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Raifu Suitchi 05
🕑 Added 2023-08-18 17:05:01 +0000 UTCChapter 5: Into the Fashion Abyss
"Allen, do you have a notepad ready?" Sofia's voice buzzed through the phone speaker as the two tried to bridge the knowledge gap for their upcoming challenge. Ironically, they were in each other's apartments, a bizarre twist that made their conversations all the more surreal. The show had barred them from physically meeting, and now, the distant voices connecting over the phone became their only tether.
During their conversation, Allen glimpsed a side of Sofia he'd only heard snippets of previously. While she'd spent the past four months as a receptionist at a top fashion magazine, the allure of glitzy photos and glamour had done little to ignite her passion. Beyond her day job, Sofia harboured a dream of painting the world with words. She lovingly curated an online beauty and makeup blog, treating every post and comment as a step closer to her dream. To Sofia, each follower signified a nod of approval for her talent and aspirations.
Allen's life, in contrast, painted a more sedate picture. The current hiatus in his employment had turned out to be a blessing, as the show's organizers had enrolled Sofia in a series of online courses and a week's immersion in the world of IT. Given her familiarity with the digital realm, Allen felt hopeful about her sailing through it.
The conversation meandered through cherished memories, frequented places, beloved dishes, and then waded into the deep waters of fashion. The next day's ensemble for Allen turned into a subject of much debate. Sofia, sensing Allen's casual approach, attempted to convey the gravity of the impression he'd have to make.
"Listen," Sofia began, choosing her words with care, "the place I work at thrives on appearances. Every time those elevator doors open, it's like a mini runway show."
Allen's heart sank, imagining the series of events that were about to unfold. “Really? Can’t I just throw on a pantsuit? Maybe a blazer? We don’t need to go overboard here!”
Sofia’s voice, usually soft, bore an edge this time. "Remember, we are also judged on our attire. It's a game, Allen. Play to win."
Allen sighed, "Alright. Lay it on me."
Sofia's voice brightened up immediately, "Okay! Go for a dress or a skirt, and pair it with heels. I'd say a 4-inch minimum. Black heels if you're playing it safe, or coordinate with the main outfit if you're feeling adventurous. It's chilly at the moment, so wear tights; they’ll keep your legs warm. To finish off, choose a bag to compliment your outfit’s colour palette. It's all about coordination and..."
Allen's mind began to wander amidst the fashion barrage. The daunting reality of his next day's wardrobe, previously alien, now seemed like an insurmountable mountain.
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The office building towered above Allen, its presence both imposing and magnificent. The rhythmic hum of the morning traffic merged seamlessly with the sharp clicks of his wedge shoes as he moved swiftly towards its entrance. Hot on his heels, a bulky cameraman panted, his laid-back attire a stark contrast to the building's upscale lobby they were about to enter.
At the reception, Aiko, with a playful smirk, greeted him. "You do realize fashionably late doesn't quite apply to jobs, right?" she playfully remarked, her eyes twinkling in amusement. "Day one, and you're already pushing boundaries."
“I know, I know. But it took longer than expected to get ready and then I missed my bus. What happened to my driver?” Allen responded, taking a moment to catch his breath, and cast a critical glance over his ensemble.
His reddish-brown wig partially obscured his vision, but it didn't hide the foreign bulges jutting out from his smooth ivory blouse – an improvised padding with socks. He sported a tailored grey blazer paired with a matching skirt, its hem flirting with mid-thigh. Beneath, his nylon-clad legs felt the crisp chill of the morning air. His feet, unaccustomed to the challenge, throbbed within the 4-inch wedge pumps.
Aiko's chuckle held a hint of mischief. "Welcome to the glamorous life of the average worker. Buses and all. Now, head to the 7th floor, and find Bloom magazine. Miss Hitori is expecting you.
Allen set off, waddling awkwardly in his wedge shoes, his weight leaning too heavily on the front, giving the impression he was tiptoeing. Until, Aiko's voice interrupted him. "Oh, and Allen," she called out, "might I suggest starting with an apology?"
