Al, ever since you changed your avatar to Alan Quartermain, I can't help but read everything you type here in Sean Connery's akshent... I mean accent.
...that is AQ, right? From the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen movie?
Oh, yes, most definitely. I will change it back soon, I just thought having Sean Connery there for a while would be a good bonding experience....
Drops 3 tubes of SikaFlex into the pun jar.
Dave, I think we have a pandemic on our hands...
*giggles*
Helping!
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Glytch returned from the bridal shower (promising himself Sarge owed him at least 50 peeled potatoes), overturned the pack and shook vigorously... And was simultaneously touched and dismayed by all that fell out. Fine clothes, both formal and utilitarian, cloaks, armor, leather and jewelry, elven knives...
"You, my young friend, have made a very serious impression on the lady." Al said, both eyebrows raised.
Glytch pulled his hood lower and drew a hand over his face. "She is... Too kind. I can't keep all of this... It's... Is that Tux?" He knelt and examined a cuff link. "She carved a penguin on it. And there's penguins on the bracers... Wow. I guess this is what she does when she gets bored." He chuckled to himself. "Someone must have mentioned Linux to her."
"You aren't going to give it all back, are you?!?"
"No... Not all... But I know how much this cost her. Spider silk? This is a full laundry load of spider silk tunics. That stuff is crazy expensive. And the cabocons, the scale armor... That can't just be anodized metal... If this is dragon scale, I definitely can't keep this... She survives on her own, Al. You know... That gift you gave her? She lives lean. These are probably things she makes to barter and sell with during the few times she goes to a populated area. Either that or it's spoils of her battles. She's giving me things that can help her out later... She needs this stuff more than I. I have a job with steady pay... And besides, where am I going to sell spider silk tunics without making basically everyone suspicious? This is the kind of stuff that belongs in human museums!"
Al furrowed his brow. "Returning a gift is a tricky business, Glytch. Are you sure you can't just keep it in a box somewhere?"
"Yes, I'm positive. I don't need this stuff... She does. I'll keep what I need... Especially what will come in handy for the wedding and the near-certain battle that will accompany it. The rest... It would be a worse insult to keep it and never use it."
Glytch sorted out what he would keep and placed it on his bed to pack later - the bow, quiver, and arrows; the leather patchwork trousers, hooded tunic, boots, fingertip-less gloves, and armguards; the chainmail coif and the Elven Kevlar; the first aid kit, fire kit, and repair kit; the shorter of the two elven knives (the blade was as long as Glytch's hand) and sharpening stones.
Everything else went back into Eme's bag: spider silk tunics, cuff links, circle cloak, a box of basic yet doubtlessly organic and very fine spices, the suspiciously light scale cloak, and the rest of the clothing Glytch couldn't bring himself to keep.
Then, with a heavy and nervous heart, he began the trek to the visitor's hut Emerauld had made.
"Emerauld?"
The little half-elf landed softly behind Glytch. "What is it? You walk as though you bear a great weight on your shoulders. What is the matter?"
Glytch carefully lowered the bag to the ground and took a deep breath. "Emerauld, I can't thank you enough for what you and your sister have done for me and given to me... But some of this stuff here," He waved a hand toward the pack, "I just can't bring myself to accept... Because I feel you need it more than I. There's a book out there written by a human... The title is The Gospel According to Larry. There's a lot in there that talks about minimalistic living... How placing less value on... stuff... Lets you place more value on other, more important things. Like people, relationships, friends, loved ones... And yourself. At least, that's how I remember it.
The point I'm trying to make is... I have only what I need, so I want for nothing."
"Then true friendship you always will have, and things only when needed. If even a fraction of humanity saw life as you do, this Earth would be infinitely greener."
Holding out her hand, she grasps his and says, "Well met, friend Glytch. Tor'yll Drathmir, Ranger of L'olath taur. May the forests be ever greener in your journeys."
"Well met, friend Tor'yll Drathmir, Ranger of the Dark Forest..." Glytch stopped and took a breath before lowering his hood. "Jack Cooper... Master of Glitches."
