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Fashion (Turn To The Left!)	By : DoctorYnot Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 19619 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
Thanks so much for your kind reviews! Responses can be found at: https://pastebin.com/KvtL4NYv

Hey everyone, DoctorYnot here with another update to Fashion! I know, I know, I'm sorry; I know a lot of people were expecting/hoping I'd update Make It Wit Chu next. That fic has gotten such an amazing reception and has such amazing fans, it's really blown me away and humbled me and I know I'm letting you all down by not updating it with better frequency. I can only give the same excuse that I always do, and it's that I've really put a lot of myself into that story. I don't want to release any update out into the world before I'm sure it's ready, anything that fails to live up to the earlier chapters or 'wastes' the momentum built up, because I don't want to screw up the trajectory of the narrative when I'm this deep in it. If you screw up a story around the start you can just rebuild through later chapter or edit it, but when you're literally novel's length into it like I am with MIWC, well, it really turns into a much more delicate thing, especially when you're as obsessive as I am. If it helps I'm seriously not slacking. I dedicate frankly embarassing amounts of thought to that fic, cool myself off on it now and then to make sure I'm not overlooking a better way to tell the story, don't share incomplete chapters with anyone so my eyes on it are the only eyes it has...It occupies a giant place in my head and has for years. I think it'll probably be the best thing I ever write, I feel like it coming out as well as it has so far based on people's responses is just as much luck as anything I'm responsible for, and I don't want to regret a single line when I'm done. Put simply, I just want to give you all the best thing I can make. I hope you'll continue being patient with me in the meantime. In my defense, the last chapter was literally two chapters in one both wordcount and sisters-wise! Ahh, I know that's a weak excuse...Well, whatever the case, I promise the next thing I update will be Make It Wit Chu!

Regardless of all that, I hope you enjoy this chapter of Fashion I have for you. I dedicate a lot of thought and care to this one, too, and hopefully you'll be able to feel that! Before that though, I've really come to enjoy recommending great authors and stories to people in this section, so I'd like to share a few more authors I've come to love, and who I think you'll love too. These intros to them might not be as lengthy as my earlier ones, but I promise they're no less heartfelt.

First up is Whimfu1, who you can find at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/11506032/Whimfu1 . This guy might be THE most excellent ideas man I've ever seen. He's come up with some of the most interesting story concepts in the whole of the fandom, and not just that, he's executed on them beautifully every single time, too. Go to his fanfiction.net page and see for yourself, his catalogue is absolutely a garden of delights. Some of his stories are whimsical and cute, some are dark and passionate, some of them are simply fun romps through interesting worlds and premises, but the two things they all have in common is 1. the latent attraction between Lincoln and his sisters is usually a central feature 2. they're all written wonderfully. Seriously, I cannot overstate how much I enjoy his fascinating premises, especially since he boasts such a tremendous feel for how to write and characterize the Louds as well, not to mention his grasp of how to compose an entertaining narrative and make sure the reader is gripped by everything that's going on the whole way through. He's a treasure. Personally, I think his masterpiece is 'Little Intruder', a dark tale of obsession and need which I enjoyed immensely and which I believe has one of the most satisfying senses of progression in any story in this fandom, not to mention a HELL of an ending. Check it out for yourself, though honestly, you can also feel free to just pick a story at random. I've read them all and can assure you they're all, without exception, winners. Between us, I hope he picks up Dangerous Sisters again myself. I feel the potential that story has is immense, even among all his other tremendous works.

After that is SadisticShy, who you can find at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13065324/SadisticShy . This is a spanish language author with less of a resume than Whimfu, but the stories he has are no less impressive. Of particular note is Cuidando Tus Impulsos, a really wonderful piece that explores Lincoln's escalating relationship with his sisters that I feel is paced so slowly and deliberately that it deserves special mention. It's got terrific flow and prose and is so deliciously understated and moody that I just can't help but adore it. The underlying narrative framing of the story is Lincoln's discussing with a therapist how things keep changing at home and how differently his sisters are beginning to treat him, but the story doesn't just take place as a recounting, it's more like the psychiatrist's thoughts and suggestions steer the way Lincoln treats his sisters in the scenes following. As a story it's sincere, passionate and wonderfully sexy. A bit difficult for me to describe but trust me, it comes recommended; I love it and I believe you will too. He's even led me to develop a genuine care and interest in the therapist for heaven's sake, a totally original character! It's no easy feat to get someone to invest in a non-canon character in a piece of fanfiction, in my opinion, which just goes to show how capable a writer he is. Which is not to say his portrayal of the canon cast isn't excellent, it is, and that's actually a huge strongsuit of the fic. Honestly, if you're familiar with spanish and love this show, you really owe it to yourself to give it a look.

In addition, though it's usually only two authors per chapter in these things, I couldn't resist but want to try and bring your attention to BluePerson2021 too, who you can find at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13297941/Blueperson2021 . This guy is definitely one of the most interesting writers in the fandom. He's similar to Whimfu1 in that his stories run the gamut: from these really dark fics where Lincoln is treated like the sisters' handy sexual plaything regardless of his feelings or desires (which, of course, drive me wild and I LOVE) to a compilation of beautiful, sweet, funny vignettes that give you snapshots of the young man's life as a father to his sisters' kids and their lives as mothers with them coming together into this sort of unconventional, collective family (the premise to this one being they were all impregnated with his seed through Lisa's trickery and machinations without Lincoln ever actually having sex with them, thus without being romantically involved they must now navigate through their new lives together as both brother and sisters and the parents to these children) to other pieces that simply center around the siblings' fun hijinx and the rivalry between Lincoln and his sisters as a whole, usually with some subtle, sexy piquant flare to spice it up. The one thing they have in common though is just how fun they all are and how impressive the obvious grasp Blueperson has on these characters is. He really has a feel for how to play them to their strengths, your heart will absolutely melt every time you get to spend some time with child Lincoln, or adult Lincoln with his own children for that matter, and your mouth will water reading how beautifully he threads the needle between familial love and sexual, selfish love; honestly, the way he seamlessly blends these two separate emotions really is particularly worthy of awe (see: The Talk, one of his oneshots, and its elseworlds sequel). Some of the most captivating, sultry writing I've ever seen. It's not just Lincoln either, the sisters too have all of the same immense, distinctive charm they do on the show! His stories really are a joy to read; the bright ones are so sincere and heartfelt, and the dark ones are so disturbing and sexy. This author really, really has a touch.

Lastly, I know I don't really mention artists in this space, but I really wanted to take the opportunity to suggest you check out one named MedullaMind at www.pixiv.net/en/users/19027485. MedullaMind draws a lot of Loud House art and it's seriously some of the sultriest stuff you're ever likely to see. He just released a really long, absolutely sizzling full color comic named Want To Watch that revolves around the concept of Ronnie Anne getting more and more intrigued by (what Lincoln perceives as) the regular, innocent goings-on at the Loud House, finding herself, to her horror, getting increasingly into the idea of her oblivious boyfriend plowing his thirsty sisters. It is -scorching-, I genuinely believe it's by leaps and bounds his best work to date, which is saying something considering the already very high quality of his stuff, and thus a perfect entrypoint to start getting into him. The comic, like all of his work, has a simply terrific atmosphere, not to mention a mix of sexy/funny and sexy/comfy that I'm a huge sucker for personally, plus the way he uses coloring makes his art feel so incredibly rich, visually, and here is no exception. Any fans of MIWC should absolutely check it out, you won't be disappointed. And once you're done with Want To Watch, there's still his Luna Loves Lincoln comic, his Luna's Dream comic, Lock Me Up comic (a Lynncoln), and his one-off pics which even include some art of Make It Wit Chu! Not only is this guy hugely talented, but he's a lovely person as well, and I can boast that he reads this very fic! I feel lucky I have him as one of my readers and that I can share his work with all of you. Go ahead and treat yourself to one of his comics, you'll be glad you did.

Well, that's it for me for this update. In the meantime, I've been commissioning some TLH fics and comics to make up for the fact that I'm so slow. Maybe you've come across some by now; if you have, I hope you've enjoyed them. Thanks again for being a reader, and without further ado, please enjoy Fashion (Turn To The Left) Chapter 8!

Oh, before I go, I just wanted to share some links to some incredible artists that have made fanart of Make It Wit Chu! I plan to link them in the next chapter of that story that one too, but in the meantime, I just can't resist showing these amazing pics off one more second! I've thanked them privately already, and I can only hope they don't mind me doing this. If you do, please let me know and I'll delete this! I just know everyone's going to get as much of a rush from their work as I did.

