Tapendra was not in a good mood, though he had been in worse ones. He appeared in Diagon Alley with a crack at 9:44pm, twenty minutes earlier than his hastily sent owl has claimed. He was wrapped in a slightly threadbare brown cloak with the hood up. Underneath was his standard teaching attire; blue waistcoat, white shirt, navy tie and black slacks. In the darkness of nighttime Diagon, the gold rims of his glasses gleamed. It was raining, a depressing and foggy drizzle. He drew the cloak further up to avoid getting too wet.

The cloak was indeed hiding his face, though given his height it made him feel even more conspicuous. Tall dark stranger slinking through the alley at night? He was almost surprised an Auror hadn't stopped him. He wasn't sure what he'd do if one did.

Darian's shopfront was dark wood, adorned with accents of gold. The sign above was...the correct word was sumptuous. It had been painted a tasteful and rich purple, the writing in gleaming gold, matching the business card in Tapendra's breast pocket. The whole place stood out subtly; subliminally offering style in exchange for a healthy transfer of Galleons.

He steadied his breathing and opened the door, slipping in and forcing it closed as fast as he could. That wasn't suspicious at all.

Inside was ... not what he'd expected. He paused in horror, for a moment convinced he'd slipped in a very different kind of store; the red walls, the dark accents, the delicately sculpted lamps - it all screamed of..of...

Sex, really. The whole place had an aura of it, of moonlit affairs and dirty deeds, possibly involving leather. He wondered if Dolly spent much time here, or if she even knew Morgan; it seemed likely, honestly. Any fashion shop with this for a reception area probably spammed her owl posts with requests that she spearhead their line.

Since the room was empty, he paused to look at the window display. Lush, unsurprisingly. The mannequins were very well done; he reached out to poke at the shoe on one of them, wondering if that was real gold -

The mannequin shuffled out of the way automatically, and he jumped in surprise, his recovery utterly botched as someone entered from the back room. Tapendra swallowed his yelp and did his best to straighten out his appearance, pulling his hood down and adjusting his tie -

"Mister Morgan," he said, swallowing again and clearing his throat as he calmed down. "Good, ah, good evening."

"Evening," Mr. Morgan replied, seeming deeply amused by Tappy's disguise. The curtain still swung behind him. "I thought I sensed someone bothering Beardsley." He was dressed more simply than he had been the night before, either because of the hour or the venue, and his outfit was very like Tappy's - waistcoat, slacks, a dress shirt, sans tie. But Darian's deep blue slacks were shot through with pinstripes of gold, his white shirt had an insubstantiability most unlike cotton, and his amber waistcoat had a briar of darker golden threads just over his heart which curled and twisted in a most dizzying design. He was slimmer without the blazer, without the bright tuft of scarf around his throat, but of course his fingers were still circled with rings and the low light of the front room still picked out hints of vibrant red in his waving, curling hair. The smoked glasses were gone, which should have revealed, but the same light that showcased the vividness of his hair could not quite touch his eyes; shadowed by bangs, narrowed by smiling, there was nothing to see there but dark irises and hints of the white. He fit in very well, against the backdrop of this shop.

He ran his gaze up and down Tappy's clothing in what started out appraising and ended up disapproving. "My. What a poor job that cloak has done of keeping you dry. If payment had not already been discussed I think I would pay you with a new one." Then his eyes darted up again to catch Tappy's own. "Any questions before we begin? Second thoughts, final wishes?" His smile was small and shark-like; probably he knew how little Tappy was looking forward to this.

Tapendra couldn't help a self-conscious adjust of his tie under Darian's approving - and then disapproving - stare. Tapendra did not have style, which Darian had in abundance. Darian wore clothes and they became a part of his being, a glittering emphasis of a dynamic personality; in comparison, Tapendra just wore clothes to keep himself from being naked, it seemed. He had his own sense of style, but...it was downplayed, threadbare. Unaware to him, it said just as much as Darian's style did - but to Tapendra his clothes were practical and comfortable before they were fashionable.
 
