Snippet #2676042

It was doubtful that many people in Base Alpha-A had seen a baby deer, and even more doubtful that any had seen Erubescan-style baked goods. 

Nonetheless, there was no more accurate way to describe what Trainee Beretta looked like in heels and a ruffled skirt than to ask one to to imagine a fawn forced to walk while stuffed into a triple-layered wedding cake.

The trainee had been sporting the attire- a plain black pair of what Canvas had called “stilettos” and a white, heavy skirt with some kind of stiff mesh underneath it- for just under three days. Her ankles trembled when she moved, and her stride jerked to one side or another every few steps as her balance faltered in the stilt-like footwear.



And sleeping with ice packs on her ankles had done very little to ease the near consistent ache of it.



Beretta did her best not to look as awkward as she felt as she clicked down hall 82-F toward yet another training meeting with Supervisor Canvas, but she still managed to attract more than one sideways glance. She wasn't sure whether to be thankful or concerned that she had not started wearing the "corsets" yet, but rather tried to avoid thinking about that upcoming hell altogether. Learning to walk in such clothing was a necessary evil of her mission, and she had to keep focused on that.



She stopped outside the now familiar Meeting Room 388, scanned her wristband on the panel, and slipped inside as the door slid open.It closed behind her with such a quick motion that in nearly caught the hem of her skirt, obstructing the room from the view of any prying eyes.

The training space was more dimly lit than many others on base— an effort to simulate the kind of lighting that they would be working with in Erubesco. The floor was made up of a articifical wood, rather than concrete, that shone under the goldfish lights. There were a few tables of varied heights with white cloths draped over them, and distinct settings on each.

On a long, freestanding counter toward the middle of the room, 
several bottles had been lined up, containing liquids in strange colors that Beretta had never seen before.



The trainee cast a furtive glance around for her Supervisor or other teammates, but found herself to be the first one there. She checked the time on her wristband- Just a few moments early. The shoes had slowed her far less than anticipated.

Unable to hold her own curiosity, she trotted (as well as the shoes allowed) to the counter, and leaned in to read the curling scripts on their labels. “Pe-NOT noy-ray, Napa Valley,” she read aloud, brow furrowing at the strange words before continuing down the line, “Shimmering Mos- Moscato?” She stared intently at this bottle, noting that there was some form of settled metallic liquid at its bottom. 



Beretta continued down the line like this, careful to view without touching, taking in the colors and glitz on each bottle with something between intrigue and disgust: 

They were clearly some form of imported Erubescan finery, but her interest to know exactly what they were for would have to wait for the Supervisor to be sated.