"This, however, I cannot take," Emerauld said, returning the scale cloak. "My sister was impressed with your skill and quick thinking in battle and noticed your interest in hers. I only stitched the lining, as her tailoring skills are terrible. If not, she will return later, and if you discuss it the same way you did to me, I am sure no offense will be taken."
Glytch frowned, thinking hard. "I... Will keep this. Safyr has done much for me, but this is her only material gift. To turn it down wouldn't do at all."
Emerauld smiled before continuing. "Would you consider keeping these? As a gift, to a friend, from one, as your care of the world, and those you share it with, are a rare treasure." With that, she handed the empty backpack and cufflinks to him, glad for the friendship of the young man who continued to surprise him with his kindness and honesty."
Glytch took the bag and bounced the cuff links on his palm. "Alright. I'll keep these... Thank you."
He placed the cuff links in the bag and drew up his hood. "How about we get some archery practice in tonight?" He smiled playfully.
Emerauld beamed, clearly delighted. "Of course! I'll see if I can't convince Safy to let us borrow J'bober again!"
And with that, Glytch headed back to the Manor, relieved and happy.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
"From what I can determine," Phix said as she reemerged from Aeternia's makeshift nursery in the Alexander mansion, "Phoenix blood is remarkably similar to the elixir. The difference is how it's made - and, apparently, its efficacy."
"Sorry, what was that last part?" Neil was going over the floor plans of the A-Mill's Grand Hall once again.
"How long it lasts," Phix said with an eye roll. "The elixir has a relatively short-term effect, as you've told me. Phoenix blood regenerates constantly - like regular lifeblood."
"And immortal types like you have a similar blood type?" Neil inquired, putting the plans down for a moment.
"That's the theory," Phix shrugged. "And that appears to be what this golem gentleman is..."
Neil stood up suddenly.
"The elixir." He turned and looked at Phix. "That's IT." Phix gave him a quizzical look.
"Remember what I told you about what happens if the elixir goes 'bad'?"
"Remember what you said about zombies?" She retorted.
"Hm, point to you." He shrugged. "Something to consider, I guess."
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
rrrrg. Starting a shopping trip with John and Bud in medias res didn't turn out well.
*imagines crumpling up a sheet of paper and starting again*
Well, time to fall back on my usual technique: simulate the situation, then release the players and watch how they behave.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
AUTHOR'S Note: THis may be a little out of sequence...AL got diverted....
AN2: DInky, as always thank you for your help and dialogue...I can't write Elf worth a damn...
When she heard her name bellowed in the distance Emerauld smiled, and then began to giggle. Obviously the Old Sarge had replaced the clip and inserted the arrow as directed - and not bothered to inform Al of the change. This was going to be fun, as it was obvious Al had no doubt whose door to lay this magic at.
When she heard Al coming (he must have gotten delayed by something) she decided tea was in order. Al liked a cup of tea as much as coffee, and tea was one food she excelled at.
She put water on to boil, and by the time Al arrived over the snow she had two cups out and a pot of tea on the table. Today was certainly her day for visitors - she wasn't sure if her tea supply was going to hold up with the number of visitors she’d had of late.
Rapping his knuckles on the doorframe of the hut, Al said “Emerauld, we need to talk.”
Stilling her face from the giggle that kept threatening to escape, she went to the curtain, pulled it aside and with a grand gesture said “Please enter, sir. Might I offer you a cup of tea? I am told this blend is divine.”
“Yes, please...AND DON'T CALL ME SIR! I WORK FOR A LIVING!”
Tea poured, Al had obviously lost some of the momentum of his rush. Taking a sip from his cup he asked, “Have you been near Chryso since yesterday morning?”
She replied completely honestly but with a sense of gleeful misdirection when she said “No, of course I have not been near Chryso - I desire it too much to approach it, you know that. Why, has something gone wrong?”
“No... nowt’s gone wrong, but there’s been a bit of magic afoot, and I thought you might know about it.”
