[ Brave words, Sion. A pessimist might be more likely to say pursuit of dreams only ever ends in failure or disappointment, but since this is Saber we're talking about, he only gets one slow blink in response. So... neither agreement nor disagreement. Could be worse.
Next thing she knows, there's a cup of tea in her hands, they're ushered into a shop so full to bursting with clothes, and it becomes obvious Saber's going to be nursing a minor headache by the time it's all over. Typical. The tea mostly gets politely ignored - it smells lovely, but poisons can't always be detected by scent alone and she's sure as hell not keen on taste testing that theory - cradled in her fingers while she walks a slow circuit of the showroom floor, inconspicuously clearing the area as any good bodyguard should.
Not that she really expects an assassin to come dramatically leaping out of the frilly dress racks, of course. Not without getting a teacup forcefully introduced to their sinuses first.
Speaking of frilly dresses...
Saber eyes the dress thrust at her with the kind of wary caution usually afforded to venomous snakes of the deadlier persuasion. ]
Ah. I'm somewhat... indisposed, currently.
[ The gunshot wound to her shoulderblade is still a little tender under the light dressing; she's not fool enough to jostle it any more than it needs to be, and tearing the stitches would earn her an earful from the RAC medical staff. God knows she gets enough flack for her usual routine as is.
And then there's the fact that wearing a dress is exceptionally unprofessional for an Agent - therefore the answer to Sion's coaxing will always be a resounding 'NO' while on the clock - being sleeveless would also have the unfortunate side effect of showing off Saber's brand new collection of bruising under the bandages. Advertising weakness to potential assassins? Ballsy, and suicidally stupid.
no subject
So... neither agreement nor disagreement. Could be worse.
Next thing she knows, there's a cup of tea in her hands, they're ushered into a shop so full to bursting with clothes, and it becomes obvious Saber's going to be nursing a minor headache by the time it's all over. Typical.
The tea mostly gets politely ignored - it smells lovely, but poisons can't always be detected by scent alone and she's sure as hell not keen on taste testing that theory - cradled in her fingers while she walks a slow circuit of the showroom floor, inconspicuously clearing the area as any good bodyguard should.
Not that she really expects an assassin to come dramatically leaping out of the frilly dress racks, of course. Not without getting a teacup forcefully introduced to their sinuses first.
Speaking of frilly dresses...
Saber eyes the dress thrust at her with the kind of wary caution usually afforded to venomous snakes of the deadlier persuasion. ]
Ah. I'm somewhat... indisposed, currently.
[ The gunshot wound to her shoulderblade is still a little tender under the light dressing; she's not fool enough to jostle it any more than it needs to be, and tearing the stitches would earn her an earful from the RAC medical staff. God knows she gets enough flack for her usual routine as is.
And then there's the fact that wearing a dress is exceptionally unprofessional for an Agent - therefore the answer to Sion's coaxing will always be a resounding 'NO' while on the clock - being sleeveless would also have the unfortunate side effect of showing off Saber's brand new collection of bruising under the bandages.
Advertising weakness to potential assassins? Ballsy, and suicidally stupid.
No. No dresses. Absolutely out of the question ]
Perhaps another time?