Kronos had plans for the day and knew the general time-frame for them but not necessarily the who or the what.  It was some odd, unfinished business involving long deliberations and they were not to begin until one o'clock, he did know that.  But it really wasn't anything worth fussing over, certainly not until he had to, as he always made a point of having his random Lazy Tuesday, and this was one of them.  So Kronos awoke that morning and he took his sweet time getting out of bed.  For not a few hours since seven o'clock when the sun had started shining in on him through the white curtains, he rolled and hummed contentedly round in the silk sheets of his king-sized bed that sat in a sable and silver painted frame with carved cabriole legs, slipping in and out of sleep and strange dreams.  It was a... rather good morning.

The coo-coo clock coo-cooed eleven times and Kronos crawled leisurely out of bed, securing his bathrobe round himself and slipping into his bedside slippers.  He couldn't help but notice immediately how in contrast to his silk bedsheets, the seam of his bathrobe grated harshly against his skin.  His slippers seemed to have a reversing effect on last night's pedicure.  It must have been a trick of the mind, a resistance to getting out of bed... but the instant discomfort in comparison did feel rather real.

Yawning and stretching, Kronos went to his bath suite, brushed and flossed his teeth, ran a luke-warm bath with bubbles and slipped in for a bit of sing-song and a splash.  When all was said and done, face powdered, hair magicked into pure dead brilliance, Kronos went for a fresh robe and opened his auto-magically updating date-book for a bit of a refresher.  What he saw marked down for the day utterly surprised him; the man's name was crossed out, and beside it read in loopy script:  Deceased. 

"Well, fuck me," muttered Kronos, remembering suddenly how he had the man killed last week.  And to think, he could have stayed in bed!  There was little point now, he could never sleep after a cool bath.  Waving it off with a lazy gesture, Kronos went to his wardrobe and tried to get dressed.  Tried, because everything was awful.  Every time he gazed into that man-sized mirror, he had to cringe!  What on earth was he thinking, buying these clothes?  They were all terrible today.  Nothing good, not a one.  It had been an hour before he threw his arms up in the air and set his clothes on fire.  Sweeping through the hallways stark nude, he pointed his finger at an employee in passing.  "You," he said.  "My closet is on fire.  Take care of that, will you?  I'm going shopping."

He did wait till after breakfast.  He did, also, eat breakfast in the nude (and quickly, too, because his seat was cold and once he had got it into his head to go shopping he was really too excited to sit still anyway).  He gulped down some Turkish coffee and a couple croissants, then a warming potion and some invisibility juice.  He strolled down the long, narrow path to the apparition point, chest high and smiling as the crisp, early Summer air and sea mist hit his bare and gleamingly white skin.  Eighty-nine year old, high-profile Ministry Fugitive apparating naked into Diagon Alley?  Not a problem.  He was invisible!

His excitement went through the roof soon as he was in the familiar, sultry-smelling shop.  He giggled forthright, then proceeded to imbibe his counter-brew.  Suddenly, Kronos Malvivicus was standing in the middle of the sitting room, very, very naked.

"Ohh, Dariaan!"

Outfit.

It was early yet. Darian had only been in for an hour or so, but he was already working hard. In one hand he held a French-cuffed forest green men's dress shirt, in the other a blue one with pinstripes, and he was deep in a persuasive conversation with a witch who really wasn't sure her husband needed new clothing for his birthday anymore after seeing Darian's price tags. The woman was middle-aged, conservative, and clearly suffering from sticker shock, but Darian had shifted closer, his smooth voice perfectly tuned to coaxing as he praised the weave and look and investment. He was in the process of winning when he heard the call.

Coppery brows rose in a picture of perfect astonishment, tempered by the slow smile that curled over his mouth. Darian's eyes flashed to the curtain that divided the store proper from the antechamber, then to his assistant. Instantly Misa hurried the bewildered customer out, her softly accented voice apologizing, denying, placating, promising; without looking round Darian hooked the two garments on the nearest rack and followed.

By the time the curtain swirled open he was in the lead, stepping lightly through with the two women on his heels. There Kronos was waiting for them, naked as the day he was born, with all the mannequins on display peering around to look at him.