He shrugged his cloak off anyway, folding it over his arm and trying not to look sheepish. "It's just a little damp. And what I normally use - you'd have hated more." He was fairly sure of that, anyway. Turning up in a t-shirt and jeans was not exactly what he'd wanted to do, normal was a raincoat.

At Darian's question, he gave the store a pointed look. "These clothes are... normal clothes, right? Like you said? They're not..." He couldn't find any way to tastefully convey the sexuality of the place. He sighed. "They're tasteful, right? And don't say they're what ordinary people wear, I do have a teenage sister. I've seen the stuff she tries to buy." His tone was sarcastic, but the slight smile that teased the edges of his mouth hinted he was being pointedly over dramatic.

He lowered his cloak slightly. "In all seriousness. I saw some of your...your other editorials. I - this one is similar, right?"

Darian gave him a long, speaking look. It seemed to imply that he was now regretting blackmailing the professor into this solely because he did not believe in charity and thus had no opportunity to put an end to the deep pain he felt at the mention of another, even worse bit of rainwear. Surely, his skepticism seemed to say, Tappy had made it to him just in time.

But he seemed delighted at Tappy's hesitant question, at the joking edge tacked onto the end. He grinned back, a surprisingly normal, even friendly expression. "Very tasteful. I told you, I make these to sell. Little good it does me to create avant-guard creations that my models can hardly walk in." So he had looked at Darian's other works in print, had he? It was not even the tiniest bit surprising. Only a fool would have walked in unprepared. At least now maybe he wouldn't yelp so when Darian shoved him into the first outfit. Luxury was now expected. Extravagence was a given.

He'd already decided to cater this shoot heavily to Tappy's look. Darian's clothing was always elegant, but he had chosen this time to also go with a more conservative approach. This shot's outfits were fitted out to the highest decorum of suit tradition, the fullest complement of layers and additional accesories, but only because Darian knew he'd hardly get the same appearance of comfort were he to force Tapendra into a pair of low-slung velvet trousers and nothing else.

Not that Tapendra would't look good in a pair of low-slung velvet trousers, particularly in burgandy or forest green. Darian bet that would sell better, too. Mmm, yes. Such sacrifices he made for the comfort of his virgin model! Tappy probably wouldn't even by impressed.

He'd let him keep the glasses, too. Well, for most of the outfits. He'd decided this at 3 AM the night before, having gone to the shop immediately after escaping both the hospital and his cousin's lecture. Blah blah blah what the hell were you thinking blah blah you had no right as usual blah blah blah threats of terrible vengeful harm - please. Darian did not think a simple chat with Landis' current bedwarmer deserved such a fuss. His mind had been aflame with possibility and Landis couldn't really expect Darian to take him seriously when he was standing between Darian and the nearest pad of paper. He'd hardly paid attention except for the bits where Landis was shaking him by the collar because, well, that was at least vaguely attractive even if it was straining the fabric.

He'd been in a hurry to leave. After all, he had to change the set entirely from his original debauched, silk-sheeted and gilt-encrusted bed scene. The new illusion had been tricky to create, meticulous and time-consuming, but if he couldn't have Tapendra in velvet pants the old set would be a complete waste. Sometime just before the sun had risen Tappy had owled him his measurements, which had pleased Darian but vaguely made him wonder what the professor was doing up at an hour like this before he got to work retailoring all his garments to fit. At 9 o'clock in the morning his assistant had come in and, after a few minutes of shrewd interrogation that mostly worked because he was completely engrossed in a snarl of embroidery that had devoloped while lengthening a heavy silk cloak, tried to make him go to bed, but that was a complete waste of time and he'd just sent her for breakfast instead. As soon as she'd gotten back he enlisted her in the making of a three-piece striped suit and managed to get quite out of eating too, although he did drink the coffe whenever he'd remembered. By mid-afternoon he'd gotten the clothing as close as he could guess without Tapendra actually there to try them on and collapsed on the still-transfigured bed in the back room of the store. After precisely five hours of sound dreamless sleep he sprang up again to shower and dress before Tapendra's arrival. He'd gotten back in about twenty minutes ago, breezing around making last-minute adjustments and examining with great interest the take-out Misa had left in a prominent place on the table.

