The Lost Scribe of Justitia

The Inspection

     Petrich looked at himself from the barber's chair after a short hair cut and a professional straight razor shave.  Other than being a bit too thin (something he tended to be while working on a commission) he liked what he saw. Looking back at him was no longer the rowdy unrefined schoolboy of the past, but his own master scribe who answered to no one. He did not expect it to feel this liberated, although a long and lonely road stretched out before him.

(Petrich Ivan Hollenburg, self satisfied freelance celestial scribe)

     Fitz stopped short and stared at him, when she came to his rooms to show him her formal suit she was to wear to the Grand Showing.
     "What?"
     "You. . .got a haircut."
      "Mmhmm."
      "Didn't know you were quite so fair."
      "Fair as in hair light in color? Or fair as in handsome?" he challenged slyly as she laid out her suit.
        "Light in color, of course." she answered absently.
         "Ah. . .of course." Petrich said plaintively.
          Fitz turned and looked at him. "To be fair, Petrich, have not enough women thought you handsome and have said as much?"
           Petrich shrugged and then grinned. He then watched her hold the formal trousers up to herself and found them to be a bit too long.
         "Didn't know you were quite so short." he quipped back at her.
          "Short as in height? Or short as in irritable?" she ventured, more concerned with her trousers than Petrich's teasing.
          "Height and irritability." replied Petrich with a laugh. 
            "Nothing a little hemming won't fix." Fitz murmured laying the trousers down. She then tried on the waistcoat and found the sleeves just a whisper too long as well.  She cuffed them and put her arms down her sides again. "Not bad." she decided, "have you a mirror?"
          "Inside the door of my wardrobe, but it'll take stepping into my boudoir." Petrich answered seductively.
          Fitz did not hesitate in crossing the threshold into Petrich's sleeping quarters. "Oh dear!  I may just accidentally tumble into your bed!" she sarcastically called from within.
           Petrich followed her after a moment and watched her model the waistcoat in the wardrobe mirror. She then turned to him. "I don't know if I can actually pull off being male. I mean, I know I come closer than most women, but still. . ."
            Petrich came over and stood next to her, and looked at himself beside her. She came up to his shoulder. 
           "Wear your eyeglasses." he suggested, "They will distract from your more feminine facial features."
           Fitz put on her eyeglasses. "Hmm."
            "Now, there's the problem with your stance. I think it has to do with your center of gravity as opposed to mine. See, you have to stand straight, shoulders square and back, chest out."  Petrich placed his hands on her shoulders to square them. 
           Fitz thrust out her chest, which accentuated her breasts, although small.  "You'll need to bind those down." Petrich reminded her. She self-conscientiously hunched her shoulders.
          "No. NEVER hunch. Make it a point to never do that.  Now, see how your feet are together? Spread them to be directly beneath your shoulders. Now, you have to remember this when you walk."  
            Petrich paced the room to illustrate. He then made her practice walking, bowing, sitting, standing, talking and even how to hold eating utensils. For a solid hour, Fitz practiced until Petrich clapped and shouted 'Bravo!'
She took an exaggerated stage bow, and it was the most feminine act he had yet seen from her. "Don't do that at the Showing or they'll know beyond a doubt what you really are."
Fitz immediately took her male stance again, grinning.