https://poxuz.tumblr.com/post/184259491447/opening-scene-lori-being-lori
https://poxuz.tumblr.com/post/183529692722/lynn-being-lynn-lol
https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/73906064
https://www.hentai-foundry.com/pictures/user/MedullaMind/519729/Loud-with-Chu
https://tlb.booru.org/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=53955
https://tlb.booru.org/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=78591
https://tlb.booru.org/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=78592
https://tlb.booru.org/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=37382

>When the siblings arrived at the lobby after showering and dressing, they were greeted by the now familiar and expectant face of Ossu from behind the counter. The dapper hotel manager's eyes danced with pleasure as he took notice of the two stepping out of the elevator and made his way towards them eagerly. Lincoln could tell by the expression on his face that he wished to fawn over Leni a bit, compliment her on her spectacular success the night before, perhaps apologize for not being able to receive her back at the hotel that momentous evening himself, but he was stopped by the look Lincoln gave him. It was friendly but faintly strained, and Ossu, peerless hospitality professional that he was, instantly understood it to mean they were pressed for time.
>So, instead of doing as he originally intended, he instead gave the fashionista a deep, elegant bow and a brief but sincere word of congratulations. Leni thanked him just as sincerely and told him how happy she was her boss had gotten such a nice man to take care of them while they were there. The concierge hesitated, trying not to make it obvious how enchanted he kept finding himself by the the seamstress' refreshingly unguarded manner, so unlike the Salzburg's usual high-handed guests, but his poise was such that he needed only a moment to compose himself before leading them out through the underground parking lot, then over to their vehicle and then promptly wishing the pair a lovely day. Lincoln gave the man a nod of appreciation and resolved to thank him more properly once he got back. Ossu really knew how to handle himself.
>Mercifully, even though they were running late, Prisma was actually quite nearby. Although the young man was still inexperienced in navigating the streets of New York, not to mention dealing with its almost comically aggressive drivers, the proximity plus GPS meant they still arrived quickly at the tall building on the edge of fifth avenue whose fifteenth floor contained the offices of perhaps the world's foremost clothing label. He promptly parked, got out of the car, fed the meter and then opened the door for Leni.
>He cast an eye over his shoulder while he did so and couldn't help but notice how the polished glass and steel structure seemed to loom imperiously over the sidewalk outside. While the feeling it gave off wasn't nearly as menacing as the obsidian ziggurat that was the Markham, it was still offputting enough to set him a bit on edge. Lincoln wondered if they sacrificed a chicken or something every time they broke ground on certain New York City skyscrapers for them to put out such bad vibes. The blonde, for her part, either didn't notice or didn't care; she just thanked him sweetly for getting the door for her, then promptly strode through the stylized double doors awaiting them ahead and into the absurdly regal, high-ceilinged lobby. She had the air of a returning hero, though Lincoln knew she'd never visited before. It was the show last night that had given her the confidence to feel and act like she really belonged there. He followed behind her with a bit of bemusement.
>At the center of the lobby, behind a dark mahogany desk, sat a lovely but obviously overworked secretary. She raised her head to look at them as they entered, and her eyes made it seem like she wanted to say something to the two, however she was at that moment occupied cradling two different phones in the crook of her neck, speaking into one, listening to the other and and hurriedly jotting something down on a notepad all the while. Lincoln paused for a moment, wondering if they should wait, but Leni simply walked right past that scene and into a nearby elevator. Lincoln hesitated, but in light of the fact that they were only just on time and couldn't really afford to linger while the woman freed herself up, he ultimately chose to follow behind his sister. The receptionist's eyes widened as Lincoln pretended not to notice her and pressed the button marked '15'. She waved her one free hand towards them frantically to signal them to stop, one of the phones nearly slipping off her shoulder as she did so. Leni raised her own hand and waved back innocently as the elevator doors closed. Lincoln winced and resolved to apologize to the woman on their way out.
>The elevator ride was slow, but incredibly smooth. The young man turned to look at Leni, whose eyes were glued to the numbers on top of the doors that lit up with every floor they passed.
>He had to admit that he was surprised by how much restraint she'd been showing so far when it came to expressing affection publicly. A part of him had been expecting that once they were out and about she'd immediately act with the same irrepressible eagerness she'd shown at the Figaro Eh when they had pretended to be lovers. With that troublesome thought in mind, the young man had carefully lectured Leni during the car ride over about how important it was that they act just like they had before when outside their hotel room, how incredibly vital that was if they were going to make what they were trying to do work. He'd steeled himself then, been prepared to be firm with her no matter what kind of heartbroken or disappointed expression she wore (he was usually helpless to resist her when she got one of those looks on her face, but he'd promised himself this time would be different), yet instead the blonde had just answered him with a simple roll of her eyes and a 'Duh, Lincoln!'. Ever since they'd departed he'd found Leni nothing less than the perfect picture of unobjectionable sibling love.
>It was as the young man was quietly chastising himself for undestimating his sister's intelligence like people who didn't actually know her well did that he suddenly felt an arm looping around his. He turned towards her, surprised, only to see her grinning at him. The little smirk on her face said it all, that with that small act she felt was getting one over on the whole world, and when he saw it Lincoln had to fight the sudden crazed urge he had to push her up against the wall, press his lips against her neck and make her squirm. He smiled wryly, clenching his toes inside his shoes in an effot to get a grip. Maybe he was the one that needed to be lectured.
>The doors, at last, opened again, this time to reveal a much different environment than the one he and his sister had just left behind. While the building's lobby had been appointed lavishly, with plenty of dark wood and expensive brass so as to presumably help those unworthy of being there be left with no doubt of it, Prisma's offices were instead blindingly clean and hyper-modern. Enormous amounts of natural sunlight streamed in from the panoramic windows lining the halls. The layout of the place was open and the walls painted bright white; in many areas there were no walls at all, replaced instead by glass panes with designs cut into them to separate conference rooms and offices. Any visible furniture was stripped and reserved, composed of straight, efficient lines and textureless materials that looked slippery to the touch. All in all, the concept Valenti had decided on for his company's headquarters was definitely a long way from the drab office cubetowns he'd experienced in Royal Woods. It was like they'd been transported into the future or something, though with how long the elevator ride had felt, he sardonically supposed that was also a possibility.
>Just that unexpected scene would been enough by itself, but even more eye-catching than the minimalism was the looks of the people staffing the place. Lincoln couldn't help but notice that absolutely all the employees milling about the floor without sparing he or Leni a glance were, well...pretty. Tall and well proportioned. Even something as fundamental as just the way the mostly young men and women there carried themselves seemed somehow different from most of the folks he'd seen in the city, besides perhaps the ones at the gala. Their backs were straighter, their chins held aloft like they were looking down at the world around them. With all that that plus the way they dressed, the effect was not dissimilar to the ones he imagined living boutique mannequins might have given off. Lincoln had to admit, he felt more than a little out of place.
>It was a sensation that was only to become starker. The receptionist sitting behind the desk in front of him was even more attractive than the one downstairs and, though likely just as overworked, rather than seeming overwhelmed she instead emanated a dignity bordering on arrogance. Lincoln approached the young woman hesitantly, Leni falling a bit behind to marvel at the view from the large windows. When the woman failed to ackowledge he was there, he cleared his throat. The bob-haired brunette in the dark business suit unhurriedly looked up from the computer, appraising him with a cold stare. Rather than say anything she simply quirked a single meticulously policed, pencil thin eyebrow, obviously waiting for him to state his business. It didn't seem as though she was going to be offering him anything.
>"We're here to see Mr. Valenti." Lincoln stated simply simply. The woman blinked. She seemed torn on whether she should even humor him, but finally did. The receptionist surreptiously checked the notepad beside her keyboard and was surpised to discover her boss really did have an appointment scheduled for the present time in his itinerary, though it wasn't noted with who. That by itself wasn't so unusual. Bongiorno Valenti was well known by his staff to be generally unconcerned with trifling matters like making sure his personal assistants were clued in on the specifics of his day, simply expecting them to anticipate and serve his needs as best they could. What was unusual was that the meeting was scheduled smack dab in the middle of the afternoon. Valenti was famous for preferring to get 'business' out of the way in the early mornings, keeping the rest of his day as uncluttered as possible so as to minimize the chances of a sudden creative streak being interrupted. Anyone that wanted to meet with him, regardless of how important they were, was forced to accomodate this quirk of his, and he'd only become more stubborn and temperamental about such matters in his old age. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him recieve someone at noon. She remained unconvinced, and decided to feel out the man in front of her to do her best to avoid any possible incident.