“Oh, do please tell me. I may be able to help.” She lifted her cup to her lips to cover the grin that was beginning to spread over her lips as Al began his tale.
“I was at the range yesterday, and Chryso was behaving perfectly. I went indoors to talk to Neil, then went back out to practice some more, and I suddenly find myself unable to fire Chryso empty. There seems to be an unlimited number of rounds coming from somewhere...and I suspect you had something to do with it. Kindly elaborate.” He then sat back, arms crossed across his chest, and stared at Emerauld, patiently waiting for an answer.
Unable to maintain the deception any longer, Emerauld laughed, and then began to explain.
“Yes, I am responsible for it. I modified your spare clip to be an 'Endless Quiver' as we Rangers use, and gave it a blessed arrow, er round to the Old Sarge to install on Chryso for me. As you know, I cannot be near it - that is too dangerous.
The endless quiver was a change I was considering - but I was unable to decide before I gave Rose back to you. I had to give it back then or I would never have given it back.
Speaking with your friend, I discovered that running out of ammunition on a rifle like yours is as likely as it is on a small quiver.
After angering the Matriarch and seeing how much pain I caused her at upsetting you, and knowing how strongly she felt about you, I finished it.
If I reduced the need for you to reload in battle, you would be safer, and she perhaps would not have as much worry.
What is happening is that Chryso is reloading itself and keeping a 'full quiver' from the rounds you have on your person. As long as your holders are full, you have no need to reload - the quiver will fill itself.
Should you wish to empty it simply take away the holders and put them elsewhere and you can empty it.”
“Extraordinary!” The tactical advantage of an endless clip began to penetrate...this would require considerable thought to best use it.
Emerauld lifted her cup again, took a sip and continued. “I gave S’argt Greg the items to install, and told him he was to instruct you in their purpose. I do believe he...forgot to do so.” A smile flitted about her lips as she spoke this blatant falsehood, but it was a falsehood that harmed no one and would make both of the S’argts laugh.
“Oh, I am quite sure it was a simple omission...quite sure.” Al was smiling also, but this was the smile of someone plotting a little revenge. Nothing harmful, but...satisfying.
“There is something else I must ask of you. I would not hear anymore of the bad times we went through together, you, my dam and I. To remember it prolongs the hurt – and I believe we are beyond that. Lessons were learned by all, and it can end. Do you agree?”
Emerauld thought quickly. How he could put it aside she did not understand, as elves do not forget and rarely forgive unconditionally. Humans were strange. However, she was happy to oblige, as what made them happy made her happy.
“Certainly. I will speak of it no more.”
With that, the two enjoyed their tea. Al’s mind was already back on the advantages, and Eme’s on the satisfaction she saw in him with the new possibilities. It had been a satisfactory ending to what had been a nearly-disastrous journey.
"Oh, before you go, did you still wish me to make that bodice for your beloved's dress? I have the fabric and lining ready."
“Oh, certainly! It will need to be quick release – undoing lacings will not be possible and I doubt it will cut with the Elven Kevlar in it, so it will need to come off when she needs to change if the need presents.”
“Certainly.”
That reminded him – next time out he’d need to being more food…
Last edited by Just Old Al on Wed Nov 25, 2015 9:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
So much time-warping... Fellow writers, we're gonna have a helluva time sorting all of this out when we compile it all on a PDF or something...
Audience, I apologize. This is getting a wee bit confusing, I know.
Also, a note regarding John: he's way out of touch and is prone to rubbing people the wrong way. I don't like making friction between characters, but considering he's spent several thousand years with Gibil (ancient suicidal Sumerian fire God) as one of his four teachers, and also taking into account the fact that so many people who don't usually live together are doing exactly that, AND remembering that everyone who can't teleport and disguise themselves is pretty much confined to the estate or the Library... Yeah.
People are going to get irritable.
Ok. Here we go... The first bit, at least. This is a challenging write.
----------
John awoke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He rolled out of bed, clothed in just his jeans, and answered the door.
