While Caleb is always curious about Yussa's history, and ventures to ask questions like this one from time to time when the opportunity arises, he never presses for more of an answer than he gives. Even if the answer he gives is vague the way this one is. Still, there is plenty that he can infer. One of Yussa's former pupils is a current member of the Assembly and Headmaster at the Halls of Erudition. That says enough.
With his mind made up, Caleb passes the black and gold skirt up to Yussa, where he can lay it out on the bed while Caleb makes the rest of his picks.
"Not at all. Styles do not change very quickly here. Culturally, the Empire has always favored tradition over the influence of new ideas." From the way his smile flickers into a grimace as he turns back to the chest, it's clear he isn't referring only to fashion trends. Loving a country with so many fatal flaws is to have these moments of bitter reflection frequently. But of course, it is not the country itself Caleb loves--it never has been. It is the people.
But his good mood isn't dampened. Looking through even a small curated sample of Yussa's wardrobe is enchanting, even more so because they are items he knows. At the same time, Caleb is aware of the trust placed in him to allow this at all. Getting dressed is not so simple for everyone as it is for him. The opportunity to choose what Yussa wears even for a day is a privilege that he would guess has been granted to very few.
The intimacy of this privilege is at its most plain when his fingers brush over a selection of smallclothes and several binders. Of the latter, Caleb is certain that he has helped Yussa to remove all of them at one point or another. Of the former, there are mostly items he doesn't recognize specifically, even with his memory. The elegance and quality Yussa prefers in everything he wears is evident in his undergarments as well. There is a delicacy to some of them that Caleb finds beautiful even objectively, let alone imagining how they would look on Yussa's body. There is smooth silk and intricate lace and meticulous beading, and even the comparatively plainer pieces have alluring cuts or feel decadently soft to his rough fingers.
"Am I being given free reign to choose from these as well?" he asks with a rakish little smile and another glance up, knowing that Yussa can clearly see what he is currently sifting lightly through, even if he lifts nothing out of the trunk.
no subject
With his mind made up, Caleb passes the black and gold skirt up to Yussa, where he can lay it out on the bed while Caleb makes the rest of his picks.
"Not at all. Styles do not change very quickly here. Culturally, the Empire has always favored tradition over the influence of new ideas." From the way his smile flickers into a grimace as he turns back to the chest, it's clear he isn't referring only to fashion trends. Loving a country with so many fatal flaws is to have these moments of bitter reflection frequently. But of course, it is not the country itself Caleb loves--it never has been. It is the people.
But his good mood isn't dampened. Looking through even a small curated sample of Yussa's wardrobe is enchanting, even more so because they are items he knows. At the same time, Caleb is aware of the trust placed in him to allow this at all. Getting dressed is not so simple for everyone as it is for him. The opportunity to choose what Yussa wears even for a day is a privilege that he would guess has been granted to very few.
The intimacy of this privilege is at its most plain when his fingers brush over a selection of smallclothes and several binders. Of the latter, Caleb is certain that he has helped Yussa to remove all of them at one point or another. Of the former, there are mostly items he doesn't recognize specifically, even with his memory. The elegance and quality Yussa prefers in everything he wears is evident in his undergarments as well. There is a delicacy to some of them that Caleb finds beautiful even objectively, let alone imagining how they would look on Yussa's body. There is smooth silk and intricate lace and meticulous beading, and even the comparatively plainer pieces have alluring cuts or feel decadently soft to his rough fingers.
"Am I being given free reign to choose from these as well?" he asks with a rakish little smile and another glance up, knowing that Yussa can clearly see what he is currently sifting lightly through, even if he lifts nothing out of the trunk.