>"May I ask who I should announce?" The receptionist tested, her voice betraying no hint of emotion, but Lincoln noticed how her eyes briefly flicked from his face down to his shirt. He suddenly felt self-conscious. He'd picked out the nicest clothes he had for this, barring Leni's special suit, but under her judgemental stare he felt like he was wearing the sweat-drenched work clothes that had almost gotten him thrown out of the Salzburg. It was clear she regarded him with only thinly veiled suspicion, especially as she hadn't gotten a call from the building's front desk to inform her of a visitor's arrival.
>"Us!" His sister answered happily, at last catching back up to Lincoln and stepping out from behind him so the receptionist could see her. Mr. Valenti's infamous protege was of course instantly recognizable to anyone employed at Prisma. She was in fact a favorite subject of gossip, as no one that worked in the New York office had ever personally met her, and the show last night had only added to her legend. The aloof secretary's expression rapidly went from the previous faint disdain to speechless wonderment.
>"M-Miss Loud!?" She asked, surprised, her gaze whirring towards Lincoln with an inexplicable look of betrayal on her face, as though simply bucking her expectations had been a nasty trick on his part. He couldn't help but find her reaction slightly amusing. Regardless of how perturbed she was, however, the curiosity she was feeling over the young man's identity, of somebody that would simultaneously dress the way he did while also keeping the rarefied company he was, was obvious. Still, Bongiorno Valenti would never hire someone vulgar enough to outright ask such questions, much less place them in a position where they'd be the first person anyone met when visiting his company. The receptionist forced down her shock and steadied her voice, quickly complying. "Yes, of course! Please, follow me!"
>Lincoln doubted she was supposed to leave the front desk unattended like she was, but perhaps his sister was simply important enough to merit that kind of treatment. They followed the frazzled young woman down an adjoining hallway and then a long corridor, all as immaculately decorated as the lobby, to eventually arrive at a door that seemed to open to a corner office, the only one that enjoyed opaque walls to keep anyone from peeking inside. 'Prisma' was emblazoned boldly upon the top with fancy type. Beneath it was a humble bronze nameplate, but the simple words inscribed upon it imbued the plaque with more gravitas than the most ostentatious gilding ever could have.
>'Bongiorno Valenti - CEO'
>The woman paused at the threshold, seeming to hesitate. Lincoln wondered what the problem was. After a few quiet, awkward seconds passed, she all of a sudden turned about to face Leni. "I-I just wanted you to know how much I love your work!" She chirped tensely. The blonde blinked in surprise and regarded her with a warm smile, but the receptionist gave the object of her admiration no opportunity to respond, immediately afterwards pushing open the door. In her nervousness she'd neglected to even announce herself. "Excuse me, Mr. Valenti! Miss Loud is here! You told me to show her directly to your office when she arrived...?"
>"Hmm?" The man behind the desk looked up from a sheaf of papers, at first appearing miffed that his office had been burst into without so much as a knock, but his expression brightened at hearing the cause for the sudden intrusion. "Leni! How wonderful!" He set down the documents and took off his reading glasses. "Yes, thank you, Tiffany. Bring our guests some tea, would you?"
>Lincoln was about to say that wasn't necessary, but before he could the woman nodded stiffly and turned, indicating for the two siblings to enter before instantly disappearing to do as she'd been asked. While he was still staring off after her and gesturing fruitlessly, Leni's boss rose up from his chair and smiled, stepping across the table to greet her with the eager warmth of an old friend.

>Take him out of the throneroom-like office designed to lend anyone occupying it presence, strip him out of all his fancy clothes, then throw some mud on his face for good measure and even after all that, anybody would have been able tell the figure in front of them was somebody of consequence. There was just something about Bongiorno Valenti. Although even a cursory glance at the man would reveal how aged he was, seventy three that year and looking every day of it, he still radiated energy and strength. His skin was bronze in a way difficult to achieve just by tanning, and the ruddy color made for a stark and eye-catching contrast with the lustruous grey hair on his head. Gray, that was, apart from his moustache, which was an inky black that Lincoln could only assume he dyed. The designer wore a maroon suit whose missing jacket hung leisurely from the back of his chair, a white dress shirt with sleeves he'd rolled up and a vest to match the burgundy shade of his pants. It was a sharp and unusual ensemble, and Lincoln supposed that was only a logical personal standard for the head of a major haute coture clothing label to have. As for Valenti's face, apart from the cleft chin and lively eyes, the only other trait of note was how the lines marking his weathered skin lent his expression quite a bit of severity, though even that was hard to notice at that moment with how it softened when he spoke to Leni. The old italian was obviously happy to have her there at last.
>"So the mermaid finally decided to hop off her rock and swim over to Bongiorno, hmm?" He teased, taking the blonde's hands in his and squeezing them gently.
>"You're so silly, Mr. V." Leni giggled at at the ostentatious way with which he demonstrated affection, after their long business relationship she was now very used to how strong her boss liked coming on, before giving him a sudden hug. Bongiorno was surprised at first, perhaps having spent too long apart and becoming too used to the air-kisses and distant, warmthless greetings which were otherwise standard in his industry, but after getting over the initial shock he only smiled pleasantly.
>Lincoln knew for certain the designer was unlikely to tolerate a nickname or familiarity like that from anyone else. It was only ever his big sister that could put people so at ease, mostly because of how obvious it was none of her actions had any cunning to them; she wasn't feeling the aged fox out for weakness or testing how close to the line she could step without rebuke. That's why Bongiorno could accept being addressed like a middle school science teacher, and even more, find the innocence of it terribly captivating.
>The CEO took a deep breath and returned the hug, sighing like he found it genuinely restorative to be in the company of someone that truly wasn't trying to suss out an angle on him. Once he got his fill of her he turned, finally, to Lincoln. Bongiorno smiled again, then suddenly raised his hand to gently clap the side of the young man's face in a very European way to show endearment that Lincoln found himself immediately baffled by, small town American kid that he was, but he ignored how uncomfortable it made him. He and his sister's boss had never been in the same room together before. He intended to play it cool.
>"We meet at last, the young mister Loud." Valenti finally reached out his other hand to shake his in a concession to the way two men might normally greet each other.
>Indeed, it was the first time he and Bongiorno were face to face despite their longstanding acquaintance. Their relationship so far had been strictly business, and curt even by those standards; if there were any issues with his sister's work Lincoln needed to talk to him about, a question on a deadline or design or some other issue that required Bongiorno's attention, he would simply send him an email or, at most, call on the phone.
>Even for someone with the only passing-at-best interest in his industry that the young man harbored and the numerous conversations they'd already had, suddenly being in the same room with a guy he'd previously only seen on magazines and television made it difficult for his subconscious to match the voice on the phone to the face, to accept it as the same person. Lincoln tried to humbly signal that it was okay to ignore him and continue talking to his sister, that he understood he was only incidental to their meeting, but the label head was insistent. "I think perhaps it's you I have to thank for everything, you know. I've been trying to convince your sister to visit us in New York for years, but I only started making progress once the little brother she'd always told me so much about started lending her a hand."
>Lincoln didn't really know what to say to that, so he just smiled uncomfortably. He couldn't help but wonder if it was true. A part of him, a selfish part, rather hoped it was. If so, then wasn't a bit of her success thanks to him?
>The young man quickly shook his head, banishing that thought. The truth was that his sister's triumphant debut was all down to her own hard work and talent; he counted himself lucky simply that he got to be there to watch her finally blossom the way he always knew she would. He suspected it was the unspoken, haughty attitude of the people he'd seen outside that was instinctively leading him to contrive something to puff himself up about simply to try and feel like he belonged there.
>"D-does that mean you liked the show last night, Mr. V?" Leni suddenly interrupted. It was uncharacteristic of her to force herself into a conversation like that, but she couldn't help the question.
>The truth was that despite thinking it had gone well, despite all her creative instincts telling her it had gone well, despite the reception from the audience being better than she could have ever hoped for, all this time there'd still been that last trace of fretful restlessness at the back of her head. That paranoia that just wouldn't let her truly believe her good fortune and relax until the person whose opinion on fashion she most respected confirmed it himself. Lincoln suddenly realized her initial strut into the building wasn't so much a victory lap but a final display of bravado to try and silence that little voice.
>Her nervous tone finally prompted Bongiorno to release him and stare at her. She squirmed for a bit under his wordless gaze before a smile at last split the old man's face.
