Private The Long Talk...

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen grinned back at her as he started to put the batter into the greased pan, the mixture sizzling as he looked back to her. Yes, he expected that this would be a hard negoiation with Aren, just like it always was. And yet he fought for every bit of her feelings like his life depended on it. Thats what a good partner was supposed to do, right?

At Aren's asseration that he was getting good at domestic work, Omen chuckled as the morning slowly passed by. "I wasn't that bad... But I want a future with you so better start planning on right?" It was the only logical thing to do in his head. Plan for the future you want and it had more chance to happen. But as she said he was alarmily domestic, he turned leaned in as he cupped her cheek, his breath playfully brushing against her face as he whispered affectionatly "Don't worry, I'm still a wild beast in all the ways that count." before turning back to flip the pancake before it burned. This negoiation was going to be... interesting.

When he heard her terms, Omen grinned as he said his own. "Fine, but you have to pretend you like me and romantically flirt with me. That and I get to spend time back in bed cuddling you after breakfest." It was a tough ask knowing how Aren felt about romantic things but if you didn't swing for the fences, there would never be home runs. He shift topics back to something else, looking outside to their balcony. "Its such a nice day out, want to share breakfest out there?" It would be nice to feel the breeze on his face for alittle while as he enjoyed this little time that the Clone got with his Love.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched him flip the pancake with the sort of concentration usually reserved for bomb disposal technicians. The fact that he immediately followed a conversation about domestic life by leaning in and declaring himself a wild beast only made her shake her head. There was something deeply wrong with the way his mind worked. Not bad. Just wrong in a very specific and uniquely Omen way.

The playful brush of his breath against her face earned him a look that was far more amused than disapproving. "You know," she said, lifting an eyebrow over the rim of her coffee mug, "I like practicing to make a family as much as you do." The admission came surprisingly easily. "I'm just not as... flamboyant about it." Her eyebrows lifted slightly on the final word, as though that single term somehow encompassed every ridiculous thing he had ever done in pursuit of romance, affection, or generally making her lose an argument through persistence alone.

When he started negotiating for romantic flirting and additional time in bed, Aren let out a quiet laugh and lowered her coffee. "See, this is exactly what I mean." Her eyes followed him as he moved around the kitchen. "Most people hear the words breakfast negotiation and think about pancakes. You immediately start trying to leverage the situation into cuddling." A pause followed. "Which, for the record, was probably going to happen anyway." The corner of her mouth twitched. "Your negotiating skills need work."

Then he suggested eating outside.

Aren immediately frowned.

"Outside?" She glanced suspiciously toward the balcony as though it were enemy territory. "Aren't there bugs?" The concern sounded entirely genuine. Her gaze lingered on the open air beyond the glass for another moment before returning to him. "I spend my entire life successfully avoiding insects. Why would I voluntarily have breakfast in their territory?" Another sip of coffee disappeared. "This feels like the sort of oversight that should have been included in the planning stages of your future."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen's fingers intertwined with hers for a minute as he grinned, saying teasingly, "Being flamboyant is half the fun." Which was everything Aren hated. "But you didn't have to tell me that. The noises you make during our fun tell me how much you enjoy it." The whisper came to Aren's ear, "And who said it would end with cuddling once you're in my grasp?" The Clone's focus then turned back to making sure nothing burned. If he did, Aren would have something to laugh at.

He was getting the bacon out of the fridge when he saw Aren's frown, raising his eyebrow at her hate of the outdoors and bugs. As someone who was outside most of the time, being afraid out of the outside was pretty foreign to him. She didn't seem to hate it most of the time... But atleast he had a reason why she stayed inside her workroom all the time. Still he could use this to his advantage. "I guess we could stay inside then and look at that bridal holomag you haven't looked at while I was away." It was his way of forcing the issue that yes, she was wearing a dress to their wedding no matter what.

After awhile Omen started to plate up the pancakes, cut up fruit and bacon. Putting Aren's food on the table before sitting down, he glanced at his phone like he had gotten a message, looked at it before putting it down again screen up. A bee's buzzing would full the air as the Clone prepared to loss another phone in his quest to annoy/know Aren better.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren was halfway through preparing a perfectly reasonable response to Omen's continued campaign of embarrassment when he mentioned the bridal magazine. Her expression immediately shifted into one of practiced innocence so transparent it would not have fooled a malfunctioning protocol droid.