"Tell me," he said suddenly, as though struck with remembrance. "Can you see without your glasses?"

Tappy had seen those avant-guard creations. He, like many of the population, was still completely lost on how those transfigured into everyday fashion. He'd been told they were for inspiration only, but he didn't believe it, mostly because Lady Gaga wore half of them.

Still, Darian's genuine smile did wonders. He found himself much more relaxed; at least for now the man was calmer, less pushy, and it helped. Tapendra returned the smile. "Alright," he said. Though he really hoped he didn't wind up in anything too much like what Darian wore. Loud suits were not something he felt he could handle.

At Darian' question, Tapendra reached up and removed his glasses, judging his limited sight in the confines of the store; squinting around the room and finally down at Darian. "Well enough, yes," he said. "I'm short-sighted, so if you're halfway across the store I won't be able to read any cue cards or anything." Did they use cue cards for models? "But anything within about 15 feet is clear."

"I can certainly survive without them," he said as he slipped his glasses back on, shoving them back up his nose with his index and middle finger, as was his habit. He couldn't help a smirk, having seen some of the other types of editorial ads. "Though if you're replacing them with sunglasses my vision'll be pretty limited." Especially indoors.

"If I'm to have you in sunglasses then I won't need your eyes," Darian relied smartly, but he did look thoughtful about the possibility. Perhaps the glasses on the table, and an unfocused gaze could be passed off as distant. He musn't look tired, but brooding was dreamy. "Right, toddle after me then, we've a lot to do." And he batted away the curtain with a leisurely hand and vanished behind its quick blue swirl.

The room behind the antechamber - the shop proper - was more professional than the lush little reception area might lead one to believe. The room was lined with dark wood shelves, cubbies, and boltholes, where folded shirts and hanging trousers in a multitude of colors and sizes suggested Tappy had found Darian's basic stock. There were robes and waistcoats, blazers and undershirts, as nearly identical as an army of needles and thread could manage, and then items surely supplied by someone else to round out the selection - cufflinks winked from pale-colored cushions and a whole floor-to-ceiling display held hankerchefs and ties of every possible color. All men's clothing, though no wizarding hats, because Darian found them impossible to make elegant.

And that was just the borders. Spread throughout the center of the room were Darian's personal designs, laid out in both displays and from hanging racks. There was no stock-similarity here - no two garments were the same, although presumably more could be made of each should they catch the eye of someone with money. Unlike the stock clothing there were sections for both sexes, although menswear still dominated the selection. The ceiling, high and white, let light in during the daytime from a long series of slanted skylights; now the windows were dark and the room was lit yellow with what looked like Victorian gas lamps instead. At stategic points on the walls and at the displays photographs were placed, each in an identical black frame, each showing people in Darian's clothing. The professional models, sultry-eyed and listless, pouted and posed in endless loop; the more candid models didn't, making it easy to tell which were probably personal acquaintences or in a few cases were Darian himself. One photo which appeared to be from a magazine spread showed Darian, youmger-looking, impeccably dressed, turning his head to wink at the camera. THE NEW ANDROGYNY, the title of the article screamed, and picture-Darian winked again as Tappy passed. Another showed Rhys standing ankle-deep in a lake with his fancy trousers rolled up, looking more like a very blonde rugby player than a model as he shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled at something the photographer - Darian? - said. And another showed Dolly, some bit of media propaganda for her books, tapping her mouth with a quill and smirking in a deep purple dress.

Darian breezed past all of this in a beeline to the back, where another curtain beckoned. Here at the back of the shop there was a wide open area, complete with a tall mirror and smart little stool, that suggested the fitting area. "Stay here," he called as he disappeared through the other curtain, and emerged a moment later to hold back the heavy cloth for the army of floating, ghostly garments that followed him. "Right," he said, advancing on Tappy with a dangerous glint in his red-lashed eyes. An alarmingly clacking pair of scissors rose to nudge at his fingers like an affectionate dog; a needle, trailing thread, zoomed out of his waistcoat pocket and sighted on Tappy. "I'll need to check these measurements first. You, my dear, left me quite lacking in several integral ways." The glint in his eyes hardly became any more comforting when his next words were, "Take off your clothes."

