Yay, I'm glad you like the Sleeping Beauty in Space story! A snippet from "In Your Boots" coming right up:
***
Out on the street, I feel grateful for the first time for the anonymity of the city. No one knows me, no one sees that I've changed, and I only get a few glances for my ill-fitting clothes. I must look like a bag lady, I realize, someone who scrounges for throwaway clothes in containers.
At the entrance to the Consulate, I hesitate, then begin to unlock the door. I am not the first to arrive, though--there is a light under Inspector Thatcher's door, although Turnbull is nowhere in sight. Best to get this over with. I take a deep breath and knock firmly on her door.
"Yes?" she replies.
"Sir. I respectfully request to speak with you."
"Who is this?" The door opens, and she stares at me. I am no longer taller than her, I realize--I'd instinctively looked down, but her eyes meet mine at the same height. She's impeccably dressed, as always. "Who are you?"
I straighten my spine. "I'm Constable Fraser, sir. I'm afraid I woke up like this. Or, not exactly like this, but, well. As a woman, sir. I apologize for being out of uniform."
Her eyes widen. I don't think I've seen her lost for words before. Finally she pinches her hand, presumably to see if she's dreaming, and then shakes her head. "In my office, Constable."
Behind her desk, she regains her considerable poise. "How did this happen?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir. But I intend to find out."
"I certainly hope so. In the meantime, I expect you to do your duties."
"Of course, sir. Although I'm afraid my uniform doesn't fit."
She taps a pen against her lips. "Perhaps you could borrow one of mine. We do seem to be much the same size. Although--Constable, you do realize that you need a, well..." She gestures helplessly toward my chest.
"The proper sort of underwear, sir?" My cheeks are hot.
"Yes, that." I hear the front door opening, and she turns away with visible relief. "Turnbull!"
"Sir? Yes, sir?" He appears at the door, saluting. "What can I do for you this fine day?"
"Turnbull, this is Constable Fraser. Except he's--she's a woman now."
"Sir! I wasn't aware that you were planning on changing your sex. May I extend my congratulations, if that is appropriate? Although...your uniform, sir?" He looks scandalized at the state of my clothes.
"It's not intentional, Turnbull. And I hope it's only temporary, although it's too early to tell at this juncture."
"Very well, sir."
Inspector Thatcher takes over. "I have a task for you, Turnbull. Go out and buy proper underwear and some other clothes for Constable Fraser. I certainly can't have him, I mean her, be seen in this state."
"Yes, sir. What size should I buy?"
She sighs impatiently, handing me a measuring tape from one of her drawers. "Go and take your measurements, Constable."
Her gaze flickers down to my chest, where the jacket hangs open. "And I believe those need cup size C. Or possibly D."
In my office, I measure my height and my circumference at waist, hips, and chest. I write them down on a piece of paper for Turnbull, who seems awed at the importance of his mission. "Sir? What style would you prefer?"
"Something plain and practical, please. And if you could keep the reason for your purchases quiet, I'd be much obliged."
He straightens. "Mum's the word! I certainly won't let them know I'm buying it for a woman, sir. Or a man."
no subject
***
Out on the street, I feel grateful for the first time for the anonymity of the city. No one knows me, no one sees that I've changed, and I only get a few glances for my ill-fitting clothes. I must look like a bag lady, I realize, someone who scrounges for throwaway clothes in containers.
At the entrance to the Consulate, I hesitate, then begin to unlock the door. I am not the first to arrive, though--there is a light under Inspector Thatcher's door, although Turnbull is nowhere in sight. Best to get this over with. I take a deep breath and knock firmly on her door.
"Yes?" she replies.
"Sir. I respectfully request to speak with you."
"Who is this?" The door opens, and she stares at me. I am no longer taller than her, I realize--I'd instinctively looked down, but her eyes meet mine at the same height. She's impeccably dressed, as always. "Who are you?"
I straighten my spine. "I'm Constable Fraser, sir. I'm afraid I woke up like this. Or, not exactly like this, but, well. As a woman, sir. I apologize for being out of uniform."
Her eyes widen. I don't think I've seen her lost for words before. Finally she pinches her hand, presumably to see if she's dreaming, and then shakes her head. "In my office, Constable."
Behind her desk, she regains her considerable poise. "How did this happen?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir. But I intend to find out."
"I certainly hope so. In the meantime, I expect you to do your duties."
"Of course, sir. Although I'm afraid my uniform doesn't fit."
She taps a pen against her lips. "Perhaps you could borrow one of mine. We do seem to be much the same size. Although--Constable, you do realize that you need a, well..." She gestures helplessly toward my chest.
"The proper sort of underwear, sir?" My cheeks are hot.
"Yes, that." I hear the front door opening, and she turns away with visible relief. "Turnbull!"
"Sir? Yes, sir?" He appears at the door, saluting. "What can I do for you this fine day?"
"Turnbull, this is Constable Fraser. Except he's--she's a woman now."
"Sir! I wasn't aware that you were planning on changing your sex. May I extend my congratulations, if that is appropriate? Although...your uniform, sir?" He looks scandalized at the state of my clothes.
"It's not intentional, Turnbull. And I hope it's only temporary, although it's too early to tell at this juncture."
"Very well, sir."
Inspector Thatcher takes over. "I have a task for you, Turnbull. Go out and buy proper underwear and some other clothes for Constable Fraser. I certainly can't have him, I mean her, be seen in this state."
"Yes, sir. What size should I buy?"
She sighs impatiently, handing me a measuring tape from one of her drawers. "Go and take your measurements, Constable."
Her gaze flickers down to my chest, where the jacket hangs open. "And I believe those need cup size C. Or possibly D."
In my office, I measure my height and my circumference at waist, hips, and chest. I write them down on a piece of paper for Turnbull, who seems awed at the importance of his mission. "Sir? What style would you prefer?"
"Something plain and practical, please. And if you could keep the reason for your purchases quiet, I'd be much obliged."
He straightens. "Mum's the word! I certainly won't let them know I'm buying it for a woman, sir. Or a man."