Love Crafted

“What are we buying next?” you ask Abigail as you hop out of the store. There are still people panicking inside, mostly as they try to unbury the mages that were too close when you copied your new dress.

Not that any of that matters because you are the proud new owner of the prettiest dress. Your entire body is covered in frills and lace except for your head and hands. Even your real body is now protected by an ablative layer made up of billions of petticoats. Anyone trying to hurt you now is in for a lacey surprise!

“I still need a few things,” Abigail says. “I can get those at the other end of the market district. Stay close.” She wiggled a finger in your direction. “I know that what happened in there was your fault. You’re going to have some explaining to do.”

Explain what? You wanted a pretty dress, it was too expensive, so you took a free one from elsewhere. You hardly deserve this finger wiggling treatment.

You spin away from Abigail to demonstrate how unamused you are.... And pause.

You do that again. Face Abigail, spin away.

Looking down, you repeat the motion, watching as your floofy skirts rise up with the spin. You spin again, and again, each time making the skirts poof out.

This is spectacular!

You spin and spin and spin, giggles escaping you as the world wibbles and wobbles and you leave lacey after images in the air and your skirts sing as they shoowsh around.

Your giggle s are soon joined by Abigails as she presses a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. “Are you having fun?” she asks.

“Yes!” you declare as you stop. “Lots.”

“Alright then,” she says. “I don’t want to cut into your fun, but we do need to get my things.” She lifts her bags where she stuffed her school uniform already, the pointy tip of a hat is sticking out the end, red tassles fluttering. “I’m still missing a lot of little things. And I wanted to visit Daphne later.”

“Okay!” You tell her. “But you need to get a fluffier dress too, so that we can spin together.”

She rolls her eyes and plants her hand on your head. “It’s easy to forget what you are when you act that way,” she says.

“But I’m me.”

She sighs and rubs your hair. “You certainly are.”

Following next to Abigail, you take in the city all around you, eyes looking up into the sky even as grey clouds churn above and the wind that’s slipping between the buildings around you turns cold. You see more and more people fixing their hats on their heads and tugging their coats closed, then you feel the first splatter of rain smack you on the head.

“We should hurry or we’ll be all wet,” Abigail says before she picks up the pace.

You don’t mind the wetness, you’re a creature of the depth and of tentacles, being wet is an everyday occurance to you. But this body is a lot drier. You take in all the long coats that the mortals around you are wearing and come to a decision.

You let your tentacles slip out from the bottom of your skirt, then wrap them around your shoulders and arms and waist. It only takes a bit of effort to spawn more tentacles from those tentacles, then to have them change texture to match the canvas-y material you see a lot of coats are made of. Soon enough you have an awesome long coat wrapped snugly around you, only it’s better than any normal long coat because it’s made of tentacles.

A tentacoat, as it were.

Abigail is eyeing you carefully, but she just shakes her head once your tentacoat is complete. Obviously she is jealous of your waterproofing methods, so you whip out a tentacle towards her and ignore her squeak as it multiplies and covers her from head to toe. In the time it takes her to blink she’s covered in her own tentacoat. “T-thanks?” she says.

“Yes,” you reply.

It only takes a few minutes to arrive at the shop, but in those minutes the sky opens up to a downpour of rain that pelts down on the city like a deluge. People start running instead of walking and newspapers and umbrellas rise up to keep the rain away. There’s steam rising from the circles engraved within the little gutters along the edges of the streets as they make the water evaporate and the strange horseless carts rumbling along skitter as their wooden wheels lose traction around corners.

Abigail pulls you into a shop at a run, doorbell jingling madly to announce your presence and your victory in escaping the rain.

“Hello and welcome,” a deep, rumbly voice says.

You spin on the spot to get rid of some of the water, but your dress is all soaked and it isn’t nearly as fun even if it sends arcs of water all over.

“Oi, you’re getting my wares all wet, little lady.”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Abigail says before bowing.

The shopkeeper is a huge man, a slab of muscle that’s barely contained in a button up shirt with a leather apron before it. He waves the excuses away, then gestures across the shelves of his shop. “Welcome nonetheless. I sell nothing that would be damaged by a bit or rainwater. Only the best in alchemical equipment here.”

Scales and alembics and strangely shaped glass tubes are all sitting on soft velvet cushions within display cases on wooden pedestals and there are bright ads plastered on every wall telling you which company has the best equipment that would make even you an excellent alchemist.

You have to shake your head to refocus. You’re here to help Abigail, not stare at the pretty things.