Al-Amira

Posted on Tue May 21st, 2024 @ 2:10pm by Lieutenant Commander Caradan Eunidas

Mission: The Only Thing Left Was Hope
Location: San Francisco
Timeline: Current

Caradan was strolling about San Francisco waiting for her transport. It would be several hours still before she would be taken up into space to the vessel that would carry her to the rendezvous with the Pandora. In the mean time, after dropping her duffels off at the shuttle terminal, she ventured about the city.

Caradan forewent China town as well as the cultural Russia town. She went to the place where Middle Eastern tradition, fashion, and culinary practices were abound. Of course she did not go for the food. Caradan was dressed, covered head to toe without a bit of herself showing, save for her neck, face, head, and hair. Caradan wore combat boots after finding them to be the best everyday footwear. Those that knew her had found it strange that a Changeling would wear clothing.

Why not just mimic the clothing? No one would be the wiser.

Caradan never wanted to explain herself and left them all to the own imaginations. She wore even gloves on her hands, which she frequently ensured the gloves went down to her plicae interdigitalis.

That was one of the things Dr. Anastasia Lauda told her to work on; always fiddling with her hands. Caradan was getting better at it. At least she thought she was. It didn’t harm anyone; did it? To frequently play with one’s hands?

Caradan found one “Hanin’s Al-Hannah Bazaar,” she spoke the name aloud, and went inside.

After tugging on the sleeves of her long-sleeve shirt to ensure they had covered the gloves, she started browsing the array of clothing and articles. There was one thing in particular she was looking for and nearly gravitated to the corner of the store displaying the articles.

“Can I help you, ma’am,” said the Middle Eastern lady as she approached. Caradan was thankful, the lady said something many feet away. Otherwise, her PTSD might have kicked in if the woman had inadvertently surprised her from behind.

“Oh thank you miss…”

“Hanin. My name is Hanin.”

“Miss Hanin. I…”

“No, just Hanin.”

“Hanin,” Caradan said. “I am looking for something…maybe a…uh…” she was working herself up to it. “I was looking for…”

“A hijab?” Hanin finished.

“Yes,” said Caradan. “Something snug fitting, not too loose with material hanging…”

Hanin started sifting through the articles. “Then you no want a hijab. You want an al-amira.”

“Al-amira?” Caradan repeated the word.

“Snug fitting. As you say,” said Hanin. “Can be tucked under neck of shirt. Or lay on top.”

Hanin looked Caradan over for a few seconds longer than what Caradan was comfortable with. She started getting nervous and started feeling herself harden. She breathed deeply, but tried to hide it. She did not even know she had mimicked the lungs in her chest until her third deep breath.

But Hanin was getting an idea of Caradan’s style. Black shirt. Long-sleeve. Black pants. Baggy. Combat boots that looked as though they damaged the ground she tread upon. White gloves. Odd, but OK. Hanin shrugged.

“I think you will like this,” she pulled an al-amira free from the rest. It was solid black with a white close-fitting cotton cap.

Hanin dangled it in front of Caradan while she tried to get a good look at it. “Oh, it’s…It’s perfect. I…”

“Here,” Hanin held it out to her. “Try. Try.”

“Oh…um”

“There,” Hanin pointed. “Changing room there.”

“Oh,” Caradan said. “Yes. Thank you. Just a moment.”

The changing room did not have a door, but a curtain. Once inside, Caradan pulled the curtain wide across the bar but it was not wide enough to close the opening entirely. There was still an inch or two gap on either side of the curtain. Caradan pulled this way and that to no avail. She could not get the opening completely closed. Pulling the curtain to one side, thus leaving no gap on that side, Caradan sat on that side, constantly looking through any pinpoints to make sure no one was looking.

She looked at herself in the mirror, set the al-amira to the side and pulled off her shirt. All the while ensuring no one was looking. She adjusted her bra and then started putting on the al-amira. The white close-fitting cap was a snug fit and the black overlay was snug enough but not too tight. She worked what strands of hair that happened to remain exposed into the al-amira and just did what felt right in getting it adjusted and well-fitting. Caradan then put her shirt back on, after having to ensure, again, that no one was looking.

After adjusting her gloves, making sure they fit all the way to her plicae interdigitalis, she pulled the curtain open and stepped out.

Hanin stepped up as Caradan was fully out of the changing room. She said something in Arabic and it sounded very approving at least. Caradan did not know what to make of it all as Hanin looked at her and stepped around her. Again, Caradan started feeling herself harden. She breathed.

‘She is only looking at you to help you make sure this thing is fitted right,’ Caradan thought to herself. ‘She is only looking at you to help you make sure this thing is fitted right.’

“Here. Sit,” said Hanin and she grabbed Caradan’s arm, pulling herself toward a seat before a mirror. Caradan nearly jerked her arm free from Hanin’s grip in a panic. Thankfully she was already breathing and already telling herself that this was all Hanin’s attempt to ensure a good fit.

Caradan slowly did as the woman asked.

“Almost good,” Hanin said. “Off center just a bit. Roots of hair showing. You like it tucked under shirt?”

“Hmm,” hummed Caradan approvingly.

“Very good,” Hanin replied. The woman brushed this way and that across Caradan’s unexposed head. She grabbed some of the material with her fingertips and lightly pulled here and there. She worked the fabric away from Caradan’s face and pushed in a few strangling hairs.

Caradan blinded herself and drew herself into herself, constantly reminding herself that this was all to ensure a perfect fit and that it would all be over soon. She flexed her fingers and balled them into fists a few times before she started fiddling with her hands again.

“There,” Hanin said and Caradan came out of herself and unblinded herself, looking at herself in the mirror. “You like?”

Caradan almost cracked a smile. But smiling was something she did very little of these days. Still, “It’s perfect.” She realized that very little of her being was exposed. She was literally covered head to toe with clothing save for the face and only the face. Her ears were covered. Her hair was covered. Her neck was covered. Only her face showed. And for the first time in many months, Caradan felt she could endure someone looking at her with an unbroken gaze for more than a few seconds without triggering her anxiety.

“It’s perfect,” she repeated. “I’ll take it.”

Hanin seemed overjoyed with her success.

Caradan pulled a few strips of latinum from her pocket as she stood.

“No. No,” Hanin was waving her hands. “Too much.”

“Please,” Caradan pleaded with her. “Please take it. You’ve done far more for me than you know.

Hanin took a breath then took the latinum. “I thank you.”

“And I thank you.”

“As-salamu alaykum,” Hanin said.

Caradan did her best to repeat those words back to Hanin and did a fair job she thought. Hanin seemed overjoyed again at least. With her al-amira properly adjusted, and knowing how to wear it, Caradan started back toward the departure terminal at Starfleet.