(See image 14)
Feeling a cocktail of frustration and nervous anticipation, Allen beelined for the elevator, ascending to Bloom's floor. As he delicately stepped out, the pristine elegance of the magazine's entrance greeted him. With a gulp, he entered, his eyes widening at the lavish interior and the poised, stylish women within. The spectacle was both awe-inspiring and slightly overwhelming.
Caught up in the strange moment, Allen almost missed the vivacious employee who, upon spotting the camera, lit up with enthusiasm. “Hi, welcome to Bloom, where fashion is life. You’re going to love working here. Make yourself at home. Miss Hitori will be with you shortly.”
"Miss Cannavaro," she began with an edge in her voice, "Being late isn't like you. You've been here long enough to know by now that I expect better."
Caught off guard, Allen quickly tried to gauge if she was genuinely angry or just playing up for the cameras. He ventured, "Sorry, Miss Hitori. Picking out the right outfit took longer than I thought, and then there was the bus delay..."
Miss Hitori cut him off, her gaze unyielding, “You're our front desk, Sofia. Work starts at nine sharp, but I expect you here by 8:45, TV show or no TV show. I agreed to this filming, but it's not an excuse to slack off. Got it?”
Feeling the weight of her reprimand, Allen responded, “Got it, Miss Hitori.”
The room fell silent, the atmosphere heavy with a mix of tension and curiosity. Allen felt as if he was centre stage, with the entire office eagerly watching this unexpected morning spectacle.
(See image 15)
"And what are you wearing today?" Miss Hitori asked with a raised eyebrow. "This isn't like your usual style. Why so muted? All this grey... And where's your makeup? You usually have such a polished look. Remember, as our receptionist, you're the first impression for our visitors. How you present yourself speaks volumes about our brand. I hope to see the usual Miss Cannavaro back tomorrow. This will be noted in the report for your TV show. Now, let's get started. Mai will take you to your desk and help you set up. It seems you're not quite yourself today."
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That evening, Allen called Sofia to spill the details about his chaotic day with Miss Hitori and the embarrassing first impression he'd made. He also mentioned how Miss Hitori persisted in treating him as though he were her.
“All grey? Seriously?” Sofia exclaimed after hearing his outfit description. “I did tell you to add some colour, didn’t I?”
“I wore a skirt, okay? I tried!” Allen defended, his fatigue evident.
“Alright, alright. But look, we need to step up your game tomorrow. Miss Hitori is incredibly particular about details. I can't stand working there sometimes because of it. How about we do a video call? I'll help you choose a better outfit. Now, what exactly did she tell you?”
After much debate and with Sofia fixating on Allen's need to appear more feminine, they eventually settled on an outfit. However, Allen was anything but thrilled with the choice.
The conversation then shifted towards hair and makeup. With Sofia's guidance, Allen was convinced to dye his wig, with the promised result being a subtler, more refined appearance. Although the process wasn’t especially challenging, it did leave a strong odour in the room.
As the dye set, Sofia introduced Allen to her beauty blog, a sleek site filled with makeup reviews, detailed beauty treatments, and step-by-step videos. She encouraged him to follow her "work look" tutorial.
Balancing his phone to simultaneously view Sofia’s tutorial on her laptop and their video call, Allen tried his best to navigate the makeup application. Sofia occasionally chimed in with additional advice, all the while sharing tidbits about her ordinary day working in data entry at an IT company. Clearly, Sofia was finding it easier to step into Allen's shoes than he was to step into hers.
After investing considerable time and effort, Allen managed to replicate Sofia's professional makeup look, though not without some missteps. The slight frown on his made-up face revealed his own assessment of the results; it wasn't perfect, but he felt it was a decent first attempt. Navigating through the intricacies of makeup was a new challenge for him, and every stroke of the brush or dab of the sponge was a lesson in precision and patience.
Meanwhile, the wig, which had been soaking in dye, finally reached its finished state. As he dried it under a hairdryer, the strands revealed a light brown almost orangy shade, a hue that didn't resonate with Allen's personal taste. The entire process, from makeup to hair, was more taxing than he had anticipated. The culmination of these unfamiliar tasks left him feeling more drained than he had expected, highlighting the intricate details and effort that went into presenting oneself in a certain way.
