“As you can see, I am quite the collector.”

Taking a peaceful stroll through a massive corridor, decorated with stained glass windows and finely crafted curved ceilings from one end to the other, a pair of gentlemen have a somewhat casual conversation with one another.

The elder of the two is Sir Reginald Clay, an aristocrat of the modern era. Although he is clearly the older one among the two gentlemen, his natural looks hide his true age. Around this point in a person’s life, gray streaks would be prominent in their hair, but for Sir Clay, his hair is still in its prime, shining in a honey brown tone in his normal combed back style. His skin is still a bright peach color with a few red blush spots.

As for his physical build, it rivals that of even the muscular build of fit men in their early twenties. He’s dressed in a refined and hand stitched black suit with a white button up shirt underneath; the shape of his toned arms gently show in the seams of the shirt and suit.

His voice clear and deep, he adjusts the collar of his suit as he continues talking, “I’ve spend decades in search of such a collection of armors and helms. Each one with a story of its own and how I went about acquiring it. He stops in front of a decorated armor set and looks directly at the young man following his, “When I know the whereabouts of something I want, I always find a way of obtaining it.”

Unlike Sir Clay, the young man isn’t as arrogant as his elder. Standing at Reginald Clay’s side is Cain Ashe, a young man born into a noble and wealthy family. Sporting a dark blue blazer jacket with a black undershirt, Cain fixes his jet black hair, parting it into two even sides. When he approaches the set of armor Sir Clay pointed out, Cain puts his hands in his jack pockets and focuses intently on the armor.

“Let’s see… Emblem in its chest plate, thick metal body from head to toe and a shogunate’s helm with one of the branches broken.” Cain inches just a bit closer to get a look behind the armor, “It’s katana is sheathed on its back and seems to be just under five feet in length from hilt to tip. This is an elite guard’s armor during the Edo period of Japan.”

Sir Clay puts on a surprised look, keeping his eye on Cain, “I’m impressed. You were able to figure that out just from getting a glimpse at it.”

“When I was home-schooled, I asked my tutor to give me extra lesson in Asian history. I’ve always had an interest in Edo Japanese warfare.”

“I take it your tutor had a lot of different images of armors and plates?”

“Too many that I’ve lost count. But seeing it with my own two eyes, it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time. It’s amazing!”

Sensing the amazement from young Cain, a big grin slowly creeps up on Sir Clay’s face, “I bet you’ve never seen such an a vast panoply of armor sets from various time periods? I’m honored.”

I let out a sigh as I’m leaning back against the wall, waiting for all of this to end. However, considering the fact that my arm has turned into a hanging rack, I’m pretty sure we’re going to be here for a while. It’s Tuesday and barely anybody is out shopping around this time unless they’re getting groceries for dinner right after work. As for me, I’m stuck with Samantha. Don’t get me wrong; I love her to death. It’s just… she has a problem when it comes to clothes shopping.

I look through the assortment of clothes she has me holding. A few long sleeve shirts, a few pairs of pants, a skirt and a petticoat. I’m starting to notice that she likes bright colors and things that just fit her just a bit tight. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the things she wears are a bit tighter in some places on her.

Samantha calls out to me from behind the changing room stall, “Hey, Alex!”

“What is it?” I reply.

“I need your opinion on something.”

The door flies open and Samantha comes out casually strutting her stuff about. She has on a tight, long sleeve bright red shirt with frilled cuffs around her hands and a small, black skirt with more frills around the edges. All of her curves are just popping out, so my eyes don’t know where to look.

She stands there with her arms folded behind her back and asks, “How does this one look on me?”

My eyes keep darting around her body, “It’s one that certainly knows where to highlight your features.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s only bad if you think it is.”

“Hmm… Hey, keep your eyes on me for a sec, okay?”

That’s all my eyes have been doing ever since you came out of that stall.

She seems hesitant about something, but she then claps her hands together and takes a deep breath. Using the tile floors of the department store, she gives herself a quick twirl on one foot and comes to an abrupt stop. She tries to make eye contact with me, but her embarrassment seems to get the best of her and she looks away from me.

