celestialbody
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Chandra Cherukuri
F
loccinaucinihilipilification. The ridiculous word one of Chandra’s lackeys had brought up to her just a month ago. No doubt, they thought it would impress her with their knowledge of such a big, obscure term. Instead, it only irritated her. She thought the word itself was idiotic and, by extension, so was the person who had so eagerly tried to show off. She found them stupid for thinking she’d be impressed. And in the painfully long seconds it took them to drag the word from their throat, her mind had already settled on one simple, conclusive thought: she hated them. She needed to update her assistant to ensure this person would be kept far, far away from her.A whole month had passed since that painful encounter, but the absurd word still lingered in her mind, like a bitter aftertaste. Particularly now, as she walked from one disappointing clothing store to the next in the small town of Revelstoke.
Unimpressed. Let down. Disappointed. It was the same sinking feeling every time. Just a sinking feeling that the clothing stores available here would leave her with a sense of Floccinaucinihilipilification.
Stupid fucking word.
Huffing, she pulled her phone from her pocket, tapping the screen to open her notes app. She scrawled the name of the latest store into a section marked blacklist, typing it out with disdain. At this point, she was moving into the final stretch opening up the section of her notes with the stores that were supposed to actually be good: the stores her friend Stephanie had recommended. Scanning the list, she noticed one store she had passed on her way to this latest disappointment. It had caught her eye. It had to be better, right?
Tucking the phone into her coat pocket, Chandra crossed the street with renewed determination, her heels clicking sharply against the sidewalk. There was hope again. A glimmer of it. This was a store recommended by someone she actually respected.
When she stepped inside, the immediate warmth from a heater blasting overhead was a welcome change from the biting chill of the outside air. The store’s layout was simple, well-organized—none of the chaos she'd encountered elsewhere. The clothes on display didn’t make her want to scream.
Her eyes swept over the array of fabrics, and she took out her phone to make a quick note as she appraised the offerings. A feeling of satisfaction for once fluttered in her chest. It was a step in the right direction, at least. Goodbye Floccinaucinihilipilification.
She scanned the fabrics surrounding her with a pointed gaze until her gaze landed on him.
A man, standing in front of a mannequin dressed in a grey suit. He was eyeing it lazily, looking like he was getting ready to buy it, completely unaware of how badly the suit would suit him. The shade wasn’t right, the fit was all wrong. The material? It was clear that this was a man who had the plan to just walk in, grab the first suit he saw, and hope for the best—without even considering whether it was a good choice for his complexion, his body shape, or even his personal style. If he had any of that at all.
A smirk tugged at Chandra’s lips.
She loved seeing people make mistakes, especially when it came to fashion. There was something undeniably satisfying about watching someone completely miss the mark—seeing them choose the wrong item with the same level of confidence they would show when making the perfect decision. It was entertaining to watch people making fashion faux pas so confidently.
Usually she'd watch the person, laugh to herself about it then move on.
But for some reason, this moment wasn’t like the others.
Her irritation rose as she watched him fumble with the suit. She didn’t care. Why should she care if this man spent his money on something that would never look good on him? It wasn’t her problem. She didn’t need to help him. She was supposed to be helping herself; this was supposed to be research for her own shopping, not babysitting someone else’s fashion blunders.
And yet, the longer she watched him, the more this irritating feeling of needing to act seemed to swell. She sighed, clicking her heels sharply against the floor as she marched over to him.
With an almost reflexive motion, she reached out and stopped him from grabbing the suit. Her hand slapping against his arm with the authority of someone putting a child in their place for reaching into a cookie jar.
"Absolutely not. That suit would look like shit on you. Do you want to look like shit? Because if that's not your goal, I suggest you take a good look at something else. Something in a totally different color."
Her words were probably sharper than they needed to be, but she was beyond caring. The man had drawn her in without doing a single thing to deserve it, and it pissed her off. Politeness wasn’t at the forefront of her mind in the moment.
"The blue suit over there might suit you better. Come."
Without waiting for a response, she nodded toward the suit she was referring to—a much more appropriate choice—and started to move toward it.
If the man had any sense at all, he’d follow her.
She didn’t usually offer her advice for free. But here she was, stuck in the middle of this ridiculous interaction, trying to make the world a little less aesthetically painful for the clueless.
tags:
Paul
Lizy