"What dress magazine?"

The question came far too quickly.

She lifted her coffee and stared toward the fireplace with exaggerated interest, as though the answer might somehow be hidden among the decorative logs. The fact that she refused to look directly at him only made the performance worse. Somewhere in the apartment there was absolutely a bridal holomagazine she had been carefully pretending did not exist. As far as Aren was concerned, ignoring a problem remained a perfectly valid stage of solving it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The lie might have been more convincing if she had not immediately changed the subject by looking toward the food he was setting out. The pancakes actually looked good. Suspiciously good. She opened her mouth, fully intending to thank him for breakfast and perhaps even acknowledge the effort involved in getting up early to cook for her.

Then she heard it, the faint buzzing reaching her ears, and Aren froze as the transformation was immediate.

Every bit of warmth, affection, and domestic contentment vanished from her face as her eyes locked onto the source of the sound. For one horrified second, she simply stared at the hologram bee hovering innocently nearby. Then survival instinct took over. There was a soft pop of displaced air, and suddenly the kitchen contained one less future bride.

A second later the unmistakable sound of a bedroom door slamming echoed through the house, followed immediately by multiple locks engaging, and her voice carried clearly through the door as she shouted that she was not coming out until it was gone, pausing only briefly before adding that if he had brought that thing in on purpose, she was adding another condition to the wedding contract.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen let out a sigh as he let Aren lie through her teeth without comment. She clearly wasn't looking forward this. Enough that it made Omen think she didn't want to go through this ceremony at all. Which he couldn't blame her for. The clone knew it wasn't in her nature to enjoy these things. What he wanted to know if he should stop trying to force her into it.

He expected a reaction to the virtual bee. He didn't expect that. Omen's eyebrows shot up as Aren practically teleported back to her room. It been awhile since he had seen her move this fast... From behind the door, Aren would hear another sigh as the sound of buzzing disappeared. "Sorry about that Love. You can unlock the door now." Omen knew better than to admit guilt when it came to things like this. If she wanted to tack that condition on, she would have to do it through her own investigation.

When she finally opened up the door, Omen looked at her with that half smirk that said more about the situation than any words. Which was good, because if he said any, Aren might electrocute him. But he did get down to be honest. "You know, we don't have to have a ceremony if you don't want too. We can get just get our marriage license and be down with it." He was getting tired of dragging Aren along with what he wanted and she so clearly didn't. Still, he wanted to be offically married to her somehow. Even if it was just a piece of paper.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

There was no immediate answer from the other side of the bedroom door. Instead, after several cautious seconds, the lock clicked. Then another. Then another.

The door opened barely the width of a hand, and one suspicious brown eye appeared through the gap. Aren looked left. Then right. Then up toward the ceiling, as though Omen might have hidden the bee somewhere specifically to ambush her. Only after conducting what she considered a reasonably thorough inspection did she open the door another few inches.

"...It's really gone?"

Satisfied by the silence, she stepped cautiously into the hallway, still eyeing the corners with understandable distrust before finally relaxing enough to look at him. His expression immediately told her he had already put the pieces together. The smirk, the apology, and now the offer to abandon the ceremony altogether. The realization softened her more effectively than any argument could have.

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Aren crossed the distance between them in three quick steps and practically launched herself at him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders while he instinctively caught her around the waist, and she rested her forehead against his for a quiet moment.

"We'll have some sort of wedding," she said firmly, certainty in her voice. "I want that." She smiled a little sheepishly. "I just need to find the right dress." Her nose wrinkled. "Those lacy and frilly things..." She gave a dramatic shake of her head. "Are. Not. Me." She leaned back just enough to look him in the eye, one hand still resting against his cheek.

"I'm an engineer. I spend half my life under workbenches covered in grease." The corner of her mouth lifted. "If I can't breathe, move, or sit down without requiring assistance from three bridesmaids and a structural engineer, then it's the wrong dress."

A thoughtful pause followed before another smile escaped her as she leaned in and brushed a kiss across his forehead. "I'll find one," she said softly, her voice steadier now. "Something that still looks like me." Her smile grew warmer, more certain, as she added, "And then... I'll marry you in it." The last of her tension seemed to melt away as she settled comfortably against him once again, her earlier panic replaced by quiet resolve.