It was Bud, dressed casually and comfortably for a day out shopping.
"It's still dark outside." John growled, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he turned away to get his sweatshirt.
"Good morning to you too." Bud narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"...Good evening." John refused to relent. Morning starts when the sun comes up.
Bud rolled her eyes. "What sort of clothing do you think you want?"
John gave her a blank look. "Um. Good clothing? New? Doesn't smell like cheap stake and cheese?"
Bud blinked and tilted her head. "I don't smell anything..."
"These jeans smell like they were worn by a chronic couch potato who ate boxed TV dinners every night." John shook his head, running a hand through his wild hair. "No... No. Monica gave these to me, I need to be grateful. It's better than a towel."
"Ok. But that still doesn't helm me much... What sort of style are you after? Does anybody here dress in a way you like?"
John furrowed his brow. "Glytch is a bit odd about his hoods and Greg is kind of... Uh... Old school. But I like how what they wear always has a purpose. Glytch is obviously very concerned about his identity... And I wouldn't be surprised if he treats hoods like a security blanket. And Greg's clothes always seem just as ready for a walk through a town as they are for a hike through the woods or for a day of manual labor."
"So...?"
John shrugged, sitting down to put his sneakers on. "Comfortable. Durable. Practical. Forgettable."
"Forgettable?" Bud put a hand on her hip and shifted her weight onto that leg. "Why do you want to be forgotten?"
"I'm strange... Even for paranormals. Strange people are persecuted. I don't want to be picked on."
Bud couldn't help but be saddened by how true John's words were. "But... Nobody's going to persecute you, you're..." She stopped in her tracks as John stared into her eyes, his own glowing ominously.
"My potential for destruction is almost as great as yours, golem. My only saving grace is that I can be killed if something big enough and bad enough splatters me thoroughly enough. How do you feel when people assume you scare others? How do you feel when people are automatically terrified of you? How would you feel if everyone decided you don't have yourself controlled enough and decide it would be better to snuff you out instead of taking the risk of trying to help you?" John closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. "I know what my trip to The Hole was... It was a compromise. It was the middle ground between killing me and letting me keep living. I didn't cross the Styx, I just went downstream... But if I didn't get myself under control, I have no doubt I would have never left the Underworld. I want to make every effort to convince everyone they made the right choice. And that includes not standing out. The... How did the saying go? The nail that sticks out gets hammered?"
Bud was silent for a moment, eyes downcast as she was forced to remember how Monica had once assumed she scared Tina that first time she met the creepy barista.
John shrugged and left the room for breakfast, leaving Bud standing in his doorway.
John was busily devouring a pancake when something hard and swift smacked him in the back of the head, sending a large, half-chewed chunk of pancake gloop spurting out of his mouth and back onto his plate.
"Ow! Hey, what the-" "What the hell did you say to Bud?" Monica glowered at John... their eyes were at the same height, even with him sitting and her standing.
"I told her what sort of clothes I want and why I want them!
"You made her feel like a monster!" Monica hissed, trying to keep her voice down - most everyone was still asleep. "She's just finished crying!"
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
Feel free to take your shots at John - it adds to his character. He's not exactly the nicest guy. He's still re-learning how to be polite and not rankle everyone he sees. And the best way for him to learn is if everybody calls him out.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
Lighting the scroll, she stepped through the portal that formed, shifting as soon as she was on the other side, then setting her pace to a brisk run, ground a blur beneath her paws.
Very large Dire wolves aren't seen on the other side, so she hadn't transformed in ages. Not that Rangers really needed to use either fur or feathered form...it was just exhilarating to see, hear, smell, move in these forms, to know the joy her forest friends feel.
If Glytch ever decided to visit here, she'd have to show him...maybe grab a potion or two and let him see for himself...race, fly, talk to them...focus. I'm here for a reason...
Coming to the edge of the woods just before a series of doors carved into the craggy rockface, she shifted back, covering her face in a mask drawn from a pack. When she looked up, a solemn smoky blue elf in black chainmail took the place of her normal appearance. She didn't miss this at all.
