Landlocked 38

        Ariel slid into Jeanette's large studio silently, closing the door with one hand and rubbing her cheek with the other.
"What was zat all about?" Jeanette asked. The seamstress did not raise her head to see the response, however, so Ariel only shrugged.
"Stand on ze po-dium."
The princess did as was told, shrugging on the almost finished gown and turning to face the trifold mirror. The reflected spectacle nearly took her breath away.
Jeanette, who was trying very hard to be angry with the prince's fiancee, couldn't help but smile as the girl twirled on the small stool, holding the layered skirts in balled fists. The ocean blue eyes sparkled for the first time since Jeanette met her, and the French woman bit her lower lip, wondering if the girl wasn't a good soul after all. Then she was all business again.
"I'm-- glad you like eet." Ariel turned and grinned at her, white teeth shining. The seamstress shook her head briefly, picked up her sowing kit, and knelt at the level of the dress's hem.
"Keep still." She ordered.
        After a few minutes of quiet refitting, Jeanette broke the silence. "Do you love heem?" Ariel's heart wrenched at the words, and she looked down at the dressmaker guiltily.
The older woman looked up, read the redhead's expression, and nodded slowly. She stood, taking the girl's hand tentatively.
"Do not worr-ee." Jeanette said. "I don't know why yoo are doing zis to yoor-self, but I won't tell anee-one. You make heem... happy. And I can see from ze way you act around heem, that you want heem to be happy-- and so do I."
A single tear ran down the slopes of Ariel's face as she nodded in understanding, a picture of Jim flashing across her mind.
"Well now, we must get you to ze hairdress-airs and like-such so you can be redee for-- redee."
Ariel nodded again; she found it was the only thing she could do. Forget pre-wedding jitters. She felt like she was going to self-destruct.

        Sable found Jim at the entrance of Eric's private chambers, on his crutches again. He was tapping his good foot impatiently.
"What do you want?" The sailor asked bitterly, hobbling so his back was toward the duchess.
Sable was wearing a light blue dress that reminded him painfully of the sleeveless gown he had bought Ariel (had it been only yesterday?), though Sable's was much less conservative in the bust area. She flounced up to him, her red lips spread into a wide smile that faltered only slightly at his harsh greeting.
"The wedding ship is boarding," she informed him. "I've come to fetch you--"
"I'm not your escort," he growled, and the small ferret on Jim's shoulder hissed as well. Sable took a step back, but persisted.
"But you're still a part of the ceremony, so come--" she pulled on the apprentice's arm, but Jim leaned heavily on his bad side to counteract her weight, then jerked his arm to shake her off. "You don't mean to tell me... you're still trying to get out of it?" She scoffed, ignoring Jim's baleful looks. "You've tried-- how many times in the past four hours? And all you accomplished was getting out of being best man because the fiancee convinced him that Grimsby has been his friend longer, and so deserves the honor. Did you put her up to that?"
"You weren't in the room when she said that. How did you--"
"Oh, isn't the pot calling the kettle black! I heard the same way you did. There is more than one keyhole in the palace, you know." Jim blushed, ashamed for participating in the same underhanded activities as the duchess.
"He'll get suspicious, you know." Sable continued. "He'll wonder why you are so bloody against attending his wedding." Jim rolled his eyes, angry that she was right. She noticed the look and grinned with triumph. The spacer rubbed his eyebrows in thought.
"I'm still going to try." He decided. "If it doesn't work this time..."
"I'll go lay out your clothes!" Sable bustled off, mumbling about matching, and Jim growled at the duchess's confidence in his failure. He snarled.
"I'd rather go naked."

        "Oh, hello Jim!" Eric smiled over his shoulder at his friend as the sailor slipped into the room. A hoard of tailors were buzzing around the prince, who had his arms lifted crucifix-style to allow them more access.
Eric's wedding suit was compiled of a white jacket with shoulder patches fringed with gold, making him look more princely than Jim, and he suspected the rest of the kingdom, had ever seen him. However, the ensemble reflected Eric's homely style with navy blue trousers and black, knee high combat boots.
Eric jumped down from the low podium, scattering the tailors with a wave of his hand.
Straightening his cuffs, Eric sauntered toward his friend, his gait proud but his eyes hopeful. The prince gave Jim's face a cursory glance before turning away again, his blue eyes hardened.
"No, Jim. You're going, and that's that."
Jim bit his lip, swallowing back anger and frustration he knew the prince didn't deserve. "But Eric, getting on a ship in a wheelchair, I don't think that's the best idea--"
"What is it, Jim?" Eric said abruptly, rounding on the sailor, as angry as Jim had ever seen him. "Why are you so averse to attending my wedding? Are you trying to stress me out even more? I already have to deal with all the last-minute planning, the gossip and disdain of the court--"
"They don't like her?" Jim asked, feeling defensive in spite of himself.
"They like her well enough, they just didn't pick her themselves." Eric ran a hand through his thick, black hair. "I can see where they are coming from, I suppose. If I were in their shoes, I would be suspicious of a strange girl showing up out of the blue to marry the only heir to the throne. I guess, being the smitten prince, I cannot see what they see."
Jim rubbed the back of his neck guiltily.
"Anyway, now you can see why I need all the allies I can muster at the ceremony. So tell me, Jim, why do you want to stay behind so badly?"
The spacer hung his head, then shook it briefly, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "Fine. I will go to your wedding." He looked up to see Eric beaming at him, the tirade completely forgotten. "But I am not wearing the clothes Sable lays out for me."
Eric raised an eyebrow, but shrugged as the tailors led him back to the pedestal for more fittings.
"Fine," he called as Jim hobbled out of the room. "Whatever you say."