It Was Ninety-Nine Cents! [Ilya]

[Tifa Mikhail]

Location: Madrid, Spain

It was about six in the afternoon when Tifa entered the thrift shop. Almost immediately, smooth jazz invaded her eardrums and the soft smell of lavender drifted to her nose along with the strange smell of used, old clothes, but whatever. "Nice." Tifa politely nodded to the cashier who greeted her and flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head, pushing hair out of her face at the same time. A stack of bright orange shopping baskets and carts immediately flooded her vision and she chose one of the baskets filled with lint that got caught on the jagged edges of the holes.

She moved on to pick through a heap of old skirts, piled into different, neon-colored mounds. In the middle of the pile sat a pair of embroidered socks with what looked like Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck making out on them. They actually looked pretty nice. Tifa looked around suspiciously and snuck them into her basket. She wouldn't be questioning it, but they looked comfortable as hell, and they felt twice as soft.

[Ilyα Cяσw]

Madrid was neat -- I mean, truly the most queer and colorful city Ilya had yet to visit in Europe; the most notable, powerful color was gold, a rustic, yellowing gold that was not subtle in the slightest. The change of temperature from Istanbul to Spain was more drastic than she was anticipating, and that required something she dreaded more than the average woman: shopping. Gods, it was a necessary torture but so was the growing heat of the sun beneath her black pullover. Being the frugal (and poor) girl that she was, Ilya carried out the decision to thrift, starting with a raunchy and rank smelling store that apparently tried to hide such a stench with, what was that -- lavender? Parfume de lavender and dirty underwear. 

Ilya did not verbally nor physically respond to the store associate's protocol greeting, in favor of avoiding any hint at small-talk. She wasn't one for color in the form of clothing, either, but highlighter-yellow boas and blinding, ginger wigs were something she would very seriously consider wearing in such an eccentric location. She looked left, then right, and placed the orange afro upon her head, struggling to tuck beneath it her fine strands of blonde. The size of the wig was akin to a basketball. 

She couldn't help but burst into a fit of ugly laughter and shoot finger-guns at herself from a body length mirror. Ilya was absolutely, utterly ridiculous. 

[Tifa Mikhail]

At the sound of something akin to a witch's cackle, Tifa turned around to spot a woman in a clown's wig. She snorted, but covered it by pretending it was a cough that got caught in her throat as she sidestepped her way towards the mirrors. She fiddled with an old pair of alligator slippers, both feet missing a number of sewn on teeth, and one missing one of the button eyes. It smelled like feet, which seemed like it should be obvious since these are used, but they couldn't febreze it or something?

Her eyes darted back to Ilya, and a sequin shirt the color of the sun caught her eyes as well. The mannequin it sat on was missing one of her arms and quite a few fingers on the one she still had. From what Tifa could tell from her angle, the shirt was a crop top, but the back only consisted of a few strings that tied together. The rest was just shiny, yellow sequins.

She walked up to the platform the mannequin stood on and fiddled with the shirt. She made a choked sound as quite a few of the sequins fell off. She made a louder, startled cry as the mannequin's torso fell on top of her.

[Ilyα Cяσw]

Meanwhile, while Tifa was being violently mauled by an inanimate object, Ilya was doing a peppy, horribly choreographed jig in the mirror. She reaches out to a neon boa to wrap around her frail shoulders and a conveniently close pair of star-framed gold sunglasses to place on the lower bridge of her nose. Gods, was that a 70's themed cerulean, handle-bar moustache? Sticking that above her lip, she had a near perfect ensemble for an unconventionally wild night in Madrid. She was the best lookin' man she ever did see -- not really, but confidence was key, right? 

Tifa's blood curtling screech interrupted Ilya's Afrodeziak, soul-filled mirror performance and she whipped around, partially assuming someone had just got gunned down -- or something of that nature. Amidst that dramatic turn, her moustache almost went flying -- almost. But no, there was no attempted drive by; it was a woman beneath the plastic horror that was a mannequin. Ilya stumbled over multiple pairs of go-go boots and platform sneakers to remove the assailant from the poor girl. 