She then rapped on a marbled agate door.
A gravelly, almost rumbling voice said, "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."
"For tinkered items here am I,
A wandering traveller, here to buy
For bartered trinkets, or modest coin,
For a tinkered item I enjoin."
"I'm on holiday!"
"'Tis truly a shame pure and true Master Ti'nceard, I have an item I believe only your great skill can craft. I have a bodice..."
"...the seamstress 'guild' will wiggle for coin..."
"...that must shift to fit from human to Centaur, and back again. But if you..."
The agate split into a door large enough for an elf, then she was ushered in by a weathered faced little man with a shock of iron grey hair.
"Human coffee beans from the other side, saltwater caramels, and two transistor radios, whole, plus the power sources they use. I also got two short range talkies, and power sources.
I have both bodices made, and the scales already attached. Interested?"
"Have you reconsidered my...proposal since your last visit?"
"No(never in a billion years, she thought), but I did find an incredible milliner to make this for you(chocolate coffee coloured collapsible tophat, silk lining and ribbon, and a border of tiny spinning gears on the brim). I also have four sets of platinum sprockets, springs, and gears, plus one ethereal diamond if you get this done today."
"Deal. Let's snog on it."
*hands glow violet*
"Dirty, perverted midget. If I didn't need his skills..." she thought, thoroughly nauseated.
"Or not. Go grab grub. Be done soon. Never mind, you always stay and watch."
"I only wish to witness the Master at work. It's simply breathtaking.(Emerauld was mentally retching at this.)"
An hour later, garment packed safely away, she bought a swiftness boost, and ran until she was deep in the woods and tore the mask away, stowing it and shifting into her eagle form, soon soaring through the clouds and riding the currents until she spied her portal.
Diving through, she shifted as soon as she was on the other side, landing in the Willow.
"If this doesn't fit her, I'm going to figure out how my sister does her leech spells and take it out of his hide. Knowing my luck, he's a disciple of Pain and Torment."
Striding with purpose, she headed towards the manor.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
jwhouk wrote:Okay, I laughed. You don't have to pay the pun vault for that one, Dinky.
(Heh, "Master Tin'ceard"... For everything else?)
What pun?
It literally translates to Master Tinker.
Tinceard is Gaelic. I just added a separator to make it sort of Gnomish.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
"Some things in life are priceless. For everything else, there's Master Tin'ceard..."
I have a sneaking suspicions the C in Tin'ceard is soft... It might be pronounced Tin-seerd or something instead of Tin-keerd.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
Pronounced tin keerd. Gaelic trills in odd places. Like Slainte sounds like slan tcha.
I guess that's why it made no sense...that, and I'm tired and wired rolled into one. Stupid brain still thinking about stupid junk, which is keeping me awake. But body sleepy.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
John rested his head in his hands. "Damnit."
"What?" Monica glared at him.
"I... Need to go apologize, Sensei." John stood and brushed past Monica, his jaw set.
"She's probably still sitting on your bed." I wish he hadn't forgotten so much... Monica thought, watching her student walk back to his room.
John approached slowly and respectfully. "Bud?" "What?" ...Uh oh... "Bud, I... Just wanted to explain my reasoning. I... I didn't want to make you feel like a monster."
"But I can be."
John leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "But you aren't. I'd say that's a helluva neat trick. I'm still working on it."
Bud looked up at John, an eyebrow raised. "I'd say you could use some help."
John shrugged. "I wouldn't argue. My training isn't complete... I think that's part of why I'm out. You lot needed me... And I needed to get out so I could be challenged, so I could continue to get better."
"Well... What could be more challenging than going on a shopping trip during holiday season?" Bud flashed John a wicked grin.
"Yup, there's that nervous feeling again..."
"Come on... Let's get going before you chicken out."
"Oh, I'm not backing out... I'm not exactly a fan of wearing the same outfit every day."