>"'Did you like the show', she says." Bongiorno soon laughed. "My dear, I've been working in this town in some capacity or another for fifty years, and I've never seen anyone's first gala go so well. Truly splendid! I always knew this..." He gestured meaningfully at the grand office around him, and through it at Prisma and perhaps the world of high fashion itself, "...Was in you." He carried on with a bit of excitement. "I've been getting calls all night from friends AND enemies trying to find out where you came from, no doubt hoping there's more hidden diamonds there to scoop up. When I tell them Royal Woods community college you should hear how they curse at me and call me a liar!" Bongiorno cackled before shaking his head. "They've been trapped in this city for too long, its prejudices are now their prejudices. Shameful." His expression when he said so, a strange mixture of satisfaction and elated disbelief, like he'd managed to successfully pull the wool over the eyes of a whole continent and was surprised no one had thought to try it before. The heist of the century.
>Immediately upon receiving his approval, Leni at last allowed herself to truly believe her show had been the success it appeared to be. She released a long sigh of relief, then brightened. "I'm so glad! Thanks so much, Mr. V!" The blonde clapped. "I remembered everything you said went into a good show and I tried to put all of it into mine! Lighting, materials, models, theming, making sure it all worked together and staying away from any concepts or ideas I wasn't a hundred percent sure about..." She listed off all the myriad concerns on her fingers, face scrunching up with stress. "There was so much to remember." Leni complained. "If it hadn't been for Lincoln, I don't think I would have been able to pull it off." She turned to her little brother and smiled gratefully.
>"She's just being humble." Lincoln tried to wave it off, suddenly finding himself pulled into the conversation. Watching his sister try to democratize the reason for her own hard won success, he felt like he had no choice but to butt in. "It really was all Leni. I couldn't believe how beautiful everything was either when the show started." The young man smiled sheepishly. "I hardly know anything about what you guys do, but even I thought it was amazing." He tacked on a bit self-consciously. Somehow in front of one, well, now two famous designers, it seemed rude to admit he didn't have much of an eye for fashion.
>"I think, perhaps, it's someone else being humble." Bongiorno glanced at him with playful suspicion. "Someone of my vintage knows the myth of the lone genius triumphing alone is just that. But in any case, enough of your tiresome demurring and this game of 'who gets the credit'! The important thing is the realization of your vision, my dear. Truly one for the books, and the best part is when they write those books they shall have no choice but to mention it all took place under my labelhead." He declared gleefully, before suddenly stepping closer to add in a faux-conspiratorial tone, "I'm sure it's causing those that insisted I was washed up no small amount of grief."
>Leni gasped, recoiling from him in horror, as if she couldn't even imagine someone saying such a thing. Truthfully, she might really not have been able to. The blonde's soul was way too sweet and generous to conceive of malice, and the idea of anyone speaking badly about a person who'd been so kind to her and who she considered a genius to boot caused her visible distress.
>"It's true," Bongiorno laughed at his protege's characteristically endearing response, patting the side of Leni's shoulder. "They'd carved the second date on my tombstone, and perhaps not long after it would have been Prisma's turn. How shameful it would have been for this place to falter under my own stewardship..." He trailed off pensively, perhaps a bit nostalgic. "I started this label when everything, everything, was in Paris, you know. People thought New York was just a place for bankers to make money; that art and beauty couldn't exist here." Bongiorno sighed. "But I scrimped and saved and worked and toiled, and over the years finally managed to create a reputation and a business, no, a family I could be proud of. That's what I consider us to be here at Prisma." He declared proudly. Lincoln thought it was an uncharacteristic business platitude from a famously no-nonsense personality until he realized, with no small amount of wonder, that Valenti actually meant the stuff most CEOs usually just said to try and get people to work overtime for no pay.
>Bongiorno nodded with satisfaction before his brow suddenly darkened. "And yet, now, because I refused to give in to the tacky, destructive fads corroding our industry of late, soon everyone began to say the same thing: 'Bongiorno's played out, Bongiorno's out of ideas, Bongiorno's blind to the way couture is evolving.' Evolving, they say! Hah!" He shook his head for a moment, seeming bitter, but then turned to Leni and beamed, as though the site of her face banished all those unpleasant memories. "But in the end it was these blind eyes that found you, my dear, weren't they? And now everyone sees what I see."
>"W-what's that, Mr. V?" Leni asked innocently, still apparently disturbed by the story he'd just recounted.
>The old italian grinned even more widely, as though pleased she'd set him up, before concluding his speech. "Why, a star, Leni. A star."
>The blonde was at first confused about what he was talking about, but when at last his meaning sunk in her eyes widened and she grinned happily. "You're so nice, Mr. V..." Leni drawled, turning away so he couldn't see her blush.
>Valenti simply heaped on more praise, seemingly unsatisfied with the appreciation he'd been able to put across so far and fervent to make sure his protege understood the depth of his pleasure. "Not to mention, that last dress...My dear, I had no idea you had such experience on the catwalk! If I'd known this before I'd have brought you up sooner to wear some of my own designs."
>The blonde protested, shaking her head. "No way! That was my first time, and it was really scary! It's just that, well, that dress was really important for the show, and in rehearsals none of the girls were moving in it right..." The seamstress seemed troubled, her brows furrowing as she recalled the morning of the day before and the drastic measures she'd had to take. "They were going step-step-step, and that sort of design needs to be swoosh-step-swoosh-" Leni suddenly blinked as she realized what she was saying, then lowered her head shyly. Expressing herself in her own distinctive way with her family or Lincoln was one thing, but she was always mortified when she failed to find the right words to properly explain what she meant with Mr. Valenti. "I mean..."
>"I understand perfectly, my dear," Her boss raised a hand to interrupt her. "The bountiful train means the model needs to glide if it's to maintain its charm in motion, not simply stomp the floor like she's attacking incoming cockroaches. Honestly, some of our younger girls are a little inexperienced. I'm sorry about that." Valenti appeared contrite.
>"Right! I mean, no!" Leni brightened before suddenly shaking her head. "The women you sent me were great! There just wasn't enough time for them to learn all the minor stuff. I'd worked with the dress for so long I figured it'd be a better idea for me to do it myself. But really, Mr. V, I couldn't be happier with everything you helped me with..."
>The old man chuckled. "Such a sweet girl." Valenti suddenly became pensive, hesitating for a moment. "About that dress...You know I'd never try to backseat sow, but I admit I had the thought that narrowing the godet near the top would have led to a more seamless style line."
>"Oh, I thought about that too!" Leni enthusiastically agreed. "But when I tried it it busied the front too much."
>"Really?" He seemed surprised, "Then what about shirring it?" He considered what Leni was saying before offering a compromise unsurely.
>"Good idea!" The seamstress nodded, then frowned, "But then, wouldn't it draw the eye off the passementerie?"
>"Hmm." Valenti had no counter-argument. She was right. "And switching it for soutache?"
>"If I did that I might as well just rickrack the whole thing though..." The seamstress protested.
>Just like that, the two were soon deep diving into the details of her designs. Lincoln was pleased to see the meeting going so well and the great rapport his sister and her boss shared, and though at one point he might have found their discussion indecipherable he was surprised to find he'd picked up enough industry knowledge working around Leni that he could just barely follow along, though not nearly enough to weigh in. His job had always mostly been making sure everything was done on time and that it got where it needed to go, after all; the closest he'd gotten to this sort of insider analysis was when he'd dutifully sit in front of Leni in her workshop to listen to her flesh her ideas out aloud. Or, as the blonde charitably described it, 'being her sounding board', though he couldn't recall ever giving her a suggestion he could even be one hundred percent confident was coherent. Mostly he just tried his luck to prove he was at least paying attention. Still, Leni was always polite enough to pretend that it helped, and just having the young man take time out of his day to listen to her ideas seemed to give her the charge she needed to see them through.
>Lincoln had listened to her and Valenti discuss work on the phone before and was always surprised by how quickly the two seemed to click to what the other was hinting at regarding clothes, even from the barest clues. He supposed that when two people shared a passion it was basically the closest thing to communicating in a secret language. It sure felt that way now, and though despite his rational judgement telling him he had nothing to contribute left him feeling a bit ostracized, the sight gladdened him all the same. He was truly thrilled that Leni had been able to find such a good boss. Nevertheless, it was at the precise instant that Lincoln lowered his guard and let his mind start to wander while the two designers sussed out the future shape of high fashion that Bongiorno suddenly wheeled about on him.