"Uh," Ilya started, adjusting her 'stache, "You all right?"

[Tifa Mikhail]

With a groan, Tifa helped pushed the mannequin off of her. "Yeah, uh..." She rubbed the back of head, idly wondering if she had a concussion as she spotted the blue moustache. With a twist of her body, she hoisted herself up from the ground and tried to wipe a layer of dust from her butt. No such luck, as it only transferred to her hand like a sticky spider's web.

"Thank you." She picks her glasses from the ground and replaces them atop her head. "Now I'm embarrassed." Tifa begins trying to reassemble the masterpiece that was said dummy, sequins raining down on her, and maybe Ilya if she was close enough, with each adjustment. "I- uh... I like your wig." She glances behind Ilya and picks out one for herself, a pink wig that looked more like cotton candy than real hair.

"How do I look?" She asks, covered in dust and dirt, sequins, and synthetic hair. With a soft chuckle, she plucks up her basket and stuffs the socks from earlier back inside.

[Ilyα Cяσw]

Ilya broke out in the widest, dumbest looking grin she could possibly manage, dimples nestling themselves in the hollows of her cheeks. She successfully stifled an ugly snort before chiming out a melody of ugly, rasp-like laughter. Her eyes darted around for something to add to her look -- a two piece, spandex aerobics outfit? No, of course not. She chose a massive Led Zeppelin t-shirt, XXXL massive, and removed first her shoes, struggled out of her black, skin-tight jeans and practically ripped off her sweater. Yeah, okay -- Ilya was standing in her underwear, along with her thrift choices -- but not for long, wiggling into the t-shirt easily, its length meeting her knees. She searched for a belt -- and all good outfits had sequins, so a silver sequin-bedazzled, wide fit belt -- and wrapped it around her tiny waist to make the t-shirt a sloppy dress. 

"You look fabulous," Ilya retorted facetiously, removing specks of dust and lint from the stranger like an obnoxious aunt. She lowered herself to tuck her clothes into her napsack, tip-toeing around the store to edge out a pair of shoes. Gods, was that a pair of thigh high, burgundy velvet go-go boots? Check. That was her chosen poison, and she used the stability of the stranger's shoulder to put them on. 

So, readers, let's get this perfectly, colorfully straight: 

• A blinding, neon orange afro wig 
• A just-as-blinding bright lilac boa 
• Giant, star-rimmed gold sunglasses
• XXXL Led Zeppelin t-shirt (dress) 
• Silver-sequined belt 
• Thigh high, burgundy velvet go-go boots

Now, all Ilya needed was accessories -- and to not feel like the only loon in this strange store. She stared at Tifa expectantly, posing in a model-esque fashion, and introduced herself, "The name's Ilya Crow."

[Tifa Mikhail]

Tifa made a startled noise as Ilya stripped down to her smalls. "You don't want to go to dinner first?" She teased, averting her eyes for the sake of her own modesty, if not for the other woman's. Then she's being picked over and transforms from a hot mess to a less dirty, lukewarm mess. Tifa shakes her hair out of the wig, leaving behind a nest of her black hair and shedded, synthetic pink to adorn her head.

She tosses it in her basket as Ilya wanders over to some shoes. It's never too early to start Halloween shopping, after all. For a moment, she stares at herself in the mirror, mimicking the blonde's earlier pose before the incident. She grabs a fringe poncho from a nearby shelf and throws it over her head, spinning in place a few times to make it float around her. And then she's being used as a leaning post as Ilya sticks her legs in two, too long boots.

After Ilya backs away and strikes another pose, Tifa gives her a blank look and a once-over. The color scheme was very... Very. "Quite an introduction, with the colors and the stripping and all." She pokes her hand out and dips in a flourishing bow.  "I'm Tifa Mikhail."