The inside of the store was much more tasteful and less, well, sexual than the reception room, and Tapendra couldn't help but wonder why the front looked the way it did. The clothing wasn't bad, honestly. It wasn't his style, but it wasn't bad. He followed Darian, tempering his long strides.

He wasn't sure what you'd need his eyes for, exactly, but Darian was probably - scratch that, he was - more knowledgeable about this than he was. Eyes browsing the racks, he realized with a start the clothes Dolly had sent him probably came from here. And speaking of Dolly...there she was, a long with others he recognized, winking in photos along the walls. He stared at her photo for a long moment, a brief mix of emotion showing on is features. He hadn't seen her in some time; it seemed odd to see her on Darian's wall.

The realization of the fact that could well be him - would be him - was a bit...stomach wrenching. He still wasn't sure about this. Get it over with, right? And most of the suit ads were...tasteful, simple. His job was to sit there and look vaguely bored or annoyed, apparently. He could do that. He did it all the time on the couch at home.

He waited patiently as Darian readied his things, eyeing the scissors nervously - and then Darian's comment cut through, and he started at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment, raising his cloak subconsciously like a big woolen shield.

"What, all of them?" He nearly squeaked it. Of course his clothes coming off was going to factor into this, but..."Out here? Don't you have a, a, a changing room or...something?"

They were alone, for now, but that didn't change things. The place had windows! (On the roof) Someone could see. They might, dear Merlin, assume. And that damn glint in Darian's eye was worrying too.

"What, all of them?"

Darian raised a coppery brow in a perfect imitation of a proper gentleman, disinterested. Whatever would Tapendra do if he'd said yes? It was a fascinating and absorbing question whose answer he unfortunately would not tonight discover. These photos were due next week; Darian might look, but he had no time to touch. "You may keep your boxers. Or your briefs. I wouldn't presume to know."

"Out here? Don't you have a, a, a changing room or...something?"

How adorable. How quaint. Darian wondered if Tappy knew him well enough to fear for his virtue. Doubtless since Dolly had already gotten ahold of it, there wasn't much left Darian could do.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. In fact, that wasn't true at all. But a deadline was the one bitch that he couldn't forget in the morning, so it was to be business first and leisure later. Still, he must leave Tappy with the right impression. So for one easily-mistaken moment, Darian's expression was one of deepest mourning. Then he sighed and waved a hand towards the curtain from whence he'd come. "Go on and change in there." Said hand, after a dressing room direction had been established, pressed flat against his heart. "Promise not to peek."

Not that he wouldn't see the whole show at some point in the fitting. If Tapendra thought he had the sweet time to change behind curtains for every shot he would be quickly and violently disillusioned. Darian's quick switches between charming lech and disinterested tailor were currently aimed to disarm, but once they began working Tappy would learn exactly how little patience this pureblood had for modesty.

Tapendra relaxed, though Darian's momentary hesitation wasn't helping. He headed behind the curtain, trying to not make it look like the retreat it was.

The room on the other side was clearly much less formal. It was cluttered, in a kind of chaotic organization he recognized quite well, as he employed it. Tailoring supplies, pictures, all of the personal effects and tools of Darian's trade littered the area. Tapendra retreated to what he assumed was Darian's own work area, kicking off his shoes right away, much more comfortable when his bare feet hit the wooden floor. He looked around as he started unbuttoning his waistcoat.

The photos were definetly personal - family members, he assumed, though he doubted all of them were. Some were children he recognized, even - one of the 3rd year students, and a 5th year. Even one that looked like...Landis? He must have been born with that scowl, Tappy decided.

His eyes traced along the rows of pictures as he undid his tie, automatically folding his vest neatly and putting it on a fair clear space on the table. His tie and work shirt followed it, already feeling the uncertainty rise as he stood in just his slacks. He rubbed his arms automatically.