>"Though as for you," The old man suddenly gave Lincoln a sharp, calculating glare. He couldn't help but flinch a bit at the sudden change in his attitude. "...Who was that you were wearing last night, Lincoln?" His eyes narrowed.
>The young man hesitated, clearly not understanding what Bongiorno meant and feeling awkard from the strange suspicion his sister's boss was suddenly displaying. He seemed all at once to realize the tone he was taking and promptly stopped looming over him. Bongiorno cleared his throat apologetically, trying his best to sound a bit less severe. "I mean the designer. The brand. Who were you wearing?" He pressed on, trying to downplay his eagerness. Valenti was more than a little flummoxed he hadn't been able to identify the maker of Lincoln's dazzling outfit at sight from the pictures he'd seen on the article posted on PMZed. Not only was that an embarassment for someone at his level in any context, but it was even more aggravating when the work was so extraordinary. It had briefly even shaken his confidence, making him wonder if his critics weren't right and he really was terminally out of the loop not to know what must have been a very prominent new talent.
>"Oh." Lincoln blinked innocently. "No one." He paused, then chuckled guiltily at the unhappy, disbelieving glare he got from the old man in return. He tried to appease him. "I mean, Prisma, I guess! Leni made it for me. It was terrific, right? I couldn't believe how it made me look either."
>"What do you mean?" Leni suddenly interrupted them. "You looked like yourself."
>"I looked a lot better than that, Leni." Lincoln joked.
>The blonde sulked, obviously displeased with her brother downplaying his own appearance. "You looked like yourself." She insisted stubbornly. "I'm, like, the one that made it. I know."
>The young man laughed and very nearly took her hand in his despite the company they were in. He had to forcefully remind himself it wasn't the time or the place. Perhaps he was being overly cautious and making too much of a perfectly innocent display of affection, but Lincoln didn't want to take any chances. The secret they shared could well ruin Leni right at her moment of glory if treated carelessly. Even then, resisting the look she gave him was almost impossible. He had to keep reminding himself he was playing it stoic for her sake.
>Valenti, meanwhile, seemed dumbfounded. He turned to look at his protege, his brow furrowed. "Leni, that was your work?" He seemed to process the idea for a long while before suddenly becoming animated. "Why didn't you tell me you had such an eye for men's fashion! My word, the conclusions I jumped to!" He didn't say it out loud, but he'd imagined some other label was trying to have her brother court Leni over to their company by bribing him with expensive gifts. He had a rough understandin of the overall financial situation of his protege's family and had known Lincoln could never have afforded a suit like that. The man reached into his vest pocket to pull out a handkerchief and dab at his forehead in a way that reminded the siblings of Ossu.
>"It's not like that..." The blonde protested shyly. "I just, like, know what Lincoln would look good in. After all..." There was a pause when she gave her little brother a meaningful glance, her eye twinkling in a way that made him nervous, though just when he was about to preemptively interrupt her she continued, "He's been modeling for me ever since we were kids."
>Lincoln had almost jumped in, afraid she was going to say something like 'I know every inch of his body' or some other similarly disastrous confession, but instead released a very quiet and relieved sigh. He felt guilty for a bit, reminding himself yet again that he had to stop underestimating Leni. It wasn't that he thought poorly of her good sense, but that his own overly paranoid nature was simply a difficult hurdle to overcome. It was tough to try and ignore such, historically speaking, plentifully indulged instincts
>Meanwhile, once it was revealed that there was no intrigue afoot, Bongiorno loosened up considerably. Rather, he seemed to look at Lincoln in a different light. "Well, whatever the case, you cut quite the dashing figure last night. Quite the dashing figure." He stroked his moustache briefly. "And to see how you hide it so well, even now..." The young man cringed a bit at the reminder that his current outfit, which he'd always thought of as his A+ job-seeking and fine dining ensemble, was that bad. People had always complimented him on it back home! He tried to tell himself that standards were just different in New York, and especially different in a place like Prisma, but it didn't make him feel much better. It was clear that he really was as out of place as he felt he was.
>Bongiorno cleared his throat. "In any case, a true diamond in the rough, just like your sister. Say..." He suddenly seemed sly, "Why not sign a contract with us to model?"
>Lincoln blinked, turning to glare at the old man to check if he was kidding. Valenti continued as if he didn't notice the look on his face.
>"The outfit can't do all the work, someone in my business certainly knows that. Clothes can only bring out what's already there, they wear you just like you wear them. And to be candid Lincoln, from the moment of our first videochat I've always thought you had a memorable look about you. Unusual, but alluring..." Valenti continued his pitch under the speechless, disbelieving stare of the twenty one year old. "Plus, the freckles lend a bit of innocence that's tough to find in male models, especially nowadays." The elderly italian shook his head. "Apologies, I'm digressing a bit. What do you say? I'm sure many of the designers in our employ would love to work with you."
>"...C-come on, Mr. Valenti." He finally answered after a long moment of trying to pick the right words to do so with. He assumed he was having his leg pulled, but didn't quite know how he was supposed to complain about it. This was Bongiorno Valenti he was talking to. "Stop messing with me." Lincoln couldn't help but get flustered over having his looks complimented so frankly by another man, and he didn't even know what to make of the offer itself. The flabbergasted, gee-golly-shucks expression he wore made Bongiorno laugh out loud.
>"Just consider it, would you? Or perhaps I should bring in some of the girls outside and ask them if it's a good idea. Once that article made its rounds around the office a lot of the chatter I overheard was about Leni's handsome date, you know." Lincoln figured saying nothing was the best thing he could do, but the way he couldn't help but redden amused Valenti so much he didn't even notice Leni's unhappy expression at the mention of other girls. "For heaven's sake, what an earnest young man!" He snorted. "Just like 'Goofus and Gallant'. Not many of your type, even in my day." All at once, Bongiorno suddenly seemed to realize something and make a decision. "Truly, I must see for myself the time capsule that could have produced you two. Maybe it would do my health some good to visit your 'Royal Woods'." He stood a bit straighter, more defiant. "The Manhattan moneytrench has me exhausted. I'd enjoy spending some time among humans for a change instead of vipers."
>"That'd be amazing!" Leni declared, suddenly forgetting her train of thought. She'd been just about to encourage Lincoln to give professional modeling a shot. After all, he was really cute and really good at holding still, so didn't that mean he was, like, a natural? She was distracted, however, by the bombshell her boss had just intimated. "Don't even think about going to a hotel either, Mr. V!" Lincoln, grateful for the change of topic himself, didn't comment on the fact that the only 'hotels' their small town had were Fine Occidentals and other 'express' resting options, i.e. motels. Somehow he doubted Bongiorno would go for one of those, though what Leni suggested next seemed even more absurd. "You can sleep over at our house! There's totes room, plus the couch pulls out into a bed!" The young man turned to Leni, about to suggest that perhaps her aged boss might prefer different and less back-destroying accomodations, but she continued heedlessly. "Oooh, my family has been, like, wanting to meet you for so long! My sister Lola is your biggest fan. She says you're, umm..." Leni screwed her face up trying to remember the bratty blonde's exact words. "'The greatest living European designer of women's dresses.' She said that even before I started working for you, so I'm sure she's not just saying it to be nice, either!"
>Valenti brightened, smiling at Leni like an indulgent grandfather. "Then it would appear your siblings are just as sweet as you are, my dear. Well then, I believe I'll get to work selecting a week in the coming months. I so look forward to meeting your family. A pull-out couch, eh?" He chuckled, "Goodness, I haven't lain upon that most American of inventions since I was first starting out in this city. You truly make me feel young, Leni."
>"I can't wait to tell mom and Lola." The fashionista squealed. "They'll just die!"
>"Let us hope that's not so." Valenti chuckled. Just then the receptionist returned with the tea. Bongiorno gave her a brief glare, he apparently felt she had taken too long, but when the old man saw how she shrunk helplessly away at just that simple sign of his displeasure he sighed and shook his head. "Leni my dear," He declared amicably, "the reporters should be arriving shortly. Would you like to go get your makeup touched up before the interviews? Tiffany here can show you the way."
>"Okay, Mr. Valenti." Leni nodded, then turned expectantly to her brother. Lincoln moved to follow her, but was stopped by a hand held out suddenly in front of him.
>"Why don't you leave the young mister Loud with me?" Bongiorno gave the girl a mollifying grin. "There's just a few things I'd like to talk to him about. Nothing too important, I assure you. We'll join you shortly."