[Ilyα Cяσw]

"Tifa? Is that some indie short version for Tiffany? You don't look like a Tiffany," Ilya replied casually, adjusting her odd garb in the mirror to fit just right. The boots were surprisingly comfortable for something made likely forty or so years ago. That'd be a solid twenty more than Ilya had lived. Whatever. "Nice to meet you, Tifa," She added before searching through the racks and shelves of random embellishments to find the perfect accessories. Her first treasure found was a large, heavy pair of dangling earrings adorning a bundle of rainbow feathers. Check -- she put them on her ears before checking their cleanliness. 

Another treasure? A rusted brass ear cuff shaped like a starfish. Ilya would put that on, too -- and she felt complete, really, complete and undeniably fabulous. She turned on the heel of her go-go boot and swept her gaze over Tifa, head to toe. "You are lackin' in glamour, mate. You must aspire to be as ridiculously good looking as possible -- really, really ridiculously good-lookin'." She made her best effort to mock the voice of Zoolander, but her thick, Scottish accent shined through like the beating sun through a bustle of clouds. She finished her demand with a gaudy pose. 

[Tifa Mikhail]

"Lacking glamour... Oh, ouch! I thought you said I looked pretty fabulous." Tifa flipped her hair over her shoulder, just before she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror again. Her clothes looked mighty dull in comparison to Ilya's, that was for sure.

Quickly, she perused a nearby stand for some jewelry and emerged with a chipped tiara that was missing most of its yellow paint, revealing a plastic grey underneath. "Silver and gold. How's that?" She shoved it on her head, knocking her sunglasses off once again. "Oh- and this!" She grabs a jumper that had different leg lengths. Half shorts, half jumpsuit. 

She stuffed her glasses into her purse and began slipping on the jumper, over her clothes unlike some people. The acid-wash color of her jeans clashed with the pale pink of the suit, not to mention the brown poncho she was already wearing made her look like a human paint palette that wasn't cleaned before it was used for another project. It wasn't as out there as Ilya's outfit, but it would still turn a few heads if she wore it out.

[Ilyα Cяσw]

"--And don't forget a wig. The pink one wasn't workin' for you I assume, so we'll find something else -- mm," Ilya stated thoughtfully, perusing over the mannequin heads modeling wigs of every style and color. There was a brass-blonde mullet with bright, bile-green tips -- perfect. She removed Tifa's tiara and placed the mullet carefully on her head, battling with the immense head of hair the woman had. She envied her that -- but now the mullet was on, and the tiara was placed on the crown of her wig. "Lovely."

Ilya dragged her new-found acquaintance to the counter and hoisted one leg upon it, modeling her Gods-awful boots to the cashier. "I would like to purchase every single thing we are wearing without taking them off. I don't have any clothes under this, so --" And she was cut short by the clerk feigning blissful enthusiasm. Hilariously enough, the purchase was only a whopping sixty-seven dollars. Now, this was why Ilya put thrift shops on a pedestal. She went through the motions of payment and pocketed her change in her bra, checking the time on the credit card machine; nine on the dot. The time to experience Madrid's clubs was now. 

[Tifa Mikhail]

"Oh... goodness." Tifa laughed as she caught a glimpse of herself while she was being dragged to the counter. She fiddled with the green tips, staring at them cross-eyed until she realized that Ilya was paying for everything. "Oh, wait! I can pay!" She hurried to pull out her credit card, juggling and subsequently dropping her shopping basket in the process. The peculiar pair of socks she acquired earlier and the cotton candy wig went flying and landed on a baby carrier, all filled to the brim with baby.

She grimaced and stuffed her wallet back in her purse before the mother turned to check on her wailing child. "I'll pay you back, go go!" Tifa shooed Ilya out of the sliding doors, adjusting her tiara as they went and calling a quick thanks to the clerk just before the doors shut.

Now that she was outside, the smell of underwear dipped in perfume became more prominent and stuck in her nose. The almost completely set sun prompted her to stuff her sunglasses back on her face, which did nothing to help her current fashion statement. "I wasn't really expecting to take this stuff with me out of the store, you know."

