dust in the wind―n.mikaelson

red holiday.

"What kind of dress? Preferences? What is it for? Do you need accessories? What kind of materials? Size? Fit? Color? Alteration requirements?" Cassandre stared at Marcel over Monique's head and he laughed silently, mouthing, Answer one at a time. 

"Nothing too revealing. I'd like if it's backless and strapless. It's for a masquerade ball. I do need accessories, in fact, so if you happen to sell masks, that would be very nice. I don't particularly enjoy silk." Monique grabbed Cass's arms and lifted them up to measure around her waist and chest, then smacked them down to get her shoulders. She scribbled on a piece of paper intermittently, handwriting seemingly illegible. "The skirt shouldn't hug my skin but it shouldn't poof out. Again, not too tight, not too overwhelmingly large. Comfortable and easy to move around in. Black would be wonderful. And no, no special alteration requirements." 

"Excellent!" Monique cried, bustling towards the back of the boutique without further notice. Cassandre turned to face Marcel again―he was biting his lip to keep himself from really bursting out laughing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he struggled with his amusement. 

"She's quite the person," Cassandre said. He nodded, still biting his lip. A little bit of blood trickled down his chin and he swiped it away, releasing the hold soon after. Monique appeared moments later, entirely obscured by what looked like a large white body bag, a far smaller one dangling from her pinky finger. 

"This one!" she yelled, voice muffled. Marcel took the dress and she blinked at him gratefully from behind a pair of large spectacles. "This one," she repeated. The woman once again took hold of Cassandre's elbow, gesturing with her other hand at Marcel to follow with the selected garment. She shoved her towards a small room. "Get dressed." 

It was easy enough to slip in. It was also zipperless and therefore her concern was made irrelevant. The dress was indeed black, falling to the floor in a full-length skirt that still wouldn't impede her movement too much. Guns, smaller stakes, and even a small crossbow or two would absolutely fit strapped to her leg and no one would be the wiser. The bodice fell in the slightest of sweetheart necklines and barely revealed the skin of her cleavage, which she much appreciated. 

It was decorated in some kind of beaded lace material and she brushed her fingers over it. Cassandre turned to the side to see her Hunter's Mark sprawling from the back of her hand up her arm and over her shoulder. It twisted over and filled her entire back, wrapping around a little to her collarbone. The mask, added to the look, made her feel as if she were royalty of the deepest night. 

Cassandre shook her head. She was being ridiculous. "I'll take it," she called. Then came the dreaded question. "How much is it?" 

"Uh-uh," Marcel cut in. "No way. Absolutely not. I'm paying. Don't even try to question me on it, Winchester. I told you I'm buying you a dress, so I'm buying you a dress." 

"You didn't say you're buying me a mask," she said pettily. Her friend chuckled but it did little for the coil of unease beginning to settle in the pit of her stomach. She loved Marcel; he was a wonderful friend and even if she didn't owe him her life and her sanity, she would have gone to this Strix event for him. But she didn't like letting people pay for things for her. 

Stupidly enough, it frequently felt like her PTSD was going overkill (and could she even call it PTSD?). Like all of these things she had once loved and now hated and feared were inconsequential in the face of how much it all just hurt.  

Cass needed to get over herself. 

―――

Cassandre's hand was looped delicately around Marcel's elbow. She could already hear the whispers, the stares at the Mark crawling on her skin. It was definitely drawing attention as they approached a red brick manor trimmed in white, neatly trimmed hedges surrounding them. The doors were flung open and music spilled onto the street, inviting refined conversation and brutality disguised by the sly words spoken by ancient creatures.