“D-D-Did you see…?”

Was I suppose to be looking for something? “I saw you do a twirl. Was there something you wanted to catch?”

Her face quickly becomes red, “My underwear…”

… Huh? Confused, all I can do was stare at her with a blank look. I can’t even manage to think of something to say. Samantha walks up to me and pokes me on my cheek after noticing my reaction.

“D-Did you you see them?”

“If you’re so worried about somebody seeing your panties while you’re wearing a skirt, just go grab a pair of leggings or something.”

She puffs up her cheeks a bit and folds her arms, “I forgot about those…” She lets out a small chuckle and continues talking, “Where would I be without you?”

“Probably back at home with your parents locked away in your room playing video games.”

“That sounds about right. Wait here for a minute. I’m gonna go find something I can wear under this.”

She gives me a small smile before walking out of the changing section and onto the main floor of the clothing section. I let out a deep sigh and reflect on how I managed to keep Samantha from dying of embarrassment so many times; I’ve done it a lot.

The door to the stall is cracked open a bit, so I can see all of the different kinds of outfits she has organized inside. Normally, clothing doesn’t catch my interest, but being stuck here after a certain amount of time wore me down. I give in and step into the stall, closing the door behind me.

On both sides of the stall are perfectly organized sets of clothes and outfits while a full sized mirror is on the back wall.

“I wish she kept her closet this neat,” I say out loud.

When I look into the mirror, I can see myself dressed in my normal black and white business outfits. I was never fond of skirts, so I always wore pants of some kind. After looking at a row of skirts Samantha brought into the booth, I shrug and decide to experiment to kill some time. Knowing her, she’s going to find a pair of leggings she likes and eventually get distracted by seeing more cute clothes on the way back.

Without thinking, I randomly grabbed a few pieces of clothing off the walls and quickly change into them. I look into the mirror for the results. In my blind picking, I ended up grabbing a blue and white stripped long sleeve and a skirt, in a much darker shade of blue, that ends just below my knees. Everything fits nicely without any tightening.

I stand in front of the mirror and look at the person in it, “I feel so weird like this.”

Something doesn’t feel right though. I take off my glasses, putting them on a small pile of clothes on the floor, and fix my hair, letting a small section of it hang out over my chest. Upon further looking, I notice that the green in my hair is slowly fading, giving way to my natural blonde tone underneath.

As I’m focused on the mirror, I can hear Samantha calling out again, “Alex, I’m back! Are you in here?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right out.”

As if nothing happens, I turn around and walk out of the booth. When I step out, Samantha has a surprised look on her face.

“Whoops. Sorry, I think I’m at the wrong booth.”

Samantha quickly leaves and starts walking a bit further down the row of changing stalls.

What the hell?

I walk over to her and tap her on the shoulder. She turns around and looks at me.

“Yes, Miss?”

“‘Miss?’ Sam, it’s me.”

For some reason, Samantha backs up a bit and quints her eyes at me. As if she really has to focus in order to figure out what’s going on. After putting two and two together, she gasps and runs up to me, running her hands all over me.

“S-Sam! You look… you look…”

“I know, I know. Nothing suits me.”

“You look adorable! You’re even wearing a skirt and you hate wearing them! I totally didn’t recognize you. It’s like you had a transformation or something!”

“All I did was change clothes and take off my glasses… How can I look that different?”

A big smile appears on Sam’s face, “I can show you how different you look just by changing clothes!”

She grabs me by the wrist and forcefully pulls me into the changing booth with her. She starts taking clothes off of the sides and sizes them up on me.

What the hell did I just get myself into now…?

— via Daily Prompt: Transformation Transformation

Let’s see… How should I go about this? How does Alexis start one of these? Oh, I remember now!

Today’s the first day I start my new decision to become a better cook in the kitchen, so I decided to try and make something original. As much as I played that line over and over in my head, making an original recipe is a lot harder than I thought it was gonna be. I thought about all of the different kinds of foods I made for me and Alexis and all of the food I ate as a kid, so it should have been easy for me to think of something original.