"So don't go canceling anything just because I had a minor disagreement with a holographic bee," she continued, a hint of humor returning to her tone. After a brief pause, she added with complete seriousness, "...Though I am absolutely adding a clause banning insect-related pranks within fifty meters of the bride. That one is non-negotiable."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen tried to say "Yes, it's really gone" before catching her with an oomph as she catapulted into him full force. Trying to get his breath back, he could only pull an image from the datapad resting on the dining room table today. "I knew you would be obstinate about the dress and have no fashion sense (neither do I), but your mom and I tried to find something for you before I left." And he showed it to her. It probably wasn't exactly what she wanted. She probably wanted a sleeveless Maxi dress that minimized the fancy lace and fairytale dresses that a lot of women usually wanted. And so he gave his woman an alternative. What he showed her was a dress with a black corset, a purple see-through skirt with neon light designs built into it. It probably wasn't exactly what she wanted, but it was in the right direction.

He was still getting over the fact that Aren was afraid of insects. Insects, of all the things in this whacky world, were what Aren, the shaper of metal and the woman who could make you squirm at just a glance, was most afraid of. "I mean, sure, but I'll have to change the wedding cake design that's in my planning journal." He brought up a wedding cake with chocolate-covered cockroaches, grasshoppers, maggots, and many other "tasty" treats. "You know, they are a good snack when you are in the field. I usually like biting the heads off first. Most just taste a lot like chicken, especially when you are hungry." It was another view that, beneath the apron and the smile, Omen was a survivor at heart who had survived through all these years. Yet the Clone was somehow still here to marry her.

It was then that the datapad started to vibrate. When they both looked at the caller ID, they both saw it was her Mother. "Must be to see if I gave our dress idea yet." Omen offered the pad to her with a smirk, knowing what her answer would be if he asked, but saying it anyway. "You want to say hello first?"



Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren studied the dress for several long seconds, her expression growing increasingly difficult to read the longer she looked at it. There were parts she genuinely liked. The darker colors. The cleaner silhouette. It looked less like something that belonged in a fairy tale and more like something an actual person might wear. Then her eyes found the corset, the illuminated skirt, and several other artistic decisions she wasn't entirely convinced belonged on the same garment.

A slow grimace spread across her face.

"...It's better," she admitted carefully, which, from Aren, qualified as enthusiastic praise. "But I still think it looks like someone tried to combine a formal dress with a nightclub." She looked back up at Omen, unable to stop the corner of her mouth from lifting. "How about something simple? Fast. Backyard type thing." Her voice softened as she imagined it instead of the grand ceremonies everyone else seemed determined to plan. "Korda. Jett. Rynar. My parents. Anybody you want to invite that's actually important to you." She shrugged one shoulder. "Not a hundred people. Just... ours."

Her attention drifted toward the horrifying wedding cake next. "...Absolutely not." She stared at the collection of chocolate-coated insects with genuine disbelief. "If I discover cockroaches anywhere within visual range of my wedding cake, I am calling the entire thing off and marrying you in work boots out of spite."

Before Omen could defend his culinary crimes, the datapad began vibrating across the table. Aren glanced down at the caller ID, immediately recognizing her mother's name. She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, already knowing exactly why she was calling. With the resignation of someone accepting an unavoidable maintenance task, she answered.

"...Hi, Mom." A pause followed, then a quiet, resigned, "No." Another pause stretched longer this time. "I'm not ready yet, Mom." She listened, her expression settling into patient endurance as the familiar cadence of her mother's voice carried on. "I know. I know. I'll look at dresses." Another pause, softer now. "I love you too." The call ended.

Aren lowered the datapad onto the table with exaggerated care before turning slowly toward Omen. "I just survived my first wedding planning interrogation." She reached for a pancake as though she had earned it. "I'm going to need some emotional support."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Well, He had gotten closer with his dress selection than he thought it was going to be. It was a shot in the dark and that he got half way close was a miracle. "Its just a concept to build off. I know you don't want a big flowing train and all that so that dress is the starting placing." Omen had other dresses of course, not like he had anything else to do in hyperspace but look dresses up. But only Aren knew what she wanted and what she wanted she would get.

