The brass door-chimes tinkled as he opened the door to the shop and slid inside.

The shop was full of middle-aged women. Some were already stealing shy glances his way, wondering if their aging eyes were deceiving them -- Sean Bean! In their favourite fabric shop! He felt terribly self-conscious.

Weaving his way carefully through the racks, he finally found the silk section. For some reason, it was buried in the back in the shop. Perhaps it had been intentional.

He stared at the signs and labels. Dupioni, habotai, crepe de chine, organza, charmeuse, noil... it was all Greek to him. How did one go about choosing the right tool for the job, as it were? This was crazy, a fool's errand. He was going to make an idiot of himself. He shouldn't be h--

"May I help you, sir?" A brusque shopclerk appeared out of nowhere.

Sean blushed. "Ummm... just, errr, browsing..."

As he stammered, her expression changed almost imperceptibly -- but Sean knew full well what it meant. He'd seen that 'dawning of realization' look way too often during his career. Bloody hell, he sighed. Caught again. Hope this one doesn't make the tabloids.

"Any specific type of silk you're needing today, sir?" Emphasis on the sir now.

"I don't really know..."

"I'd be pleased to make recommendations, sir. What will the fabric be used for?"

The blush deepened. "Errr... I'm buying it for someone." Well, that was true enough. "I need something, ummm, soft, and..."

The clerk pulled a bolt of ivory from the stacks, unrolled it, and held the fabric end out. "We just got this lovely sueded charmeuse in yesterday. Go ahead, feel it," she added, since Sean was just standing there, still blushing and not knowing what was expected of him in such a situation.

He reached out a finger and stroked the fabric gingerly, as if it would bite. And the clerk knew a first-timer when she saw one. "See, the best way to appraise the feel of a fabric is to rub it between your thumb and forefinger. Like this." She demonstrated and Sean followed suit, feeling very much like an idiot. He wondered which shade of red his face was by now. Viggo had better appreciate all this effort, that's for sure.

This 'sueded charmeuse' stuff felt nice, but it looked too twee and prissy for his taste. He wouldn't be able to keep a straight face while looking at it tonight. And confidence and attitude were the keys to success for this stuff, right?

He looked round, and caught sight of a brilliant reddish-orange flash amidst the sea of cream and ivory. "Wow, what's that?"

"Ah, excellent choice, sir." The clerk wrestled the bolt from its stand and unraveled a length of flame-coloured fabric. "This is a hand-dyed mixture of 60% silk and 40% hemp fiber. It's incredibly elegant and soft" -- and it was, Sean marveled as he rolled the fabric between his fingers, like an expert now -- "yet incredibly strong. It won't lose shape or rip if you tug and stretch it. And it's a good choice for the environmentally-minded customer, because of the hemp content."

Perfect. It was exactly what he needed. And such a gorgeous colour, too -- an artist like Viggo would naturally be extra-excited about that, not to mention the hippie-environmental thing. Well, assuming he'd be receptive to doing all this in the first place...

"Sold!" Sean congratulated himself as he took out his wallet. Now he could hurry home and work on his plan of attack, so to speak...

"And how many metres would you like, sir?"

Bloody hell! Sean's blush started up again. He really WAS a novice at this. Exactly how much fabric does one need to tie a lover's limbs to the bedposts, anyway?!