Settling into Sofia’s bed, clad in one of her long T-shirts and pink cotton shorts, a realization washed over him: Living Sofia’s life was far more demanding than he had ever anticipated. His day had been packed without a single pause. As exhaustion took over, Allen hoped the following day would be less taxing and drifted off to sleep.
The shrill of the alarm was jarring in the hushed room, dragging Allen from his slumber. Disoriented in the dimly lit room, it took a moment for his surroundings to make sense. The wig's silhouette by the window was a stark reminder of his ongoing challenge. Letting out a weary sigh, he threw the covers aside, heading straight for the shower.
An hour later, positioned at Sofia's dressing table, he marvelled at the makeup job he had accomplished, considering it was just past dawn. Shedding his robe, he stood amidst the sea of Sofia's belongings, donning only her underwear and a padded bra. Glancing at the day's outfit hanging gracefully on the wardrobe door, doubt crept in. The thought of stepping out in such overtly feminine attire was daunting.
Yet, the prospect of another late arrival loomed. Recalling his unwavering commitment to see the challenge through, he gingerly reached for the soft fabric.
As he navigated the chilly streets, every step in his pink Mary Jane platform pumps felt amplified. The snug ankle straps grazed his skin beneath the pristine white tights covering his smooth legs. The swish of his long white tulle skirt added to his growing self-consciousness, making him feel like a flouncing fairy. Of all the attire's elements, he took solace only in the plush white fur coat draped over his high-collared blouse. At least it shielded him from the biting cold.
Reaching the bus stop earlier than anticipated, Allen's swift pace was notable despite the height of his heels. The last thing he wanted was undue attention in his ostentatious attire. However, in the open expanse of the bus stop, there was nowhere to hide. The layers of his skirt danced around his ankles, teased by the morning breeze. His face, adorned with subdued shades of pastel pink, only accentuated his unease. Dressed in luminescent white and balancing on glossy pink heels, Allen was a stark contrast to the other morning commuters in their more sombre, utilitarian wear. He felt their lingering glances, making the wait feel all the more interminable.
(See image 16)
Allen entered the office just past 8:30, finding his cameraman and Aiko already there.
Aiko's voice was a mix of amusement and approval. "Morning, Allen. You're quite the vision today."
Feeling the weight of Aiko's words, he glanced down at his attire, especially at the pink pumps peeking from under his flowing skirt. "Morning," he responded, a bit flustered.
"You're punctual today. That's commendable. And, by the way," Aiko continued, "you have a post-work appointment. A driver will be here at 5:30. Just meet him outside."
Caught off guard, Allen inquired, "Where? What appointment?"
Aiko smiled, "Sofia's renowned for her blog. Thousands await her beauty insights daily. As you're stepping into her shoes, it's your responsibility now."
"Beauty insights? Blogging?" Allen retorted. “And what does that have to do with this appointment you just mentioned?”
"That's your challenge," Aiko nonchalantly replied. "And the reason for tonight's beauty treatment. You can write a detailed review of your experience. Such posts always garner attention. Readers love to know what to expect."
Genuinely concerned, Allen probed, "And what treatment am I getting?"
"Just a manicure and pedicure. You're booked in under Sofia's name at 'Lily Nails'. Quite reputable, I've heard."
Before their conversation could proceed further, the stern face of Miss Hitori appeared at the office entrance. She acknowledged his presence with a nod of approval, approaching him.
"Good to see you on time and looking more vibrant this morning, Sofia. Spin for me, so I can get the full view.”
Hesitant, Allen complied, twirling around, his shame immortalized in film form as the cameraman sprang into action. Miss Hitori’s voice bore a hint of critique. "An improvement, certainly. But it leans toward fairy-tale-esque, don't you think? Perhaps opt for some brighter colours and a shorter skirt tomorrow. Your legs are one of your best assets; don't hide them."