Aren's concept of a wedding was mostly Omens. They were on the same page about what they wanted, atleast in terms of attendence. The Clone always thought Aren would like some kind of mechanical feel in their wedding like a brickwork old factory that represented her skill and life's work. But just having intimate wedding with their close family and friends was just fine in his view. Atleast they could get away with less cartering. Then again, knowing Korda maybe not... "Thats fine with me, this is your day. My rewarrd is getting to spend the rest of my life with you." Something he would always be thankful for is finding his soulmate. Omen wasn't losing that bond over wedding planning.

The words "marrying you in work boots" defiently got his attention. "So if you are saying if I put cockroaches anywhere near your wedding cake, we don't need to do all of this difficult planning and I get to marry you while you are nearly nude." He got up from his seat, his tone completely serious as he muttered aubibablty as he moved towards their bedroom to get his holoprojector. "Now I have to find a company that sells chocolate covered cockroaches on Empress Teta. This shouldn't be hard at all." Thank the ones that Aren was occupied by her call with her mother or she might have strangled them now without any regrets.

He came back with his signature smirk without trying to find out if a cockroach seller did exist as the call with her was finishing up, he leaned over the holopad and said loud enough for her mother to hear. "Hi Miss D'Shade! Sorry, we are trying our best to actually force Aren to make up her mind but she is an obstant as a Reek. You know this by now of course because she is like this with most things. Either way, I hope you have a great day!" It was more jabs against a defenseless Aren who would eventually fight back. But right now, Omen was acting like he was in the driver's seat till he ran the speeder car straight off the cliff.

When Aren hung up, the Clone sat down and pulled her out of her seat and into his arms, wrapping her in his love as he pressed his lips to her neck. "You will get all of it and more My Love." He was about to say after he found the cockroach seller's number but decided that phone call was enough punishment. "You can choose what we do for the rest of the day and I'll give you all the time and attention in the world." He loved her, enough said.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched him disappear toward the bedroom, muttering to himself about chocolate-covered cockroaches with the kind of determination most people reserved for solving galactic crises. She folded her arms across her chest and simply sighed. "You know," she called after him, "most people hear 'I love you' and buy flowers." The corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. "You immediately start researching edible insects." When he returned only to recruit her mother into teasing her over the holopad, Aren closed her eyes in quiet surrender. Somehow the two of them had become allies, and she was beginning to suspect there was no force in the galaxy capable of separating them. "You are both terrible influences on each other," she muttered, though there wasn't nearly enough conviction behind the accusation to make it believable.

The moment the call ended, Omen pulled her effortlessly into his arms, and whatever irritation had lingered quietly dissolved beneath the familiar warmth of his embrace. His kisses along her neck drew the smallest smile despite every effort to remain properly indignant, and she rested comfortably against him with an ease that had become second nature. No matter how ridiculous their conversations became, no matter how many dresses, insects, mothers, or wedding plans somehow found their way into them, they always seemed to arrive at the same place in the end. Together.

"I don't actually need much," she admitted softly after a comfortable silence. "You. A day where nobody shoots at us. And maybe pancakes." A quiet laugh escaped her before she looked up at him again. "That sounds like a pretty successful day." Her fingers found his hand almost absentmindedly, intertwining with his as she thought about his offer. "I want to go looking... for the dress. I don't know if we'll find it today, but I'd like to start."

She leaned up to brush a gentle kiss across his lips before settling back against him once more. "Afterward, we can spend the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing or watching holovids or playing some sort of game." Her smile grew warmer, touched with quiet affection. "Which, knowing us, probably means you'll find another way to embarrass me." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I suppose I should enjoy the quiet while it lasts."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Hey, when ganging up against Aren wasn't fun, he would stop. But that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. "Hey, you are the one giving me the incentive. If you don't want me buying yummy insects, don't say you are going to dress in no clothes during our wedding ceremony." Besides, they both knew she wouldn't be resting in his arms if she actually was irritated. And defiently not smiling.