The customer's mouth dropped open. Darian and his assistant didn't so much as blink.

"Mr. Malvivicus!" he said warmly, laying one hand over his heart and sweeping out the other in a flourishing sort of half-bow. "What a pleasant surprise! And what a charming statement you are making to-day." Behind Kronos there came the click as Misa shut and locked the door. "Don't tell me - " Darian's arms drifted back up to cross over his chest; he raised his chin, a little smile playing about his mouth. His voice dipped low, knowing as the glint of dark eyes beneath his cupid's curls. "You couldn't find a thing to wear."

The air of conspiratory intimacy was somewhat dashed when his gaze transferred over Kronos' shoulder. "Boys," he said sternly, and the three dandied mannequins shuffled guiltily back into place.

He felt better already.  Just being in Darian Morgan's boutique with its sultry velvet colouring and sweet, musky smell of incense was enough to envelop his hairy heart in a bath of joy.  He raised a hand delicately to the side of his face in mock bashfulness, barely containing his mirth as the customer took in his well-endowed presence with mortification evident on her stupidly gaping face.  The poor thing had never seen something so beautiful.  He wigged his fingers at her, the Witches, the mannequins, and the ever-handsome young stud Darian, waving sheepishly as his legs curved into an exaggerated pose befitting one of Arius Tristisa's Peacock Girls.

"Darian," he sighed, dreamily.  "Oh, not a thing!  It was awful!  Naturally I had no where else in all the world to go.  I'll have to apologise for not having a thing on me gift-wise; rest assured I'll have my men deposit a fine amount into your possession only later today."  As he spoke, Kronos strolled nonchalantly across the room, investigating his surroundings, picking the odd thing up, turning it in his hand for inspection and placing it down again.

"I need everything from the head to the toes, one hundred and fifty times over.  I'm afraid I'll be keeping you all to myself, today, Darian Morgan, you risqué libertine, you.  I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Darian hummed sympathetically, perfectly aware of the extent of Kronos' (former) wardrobe, which had included several of his own designs. Of course he did not do anything so boorish as take offense.

"You spoil me," he grinned as Misa tripped forward to offer the gentleman a dressing robe in heavy green silk, threaded thickly with blue and gold embroidered peacocks. As Kronos meandered Darian's wand came to life; a few stealthy flicks brought the side table sweeping forward to a place of prominence, the refreshments from earlier in the day banished for fresh fare. Misa laid out the fruit, cheeses, and several bottles of wine; steam began to swirl from the heavy-bottomed silver teapot. Macaroons appeared on an art deco tray. The air sweetened, the shop's usual sandalwood notes augmented by vanilla as well as the coffee from the little ebony table. Darian waltzed in step behind Kronos, his wand returning to its place in his back pocket.

"I need everything from the head to the toes, one hundred and fifty times over."

Misa, surreptitiously checking the shop's appointments for the day from a great black book, looked up. Their eyes met across the room. Darian did keep Libertine stocked with everything a gentleman might need, from cufflinks to evening coats to those accouterments worn under clothing yet deemed so critical by proper society. But his stock of some items was not large - shoes and hats, things like that. Certainly not fine enough for Kronos, not when Darian hadn't had the forewarning to prepare. His smile went enigmatic in that impenetrable shopkeep way often brought on by large amounts of money, but his urgent gaze as it flashed at her said code purple, code purple, nip around back and grab the experimental creations. Quietly, Misa excused herself. Darian turned back on Kronos with a twist of his heel and a low bow, one pale hand flinging itself out while the other pressed lovingly to his heart. His curls bounced and bobbed around his beaming face in calculated distraction. 

"It will be a pleasure to serve you once more, Mr. Malvivicus. Let me show you a few things I think you might like."

It really was a pleasure in a great many ways. Darian rarely entertained someone as adventurous as he himself; his own shop favorites were far too risqué for most clients, too flashy, too loud. But Kronos was a man after his own heart, and he paid extremely well - for Mr. Malvivicus here, Darian would happily hand over the very boots he had on.