By H. M. Hershberger
Brava folds her arms and glares at Frana. “Is this necessary?”
Frana scowls. “You aren’t wearing armor to your wedding. I forbid it.”
“I’m a soldier.” Brava glances at the Multiversal Bridal Boutique. Elegant wood paneling, a carved sign that marries electricity and magic. The proprietor’s from a fantasy world, backwards places with no guns and the worst med-tech in the multiverse. “Armor’s more practical than a dress.” The fabric-festooned mannequins make her shiver.
Frana huffs. “You resigned two years ago.” Her expression softens. “You might find something you like.”
“Or I’ll get an aneurysm from the overabundance of frills.”
“Brava.” Frana’s mane of curls bristles.
“Fine.”
Frana pokes her towards the door. “In.”
Brava snorts and shoves the sleek wood open. Racks of dresses line the room, a thousand colors, poofy skirts, yards of lace and beading. An army’s worth of bandages in velvet and silk.
A grey-haired woman with twinkling eyes and a shaggy dog appears. “I’m Miriel. Who’s the bride?”
Brava straightens. “Me.”
Miriel shakes her hand, grip firm for a civvie.
Brava bites her lip. “I’m Brava.” She jerks a thumb at Frana. “This is my maid of honor, Frana.”
Frana bobs a curtsy.
“Excellent.” Miriel tilts her head, gaze assessing.
Brava’s skin crawls under Miriel’s scrutiny, fingers twitching for the pistol she no longer carries.
“What kind of dress are you looking for?”
Brava clears her throat. “Something simple.”
“Beading, lace, ruffles, ruching?”
“No.” The thought of fancy is hive-inducing.
Frana facepalms.
Brava grits her teeth. Frana won’t budge on a dress, but pretty be blasted, it’ll be practical. Preferably with somewhere to hide a knife.
Miriel nods. “Why don’t you head to dressing room six, and I’ll have a look around.” She turns to the dog. “Matteo, escort Frana to the show area.”
The shaggy mountain woofs, nudges Frana’s leg, and trots away.
Frana grins and strides after him.
Brava sighs. A sign points to the dressing rooms. She enters number six and smacks the light switch. Leaning against the wall, she buries her hands in her pockets. Her fingers close over the handle of her backup knife. Emergencies only.
She taps her foot. One… two… one… two. Easy beats, the first step Devar taught her after the war.
The door swings open.
Brava stiffens.
Miriel reappears, a dress over one arm.
A long exhale snakes from between Brava’s lips.
Miriel passes Brava the dress. It’s plain, calf-length, no sleeves. Easy to move in. “How about this one?”
Brava nods, shucking off her outerwear. She glances at Miriel, expecting the weight of the consultant’s stare at the mourning tattoos on her arms and back.
Miriel doesn’t seem to notice.
Brava relaxes as Miriel zips her up and gestures to the mirror. “What do you think?”
She studies her reflection, chewing the inside of her cheek. “It looks like a tuber sack.”
Miriel’s lip twitches. “Would you like to try others in this style?”
“Not really.” Soldier doesn’t mean she’s tasteless.
“Do you have any other ideas?”
“No.” Nothing beyond practical because even now the idea of wearing something she can’t fight in makes Brava itch.
Miriel settles onto the bench, patting the polished oak. “Tell me about your wedding plans.”
“Not much to tell.” Brava sits. “Small ceremony and dinner with family.”
“Your fiancé?”
A smile curves Brava’s lips. “His name’s Devar. Commando during the war, combat instructor now.”
“Yourself?”
The tattoos on her forearm tingle. “Field medic. I’m working at a bookshop now.” Brava pulls a small notebook from her jacket pocket. “We do everything from scratch.”
Miriel studies the ivy leather and gilt corners. “It’s beautiful.” She smiles. “But not very practical.”
Brava’s cheeks burn. “I…” Words tangle in her throat. A civvie can’t understand the itch of wrong that sets her skin on fire whenever she tries to wear anything fancier than cargo pants. It’s stupid, irrational, but the nagging fear of “what if” persists.
What if she’s caught off guard in frills and someone dies again.
Brava digs her nails into her palms. “I’m… not good. With pretty things.” A weight vanishes with the admission. Her shameful secret. Soldiers are supposed to adapt.
Miriel pats her hand. “I fought similar qualms before I wed my husband.”
“What?”
Miriel lifts her hand, revealing the ring on her fourth finger. “We spent years fighting for our kingdom, dashing through woods and camping in swamps.” A crackle of green magic weaves through her fingers. “It’s not a simple transition, is it?”
Brava snorts. “Not at all.”
Miriel stands. “I’ve an idea.” She slips out the door.
Brava wonders how she didn’t clock a fellow soldier sooner.
Miriel reappears in a few minutes. She passes a new dress to Brava, eyes gleaming. “Scopian reinforced satin. It’ll withstand an energy salvo no bother.”
Brava pulls it on. The skirt ripples to the floor.
Miriel zips her up. “Hidden pockets, too. Knife, gun, whatever you like.”
Brava stares at the mirror. She’s… elegant. Pretty, even. The off-the-shoulder neckline displays her tattoos like the memorials they are. She takes a cautious breath. No itch.
“Any time in the next millennium, Brava!” For all Frana’s a civvie, she’s got her father’s military bellow down pat.
Brava rolls her eyes. Tact is thin on the ground where Frana’s concerned.
“Shall we pacify your bridesmaid?” Miriel offers.
Brava nods. She places a hand on the doorknob. Freezes. It’s like the beginning of the war, Yuko reminding her that slow and dead are close cousins. But snapping out of the sudden, choking terror is impossible.
Miriel elbows her in the ribs. “Breathe. For all her fussing, Frana will adore this dress because it makes you beautiful.”
Brava rests her forehead on the cool oak, teeth gritted. She should be better than this. “How do you deal with it?”
Miriel’s fingers slide over Brava’s. She opens the door. “The same way you learn to fight. Practice.”
Practice.
Brava inhales and steps out into the showroom. She can do practice.
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Fantastic imagery and character backstory! Loved her apprehension evolving to admission. Miriel brings out the best in everyone!
I like this one! So much character development is such a short space!
I loved Miriel’s role in this! And that Brava got the best dress for her. Great story!
As Miriel opens the door, she bellows Saruman-style “TO WAAAARRRRRR!”
Such a sweet story! Love the character development and her dress in the end sounds so pretty!
Aww I loved this one. Really good emotions!
Loved this story! All the emotions packed in to a small space.