When Aren said what she needed for her to call the wedding a success. "So a sunrise wedding with breakfest after. Add an uninterrupted night to that to and I could call that wedding an success." His arms enveloped her in his embraced as she said that she wanted to look for a dress. The only fact that it sounded like the IT Wiz wanted him to see her pick out a dress. "Sure you want to break tradition?" Omen knew the only person that fit the bill for dress shopping was Jett Vox and that the young woman was totally out of her league when it came to fashion choices. "I mean, I'll go with you no problem but I just making sure thats what you want." Not like he had any better taste by the dresses he had already chosen but he did know his future wife and her tastes.

Omen couldn't help but smile back as he looked at Aren glow. It was a sight he never got tired of. "Probably... But I wouldn't be me if I wasn't embarressing you." He turned her head to give her one last smooch as he said. "But I'll love being under the covers with you even more."

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren looked at him with genuine confusion.

"What tradition are you talking about?"

The question came so naturally that it was obvious she hadn't been joking. Weddings had never occupied much space in her thoughts before Omen wandered into her life, and whatever customs surrounded them had apparently remained just as unexplored. She frowned thoughtfully, trying to reconstruct what he meant before giving up altogether. "Is there a rule that says the groom isn't supposed to see the dress before the wedding?" Her brow lifted slightly. "That seems... inefficient."

She leaned comfortably against him, entirely oblivious to the fact that she had just dismissed centuries of wedding superstition with the same tone she might have used to criticize an unnecessarily complicated circuit diagram. "If you're the one I'm marrying, why wouldn't I ask your opinion?" Her fingers absently straightened the front of his shirt. "You're going to be standing next to me the whole day. I'd rather know beforehand if I somehow managed to pick something that makes me look ridiculous."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she looked up at him. "Besides, I trust you." The admission was quiet but carried more weight than she probably realized. "Not your taste in insects..." She paused deliberately. "...or cake decorations." Another pause. "...or apparently dresses." A soft laugh escaped her. "But I trust you." She rested her forehead lightly against his for a moment before adding, "So if you want to come dress shopping, then come with me. Just promise you won't try to convince me that edible bugs are somehow traditional wedding cuisine."

Her smile warmed as she brushed another quick kiss across his lips. "After all, once we're married, you'll have the rest of our lives to embarrass me." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I suppose I should let you get a head start."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen originally had the same experience as Aren which was none. But he had looked them up some information in his research for this event. Appreantly seeing the bride before the wedding was bad luck before wedding and while Omen wasn't supertious, he tended to air on the side of caution when it came to these things. But if Aren wanted him there, he would be there. "Fine but as long as you don't mind me annoying the whole store with wolf whistles." For Aren, he would produce many.

The Clone accepted the kiss with the same joy he usually did. Ones, he would keep the kiss going if they didn't have someplace to be. Eventually, he did pull away, stroking her cheek with his free hand as he looked at her with love that never left his eyes. "And I supposed we will have to get uup to go to the store. Even though I never want that to happen. But they needed to go to the bridal store sooner or later. Otherwise, Aren might try back out again.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren looked at him for a long moment before shaking her head with quiet amusement. "You know, if you start wolf-whistling in the middle of a bridal shop, I'm fairly certain they're going to assume you're either twelve or you've escaped from somewhere." The corner of her mouth lifted into an unmistakable smile. "Either way, I won't know you." She leaned up for one last, lingering kiss before reluctantly stepping away from him. "Though... I suppose if I'm asking you to come, I lose the right to complain too much."

With an audible sigh that suggested she was leaving behind the warmest place in the galaxy, Aren finally slipped from his embrace and wandered upstairs. The house grew quiet for several minutes before she emerged again, looking exactly like herself. Faded jeans. Scuffed combat boots. A plain white shirt beneath her battered leather jacket. Her worn tool bag rested comfortably over one shoulder, as though there was no circumstance in life where she might willingly leave it behind.

Omen had once asked why she carried it everywhere. The answer remained the same. It contained everything she might need and several things she hoped she never would. Datapads, diagnostic tools, microdrivers, spare parts, wire, a compact slicer kit. It was less a bag and more an extension of who she was. Going anywhere without it felt strangely incomplete. She caught Omen looking at her and spread her hands ever so slightly. "What?" she asked innocently. "You didn't actually think I was going dress shopping unprepared."

