Verity's Book

A Question of Suits (AU Legea)

I made up this funny awhile ago, but once I told Ellowyne about it there was no getting out of writing the funny down. So here's an argument between Mordred and his little bird that happened one evening in AU Legea...

Mordred leaned up to the full-length mirror, squinting at the surface. "When was the last time someone cleaned this thing?"

Finley ducked out of sight. Maira, twisting her fiery curls rapidly into a side braid, only giggled. "Daddy, you'll make it worse nosing it like that."

Mordred rubbed at a smudge with the cuff of his sleeve. "Breathing, my daughter, causes condensation on the mirror. Condensation is liquid, and liquid plus a good scrub will eradicate the strange symptoms that seem to be affecting this ordinarily shiny surface."

"Once I tell Mama that you're cleaning the mirror with spit..."

"Maira Lethira Kenhelm, if you had paid attention in biology class you would not be able to give me one reason why this method is unhygienic. I should have listened to my conscience and told your mother to send you lot to public school. If you want to make yourself useful, get me a spray bottle and a rag."

Maira did not move. "Why are you fussing over the mirror all of a sudden anyway? Three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year you don't even know it's there."

"I need something to see myself by before I head out the door to this reception, young lady."

"Well," said Maira, "if you go get dressed, I'll clean the mirror for you. Mama's almost ready, and you don't want to keep her waiting."

"Is he not even dressed yet?" came Lethira's distressed call from the bathroom.

"He's still in his favorite polo shirt and those five-year-old jeans, Mama," Maira shouted down the hall, clearly enjoying her status as informant.

"Corduroy," said Mordred. "It's corduroy."

"Go to the bedroom," said Lethira adamantly as Mordred appeared behind her and braced his arms against the door-frame. Her hazel eyes met his teasing grey ones in the mirror, fighting back a smile.

"Your hair looks pretty," said Mordred, coming forward to drop his hands lightly on her shoulders. "How on earth do you get it to stay on top like that? All right, I just had to get one peek at my stunning wife. I'll go slip on my blue suit now."

His stunning wife frowned at him and pushed another hairpin in. "Mordred, not the blue suit! You can wear your black one."

Mordred's mouth dropped open in dismay. "Whyever not?"

"We're not going just anywhere, Mordred. This is a very formal dinner."

"Good land, I wore the blue one to Gavin's wedding. Are you telling me that wasn't formal?"

Lethira sighed. "Weddings are different, Mordred, and that was family. You know how Joanna Segelas is. Everything has to be just so, and she's quite particular about dress code."

"I can't wear black!" Mordred protested. "Not a black suit. Suits are an abominable invention – absolutely abominable – make me feel like a dressed-up chicken – but at least blue is all right. Black makes me look washed out, like a vampire or something. A vampire scarecrow in borrowed finery."

"I can't help the dictates of upper-class society, Mordred." Lethira turned to face him with another sigh. "You have a black suit in the closet and you will wear it."

"Berethar can go to a presidential dinner wearing some outlandish costume that looks like a mixture of three different cultures and two centuries, and nobody bats an eye, but I can't even get away with a color preference."

"Berethar has a wife who is apparently not concerned about his social image."

"I've never seen Berethar in a suit. Apparently he won the war against society long ago. Well, if I can't win one way I'll win the other. I'll stay home."

"You will not! We were invited, and I already RSVP'd. Do you want me to have to drag Laufeia in this argument?" Lethira reached for her phone.

Mordred sputtered. "Have Derek escort you or something. He wears a suit like he was born in one."

Maira giggled from the doorway. "Jenny Thorne said Derek was drop-dead gorgeous at Gavin's wedding."

"Does her mother know she's talking like that?" demanded Mordred.

"More importantly," said Lethira, "does Maira's mother know she's talking like this?"

Maira retired, suitably abashed.

"What's going on in here?" Douglas poked his head into the bathroom. "Aren't you supposed to have left by now?"

"Oh no," said Mordred, dashing out. "What time is it – Lethira, go get in the car – where are the keys – kids, you look for the keys while I get this loathsome suit on. Oh, I despise the mores of society. Who invented being on time?"

"Someone who had a lot of it, naturally," said Derek, coming out of the kitchen with the delinquent keys a-twirl on his finger. "Where's the person who wanted these?"

Mordred emerged from the bedroom shortly, clad in immaculate black and white, and accepted the keys from his son. He passed the full-length mirror in the entryway, averting his eyes, and hurried out of the house.

"Culture is deteriorating when people will speed on the highway rather than be late to a stupid dinner," he muttered as he slid into the car beside Lethira.

"The world is a terrible place," replied his wife.