But then, thinking about all of that stuff suddenly made me realize that whenever I had an idea of something to make, I remember a time when I ate something like it.

I have all of the different ingredients on the kitchen counter; different types of spices, a bunch of fruits, veggies, and side dishes, and then the main protein is a nice sized pack of ground meat. I take a few steps back from the counter and fold my arms, lightly tapping a finger on my chin as I look at all of the stuff I bought.

“Hmm… Hmmm… Hmph!”

I pout and stomp around a bit as nothing comes to mind for a possible dinner dish. At least, nothing new or original in my mind. I let out an exaggerated sigh and run my fingers on all of the ingredients, poking each and every one. The longer it takes for me to try and think of something to make, the less amount of time I’ll actually have to make it before Alexis comes home from work.

I take a glance at the small, decorative clock above the sink; the time reads “4:04 PM” in nice, blinking numbers.

I start speaking my thought out loud, “Alexis gets off at five thirty and should be home no later than six thirty, seven if the afternoon rush hour is terrible.” I cross my arms and close my eyes, letting all of my thoughts come out, “If I make something simple, then I need to start no later than five thirty…”

I lean back against the counter and keep myself deep in food thoughts. Naturally, I start to drool a bit from the corner of my mouth, thinking about all of the succulent dishes, delicious plates of food, and amazing and tasty desserts. The more I think about food, the more I can feel myself slipping into a daze. I hear a small dripping sound next to me and it snaps me back to reality; I drooled so much, I ended up making a tiny puddle at my feet.

Giving myself a wake up pat on the cheeks, I puff out my chest and reinvigorate myself to make sure I can think of an original dish for my girlfriend before she comes home. I want her to be proud of me! But I need an idea of what to make.

From the kitchen, I can see part of the T.V in the living room; it’s running a few infomercials. I keep my eyes on it, waiting for the main program to come back on, whatever it was that I left it on before I went to the store.

When I see what I was watching on the T.V, my eyes widen with inspiration, “I was watching a cooking competition!”

Switching from “Housewife Sam” to “Lazy Sam,” I rush over to the living room and climb over the back of the couch, comfortably laying on my side and watching the food competition unfold. Looking at all of the random ingredients and items that the chefs are given could easily inspire somebody watching to try their best at trying to recreate those same dishes. I’m even starting to get a few ideas as to what I should make.

I mentally start taking notes of everything each chef does, which tools they used, their techniques and styles. I notice the small clock in the lower right corner of the T.V which says “4:56.”

I let out a tiny gasp, taking notice of how quickly time flew while I was watching, “I need to keep my time in mind! If I pay attention to the number of commercials, I’ll be able to keep myself in line to cook.”

I get up from the couch and head towards the kitchen, leaving the T.V on the channel. I grab my white and blue apron off of the little rack on the side of the sink and tie it tight around me, preparing myself to start cooking.

“Now, let’s begin the sweet desserts challenge special!”

… What?

I slowly turn around on the ball of my foot and stare at the T.V; the intro theme to a special, limited airing dessert competition starts playing. My sweet tooth starts getting a small tingle as I see all of the different treats flashing in front of me. Like it’s second nature, I walk to the T.V and lay back down. I lose myself in a beautiful array of sugar.

* * * * *

“So, you wanted to making something original and ended up getting caught in a marathon of cooking shows?”

Full of embarrassment, I let out a chuckle and scratch the back of my head, “Yeah, sorry. I wanted to try something different for dinner tonight.”

“If you wanted to try something different and original, then why didn’t to make something from your Japanese side of the family?”

“… Huh?”

Japanese…? Why would she say to make something Jap– I totally forgot I’m Japanese-American…

Blank expression on my face, the sudden realization that I have Japanese in my blood makes me freeze up with embarrassment and I stare at my plate on my lap. I spent so much time on making up a new dish from seeing stuff on T.V that I ignored the other half of me… I’m so forgetful, how the hell does Alexis deal with me on a daily basis?

— via Daily Prompt: Original Original