fervent hope, in any case. Her eyes flitted about the artisan tents and, in an attempt to appear more in control than she felt, she asked, "Was there anything in particular you wanted to look for?"

"Hmm." He made a little noise and looked around, not really sure even for himself. There were plenty of pre-festival activities being prepared but few actually active and accepting custom. Most of the locals appeared to be focused on supporting with that preparation. "Absorbing local culture? I'm afraid I'm not very adventurous when it comes to exploring new places. Honestly I'm happy to go with the flow."

'The flow' could easily have involved simply turning around and leaving. The further into the central hub they moved, the more Evelyn found herself distracted by the focus required to keep her breathing steady and her composure controlled. Her hand itched for the cane, which she'd honestly held onto far longer than she really needed it because it provided security and an excuse to fidget when her nerves got the better of her. The hand of her linked arm faltered once or twice, worrying the material of his tunic as a particularly long stare watched a group gather around a fire-dancer's performance. Subconsciously, her arm's grip tightened and Evelyn tried to distract herself by glancing up at a nearby street sign. "The botanical maze sounds very reminiscent of something my grandmother would have approved of," she observed, steering them down the left-hand pathway to follow the indicator. This observation was true, though there was no denying that it also just sounded like somewhere quieter. Going far into the maze would be impossible; the claustrophobia alone, that sense of feeling trapped, would have brought her undone almost immediately, but they could look at it.

They'd gone a few paces when a woman carrying a basket of roses stepped directly in front of them.

"Flower for your missus, squire?"

Oliver almost yelped, but not quite. "She's not...we're not..." he stammered, before admitting what might have been the fastest defeat ever seen by sighing with a slump of the shoulders and a little nod. "O-okay." Passing over some local currency, he did his best to pick out a flower that looked reasonably large and healthy compared to the rest. He didn't even register how much he'd handed over, instead just trying not to meet Evelyn's eyes as he silently presented her the single bloom.

The pendulum swing between anxiety and amusement were going to leave her exhausted well beyond her usual limits. Evelyn, who had reacted to the sudden interception with a little more surprise than was easy to disguise, had moved immediately into baffled silence as the exchange took place before she could offer assistance. As the woman twirled off happily to approach another pair, Evie stared a moment at the soft pink rose and then closed her eyes for just a second to marshal her composure. Laughing, even when it was such a tempting release of nervous energy, would only come across as ridicule. By the time she could actually make eye contact, her gaze had reverted to kindly sympathy.

"Just don't think too much on it. If anything," she attempted to making light of things to ease his embarrassment, "it's quite flattering not to be considered an old spinster."

"You're not..." There was a hint of a pause where Oliver sought to find the right word. He had heard something from Jake about her having been married at some point, or at the very least in some long-term relationship. But he realised that wasn't something to bring up. "Old," he finally landed on. "For sure I suspect your existence will go on much longer than any flower would."

It was the hesitation, more than the rebuttal itself, that finally broke Evelyn's resolve. Laughing, she took a moment to work the flower's stem back and forth until it snapped off at a length that allowed her to tuck it behind an ear, and then claimed his arm again with a tug to resume course. "We'll make a gentlemen out of you yet."