Tapendra had finally gathered his courage and taken those off, too, when he spotted her - and now that he'd sen her, she was all over.

Dolly.

Unlike the photo outside these pictures were... obviously private. Corsets, underwear, stockings - one of those outfits he recognized. He picked that photo up, looking down at her smiling face with a mix of uncertainly and loss. He hadn't seen her in what felt like all year, and with the Aurors...

He was standing there in his briefs when the curtain moved, and he surprised himself in turning to face the redheaded man with the photo in hand, his blue eyes betraying his discomfort, but the set of his jaw belying a new sense of purpose, even if it was 'get it over with'.

"You know Dolly?" he asked, looking at the photo a last time and putting it down, oh-so-casually folding his arms down his chest modestly.

"Hmmm?" Darian seemed not the slightest bit surprised to bat away the curtain and find a tall, accusatory, near-naked Tappy. His eyes flicked over Tappy, over the photo he held in his hands, but his expression remained disinterested. He breezed past the professor to lay an armful of accessories - suspenders, scarves, glasses, jewelry - on the crowded table, dropped a pair of shoes on the floor at Tappy's feet, and directed the suit that had followed him in to lay itself across the nearest chair. Only then did his blue eyes refocus on the picture Tappy held - Dolly in a striped corset, watching the viewer from beneath lowered lashes as her lips curved in a knowing little smile. "Ah, you've found my short-lived exploration into women's underwear." Darian ran a brisk finger down the edge of the frame, a smile flirting with the edges of his own mouth, and tsk'd lightly. "Come, Tapendra, don't let her distract you from getting dressed. We have much to do."

It was not really an answer, but Darian was certain Tappy would to press him until he got one. Tappy was that type; he'd let the man have his fun. Or should he say his misery? The determined set of Tappy's jaw made him want to splay fingers over his own face and laugh and laugh. Such morality, that he'd confront Darian over the sight of his lover hanging on someone else's wall. Perhaps he thought the smile in the photo had been one meant just for him.

Just outside, in the fitting area, there was an enchanted piece of cloth meant to whisk up and around in a floating curtain of privacy for those who needed to change. But in here there were half a dozen pictures of Dolly,  and Darian had known exactly what Tappy would focus on. It was funny but it'd have been a pain to deal with during the middle of the shoot, so best to conduct this conversation now.

Short-lived? If he'd gotten women like Dolly to pose like that, why would he have stopped?

The thought came unbidden and he flushed, eyes focused on the horizon a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts away from that particular avenue. In a setting like Darian's shop, it wasn't easy.

Tapendra quickly put the photo down, stepping away from it and its unwanted musings on women's hosiery. Really, it wasn't surprising to meet a former, or current, lover of Dolly's; there seemed to be rather a lot. He'd never wanted to take the tabloids at their word, but sometimes they seemed to be spot on...

At least Darian wasn't that bad, by Tapendra's standards. He was friendly enough. A bit on the...deviant side, Tapendra suspected, but nothing like say...Landis, (if the two had met at all, Tapendra wasn't sure) who was rather suspicious, or Dom - some former Death Eater. Darian seemed more likely to try to introduce her to some new form of sexual...something (Tapendra was not about to pretend to know) than he was to beat her or strangle her while she slept or break her heart.

Well, unless she'd asked him to. Tapendra wasn't going to muse on the extents that Dolly's adventurous spirit went. Especially not while standing in his underwear next to a man who he barely knew, who'd not three minutes earlier had been giving him bizarrely hungry looks.

Instead, he went to the worry he'd been dealing with in the background while all the chaos around his mother exploded. "Have you seen her? Recently?" he asked, guilt twisting his stomach that he'd been too busy and too nervous to even write - part of him not wanting to know, just in case Dom had finally given in, and not wanting to have been wrong.

He stepped back out of Darian's way as the man put things down, feeling useless. This would likely be a common feeling through out the night, but since his job was to basically stand there and have clothes stuck on him...

He ran a hand through his hair. "What now? Measurements?" He asked, since Darian seemed to be waiting for something.