>She seemed surprised for a moment, but at last acquiesced. The gratitude she held towards the old italian ran deep, and so did her trust. Tiffany quickly set the now obsolete drinks down, humbly motioning for the seamstress to follow her, and she did. The receptionist apparently understood something that had been left unsaid by her boss and gave the young man one last curious glance before shutting the door behind them. All of a sudden, Bongiorno and Lincoln were alone.

>He had no idea what Valenti wanted to discuss, and the old man didn't immediately make matters clear either. Instead Bongiorno dithered, seeming to be considering what to say next carefully, before finally sighing and walking over to a cabinet at the corner of the room. Wondering what this could be about but with no answer seemingly forthcoming, Lincoln simply lingered unsurely. He took another glance around the office while the designer measured his words.
>It was really quite something. Valenti's private workspace largely displayed the same sleek, modernist design that appeared to be a running theme in Prisma, but with a few extra flourishes that seemed to imbue the labelhead's personal sanctum with a dignity all its own. It mostly came down to the sumptuous furniture adorning it, no doubt millimetrically arranged just so by some thousand-dollar-an-hour feng shui expert. More eyecatching than the sloped velvet chaise at one end of the room or the bubinga desk Valenti's files lay on, though, was the enormous window behind it that took up almost the entire wall and overlooked a huge section of downtown New York. Even from where he stood the view was spectacular. Lincoln, who wasn't some supplicant come to ask something of Valenti and thus had no reason to feel humbled, was still impacted by the gravitas of the place, and he found himself standing up just a little straighter. The young man couldn't help but briefly imagine what the company must have been paying in rent for such beautifully appointed officespace right in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Whether intended to or not, the overall effect of the place served to make being on the opposite end of that window make one subconsciously accept the owner of the office as somebody important.
>Valenti seemed to be stalling for time in front of a nearby cabinet. It was another masterpiece of ostentatiousness, mostly constructed out of white sandalwood and sparkling with golden gilding. Lincoln could see a number of bottles behind the exquisite carved crystal panes on the top half.
>"Tiffany is the daughter of a friend." The old man commented tersely as he fiddled with a teacup. "Though she's slow in her work and, alas, unfortunately prejudiced from growing up around all of this, I admit, she makes a good cup of tea. Won't you have some?" He offered.
>Lincoln couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Bongiorno's overall mood seemed to have changed now that his sister had left the room, and the young man found himself bit on edge because of it. It felt like his sister's boss was trying to get up the courage to tell him something, and when people needed to do that it was usually because whatever they had to say was bad news. The young man braced himself a bit, as though subconsciously expecting that he was to be interrogated at any moment. "To be honest, I don't really take tea or coffee. Caffeine makes me jittery." Lincoln gave by way of an excuse. He simply didn't feel like drinking anything right then, not with the mood in the room.
>The old man nodded his head wordlessly, but didn't turn to look at him. "I understand. I'm sparing with it myself for the same reason. It's worse when you get to be my age. In that case, perhaps some distilled water?" It seemed he refused to take no for an answer. Valenti set down his teacup and opened the cabinet next to him, pulling out a crystal bottle and taking out the stopper before pouring the contents out into two glasses. Once that was done, the designer soon opened one of the drawers, retrieved a plastic packet, tore it open and dropped the two tablets inside into his. The liquid inside rapidly began bubbling to life. "Nervous stomach," he explained, tea seemingly forgotten, before handing Lincoln the other glass and moving back behind his desk. He gestured for him to sit.
>He did, but even then Bongiorno said nothing for a long time. He just stared out the panoramic window that stretched from wall to wall and almost from floor to ceiling. Lincoln watched his back. He seemed to be looking for the right words to say, figuring out how to diplomatically arrive at his thoughts instead of just spitting them out like Lincoln was increasingly wishing he would.
>"My boy, Leni is..." He started unsurely, before shaking his head and taking a deep draught of the seltzer water. He sighed, setting the glass down next to him. "A special girl, isn't she?"
>Before they young man could say anything, he quickly continued. "I'd like to tell you a story." He declared preemptively. "And though its contents might seem irrelevant to you, I hope that you will show a weary septuagenerian some patience and listen to the end. I promise you it is pertinent."
>Lincoln said nothing, and after a nervous moment Bongiorno chose to interpret his silence as consent. He sighed before taking a deep breath.
>"I was...born in a very small village outside Palermo." He began. "Perhaps you know this about me. Some do." Lincoln knew Valenti was still reluctant to cut to the heart of the matter, but he certainly hadn't expected him to begin from all the way back in the day he was born. "VERY small, you understand. This is not some particularity I've manicured to make my legend more colorful, either. It does not appear on most maps, even today." He sniffed. "It would not be hyperbole to say that all who lived there knew the names of everyone else. If I could reveal to you some detail that would illustrate it's true rurality...Perhaps if I mentioned that the only person we knew growing up who owned an automobile was the mayor? As you can imagine, to most of us, that made him quite the big figure." Bongiorno chuckled. In an office as dazzling as the one he was in, Lincoln could certainly empathize with the feeling of being overwhelmed by someone's comparative wealth. "You see, the old country had not fully recovered from world war two, even ten years later. Travel was exceedingly difficult. We were poor, ignorant. Even the smallest big city luxury that made its way to our home was cause for envy. And yet, we were happy. The boys would fish in the river, the girls would chase each other over the flowerbeds. If a child was hungry, why, he could just pluck a tomato off any vine, bite into it like an apple!" Bongiorno seem very pleased to relate details those details of his upbringing. "They grew sweeter back then, you know. But the most special feature of all of Sulla- that was the name of my home- was the night sky. You've never seen so many stars, my boy! One could read by starlight. Paint by it." Valenti beamed, lost in his memories, as he stared out the window. "Certainly, our clothes were old and even by the standards of our country we were peasants, but I believe it was still the loveliest place anyone could have had to call home." The old man's eyes had gone distant as he reminisced, a happy smile tugging at his lips. However, as another memory surfaced, the smile faltered for a moment. He looked down at the glass he held and swished its contents, suddenly more melancholy. "I had a cousin then. She was...truly, deeply lovely. A bit like your sister, in many ways." He sighed.
>After another long pause where Lincoln said nothing, Valenti once again spoke. "I loved her." He revealed tersely, seemingly unafraid of being judged. Bongiorno turned to Lincoln, as if gauging his thoughts. When the young man gave no immediate outward reaction at the salacious secret he'd just been confided with, the old designer finally sighed and began explaining himself, as though half of his earlier bravado had been an act. "You must understand, back then in Italy cousin marriage wasn't..." He gestured with his hands, trying futilely to find the right word. The old colloqualisms didn't always translate 1:1 into english. "Given 'the bad eye' it is now." He finally settled on the closest approximation of the expression he could find, giving a sigh of resignation.
>Lincoln was surprised and confused at how frank the old man was being. Why was he telling him all this stuff? He wondered how he would have responded to the admission if Bongiorno had offered it just a few days earlier, before Lincoln had done him one better and gotten into a relationship with his very own sister. At this point the idea of falling in love with a cousin seemed almost wholesome by comparison. The boy tried not to let his troubled, unsure thoughts show on his face. As it was, all he could feel for the man fifty years his elder at that moment was sympathy and a sort of bizarre camarederie he didn't dare make apparent for fear of his own indiscretion being sniffed out.
>"She dabbled," Valenti continued,"Yes, 'dabbled', I suppose that would be the term...She dabbled as a seamstress. I hope you won't think me a braggart if I swear to you now that she had incredible, prodigious talent despite an utter lack of any formal training. Why, men from as far as two towns over would visit our humble village to commission her to craft their daughters' dresses for their thirteenth birthdays, their debuts into society and womanhood. Owning her work was cause enough to boast. And my cousin, well, she was grateful to be so honored." Valenti's smiled warmly, turning to gaze back out the window. "She'd trade her dresses never for money, but simply for the materials she needed to make more. And, when possible, for the colorful, glossy fashion magazines from the big city that she so adored. It didn't matter how out of date they were, either. She'd study the fancy clothes in them obsessively. She'd peer for hours at those beautiful women in those beautiful clothes and dream..." The old italian drank another sip of seltzer water and sighed. "My cousin loved fashion, Lincoln. And I, well, I pretended to love it as well simply so that she'd allow me to be near her." Valenti chuckled, "At the time I was only eleven years old, and she sixteen. Can you imagine the patience of this girl? I'm certain she saw right through my falsehoods, must have known me for the lovestruck little brat I was, but still she never accused me of insincerity. Instead, she taught me everything she knew; she held my hands and guided me through the motion of thread through needle, educated me on cloths, cuts, colors, the way a gown should hang off the shoulder. Everything." Bongiorno gave another sigh. "As I said, it was a small town. Perhaps she was simply desperate for a kindred spirit, someone to share her passion with. Ultimately, through her teaching my false passion blossomed into a true one." He pursed his lips into a tight, wan smile. "By the time I was fifteen I felt ready to take on the world. I knew we would never get anywhere in Sulla, of course. It was too far away, too remote. I did not wish to trade my clothes for apples and baskets as she did." Bongiorno suddenly pulled puffed out his chest, as though he was steeling his resolve all over again just as he had back then. "I vowed to try my luck as a designer in America. There everyone said if you worked hard enough you could achieve anything." The story paused for a second before continuing with a much more unhappy tone. "And, as I'm sure you might have guessed, I tried to convince her to come with me. Begged her, even. In the end, to my immense bitterness, no matter what I said or how much I insisted, she would not go."