She walked over to him, slipped her hand into his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Come on." There was still a hint of apprehension in her voice, but it no longer outweighed the quiet excitement beneath it. "Let's go find something that looks enough like me that I won't spend the entire ceremony wondering whose clothes I'm wearing." A beat passed before she looked up at him with a teasing smile. "And remember..." Her gray eyes narrowed playfully. "One wolf whistle. That's your limit. After that, I'm pretending I came there alone."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen gave his cheeky grin back as he reluncantly let her go. "Well, techincally both are true. I have escaped prison and I am under 12 so techincally they wouldn't be wrong." When Aren went upstairs to change, Omen followed suit, changing into a tight graphic tee that showed off what muscles the Clone had. Its not like he didn't work out after all.

He gave an eyebrow raise at the toll bag, wanting to say the bridal shop would think Aren was a repairwoman rather than a customer. But he also knew if he tried to take it off her, nothing good would happen. Putting a Verpine auto-pistol in a thigh holster and sliding the leg of his pants over it, he decided that he was ready for this experience as he was going to be. He only managed one soft sigh as Aren defended his choices. "Fine, but if they think you are slicer thats going to hack their systems and call the police, I don't know you." They were going to be the weirdest couple this store had ever servered, no doubt about it.

As they walked out the door, Omen could only smile and shake his head at her comments before leaning in to whisper back. "One wolf whistle and being able to keep teasing you while you try your dress on, final offer." If she agreed, they would go on, hand and hand down the block, with Omen stealing his usual glances as he went. He really couldn't get enough of her and this dress... well it would hard to stop staring at Aren.

He opened the door to one of the local bridal botiques. It smelled of fresh linen with rows of dresses and displays of different styles in front of them. And thankfully for now, most of the salesmen and saleswomen were busy or trying to figure out who they were and why a repairwoman and someone from a historybook had wandered in. It gave them time to window shop. Omen started to walk down the rows, looking to see if he could find something of Aren's style. "Guess we start searching..." Time to find the needle in the haystack.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's eyes dropped almost immediately to the outline beneath Omen's pant leg. The subtle bulge of the thigh holster was impossible for her to miss, just as he had immediately noticed her tool bag. One eyebrow rose ever so slightly before she simply shrugged. Fair enough. If she wasn't leaving home without enough tools to rebuild a droid, she couldn't exactly criticize him for deciding a blaster counted as everyday attire. Neither of them had ever really learned how to travel lightly.

As they walked hand in hand toward the boutique, she gave him a sideways look when he whispered his counteroffer. "One wolf whistle," she repeated thoughtfully. "And unlimited teasing?" She pretended to consider it with great seriousness before sighing dramatically. "You're an exhausting negotiator." The corner of her mouth twitched. "Fine. But if you embarrass me enough that I hide behind a changing room curtain, you're explaining to every salesperson in the building why your future wife has vanished."

The boutique was brighter than she had expected. Sunlight spilled through the front windows onto polished floors, rows of elegant gowns stretching in every direction beneath soft lighting that somehow made everything appear impossibly expensive. Aren slowed almost immediately, brown eyes sweeping over lace, satin, beadwork, and flowing trains with the same careful attention she normally reserved for unfamiliar machinery. She wasn't intimidated so much as... completely out of her element.

Before either of them could wander very far, a well-dressed man with a warm, practiced smile approached from between the displays. His eyes flicked briefly from Omen to Aren, then to the worn tool bag resting comfortably on her shoulder, before returning politely to her face.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly. "Welcome. Is there anything I can help the two of you find today?"

Aren looked at Omen.

Then back at the salesman.

She answered with complete honesty.

"I honestly have no idea."

A small pause followed before the corner of her mouth lifted.

"I've never done this before."

The salesman smiled knowingly, the sort of smile that suggested he had heard those exact words countless times.

"Then," he replied gently, gesturing farther into the boutique, "you've come to the right place."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

His lips pecked her cheek before he opened the door for her. "Very much worth the compremise" But as they walked in, Omen knew Aren had a high probability of embarressing herself in her. He gave a low whistle at the amount of gowns in the place and wondered if he should have worn his helmet to help with all the glare off the waxed floors. Inside, people from various species were either buying dresses or getting custom garments made to fit their unigue body structures.