Tapendra stared at the photo some more, then blushed. For Wilde's sake, it was a miracle that he'd ever gotten into Dolly's pants in the first place. She had a soft spot for sweethearts, but surely the novelty of a nice guy would wear out. Darian couldn't stand gentlemen, real gentlemen, the kind with modesty and manners. What a bore.

"Have you seen her? Recently?" Tappy asked, and it was not at all the direction Darian had expected him to take. He'd thought... that the professor would press. That he would be indignant, that he would be unhappy, that it would have been obvious how greatly he'd been deluding himself. He was none of those things, and the tone of his demand was only gently pleading and quietly earnest.

Darian was surprised, but he was learning. Tappy's question taught him more than any protective bluster would have. Soon he might have the measure of this man that had nothing to do with clothing.

"Not for several weeks now," he said, noting the underlying desperation in the other man's words. Dolly had spoken to him of Tapendra before - only briefly, only skimming the surface, so as not to add an unpleasant note of emotion to the lightness of their bed. Darian did not mind the talk of other lovers, for he was not a jealous or possessive man; he enjoyed their time together as a slaking of mutual urges, as fun company for fun times, and while it was not meaningless neither were there strings. But he minded talk of love, would not speak of emotion, and Dolly did not confide too deeply in him. So he knew the name of Tapendra Trishna, but he didn't care the place it took in Dolly's twisted little heart. This, however, hinted at trouble in paradise. Perhaps she'd found Tapendra too naive, too innocent, and ignoring him was her idea of self-sacrifice. (She might not tell him much, but Darian knew all about her guilt, his knowledge stolen from unguarded expressions and the flowers she turned away at the door. Dolores, Dolores, too soft beneath her warpaint.) "I imagine I will see her soon. With the launch of her next book comes the need for a seasoned designer."

"What now? Measurements?"

Darian looked amused again. Possibly this was a common reaction.

"Now," he purred, and gave Tappy a long up-and-down look that was sure to light a fire under that thinly-clad tail.  "You're going to get dressed. And then I'm going to make sure the clothing is fitted properly, as it was made for the measurements you owled me but not actually for you, and then we shall start the shoot." A delicate pause. "But if we're to be done before sunrise you might want to get on with it instead of staring at the pictures of women on my wall. They are beautiful, yes..." Flash of a smile. "But distracting."

He nodded, glumly. "I see," he said, simply. "I'm sure if anyone can do her justice, it's you, Mister Morgan," he was saying, and then suddenly Darian was looking at him like he'd been dipped in chocolate. He blinked twice in rapid succession and hurriedly grabbed at the pile of the clothes Darian had brought in, though he wasn't about to turn his back on the man after that.

He got to work, unsurprisingly picking up a pair of pants first. The dark grey slacks were a tad wide at his narrow hips, the ends bunched a bit at his ankles - likely a good thing, that. They rested on his hips alright, even if they did threaten to slide down if he moved too much.

The shirt was dark blue and had elbow-length sleeves, to his silent pleasure. That'd certainly save time rolling them up, if his actual shirts were like that. He tugged it on, fingers quickly slotting the buttons into place. Overall he dressed with impressive speed, which, really, wasn't that surprising.

He'd gone to pick up the waist coat he assumed was part of the outfit when he paused, stopping his hand and turning, looking at Darian. "One layer at a time, or...?"

Here came again that bright, dazzling smile. "Call me Darian," he said, low and coaxing. "Mister Morgan makes me think of my father."

Predictable as snow in winter and rain in spring, Darian's lingering look made Tappy hasten to get dressed. The suit he'd grabbed, all shades of blue and gray, had several layers and would take a while to put on during the actual shoot - as did most of his creations. At least this one was bereft of a blazer. If Tappy was smart, he'd let Darian dress him. A wave of his wand and one miniature tornado later Tappy would be dressed, if disheveled; the trick was remembering to raise his arms and legs on command. By the end of the night, Darian hoped to have him very well trained.

For now, though, one layer at a time would suffice. Darian was surprised when Tappy stopped without prompting, now clad only in the shirt and slacks.