>The old italian at that moment appeared even older, the characteristic steel he carried in his spine seeming to rust for just a brief moment. He stared down at the last bits of seltzer water in his glass before throwing it down his throat and setting the glass down without turning to look at the young man behind him. "She loved the town too much, you see. The people. She would not move, not even for the fashion she so loved. Not for that...and not for me." He was wistful now, resigned. "I departed by myself. I thought if I became a success, or if I was at least established here, I could convince her to join me eventually. But she passed of an illness a few years later. At the time I was so busy getting my first show off the ground that I could not even attend her funeral." Valenti's story came to an abrupt and ignominous end, and Lincoln could tell he'd turned curt to avoid lingering on the topic and reopening old wounds. Even all these years later, it was still obviously a raw and sensitive subject for the aged designer. He cleared his throat. "So much of your sister reminds me of her. I think perhaps it's those feelings that drive me to try and make sure Leni succeeds. Just an old, sentimental man's attempt to get it right this time..." Valenti sighed, before at last turning to look at Lincoln.
>"The reason I told you all this is so that you would not mistake me. So that you would know that what I am about to ask of you does not stem from some small minded provincialism or disdain for your origins, for truly, they cannot be more humble than mine." Bongiorno cleared h is throat, "So, with all that said, Lincoln..." He took a deep breath.
>"I would like you to convince Leni to stay here in New York."

>If before he'd just been waiting for the old designer to finish before chiming in, the last words had truly stunned Lincoln into silence. As the seconds ticked by and neither of them said a word, Bongiorno slowly appeared to become more agitated. He seemed to have been waiting for the young man to speak before elaborating on what he was thinking. When it became clear he wouldn't, the old italian decided to simply charge through and say what had been on his mind.
>"You must understand, my boy. This state of grace your sister has enjoyed so far, it is not the normal way of things." He commented restlessly. He paused, unsure if he should continue, but ultimately did so. "The truth is, I've already asked Leni to join me out here many times. Permanently."
>Even in his daze, Lincoln nearly stood up from his chair. It was the first he'd heard of it. He dully wondered why his sister hadn't mentioned it to him, whether it was because she didn't attribute any importance to it and it slipped her mind or if she was actively hiding it from him, but in sharp contrast to his earlier tentativeness, now Valenti didn't allow him get a word in edgewise. When he saw how the boy had taken what he said, he practically sprang across the table to explain himself.
>"It's not that I am unsympathetic to her feelings or ignorant about her illness! I know how sensitive your sister is. I know change is often difficult. But it's not as if she's venturing into the wilderness, is she? There are psychiatrists in New York as well. Good ones. Why, I could refer her to mine, for heaven's sake. You know I'd never neglect her." He tried to appeal to him, "As for her understandable partiality to her home, don't you think I myself would prefer to escape all this noise and hangers-on and run my clothing label from Sulla?" He scolded helplessly before giving a sudden start, "But truly, unless one is fortunate enough to be a New Yorker or a Parisian or a Milanese, one simply cannot work as a globally recognized, in-demand designer from one's hometown!"
>Bongiorno's uncharacteristically indelicate manner and obviously frayed nerves gave away that this had been troubling him for some time, and Lincoln felt the bluster drain out of him a bit in response. He slowly sank back into the chair, feeling helpless, and in response the labelhead at last revealed the crux of the issue to him.
>"Very well, Lincoln." He sighed, "The truth, the real truth..." Valenti repeated a little more firmly, the old man's jaw setting, "Is that the only reason the magazines have shown the patience that they have so far is out of respect for me." He waited for what he'd just said to sink in. "Until now I've been using my influence to protect Leni. Shield her from what's typically demanded of someone in her position. But I can't keep doing so anymore, not after last night's show and the splash she's made." Bongiorno's expression softened for a moment as he rubbed a knuckle against his brow tiredly. "My boy, you have to understand. Leni shunning the spotlight to remain in her hometown is the sort of quirk that's considered endearing to these people at first, but the more buzz she gathers the less amusing they find it. The press WILL turn on her if things go on this way. She's not in the best position to begin with. There's a reason PMZed's article came so swiftly and used the language that it did." At the mention of the news story that had so disquieted him, the young man instantly sat up. Valenti seemed satisfied by his visceral response. "Tell me Lincoln, what do you know of fashion journalists?"
>"Nothing." He replied blankly, too surprised at Bongiorno's reveal of the tightrope he hadn't known his sister had been walking to even get defensive. He hadn't even known his sister's career was in peril, yet Bongiorno was making it sound like disaster wasn't just possible but imminent. His mind instinctively whirred trying to come up with some solution to the problem, some trick he could use to fix things just like he did whenever he discovered any of his sisters was in trouble, but he continuously drew a blank. How could he think of a way to help her when he hadn't even realized there was an issue in the first place?
>"Well then, allow me to explain." Valenti's voice suddenly took on a much more acid tone, paying only minor heed to Lincoln's distress. From the way the old man's body language changed it seemed clear a rant was coming. "They call themselves 'metropolitans' and 'citizens of the world' because they have one foot in New York and the other in Paris but what they REALLY are are the rootless, visionless philistines that inevitably accumulate, like filth, in the boutiques of Manhattan! The bloggers," The designer almost spat the word, taking another deep breath, "The never-weres with no talent to call their own. These are people who are dedicated, who are driven, to destroying the untested." Bongiorno's fist unconsciously clenched at his side. The young man snapped out of the nervous reverie he'd unconsciously sunk into over his sister's plight at Valenti's obvious anger. "They loathe the humble, they despise the sincere and they will gleefully attack anyone who hasn't proven themselves." He practically snarled. "I suspect they believe that ruining a hopeful proves that they've achieved some sort of place of belonging in our business, that it makes them more than the parasites they are."
>The designer seemed to notice how agitated he was becoming. He turned to stare at Lincoln, hesitating for a moment about whether or not he should keep going, but finally sighed. He'd made his point. There was no reason to indulge his longstanding contempt for the press any further. The old man raised a hand to his face to rub his tired eyes. The vitality he seemed to exude faltered for a moment.
>"These people will use any excuse to dismiss your sister." He murmured with exhaustion. "To minimize her. We cannot give them that chance. There are obstacles in this industry that even I, with all my clout, cannot push out of her way. I can only assist Leni in navigatating these waters, but there's nothing I can do if she won't even get on the boat!" The designer was exasperated, getting his second wind. "Leni MUST give interviews, make appearances, BE SEEN. Only once she becomes a fixture in this city will the literati finally put down their knives and accept her as one of their own. They won't let anybody in from the outside, Lincoln! I know that for certain." The iron firmness of his tone made it clear that he truly harbored no doubts about what he was saying. "I've seen the same story play out a million times before. Until she does so she will just be a smalltown curiosity, an upstart that leapfrogged ahead of several designers personally known and friendly to these muckrakers that they'd already handpicked as 'the next big thing'." He paused, reining back in some of the emotion that had seeped into his voice. "Please, don't misunderstand. It's not my intention to overstate how dire things are. Leni is...charming, my boy. Wonderfully charming, and last night was the most fun many of these influencers are likely to have had in a long time. Winning them over won't be difficult for her, I promise you. But ultimately, she still has to be here."
>Bongiorno lingered uncertainly before opening the glass cabinet, putting his empty glass back. He didn't turn to look at him.
