After the scrambling minor embarrassment of last night, the living room has been tidied of papers and is sterile once more, apart from a large folded street map of Manhattan. There have been a few minor changes over decades, which are worse than major ones, since she could run down a familiar street only to find it unexpectedly blocked off. She won't be needing it today, of course, but it's another piece of research to take home later.
The smell of coffee wafts through the place, and The Shadow comes to stand in the kitchen doorway, looking her over with an utterly inscrutable expression. He is not, as nearly as she can tell, dressed for the times. He never is. Old men are not expected to keep up with current fashions. He is wearing a button down shirt and slacks, as usual, but the sleeves are rolled up and there's no jacket which would all be considered terribly informal in Myra's time at least.
"Does it pass muster?" His reaction has her concerned now that she hasn't done enough to update herself. "I mean, I wasn't about to go for the whole nine yards," She's done some of her homework, that phrase didn't exist in her era, "but if you think I need to, I can go back and get the hair done again with the crimped look..."
It's only too obvious she's trying to get this identity correct in every way possible. She considers herself to never have done a real job in the future, because for Ming she simply aged her face. She didn't have to learn a completely new culture and dress code. The tight jeans are also putting her modesty to question, she's worn tight dresses, but not tight jeans.
What lies behind 'Hm' will remain forever a mystery for her, but only when she begins to babble does he realize that she may have taken it as a subtle disapproval. The truth is very far from that indeed, but The Shadow, whatever else he may be, is a man. To see her so drastically altered and updated is startling even to him, and to find it attractive in even the most distant fashion is mildly distressing
( ... )
The babbling stops the instant he speaks, and as he does so, she smiles, straightening her posture and looking her usual confident self...as much as she can anyways in the guise.
"Oh good. This is a new one for me, and with the Bureau thinking I'm such a one-horse show, I get a bit of a rookie complex with new outfits." She plays with the bangles for a moment, but keeps them from clinking together. "It's...all a bit foreign, but it's nothing uncomfortable." She smiles a bit wider as she notes the ring, but says nothing. The newer generations would most likely ignore such an item as a musty trinket from days past, instead of the token that it really was. Smoothly, she crosses the room in the moderate heels, and picks up the map. The jeans and heels almost force an exaggerated swing in her hips as she walks, but she'd discovered the effect while trying them on, and had gotten used to them a little while shopping.
Comments 37
The smell of coffee wafts through the place, and The Shadow comes to stand in the kitchen doorway, looking her over with an utterly inscrutable expression. He is not, as nearly as she can tell, dressed for the times. He never is. Old men are not expected to keep up with current fashions. He is wearing a button down shirt and slacks, as usual, but the sleeves are rolled up and there's no jacket which would all be considered terribly informal in Myra's time at least.
"Hm."
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It's only too obvious she's trying to get this identity correct in every way possible. She considers herself to never have done a real job in the future, because for Ming she simply aged her face. She didn't have to learn a completely new culture and dress code. The tight jeans are also putting her modesty to question, she's worn tight dresses, but not tight jeans.
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"Oh good. This is a new one for me, and with the Bureau thinking I'm such a one-horse show, I get a bit of a rookie complex with new outfits." She plays with the bangles for a moment, but keeps them from clinking together. "It's...all a bit foreign, but it's nothing uncomfortable." She smiles a bit wider as she notes the ring, but says nothing. The newer generations would most likely ignore such an item as a musty trinket from days past, instead of the token that it really was. Smoothly, she crosses the room in the moderate heels, and picks up the map. The jeans and heels almost force an exaggerated swing in her hips as she walks, but she'd discovered the effect while trying them on, and had gotten used to them a little while shopping.
"So, where are we going to start?"
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