When the attendant came over, Omen managed a smile towards him as he tried not to get distracted by the choices. "I mean... I know loosely what she wants... A dress that isn't flashy with no trail and doesn't drag along the floor. Maybe a purple accessory to match her hair too." The Clone couldn't help but find it funny that he could recall what Aren wanted better than Aren herself. But he resisted saying that this was Aren's first time putting a dress on and might need extra help to put it on from the right end. For now atleast, for now...

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened as Omen described what he thought she wanted, her eyes wandering over the endless rows of gowns surrounding them. It was an overwhelming amount of fabric. Lace caught the light from every direction. Beads shimmered. Embroidery climbed sleeves and bodices like ivy. Somewhere in the distance, someone was enthusiastically discussing six different shades of ivory. She wasn't entirely convinced she'd walked into a bridal boutique rather than an art gallery.

She cleared her throat.

"No lace," she said matter-of-factly. "No flowers. No frills. No train."

The salesman nodded with the practiced calm of someone who had heard every imaginable request. "Clean lines," he translated with an understanding smile. "Elegant. Understated."

Aren looked relieved.

"Yes." She glanced toward Omen before adding, "I don't want to spend my wedding wondering if I'm about to trip over three meters of expensive fabric." Her hand drifted unconsciously to the strap of her tool bag. "I want something I can actually move in."

The salesman considered her for only a moment before another smile appeared, saying, "I think I have a few ideas," as he gestured for them to follow, adding, "And... judging by your fiancé's description and your own additions..." while his eyes briefly swept over Aren's leather jacket and faded jeans, "...I have a feeling you're not looking for a dress that changes who you are."

For the first time since they'd arrived, Aren smiled without reservation, a quiet certainty settling over her as she shook her head and slipped her hand back into Omen's, her voice steady when she said she wanted something that looked like her.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen knew better than to interrupt Aren when she was trying to get what she wanted. And so he stayed in the background, letting her and salesman discuss what she wanted. It was that smile on Aren's face that perked his interested. "Huh, never thought talking about a dress would make you smile. Guess I ought to buy more for you." That jab would probably earn him a sour look but it was true. She wasn't exactly a fashion girlie so it certainly was something to see her care what her dress looked like. Guess this wedding really meant alot to her.

Turning his gaze back to salesman, he asked an important question. "So... Are you going to pick out a selection out for her and leave it by a changing room?" The Clone had no idea how this would work but thats what he thought would be the best way to do this. The Salesman here clearly had acouple of dresses in mind. Omen leaned in and looked at the employee's nametag to see if he could identify this helper's name.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

The salesman smiled knowingly as Omen asked the question, clearly relieved to have found a couple who were more interested in finding the right dress than turning the appointment into a spectacle.

"That's generally how we begin," he explained warmly. "I'll select several gowns based on what you've both described, then Miss D'Shade can try them on one at a time. We'll adjust from there. Sometimes the perfect dress is exactly what someone imagined." A small smile crossed his face. "More often, it's the one they never expected to choose."

Aren looked faintly skeptical. "That sounds suspiciously like you're planning to prove me wrong."

His laugh was quiet and good-natured. "I've been doing this for nearly fifteen years. It happens more often than you'd think."

His name tag caught Omen's eye as he spoke.

Elias.

"I'll stay well away from lace, embroidery, oversized trains, and anything that would make you feel like you're wearing someone else's clothes," Elias continued. "From what you've told me..." His eyes briefly took in the leather jacket, the worn boots, and the tool bag that Aren still had no intention of putting down. "...I think your dress should feel like an extension of who you already are, not a costume."

For perhaps the third time since entering the boutique, Aren smiled. "Thank you." She glanced sideways at Omen. "And no," she added dryly, "buying me more dresses will not become your new hobby."

Her attention returned to Elias. "I own exactly one dress. It's black, and I wore it to a funeral." She gave a small shrug, as if that said everything. "So... this is a little outside my experience."

"It usually is," Elias replied reassuringly, adding that they would take their time as he gestured toward a comfortable seating area beside several changing suites and asked them to give him a few minutes while he gathered four or five gowns he already had in mind.

As he disappeared between the racks, Aren watched him go before quietly turning to Omen, her expression edging toward alarm. "...Four or five?" she murmured. "I thought I'd be trying on one... maybe two." She glanced around at the sea of white and ivory dresses stretching across the boutique and let out a small breath. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn why people say wedding dress shopping takes all day."

Sergeant Omen