I held up a pair of jeans, marveling at just how damn skinny they were. How did anyone fit in these? I tried to imagine slipping my legs into the things, and all I could think of was the piping bags they use for decorative frosting. Well, they weren't fitting backwards if I could hardly see how they'd fit forwards – and I still worried about the zipper chafing my tail.
Skirts it was, then; but the store had approximately twelve trillion options, and I had no idea where to start. Denim skirts were, as I'd thought, a thing, but a lot of them were Fairly Tight and/or Very Very Short, some not even long enough to cover my boxers;° and while some had pockets, they were A. too small and B. sewn on, which didn't bode well for keeping my wallet, keys, or phone inside.
° (I was sticking with that for now, even if it was…breezier…than I was 100% comfortable with; as far as I knew, panties with a hole cut out were still only available as an Adult Novelty.)
They also tended to hug the derrière at the top even if they flared out lower down; I'd never realized how many different taper profiles they could give what I naïvely thought of as just a conical fabric tube. Not what I was going for, and they made my tail feel cramped just to look at; it took me a solid five minutes to find some more sensible ones.
Alex gave me a funny look as I rifled through the selection. "Why're you picking those out?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Closest thing I'm gonna get to jeans for a while."
"They're still girrrl stuff," she said, twitching an ear.
"Nyat much I can do about that," I replied. It was still weird to think about (and I kept feeling like my borrowed skirt was revealing more than it really did,) but it'd be silly to get all neurotic about it now…wouldn't it?
"You could, like, wear shorts 'n put your tail down one leg, or something," she mused, putting a furry finger to her lip; the claw peeked in and out of its sheath as she flexed it.
"They don't like it when nyew wear shorts to the office, a lotta jobs." Admittedly, the idea of needling Bryce with an appeal to necessity was tempting…but not worth expending any "negotiating capital" I had over, and it'd still be confining. I continued browsing, wondering why she was this invested.
"That's stupid," she groused. "Why nyat?" She frowned; apparently I wasn't the only one who found these dumb speech tics embarrassing.
"Beats me," I said, surprised at myself. "Grownups have a lot of rules that don't make any sense." I wasn't sure that was a thing you were supposed to admit to a kid, but I felt like I meant it.
"Well they shouldn't." She jammed her hands into her pockets and flicked her tail irritably.
"No," I sighed, "but…some things it's nyat worth making a fuss over."
"Alex," Frank interjected, "if…she…?"
For a second there I wasn't sure why she'd trailed off; then, when I'd parsed the question – when I'd realized it was a question – I needed a moment to let a cluster of deeply weird reactions collide and dissipate in my brain. "…Look, I'm stuck with the thing in nyany case," I said uneasily, getting those cliff's-edge feelings again. "I'm nyat gonna worry about what label people want to stick on it."
She paused, trying to work out whether that counted as an okay or not. "If Kit thinks that's what she wants to wear, that's her businyess, okay?" she said finally.
I bristled a little at that. "It's the most prrractical solution, for niaow," I clarified.
Alex didn't respond directly; instead, she gazed moodily across the aisle at the girls' section, as one might look upon a hostile warband gathered on the opposite bank of a river. "I'm nyat wearin' nya dress," she said defiantly.
My first instincts were to point out that A. a skirt isn't a dress, and B. her jumper more-or-less was, so I said nothing. Frank chuckled awkwardly. "We'll…see what we can do," she said. "But we do need to get you some nyew clothes. Your shirts're getting prrretty worn."
Her ears flattened out, and she recoiled visibly. "It's like ALL pink 'n sparkles over there."
"Sequins," I said. "And not all." Certainly more than in the boys' section, but there were still basic solid-color and striped shirts to be had…though they did tend more to pastels.
Nicole laughed. "When I was a kid, girrrls' T-shirts were, like, Barbie and Disnya Prrrincesses or nyathin'. Believe mya, it could be worse." She shrugged, and stretched her arms. "And nya can nyalways just pick frrrom the boys' aisle, at your age."
Alex was somewhat mollified, but remained Offended On Principle. "I'm nyat even s'posed to be a girrrl," she huffed, pricking at the dingy industrial carpeting with her claws.
"Honey," Frank sighed – there was that tone again – "nyan of us actually asked for this, we've just…gotta learn to live with it, okay?"
Nicole almost said something, then cast a meaningful glance my way; no doubt this was about our conversation earlier, but I wasn't sure what she thought I could contribute here. If anything, I sympathized with the kid; okay, I didn't share her reflexive little-boy aversion to the feminine, but it was a weird position to be in, and I couldn't blame her for not adjusting all at once.
"Listen," I said – I felt presumptive even opening my mouth, but Frank didn't seem to object – "nyobody's saying nyew have to change everrrything about you; we're just…figuring out how to get by for niaow, that's all."
Alex frowned and dug her hands further into her pockets, but her ears relaxed; I returned to browsing, hoping that meant I'd helped. There were metric oodles of tops to dig through, and I could only guess at the fit; I'd gathered that this was another infuriatingly non-standard thing, but I had no idea what size I even was, now. Nicole looked on, bemused. "So, mya, solid colors only, then?"