Allen watched her walk away, his feelings a blend of relief and embarrassment. But he reminded himself to maintain composure, convincing himself, "Smile. Just smile. They can’t see your embarrassment if you smile."
After a demanding day juggling administrative tasks, fielding phone calls, and making numerous coffee runs, all Allen yearned for was the solace of his own apartment – a chance to get out of Sofia’s clothes and immerse himself in video games. But his evening had other designs. Instead, he was bound for a nail salon appointment where he'd have to endure God knows how many hours of pampering, only to then return to an unfamiliar apartment and pen a review about his experience.
His ride arrived punctually, and Allen felt a wave of relief wash over him as he settled into the car, grateful for the brief respite from public transit, especially considering his flowing outfit. He found himself lamenting his insistence on the longer, flowing skirt and subdued hues. Sofia’s original wardrobe choices might have been a tad bolder, but he would have blended more seamlessly with the office ensemble. Throughout the day, he had been the focal point of countless jokes, with colleagues playfully dubbing him 'Cinderella' or 'Princess Sofia' and demanding pirouettes every time he trudged by.
Upon entering Lily Nails, Allen was struck by the salon's pristine, well-lit ambience. A radiant young receptionist greeted him with a cheerful smile. As he approached the counter, she inquired about his reservation. Swallowing his trepidation, he introduced himself as Sofia Cannavaro.
"Ah, Miss Cannavaro," she acknowledged, glancing at her ledger. "Right on time. We have you booked in for nail tips, a gel coat, and a pedicure. Please follow me."
Allen only caught the word 'pedicure,' but considering how much he hated his shiny pink nails, he was optimistic that any change of colour would be an upgrade. Once seated, he was instructed to shed his shoes and tights. The relief of being free from his heels was immense. The sensation was further amplified when the nail technician initiated a soothing foot massage and oiled treatment.
Then, she directed her attention to his hands. Positioning them on the table, she commenced the removal of the garish pink shade from his nails. The pervasive chemical scent was overpowering, but Allen's focus remained on the disappearance of the unwanted hue. Soon, armed with precision tools, she began tending to his cuticles.
As the meticulous procedure unfolded, fatigue crept over Allen. In the plush salon chair, he tilted his head back, allowing himself a moment of reprieve. The day's exertions coupled with the early rise had taken its toll, and he felt completely drained.
Roused from his inadvertent nap by the technician, Allen was informed he was ready to go. He murmured a word of thanks, still groggy from his brief slumber. Then, as he raised a hand to dispel the sleep from his eyes, a sharp jab met his brow. "Ouch!" he exclaimed. Pulling his hand back in shock, he tried to make sense of the transformation before him. Each nail now sported a polished, jet-black extension - elongated claws that gleamed under the salon lights.
(See image 17)
"Careful with those," the technician remarked, her voice laced with amusement. "They can be a bit tricky initially. Gather your belongings at your own pace, and I'll see you out front." With that, she left the room, granting Allen a moment of solitude with his new talons.
"How on earth am I going to do anything with these things?" he mused, testing the resilience of one of his scary-looking nails against the table's surface. A jolt of pain quickly informed him that any excessive pressure felt like it was going to tear off his natural nail.
Deep breaths, he reminded himself. Other people could manage with such adornments, and he would find his way too, albeit for a limited duration. But theory and practice proved worlds apart when he attempted to slip back into his tights. After a clumsy struggle, a conspicuous tear marred the left leg. Frustrated, he surrendered, stuffing the ruined hosiery into his heart-shaped handbag. Then came the ordeal of buckling up his pink platforms. The once straightforward act became an intricate ballet of hand positioning. After fifteen minutes and a symphony of muttered curses, victory was his.
Feeling like he'd just scaled Everest, Allen, with newfound determination, clutched his girly handbag and made his way to the exit. The receptionist's inquisitive gaze found him, "Miss Cannavaro, everything's been settled for you. Did you enjoy your time with us?" Not wishing to linger and with the ever-watchful lens of the camera capturing his every reaction, Allen forced a smile, "Oh, absolutely, it was lovely. Thank you."
