When a Ketsurui princess travels, even with a low profile, word tends to get around.
A black, aether-powered sedan was waiting at the shuttle bay of the Kyoto Base. Red-paneled sentries squared off the points of the car, eyes roving across the bay, SMGs in their hands instead of at their sides. The driver, a Jôtô Hei, was at the back door facing Kotori and Nyton as they left the shuttle.
Kotori, snug in her dress, probably made remarks under her breath about wanting just a jeep. But the shuttle blasting off loudly drown out what she said. The driver, a Neko, thought she saw Nyton shift a little in his coat, but who knew? Perhaps it was the shuttle blasting off, too. She opened the door for the pair; they seemed to shift a little uncomfortably to get into their seats.
The sentries made themselves scarce, and away the car rolled into downtown, Kyoto's civilian district shopping center. Beyond the tinted glass were the shops and sounds of public life in the second-largest city in the known galaxy, where some of the most powerful corporations kept a foothold with all the glitz and chic they could afford.
But they sped past all that, and instead stopped in front of a beautifully wood-paneled store front squished between two larger office buildings. It was relatively small — about nine meters across — and had a blue neon sign about 6 meters in the air: "Rosenthal's." The wood, which covered everything except the doors, was entirely stained and lacquered in a gentle oak brown and appeared only slightly weathered. The doors themselves were thick, tinted glass with simple, but weathered brass door handles. Men in sharply tailored, solid-grey suits and ties stood at each door, looking at each other. They started to reach for the handles as Nyton and Kotori approached.
Where they were was recommended to them by a brief database scan Miharu had suggested. Perhaps that had tipped someone off.
The inside of the store smelled of more wood, but it was soft, and not at all unpleasant. Oak, most likely. The source was all around them — shelves, counters, stands, other displays, the ceiling, the walls, even the floor. Not all of it was oak, either; Nyton could recognize cherry for the shelving, ash for various stands and displays, light birch for the ceiling and floors, which helped bounce the light from the large glass skylight above them, and tan-brown walnut for the two right-hand-side counters and some of the shelving. There was an occasional small evergreen tree flanking a display, and one at each of the far ends of the counters.
The clothing was mostly Nepleslian. Suits fit nicely on wire mannequins in various parts of the fairly deep store, sport coats lined racks, shirts perfectly folded in stacks. Trousers were toward the back, while a nice display close to the front showed a beautiful selection of leather shoes, from loafers to wingtips.
The store was actually two stores; off to the right was an extension that appeared to have what Nyton needed — Yamataian clothing. He could see men milling about in that section, which seemed to focus more on bamboo for its decorative needs, though there were pockets of some kind of red wood here and there.
Speaking of men, they were everywhere, and there was not a single woman. Other than Kotori, who apparently stood out. A salesman — possibly a department manager — walked over to greet them. He had closely cropped hair, steely blue eyes, a cleft chin and filled out his dark grey-with-needle-thin-pinstripes suit just so. His teeth were impeccably white, as evidenced by his blinding smile.
"Welcome to Rosenthal's, sir," the man said, extending a hand to Nyton. "I'm Ed, the floor manager. A pleasure to see a military man here. Is this your wife? I'm sorry sir, but there's no way we can dress you to match her; she's simply too stunning!" His grip with the handshake had been firm, but when he extended it to Kotori, he was clearly soft-pawing it. "A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I promise we'll do our best."
It was at this moment that a stern-looking Yamataian man, short and thin and wearing an dark-grey kimono, approached Ed and gave him the kind of look one gives to a homeless man who won't stop asking for cash, even after one says no a dozen times. Ed looked back at him. "Yes?"
"They are not here for you," the Yamataian said. His lacked the extra strings and the crests found on formal kimonos, but there was no doubt the quality was better than an informal one. "Please attend to other customers."
The man snorted, but he listened and walked away, deeper into the store. The Yamataian instantly forgot him, instead bowing deeply to Kotori. "Honored Princess," he said in Yamataian, tone quiet but reverent. "It is an unparalleled joy to serve you. Please forgive my tardiness in attending to your needs. Sonoda Kyosuke is not worthy of your presence."