"I might go as far as plaid," I said, idly flicking an ear.
She grinned, fangs gleaming and whiskers twitching. "Surrre nya don't want to brrranch out?" she teased. "Got a whole nyew worrrld of possibilities waiting out there."
I felt myself getting flustered at that – why should I have to change, even moreso than I already had? It was my business, wasn't it!? – but tried to tamp down on it. She didn't mean any harm; this was just good-natured ribbing, maybe, if only I'd ever really grasped that distinction in the first place…?
Besides, this was nothing compared to what awaited me. "I'm purrfectly happy sticking with what works, thanks," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Believe me, my sister'll do all the envelope-pushing necessary and then some." Funny, I thought, that I was already resigned to that – but I knew our patterns, and…there were probably worse fates.
Probably.
Nicole chuckled and nodded. "Well, I'm nyat one to talk when it comes to bein' nya fashion plate."
I felt another weird little twinge in the back of my mind, but ignored it. Heck, I thought, it was even a comfort just to see it in that light – if she didn't have to pursue some standard metric for Optimal Women's Fashion, I sure as hell didn't. Let the Pretty People slug it out for social dominance; I'd be Just. Fine. keeping to myself and…and…
…and Lord but the top Frank was thoughtfully eyeing was lower-cut than anything I'd looked at. Not scandalously – or so I guessed, trying simultaneously to work out how it'd look on her and to stop my brain from doing that – but certainly moreso than I'dve figured. I wondered what Alex thought, but she was paying closer attention to me. "You gotta sister, Miss Kit?" she asked curiously.
That threw me for a loop; it was the standard term-of-address for an unmarried young° woman, but actually hearing it was slightly staggering. "Mya, y–yeah," I said, trying to focus on the question instead. "She's a nursing student, down in the Bay."
° (-ish.)
She tapped a claw against her lower lip. "What's it mean, that she'll be 'pushin' nyanvelopes?'"
…Shit.
"O–oh, mya," I said, trying to put on my best don't-you-worry-your-little-head-about-it smile and failing miserably, "she's just…prrrone to talking me into stuff I wouldn't normally do, that's all." I never was any good at lies-to-children, and I could feel my ears and tail betraying me even as I said it.
"Like what?" she asked, with laser precision.
"Mrrr, like…cosplay stuff, basically." I tried to force my ears into a neutral position; it didn't work.
She gave me a mighty side-eye. "Does she make you dress up in girrrls' clothes?"
"Honey…" Frank put in, with the same blend of exasperation and embarrassment as the lady in the grocery store; she offered me an apologetic look.
"I was just askin'!" Alex protested.
"She…has a way of making nyew feel like it'd be easier to indulge her and be done," I sighed; I didn't really want to talk about it, but I'd never liked it myself when adults barged in to cut off a conversation, and her curiosity did seem earnest. "Nyand she only did that the once."
Okay, maybe not that earnest; she didn't even try to hide a snicker. "If I hadda sister I wouldn't let her talk mya into that," she declared.
I was trying to be the adult here, but after that I couldn't help needling her a bit. "I wouldn't tempt fate if I were you," I said, going back to browsing as if it didn't particularly concern me. "She's coming to visit over sprrring brrreak."
"Whaddya mean?" she asked, eyeing me warily. "'S nyat like she's mya sister."
"She'd think you were the cutest thing ever," I jibed, "and she's never had a li'l sis, or even nya younger cousin…"
"Ny–nyew're nyat allowed to do that!" she stammered, tail puffing out as the implication dawned on her. "She's nyewr sister!"
"I wouldn't do anything," I said nonchalantly; behind me, I could hear Nicole stifling a snort. "She just has a way about her, that's all. Never thought she'd talk me into it, either…"
She didn't say anything at first, but her expression worked its way from indignance through intimidation, confusion, and consideration before arriving at a kind of begrudging acknowledgement. Finally, she asked uneasily, "Do…d'you get along with her…?" as if she never would've imagined that to be possible.
Gathering up a selection of non-tight, reasonably-cut solid-color tees, I shrugged. "We've had our ups and downs," I said, "but…myeah? I mean, she's family; nyat like you can just replace 'em." I understood them better than I did the rest of the species, at least…
Alex looked like she was about to say something, then refrained…but I could read in her ears and tail that she was thinking it. I had that uncomfortable feeling you get when you're just clued-in enough to realize you've touched a nerve, but not enough to suss out which…
Part of me wanted to ask; another part of me worried that I'd only make things worse by prying. With a sigh, I excused myself and retreated to the fitting rooms, wishing I could get through one day around people without blundering into interpersonal landmines.