(See image 18)
Stumbling into the apartment after the day's chaos, a whirlwind of emotions engulfed Allen: bewilderment, fatigue, and vexation in equal measure. With a huff, he battled the straps of his torturous shoes before flinging them aside. Next to be shed was the wig, carelessly tossed atop Sofia’s vanity, and soon after, the delicate ensemble he had donned all day. After indulging in a revitalizing hot shower, Allen, now draped in Sofia’s plush robe, flopped onto her bed, fishing out his phone to dial her number.
Her eyes widened with a mix of recognition and amusement as Allen flashed his new talons over the video feed. "Oh my god, they look exactly like mine before they removed them!"
"They’ve given me your nails?" Allen queried, a hint of incredulity in his voice.
"Well, not the exact ones! But the same style. Remember our first meeting? That’s how they looked: one and a quarter inches long in black Licorice with stiletto tips. It's crazy how similar they look. Wow! This show is really serious about this whole 'life-swap' thing.”
Desperation laced Allen’s next question, "Can I get them off?" His mind flashed back a few weeks to their night of passion, recalling the sensation of Sofia's nails, eerily identical to his current ones, raking down his back.
Sofia’s voice softened, "They can be removed using acetone, but doing it solo might be a challenge. You'll adjust, I promise. I had long nails for years before..." Her voice faltered, hinting at a concealed sorrow. "Give it a few days. They’ll become second nature. It’s about adapting, relearning the basics. Let’s practise using your hands and your makeup look for tomorrow while you tell me about your experience at Lily Nails. I'll jot it down for the blog while you talk."
Thus, the ensuing hours saw Allen grapple with mundane tasks, now made Herculean thanks to his extravagant nails. However, Sofia’s gentle guidance, their shared laughter, and camaraderie softened the sharp edges of his frustration. With every passing moment, Allen found himself more grateful for Sofia's presence on this bewildering journey, her company now an indispensable source of solace and joy.
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Sat in the dimly lit expanse of his office, working late into the night as was his routine, Jin Watanabe, the mastermind director behind Raifu Suitchi, reviewed the day's footage. What he saw was couples, struggling and fumbling in their swapped lives, which promised to offer some comedic relief for the audience. A satisfied grin played on his lips; this was exactly what the higher-ups wanted.
His deep reverie was interrupted as his assistant, Ando, knocked softly. “Mr Watanabe, the footage you were waiting for has arrived,” he said, extending the SD card labelled 'Allen Dolberg.'
Taking a deep sip from his whisky, he reached out to take the card from his assistant, thanking the young man before sending him on his way.
Topping up his drink, he prepared himself to scrutinize the footage. The memory of the recent singing contest still irked him - Allen's impeccable 98-point performance and the standing ovation from an enamoured crowd. Instead of being humbled and overwhelmed, Allen had revelled in the applause, his face grinning like a fool. The scene ran counter to Jin's objective - Allen was supposed to be suffering not enjoying himself. This was supposed to be his punishment for the harm he had inflicted on his beloved Riku - his darling daughter, whose radiant spirit had dimmed since Allen's intrusion into her life.
As Jin navigated through the footage, he was greeted by visuals of a smiling Allen navigating his day in an exaggerated, delicate outfit, much to the delight of his female colleagues. Fast-forwarding to another segment, he found Allen at the luxurious Lily Nails, slumbering under the attention of the technician. Every moment of Allen's put-on enjoyment only serving to stoke Jin's fury further.
In a fit of unbridled rage, he hurled his whiskey glass against the wall, watching it shatter into countless pieces. "Is this fun for you, sissy boy”? he seethed. Taking a few steadying breaths, he sank back into his plush chair, a storm of thoughts brewing in his mind.
"Perhaps I've been too lenient," Jin mused darkly. "These foreigners, with their brazen audacity, think they can waltz into our land, wreaking havoc and sidestepping the repercussions. Well, if the fairy boy wants to be a girl so badly, I’ll give him what he wants. Let’s see if he’s still smiling after his next makeover.