A black, aether-powered sedan was waiting at the shuttle bay of the Kyoto Base. Red-paneled sentries squared off the points of the car, eyes roving across the bay, SMGs in their hands instead of at their sides. The driver, a Jôtô Hei, was at the back door facing Kotori and Nyton as they left the shuttle.
Kotori, snug in her dress, probably made remarks under her breath about wanting just a jeep. But the shuttle blasting off loudly drown out what she said. The driver, a Neko, thought she saw Nyton shift a little in his coat, but who knew? Perhaps it was the shuttle blasting off, too. She opened the door for the pair; they seemed to shift a little uncomfortably to get into their seats.
The sentries made themselves scarce, and away the car rolled into downtown, Kyoto's civilian district shopping center. Beyond the tinted glass were the shops and sounds of public life in the second-largest city in the known galaxy, where some of the most powerful corporations kept a foothold with all the glitz and chic they could afford.
But they sped past all that, and instead stopped in front of a beautifully wood-paneled store front squished between two larger office buildings. It was relatively small — about nine meters across — and had a blue neon sign about 6 meters in the air: "Rosenthal's." The wood, which covered everything except the doors, was entirely stained and lacquered in a gentle oak brown and appeared only slightly weathered. The doors themselves were thick, tinted glass with simple, but weathered brass door handles. Men in sharply tailored, solid-grey suits and ties stood at each door, looking at each other. They started to reach for the handles as Nyton and Kotori approached.
Where they were was recommended to them by a brief database scan Miharu had suggested. Perhaps that had tipped someone off.
The inside of the store smelled of more wood, but it was soft, and not at all unpleasant. Oak, most likely. The source was all around them — shelves, counters, stands, other displays, the ceiling, the walls, even the floor. Not all of it was oak, either; Nyton could recognize cherry for the shelving, ash for various stands and displays, light birch for the ceiling and floors, which helped bounce the light from the large glass skylight above them, and tan-brown walnut for the two right-hand-side counters and some of the shelving. There was an occasional small evergreen tree flanking a display, and one at each of the far ends of the counters.
The clothing was mostly Nepleslian. Suits fit nicely on wire mannequins in various parts of the fairly deep store, sport coats lined racks, shirts perfectly folded in stacks. Trousers were toward the back, while a nice display close to the front showed a beautiful selection of leather shoes, from loafers to wingtips.
The store was actually two stores; off to the right was an extension that appeared to have what Nyton needed — Yamataian clothing. He could see men milling about in that section, which seemed to focus more on bamboo for its decorative needs, though there were pockets of some kind of red wood here and there.
Speaking of men, they were everywhere, and there was not a single woman. Other than Kotori, who apparently stood out. A salesman — possibly a department manager — walked over to greet them. He had closely cropped hair, steely blue eyes, a cleft chin and filled out his dark grey-with-needle-thin-pinstripes suit just so. His teeth were impeccably white, as evidenced by his blinding smile.
"Welcome to Rosenthal's, sir," the man said, extending a hand to Nyton. "I'm Ed, the floor manager. A pleasure to see a military man here. Is this your wife? I'm sorry sir, but there's no way we can dress you to match her; she's simply too stunning!" His grip with the handshake had been firm, but when he extended it to Kotori, he was clearly soft-pawing it. "A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I promise we'll do our best."
It was at this moment that a stern-looking Yamataian man, short and thin and wearing an dark-grey kimono, approached Ed and gave him the kind of look one gives to a homeless man who won't stop asking for cash, even after one says no a dozen times. Ed looked back at him. "Yes?"
"They are not here for you," the Yamataian said. His lacked the extra strings and the crests found on formal kimonos, but there was no doubt the quality was better than an informal one. "Please attend to other customers."
The man snorted, but he listened and walked away, deeper into the store. The Yamataian instantly forgot him, instead bowing deeply to Kotori. "Honored Princess," he said in Yamataian, tone quiet but reverent. "It is an unparalleled joy to serve you. Please forgive my tardiness in attending to your needs. Sonoda Kyosuke is not worthy of your presence."