"One layer at a time, or...?"

"Yes," Darian answered simply, and then his eyes narrowed as he again swept Tappy from head to toe. The difference between his last look to this thorough, impersonal, neatly clinical gaze was astonishingly evident. Quite clearly, no matter how uncomfortable the intensity of his study was, no matter how his eyes lingered on the too-loose fit of the hips and the tautness of cloth over the shoulders, Tappy had ceased to be anything but a vehicle for the clothing. He might as well have been a mannequin.

After staring at Tappy's hips and crotch for a while, Darian snapped out an order in what sounded like Welsh. Against the wall there was a huge, shallow cabinet composed of dozens and dozens of tiny drawers; previously easy to dismiss as harmless, now three or four drawers shot open at the sound of his voice, loosing an orange pincushion prickled with pins, several more needles, skeins of thread, a long strip of measuring tape, and other assorted and sundry bits of tailoring nonsense. The tape draped itself lovingly around his neck, thread began to unwind itself from its spindle, and a pair of shears, larger and sharper-looking than his devoted scissors, loomed closer. Darian waved it away again. Another stone-gargling, bizarrely musical dribble of Welsh, and the orange pincushion gave up its crop. Tiny bits of steel, at his direction, went in for the kill.

"Oh," Darian said carelessly, now that literal pins and needles were attacking Tappy's trousers. "Don't move."

Within seconds the fabric around Tappy's hips was pinned tighter, although Darian left the length and the drape untouched. More pins spiraled out of the cushion and headed for the shirt - stitches unraveled at Tappy's sleeves, and although he couldn't see it he'd feel something split at the back. But Darian was talented, and unlike his Muggle counterpoints he had the benefit of magic; it took only a little more time for some of the tension across Tappy's broad shoulders to ease slack.

"Right," he said smartly. "Put your arms out and relax. I'll be lifting you for a moment so as not to dislodge the pins." Confidently, he waved his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa! Incompesco! Necto!" And as Tappy's feet lifted from the floor, his fly unzipped and the pants slithered off. The buttons of his shirt stripped open in one long line that, when paired with Darian's glittering eyes and the memory of his usual wicked smile, put in mind other possible uses for such a slick spell. 

The clothes, securely pinned but not yet sewn, were snatched up by another spell which held them in mid-air while needles trailing thread raced in and out, dislodging pins as the stitches tightened and looking for all the world like a feeding frenzy of bright, wicked little sharks.

"Next outfit," Darian said shortly, his eyes still on the first. "We'll do the waistcoat later."

Well, that had been the quickest and most unpleasant undressing of his life. Darian's order to stay still hadn't really been necessary. The moment pins start working on your clothing on their own, you held very still, especially when they started darting around close to delicate areas. At least Darian had looked elsewhere. The lingering stare at his unmentionables had not been entirely welcome.

Standing in his underwear again, he rubbed an arm, feeling the hair stand on end a bit. The cloud of pins was hovering, waiting, and Tapendra eyed them cautiously. How hard would it be for them to kill him? Not very, he knew. His eyes were only shielded by glasses, and -

And Darian wasn't going to kill him. He was, at least for now, useful. He was also being extremely silly.

He hurriedly picked up the next outfit, pulling on the shirt and trousers with impressive speed. One could ponder that his speed in dressing was from a questionable source, but as a man who often slept in or didn't sleep at all, dressing in a hurry had simply become habit. And so far, the outfits were close enough to his own clothing, he didn't have to figure out how to put them on...

Underneath the current one was a black outfit. He eyed it with some interest. It looked different to the others, subtly. He hoped he didn't have to pose in just the trousers. But that would have been ridiculous, and Darian wouldn't ask for that. Who'd by trousers based on an ad like that?

"Right," he said, once the undershirt and pants were on. He turned back towards Darian, and with only a hint of resigned sigh, raised his arms out sideways slightly to let the pins get to his sides more easily.

He had to silently admit to preferring Darian in his working mode. Not being looked at like a side of fresh meat was rather relaxing, even if the demanding and judging look wasn't technically that much better.