>"As you might have guessed by now, I did not arrange last night's gala simply to unveil Leni's talent to the world. That was part of it, of course, but my main purpose was to get her up here to show her what she's been missing. The hotel, restaurants, the royal treatment she's been getting, I've been trying to get your sister to understand the life she could lead." He smiled helplessly. "But I saw it in her eyes the moment she stepped into this office. This is still just a vacation to her, isn't it? She hasn't mentioned a word to you about wanting to stay."
>Lincoln didn't know how to answer him. In truth she had, but not for the reasons Bongiorno likely wanted. He took his hesitating as a confirmation of his suspicions. The old man gave another tired sigh.
>"The short of it is, my boy, that there are those in this business that wish to see Leni fail. That want her to be a fad. And right now, I say it plainly, it's up to you to make sure that doesn't happen. To protect her, Lincoln. From herself, if you have to."
>"But why are you asking me to do this?" Lincoln couldn't take anymore, blurting the words out with a bit of a harder edge to his voice than he intended. The young man flinched self-consciously, looking down at the desk to avoid meeting Valenti's gaze as his long-suppressed childishness reared up quietly like a cobra. He couldn't help it. He'd felt so good that morning, better than he had in years, and yet at the first sign of light suddenly his sister's boss was demanding he convince Leni to leave her old life behind. To leave HIM behind. It was excrutiating. Lincoln was long used to making sacrifices for his sisters' benefit, but it felt as though he'd at last been pushed past what he was willing to give up. Why was he having this sprung this on him now, when he'd finally put himself first for once and reached out for what he really wanted? It was a self-centered, absurd notion, but steeped in his anger as he was it almost felt to him like the universe was punishing him for stepping past his place, for valuing his own wants for a change, and the young man couldn't help how some of the ensuing bitterness began leaking out into his words and thoughts. "Why not ask my mom? Or Lori, my older sister? She's just as clo-"
>"Because I know the place you hold in her heart." Bongiorno interrupted matter-of-factly, instantly cutting the legs out from under him and stopping him cold. Lincoln's eyes widened and he lifted his gaze from the table to stare at the aged man. His expression was pinched tight, his own eyes deep and inscrutable. He felt the wisdom only age could earn bearing down on him, and in that moment of heightened emotion he suddenly had the awful fear the italian could see right through him, peer past the falsehoods to the truth of he and his sister's relationship. He gripped the armrest tighter.
>But in truth, all Valenti actually saw was a caring brother unwilling to abandon his sensitive big sister to her luck in the big city. He was worried for her. Bongiorno couldn't help but imagine a bit of himself in Lincoln now, as he imagined his cousin in Leni, and his expression softened.
>"I know what you've done for her, my boy." Bongiorno admitted. Lincoln said nothing, nervously wetting his lips with his tongue. "I haven't forgotten. Just two years ago, how lost she was. Unmoored and adrift." What the old designer was recalling were the weeks and months after Lynn Sr.'s death, before Lincoln had insinuated himself into his sister's career and helped her put everything back together. "Try as I might I couldn't reach her, I couldn't help her. Every time we spoke I noticed how incredibly fragile she was. It broke my heart. She'd always been of a delicate character, but this was different. She was slipping into that miasma of apathy and fear that so often grips geniuses, and I was powerless to stop it." He sighed. "You must understand, so many people depend on me, so many things require my focus...I cannot always dedicate the amount of energy to Leni I would like. But even so, I couldn't help but agonize over what I could do, what I should do. And how couldn't I? A generational star was dimming in front of my eyes." At last Bongiorno stepped across the table towards him. "Imagine my surprise when one day I called her, at my wit's end and wondering whether I should put all other business aside to purchase a plane ticket to visit directly, and found that her voice was suddenly so much brighter. So much happier."
>The young man felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and looked up to see Bongiorno smiling at him warmly. "It was you. I saw how she changed as soon as you started helping her, Lincoln. At first I wondered what it could be, what could have caused this rebirth of hers. But our little miss gave the game away herself. She couldn't stop talking about you, how happy she was you were visiting so often, how excited it made her that you were helping her with her work. The creative block she'd been so troubled by soon evaporated and she started making all her deadlines again. And I knew who I had to thank for it." The old man's eyes twinkled for a moment before he remembered himself. He cleared his throat, standing up straight and pulling his hand back. His voice lost a bit of its warmth and purposefully became more business-like. "Skill, creativity, potential, it all means nothing if it is not set to purpose. That is what you did for your sister, Lincoln. You provided her the most important impetus. People believe talent is simply something that's inside you, that all it takes is nurturing, but even more important than that is timing. It must be cultivated at the right moment and in the right way so that it is not lost. At the time I feared the opportunity to truly allow your sister to blossom had slipped between my fingers. It was you, my boy. You saved her." The seconds ticked by as Lincoln failed to answer him. Bongiorno, unsure if he had reached him, grimaced and gave one last plea. "I ask you now, won't you save her again? Lincoln, she has a future here." His voice was tinged with a bit of desperation. He was being as forthright with the young man as he possibly could in his attempt to get him to see the big picture. "But back home...Well, what kind of future does someone like her really have in Royal Woods?"
>Despite his best attempt not to, his childish efforts to remain stubborn and difficult, Bongiorno's words couldn't help but make Lincoln suddenly imagine what would have been of Leni without this job. All at once the possibility of the other path she could have taken in life ran him through. Working retail at Reininger's for the rest of her life, her dream denied and without hope for anything more. Lori would be starting a family soon and have less time for her, her little sisters would all be growing up and moving out of the house, and Leni would just be alone and lonely in her apartment as everyone moved on and reached for their dreams. Leaving her behind. The sweetest person in the world, someone who deserved the world, trapped.
>And if it happened, it would all be because of him. His selfishness. His need to be with her. He knew she wouldn't hesitate to make that kind of sacrifice for him. The question was, could he allow her to? Could Lincoln really do that to the one person in the world who meant the most to him? Leni could achieve such amazing things. All he had to do was let her.
>Lincoln remembered that corny old line about how if you love something, you should let it go. At that moment, he truly hated whoever had first put that awful feeling into words.
>The young man didn't answer him. He couldn't even look at him. But the designer saw that his words had had an effect. It was all he could hope for, for now. Bongiorno nodded and clasped him by the shoulder again. A few moments passed until he spoke once more.
>"...I know you'll do the right thing. You grasp instinctively what it takes some men years to understand. Family!" His voice went higher by an octave as he pulled back his hand to give a sudden clap, trying to lighten the mood, "Family is the most important thing in the world."
>It hadn't seemed to have much of an effect. Bongiorno paused for a moment, then sighed, walking towards the door. He turned to him one last time. "I know I've surprised you. Take a moment to process what I've said. Afterwards, join us down the hall, won't you? The interview has likely already begun and I'm sure your sister would love for you to be there while she's fielding questions. As someone who's been subjected to a few of these, trust me, a friendly face in the crowd can make all the difference."
>That was all he said before walking away. Lincoln hadn't reacted at all, instead stewing more deeply over the truths Bongiorno had revealed to him. He dwelled on his sister's apparently unstable position, dwelled on all the people he just found out had always been waiting in the wings to sabotage her success.
>The young man rose from his chair, dithering fruitlessly as he worked the problem over in his mind. No answers were forthcoming. He was torn brutally between his own deeply held, frantic desires and what he knew was the brotherly thing to do. Leni was special. He'd always known that. He wondered if maybe it'd just been his own conceit to think he could really be a part of her fancy, extraordinary life. Even if he loved her, wasn't he betraying her by robbing her of her chance to fulfill her destiny? Standing in the way of what she was truly meant to do, meant to be?
>He was under no illusions. He knew the reason Leni hadn't agreed to move to New York was him. She didn't want to be apart from him. And as for him, well...
>He didn't want to be apart from her either.
>Lincoln crossed the desk to peer out the window, fogging up the pane with the deep, hopeless sigh that suddenly escaped from between his lips. He shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against it, not caring whether his skin might leave a smudge. It felt like ice on his forehead. Opening his eyes again. he stared down at the view he had of the city from this high up in Mr. Valenti's office. All the little grey dots on the street below were still aimlessly milling about, totally wrapped up in the tangle of their own problems. They didn't know about some kid from the sticks fifteen floors up being broken of any illusions he might have had about the future and wouldn't care if they did. The sun had at last broken over the overcast clouds from that morning, drenching the streets in warm, golden light.
>Still, Lincoln couldn't help but feel, as he watched all the New Yorkers scurrying hundreds of feet beneath him, living their busy, glamorous big city lives...
>That glamorous big city suddenly felt a whole lot colder than it did before.
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Fashion (Turn To The Left!)