Red Dress

The Red Dress had a certain...pull to it, she thought, so she grabbed it right off the hanger and pulled it on. It was a little snug, but it fit her well enough, it felt almost tailor-made, in fact. She looked down at it, front and back. Everything important seemed covered, the dress cut off just above the knee; a little daring, but nothing terribly unusual for Clara, and besides it wasn't as if she was going to be doing cartwheels in it.

She had feared her lack of a bra would make her nipples a little obvious, but, in a stroke of fortune, they had remained inverted. She had to concede that them being 'shy' as Danny had described it did have its advantages, after all. Next, she picked up the sneakers resting beneath the spot where the dress had been hanging, sat on the floor and put them on. She paid no heed to keeping her legs closed, instead having them spread out as she tied the laces on each shoe, but she froze upon hearing another loud click. She stood up, turning to the projection screen behind her. The picture of her bent over had been replaced by one of her from just a few seconds ago, sat on the floor as she put on her shoes, her bright red knickers clearly visible between her legs, her expression one of confusion.

"Really? Looking up my skirt now? It's not even as bad as the last one!" She said, loudly. Though a part of her did feel a little self-conscious about the picture, she couldn't quite explain it, but despite the last one being of her bare arse, this latest shot of her underwear peeking out from under the dress was still a source of embarassment for her. It was like...despite her knickers having been fully on display for the last fifteen minutes or so, they'd become somehow private again when she'd put on the dress, something meant to remain hidden, and so the shot of them from beneath the dress represented a violation. She harrumphed, then pushed past the screen and went to the door, flinging it open and walking through.

She went out into the corridor and looked in both directions, then went off to the left. Her bedroom, she decided, that was where she would go next in search of a bra. She just hoped the TARDIS hadn't relocated the contents of her room as well. Clara walked on in silence for a while, the only sounds that of her own breathing and the muffled mechanical goings-on of the TARDIS. After a few more minutes, she felt a chill on the back of her thighs. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the dress had ridden up to just above them. Clara frowned, and tugged at the hem, but it wouldn't budge.

She pulled at it again, a little harder, but still no movement. It was as if...as if the dress hadn't simply ridden up, but somehow...gotten shorter? No, she must be imagining it. She'd made a mistake, the dress had always been thigh-length, not knee-length. Clara left it and carried on walking, in short order she came to a junction and, recalling her room had previously lay to the right, went off in that direction. She stopped suddenly and looked back over her shoulder. Again, a subtle little touch of air on a place that should be covered. With mounting concern, she repeated the process from before, gripping the hem of the dress and pulling on it, but again there was no give. The material wasn't riding up, there simply wasn't any more than there now appeared to be.

It dawned on her that the dress, like every other article of clothing in the Wardrobe, was controlled and generated by the TARDIS. It made sense then, she reasoned, that the mysterious case of the shrinking dress was the result of yet another 'prank' the ship was playing on her. Despite her current situation vis a vis clothes, she had no real alternative to the ever-shortening red dress, so she kept a firm grip on the hem and walked on, hoping she could reach her room before the dress was no longer capable of covering her.