[Ilyα Cяσw]

"Gods, no -- it's fine. I've got more money than I know what to do with," Ilya countered in defense, objecting to Tifa's courtesy; she was telling the truth, sincerely, being a modern hobo and all. She hadn't a house, a car nor insurance to spend her bartending wages on. A grimy hotel room and mediocre food costed far less than the coin weighing down her pockets, and what better to spend it on than useless shit that she would likely toss the next day? 

"It's a, uh -- fashion statement we've got going on. Filthy soul laundry chic or sommat' of that nature. I can already feel the blisters forming in these nasty boots," Ilya said, but she cat-walked down the pavement regardless. The streets were illuminated with the reflection of light off of the gold embellishing, and it made the blonde feel like she was prancing through the contemporary El Dorado. What a life. She would peek over her shoulder every so often to see if Tifa was keeping up -- and she was, to Ilya's surprise and delight.

"How's about we try out the first night club we see? -- er, unless it screams brothel or crackhouse, that is. Let's avoid the latter two." An elated laugh followed and she stopped in her tracks to let Tifa take the lead; it was a change of pace, and Ilya was always the one in front. The noticeable difference between the two's personalities had her feeling inclined to let Tifa take the reigns. 

[Tifa Mikhail]

"'Soul laundry chic', she says. I was thinking more 'third generation hand-me-downs." Tifa retorts, a slight pep in her step despite the embarrassing get up. The ombre lighting combined with her sunglasses ended up giving Ilya an otherworldly glow, like some kind of fairy godmother who specialized in avant-garde fashion. Combining that with all of the neon and the girl's personality made Tifa believe she was in a dream. Or, you know, some kind of hallucination after she was assaulted by the mannequin.

She wasn't complaining though. She (Ilya, that is) seemed like a nice person.

"Wait, club?" Tifa repeats as she takes the lead. As they encountered a crosswalk, with the screen flashing a bright red man, she turned to her partner in crime. "Why are we going to a nightclub? Especially in... this?" She enunciated the point with a sweeping gesture to her outfit. "Let me stop and take my regular clothes out from under this, at least. I look like I lost a bet."

[Ilyα Cяσw]

"Just, like -- look, a McDonald's --" Ilya exclaimed in discovery, shoving the two of them into the foul-smelling restaurant and then the bathroom within it for Tifa to change out of her under-layer of normal clothing. She would lean against the stall and eye the ceiling in contempt, crumpled balls of towelettes sticking to the ceiling like an ugly garnish. Stay classy, McDonald's. "Why wouldn't we visit a club in this get up? What else could we possibly do with this all, I mean, really?" 

Ilya pushed herself from the stall and examined herself in the mirror, adjusting her t-shirt dress as to not flash anyone the danger zone. She solidified the stickiness of her moustache with a hearty couple of pushes against it with her finger. Once Tifa would finish and exit the stall, she would whip around and smile a crooked, cheeky smile. "You look less like the jiffy-lube man and more like a woman ready to party now, right? Probably a lot less warm, havin' only one outfit on rather than two, seeing as Spain is as hot as hell." 

[Tifa Mikhail]

And suddenly, Tifa was in a McDonald's bathroom stall. She scrunched her nose up as she used her foot to close the lid of a toilet that, by the looks and smell, hadn't been flushed in a few days. She wiped the toe of her shoe on the wall and began to take off her costume, the wig nearly falling off onto the grimy floor. "We could... have an early Halloween party? Or pretend we're teenage clowns."

She slipped out of her jeans and shirt, laying them out over the top of the stall to let the sweat that had accumulated air out just a teensy bit as she redressed. And once her accessories were put back in place, and her regular clothes stuffed under her arm, she exited and modelled for her new friend, looking much less frumpy and more 'chic'. Chic being a matter of perspective. 

"You mean that Bibendum guy? Made of white tires?" She rubbed her stomach. "I'd like to think I'm less lumpy than that." She held up her clothes, the normal ones. "Maybe I should toss 'em. Just kidding, I like this shirt." She pauses to think for a moment. "Think they could give me a plastic bag to put these in?"