the pile of my knit skivvé.
"I have found my Remon," she whispered as we lay there cooling off. "Truly a Remon of worth and terror."
"The man in the worm jacket told me that Remon was from the slubs."
It seemed to take a moment for her to figure out whom I was talking about. "That's a Mulberry Jacket! He is dressed as brave Commander Sheppard. But as for Warrior Remon, he is not from . He fights wars. He slays ferocious beasts, and he is championed by the city. But then… in a mysterious moment… he is injured. Some songs describe a battle in which a gang of corn prisoners slashed him. Another ballad describes a threat from Bunné who curses his manhood. What ever is the cause, Remon is cut across his groin. While his exact injury is never known, he never again wears a fashion panty. And yet, ravaged by war and the heat of love, he and Bunné find that their love for one another blooms like a glamorous cancer."
She was so adamant I couldn't laugh. "Is this real or not?"
She gazed into my eyes. "What is truth is that Warrior Remon was a man of fashion and talent and so are you." She shook her head and smiled. "If you walked into the knitting conservatory where I schooled and danced with a Stanton-Bell as you have today you would be crowned dark emperor of the loops!" Her face was aglow and excitement flowed from her. "You have all the belongings of knowledge, the twisted fibers, and the precision knotting, but you need lessons of design."
"In the corn all we had were B-shirts and shorts and they weren't even real cloth. I want to learn everything."
"First," said Kira as she flexed her hand before me. "The study is skin. We learn its stretch and wear. We learn its ease and comfort. That is the heart of fashion. All the layers we stack on top must not sacrifice its pleasure and beauty. Our customer is skin. And as the foundation, skivvé are the rhythm of dress."
For a minute we sat there staring at our hands as we flexed our fingers and watched the skin wrinkle and stretch. My eyes wandered to her skivvé, the tube of which rested on her thigh. "Why you wear men's skivvé? You don't have a root."
She laughed at me. "They are men's fantasy skivvé. Several years ago, in Bunné's Sweet Way Surgery Duo , she wore the first pair. From then on it is fashion. The market has doubled every year. The fantasy skivvé has become the badge of honor of the true knit saleswarrior." She pushed herself up, took down a yarn cartridge, and inserted it into the slot on the back of the Stanton. "We will first knit the woman's reality skivvé," she announced. I wasn't sure what she wanted, but began knitting and when the knit heads came to the crotch, and I was about to add something, she held my right hand still. We produced a simple, smooth skivvé.
"The female sculpture," she announced as she pulled it from mannequin hips. "The stage is empty, the actor, hidden. There can be no drama. It delights some, but not the saleswarrior of purls. For us, we find dignity, power, and ferocity in the ghost ." She pulled her dress above her belly. "The man is positive… an appendage of expression… a wand of will… a needle of knitting!"
I still didn't really understand, but felt I could pretend I did. Kira stared at me intently. I didn't know what to expect.
"I promote you, Warrior Remon."
I remembered how Withor had hated me, dismissed my yarn snatching, and used me. "I'm so glad I found you." I hoped her promotion meant I could continue to knit.
She paced back and forth. After a minute, she stopped and spoke softly. "You shall know the inner mechanisms of the corporation and the dire clock mechanism in which we run." Her expression was almost sad as she gazed at me. "Today… the creditwarrior I lunched with had charts covered in the blood of loss. The balance is that Python Duck is in its last minutes. We must profit. We must chart now!"
"I had no idea." Even as I spoke, I recalled my first impression of the empty Python shop compared
"I have found my Remon," she whispered as we lay there cooling off. "Truly a Remon of worth and terror."
"The man in the worm jacket told me that Remon was from the slubs."
It seemed to take a moment for her to figure out whom I was talking about. "That's a Mulberry Jacket! He is dressed as brave Commander Sheppard. But as for Warrior Remon, he is not from . He fights wars. He slays ferocious beasts, and he is championed by the city. But then… in a mysterious moment… he is injured. Some songs describe a battle in which a gang of corn prisoners slashed him. Another ballad describes a threat from Bunné who curses his manhood. What ever is the cause, Remon is cut across his groin. While his exact injury is never known, he never again wears a fashion panty. And yet, ravaged by war and the heat of love, he and Bunné find that their love for one another blooms like a glamorous cancer."
She was so adamant I couldn't laugh. "Is this real or not?"
She gazed into my eyes. "What is truth is that Warrior Remon was a man of fashion and talent and so are you." She shook her head and smiled. "If you walked into the knitting conservatory where I schooled and danced with a Stanton-Bell as you have today you would be crowned dark emperor of the loops!" Her face was aglow and excitement flowed from her. "You have all the belongings of knowledge, the twisted fibers, and the precision knotting, but you need lessons of design."
"In the corn all we had were B-shirts and shorts and they weren't even real cloth. I want to learn everything."
"First," said Kira as she flexed her hand before me. "The study is skin. We learn its stretch and wear. We learn its ease and comfort. That is the heart of fashion. All the layers we stack on top must not sacrifice its pleasure and beauty. Our customer is skin. And as the foundation, skivvé are the rhythm of dress."
For a minute we sat there staring at our hands as we flexed our fingers and watched the skin wrinkle and stretch. My eyes wandered to her skivvé, the tube of which rested on her thigh. "Why you wear men's skivvé? You don't have a root."
She laughed at me. "They are men's fantasy skivvé. Several years ago, in Bunné's Sweet Way Surgery Duo , she wore the first pair. From then on it is fashion. The market has doubled every year. The fantasy skivvé has become the badge of honor of the true knit saleswarrior." She pushed herself up, took down a yarn cartridge, and inserted it into the slot on the back of the Stanton. "We will first knit the woman's reality skivvé," she announced. I wasn't sure what she wanted, but began knitting and when the knit heads came to the crotch, and I was about to add something, she held my right hand still. We produced a simple, smooth skivvé.
"The female sculpture," she announced as she pulled it from mannequin hips. "The stage is empty, the actor, hidden. There can be no drama. It delights some, but not the saleswarrior of purls. For us, we find dignity, power, and ferocity in the ghost ." She pulled her dress above her belly. "The man is positive… an appendage of expression… a wand of will… a needle of knitting!"
I still didn't really understand, but felt I could pretend I did. Kira stared at me intently. I didn't know what to expect.
"I promote you, Warrior Remon."
I remembered how Withor had hated me, dismissed my yarn snatching, and used me. "I'm so glad I found you." I hoped her promotion meant I could continue to knit.
She paced back and forth. After a minute, she stopped and spoke softly. "You shall know the inner mechanisms of the corporation and the dire clock mechanism in which we run." Her expression was almost sad as she gazed at me. "Today… the creditwarrior I lunched with had charts covered in the blood of loss. The balance is that Python Duck is in its last minutes. We must profit. We must chart now!"
"I had no idea." Even as I spoke, I recalled my first impression of the empty Python shop compared
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