After taking a moment to feel awkward and cretinous for whatever it was I didn't realize I'd said, I shucked off my shirt once more. Nicole'd confirmed that it was kosher to test-fit a bra before buying – at these prices, I thought, it'd better be – but it still felt weird to think about, especially as hyper-conscious of shared spaces and germ transfer as I'd made myself these last few months…
Well, I was no longer contagious, and it wasn't like I had anything left to lose. I held up the Nominally Correct Size with some trepidation; it also still felt weird to think about actually wearing the thing. Yes, it was purely out of functional necessity, but the Underwear Divide Taboo gets so deeply ingrained culturally, even if it never becomes personally relevant,° that you don't just get over it all at once.
° (It hadn't, for the record – my sister hadn't pushed her crossplay antics that far.)
But there was no getting around it. I really would need it,° it wasn't like they sold Manly Alternative Bras For Men,°° and it wasn't like I had a great stock of machismo to preserve, anyway; I'd just have to deal with it. I almost looked up a how-to, but it didn't seem that tricky, and I greatly preferred not taking life advice from Yahoo! Answers.
° (Turns out the novelty of personal jiggle physics wears pretty thin once you start feeling it in your shoulders.)
°° (Though I had to stop myself from looking online just out of morbid curiosity.)
It turned out to be a little trickier than anticipated – slip the straps over the shoulders, sure, but it was only as I fumbled around behind me that I realized the clasp had multiple settings. Was this part of that not-an-ISO-standard-human-being thing the Chipper One mentioned? But it only seemed to fit on the loosest one…well, as long as it fit, I thought, futzing with the hooks 'til they caught.
That got it secured in place on my chest; the next problem was getting my chest secured in place. I'd sort of managed to catch my breasts in the cups, but they'd gone and moved around while I was fiddling with it, and there was nothing for it but to re-pack them by hand. This took a lot more finagling than I would've guessed, and it made me very self-conscious; it was the most hands-on I'd gotten since acquiring them. But finally—
—no, dammit, apparently this was what she'd meant by "spillage." The dumb thing was too tight, and stuff was just…squished around the top of the cups – uncomfortable, and funny-looking to boot.° I puttered around, adjusting here and re-tucking there, but it was no use; after a minute or so I gave up, spent a moment fumbling to un-clasp it, and tried the next size up. Repeat the process, and…there was a distinct gap between the cups and the tops of my breasts. Peachy, just peachy; apparently I wasn't a standards-compliant woman…as if I wasn't already aware.
° (I know, from the Internet, that there are people out there who think this is sexy. They are cordially invited to bite me.)
But it'd work for now – better too loose than too tight – and even if the fit wasn't perfect, the support was appreciated. I bent to remove my skirt; yes, they did jostle less. It took me a minute to slip on one of the denim ones – I was feeling all weird about…pretty much everything, right now, and my tail expressed it by lashing around while I tried to get it through the waistband – but I managed. Don one of the tops, and…
…For starters, even what'd looked like basic tees were more open at the collar than I was used to. I was still getting used to having breasts; looking in the mirror and seeing even a hint of cleavage was a whole new level of weird. And while it wasn't as tight around the bust, having it fit right at the shoulders set the rest off in a way that was…none too flashy, but sorta vaguely flattering, which I didn't know how to feel about.
But more than that…it was one thing to see the creature in the mirror attired in borrowed duds; it had a distancing effect, as if this was all still provisional and nothing was finalized yet. Seeing her in clothes I'd picked out as a closest-approximation to what I'd wear really drove it home: good God, this was actually me, wasn't it? This was going to be me, now…
…for better or for worse. I sighed; not that I'd really expected it, but becoming a woman hadn't magically made me more "sensitive" or improved my emotional intuition. That person in the glass didn't really get people, prickled when they got too close, resented being dragged into their drama, felt a frustrating, irrational draw towards them anyway…and had a knack for stepping on toes and crossing invisible boundaries. Nicole was right: she was still Kit.
I took a while longer test-fitting things and sorting them into keep and discard piles, ending up with a week's worth of clothes by my standard metric.° I'd have to get more, later; Nicole might not mind lending me her washer and dryer, but I didn't want to impose. When I'd finished, I folded my ill-fitting shirt and borrowed skirt, tucked them into my bag, and…spent several minutes trying to summon the willpower to go back out.
° (One shirt per day, two days per pair of pants/skirt; I figured I could get away with two days per bra, but I'd have to re-assess later. Sue me, I'm a bachelor.°°)
°° (…bachelorette…?)
I couldn't help thinking I'd blown it, that I'd gone and said something clueless and hurt someone without even meaning to…and dammit, just when I was starting to feel even baseline comfortable around these people. Was it even worth trying to make amends? I knew I should, but the prospect made me all uncomfortable – and what if I just screwed things up worse!?
"Nya do the best you can, and if you scrrrew up, you get up, dust yourself off, and try again."
…maybe she was right about that, too. I let out a heavy sigh; get it together, I told myself. I was a grown-ass…adult, wasn't I? I should at least be able to suck it up and apologize. And, well…I didn't know I wouldn't succeed…
Shaking my head, I gathered everything up and went to see if I could successfully pass for a socially-functional humanoid-type being this time.