(OOG: Can you tell how desperate I am? **shouts** AZUSA!!!! Help!!!!! Before I start turning my characters into fashion models!!!! ^_^;;)

"...... Nani.......?"

Cyrene glanced up, straining to hold her arms as Alda had placed them at the beginning of the fitting session. "Something bothering you?" She felt a fool, with her arms outstretched to the sides, as they were, but the solitude of her chambers comforted her; at least no one would see enough to laugh. -That- was the last thing she needed to top off the last few days.

Alda shrugged, shoving a sheaf of papers aside. "Domina sent me another of those ridiculous newsletters, that's all. I don't think she understands that I don't have time to mess around with stuff like that." She snatched a measuring tape from the table and approached. "Can you hold that a little longer? I need to measure you one more time."

Cyrene raised her eyebrows, but nodded as complacently as she could and tried to ignore it.

She really did feel like a fool. Her country was trapped in the middle of an escalating conflict with the Mother Country, and she was allowing herself to be so frivolous as to sepnd a day choosing -dresses-, of all things....... and for an event still two and a half months in the future.

"They've already been made, Alda. What good is this going to do?" Alda shrugged, and she rolled her eyes. Her arms were -killing- her! **Well, this is what I get for sitting behind a desk and shirking my exercise regimine......** At least it hadn't reached her waist -- not that it would have made much of a difference. Who was looking?

Oh, but they would be looking when it came time to make her appearance at the ball, she supposed. Alda had drummed that point into her every morning via memo before she had finally surrendered. And she supposed that, for her first appearance in what -- a century? -- she should at least look different. Yet still.......

**What a waste of time.**

Her aide seemed to know what she was thinking. "Esari is already a problem child, my Queen. If you won't kill her, the least you could do is publicly humiliate her, ne?"

Cyrene chuckled, dropping her arms when Alda withdrew with the measuring tape. "You're so barbaric sometimes......" The aide grinned insolently and tossed the tape aside, standing with her arms crossed. "Don't tell me -- I don't want to know. Whatever Synclair has been telling you......"

The smile widened. "Don't think I don't know about the two of you, milady; it's obvious to everyone. I've -never- seen a more classic courtship in my life......"

Red crept into her face of its own accord. "You must be joking......" Good lord, why did the very mention of his name bring this up? It wasn't as if she snuck into acloves with him, or even spoke to him more often than the rest of her Ministers. Did one trip to Aquavy constitute -this-?

She shoved the memories to the back of her mind as soon as they came up; one word, and Alda would run with it in exactly the wrong direction. She was -not- any part of a courtship, no matter what her staff seemed to think. Synclair had no interest in her -- not that way. Surely not. It would be utterly ridiculous.......

He would have made it known before now. That wasn't something she imagined could be held in very easily over such a great period of time....... she knew that -very- well.

"You think I'm crazy......" Alda shrugged. "He's in denial too. He won't hear of it. But I know you two better than you think. I'm not still here for nothing, now am I?" Alda turned around and reached for the first of the boxes piled upon the foot of Cyrene's bed. "Would milady choose a moron for her head of household?"

Another helpless laugh escaped her lips, and Cyrene covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks were still flaming hot, to her annoyance. "I'm not sure I haven't......" A mock-protest and a wad of tissue paper in her face was the only answer she got.

Cyrene fell back into an armchair, tilting her head so she could stare at the ceiling. The dress she had finally settled on lay across her bed, still unwrapped and spread wide across the quilt. It was really just taking up space; and when Alda came back, it would be wasting space in her closet until October. She still didn't fully understand why she had allowed herself to be talked into something so ridiculous.

It was useless -- she had attended over three hundred of the annual balls in the past. Why on earth was it so important to go now? Shevat was no longer open to the surface, for all intents and purposes, so the guest list would consist mostly of her own court, and the wealthier families of her city.

What fun was that? She saw them every day, much to her private regret. The event couldn't even claim the virtue of novelty.

She had just spent an entire day trying on dresses, instead of working on her reports. The idea was insane. Even as a girl she hadn't ever done anything so extravagant. And Alda had certainly been no help -- her encouragement had been what pulled Cyrene into the situation in the first place.

There -would- be a reckoning.......

Sighing, Cyrene stood and approached her bed, bending down to pick a garment back up from the floor and drop it next to the dress. She didn't see how on earth she would be able to fit it in without crushing the delicate silks, but she supposed she could manage -- Alda would be back anyway, if she couldn't.

A soft knock interrupted her just as she was about to begin. "Yes?" she called, hoping her voice would carry across the sitting room to whoever was behind the door.

**It had better be Alda.** She brushed a fall of hair behind her ear and moved to the door separating the two rooms to meet her visitor. Hopefully it wasn't anyone -but- her head of household; the plain, greyish dress she was sporting now wasn't ideal for any sort of audience.

Sometimes she hated her job.

"Synclair?" She arched an eyebrow, allowing herself to relax just a bit as he entered alone. "What brings you here tonight?" She had been half afraid his appearance would herald a meeting of some sort regarding the intelligence reports sitting on her desk in her office.

He snorted, closing the door softly. "I was ambushed by Alda -- I barely escaped with my life."

Cyrene chuckled, crossing her arms. "See what you've done, Jorun? The entire staff is placing bets on who is going to make the first 'move'." She gave him a reproachful look. "That's the last time I go anywhere with you without half the Court on our heels."

"Me?" She would have said he was striving to look innocent, but the odds of that were slim, considering his usual attitude. "I only made the offer, my queen. Charm did the rest, I imagine." He bowed with a roguish grin.

She stared at him, exasperated for a moment, before laughing again helplessly. "I give up. I'll never make a respectable Minister out of you, no matter what I try."

"Thank god for small blessings!"

"What do you --" Cyrene stopped in mid sentence, catching movement out of the corner of her eye, near the door. A flash of black and white -- her head of household, most likely. "Alda!"

The figure froze, just a flash visible through the crack between the doors, and then Alda stepped into the room, a somewhat guilty cast to her face. "Yes, milady? What can I do for you?"

"What can you do for me?" She paused, eyes flickering to Synclair. Oh lord, what a field day her staff was going to have with this incident. She didn't think a metal vice would keep Alda's mouth shut, and coupled with the talk already drifting around the floor about her trip to Aquavy...... "You're here to take the dress to storage, are you not? I would appreciate it."

Alda nodded, visibly surpressing a grin. "Of course, milady. Right away."

If the talk reached beyond her personal staff, to Court....... She watched Alda as she dashed into the bedroom, the sudden thought dampening her mood. But what would the councillors, or the nobles, really make of it? They already believed she was involved personally with Synclair. They were probably the source of her staff's curiosity, in the first place.

"Why me?" she groaned, casting her eyes to the ceiling again. "I'm sure there have to be ear marks on every wall surrounding my chambers. Can you imagine?"

Synclair chuckled, taking a seat on a stool. "They're lucky you have a sense of humor. But...... it's just harmless gossip, really. The truth is far better known -- I dont' think you have any fear of this damaging you."

She shrugged. "I suppose not. And they deserve a little fun, after everything that's happened in the last month." Cyrene sighed, dropping into a chair. "I just wish they had picked something a little less...... obnoxious."

"Well...... we can't win them all, can we?"

"No......" She sighed. "No, we can't."

(Summary: Cyrene picks a dress for the annual ball in October, and has a talk with Synclair about her personal staff's exasperating behavior.)