Bud led John to the garage... Which would more appropriately be called a hangar. It was a separate steel building tucked away behind some trees and a hillock. The moment John set foot inside, the smell of gas, oil, steel, and rubber brought a memory to the surface... Engines roaring and growling like wild animals, tires squealing, exhaust and tire smoke thick in the air... the rivalry between American Muscle and the Ricers, the ripple of fear whenever the European Supers rolled through... Wrenches and tire irons swinging madly, John's trusty crowbar holding them off alongside his crew as Bub backed the Mule into place - it was a fully loaded trailer tonight. No way the racers would recover from this loss. Blood pounding, spurting from a gash in his arm, someone had sliced him open with a machete. The crowbar went to his left hand and John taught the bastard a lesson - how to swing to neutralize... Bones breaking, flesh pulping under the weight of the metal in his hand... Using the idiot's phone to dial 911 before hopping into the Mule, leaving the rest of the cleanup to the dirty cops... No one was arrested, but the racing clubs lost their funding and collapsed. Roads were safe at night again.
"John?" Bud knelt in front of John, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his right arm.
"Gah... Huh?" He looked up with a start and stared around. "Uh... Sorry..."
"Brandi told me about this. Had a memory?"
"Yeah..." John stood, a little unsteady, and looked at his arm. No scar... Just like all of his other old wounds... All traces were removed when he blew up on his way into the Hole.
"What about?"
"Took down a drug-financed street racing gang. They were dealing drugs, getting kids in trouble with fast cars, and making the roads so unsafe with their races only the brave or the stupid would drive at night."
Bud took John to a Porsche Cayenne. "How'd you do it?"
"I infiltrated as a wheelman... Bub was my mechanic. We had a little Pontiac grand am, had it doing a quarter mile in 11 seconds. Not bad, but not very noticeable either. So we race a bit, make some friends, figure out when the big drug truck is coming next... Then we brought the whole crew in while Bub," John chuckled, "He brought his Mule. It was this big-ol' pickup we souped up... Dropped a bunch of money into the damn thing, but it worked like a charm. Ugly, too... But that beast could haul a fully loaded semi trailer like it was a top-o-the-line Eighteen-wheeler."
"Take a big shipment of drugs, the underground economy collapses, everyone leaves for greener pastures." Bud finished as they got into the luxury SUV.
"Yeah, pretty much. The Ricers didn't have deep roots, but the American Muscle stuck around. Never did get rid of them... But they stuck to dirt roads after that. Never had the guts to try and take back the highway. European Supers... They just stopped paying attention to our neighborhood. They were the rich kids of kingpins who went out to have fun once in a while with their parents' fancy cars. Once we started crap, they just didn't bother coming around any more."
They set off toward town, neither of them bothering to turn the heat on, as Bud didn't mind the cold and John made his own heat.
"We're going to start at Kohls, and see what you like there before going more specific."
"Coals?"
"Yeah, it's a big clothing store... They sell a little jewelry too, not much else."
"Huh. Weird name."
"Weird? How?" Bud glanced at John before focusing back on the road.
"Well... Uh... I dunno, I wasn't expecting it to be named after chunky, hot ash."
"What? No, Kohls! K-O-H-L-S, you dork!" She laughed and shook her head. "Wow, I guess you really did forget a lot of stuff."
John blinked. "Well, that's still a weird name, but for a different reason."
The moment they pulled into the parking lot, John immediately remembered. "Oh! KOHLS! Ok! Now I remember!"
They walked through the stands of clothes, picking out whatever John could fit into (which was already rare) and lugging it all back to the fitting rooms. Most of it still didn't fit John in one way or another... If it was tall enough, it was usually too wide, but if it was skinny enough, it was too short. And all that was left were items that were uncomfortable or completely abhorrent to either Bud or John... Who was relying heavily on Bud to make sure he didn't pick out something that was rediculous. In the end, Bud decided it would be better to try elsewhere. Their next few stops were outdoor and sportswear stores, which yielded a black and grey Healy Hanson winter coat, a black double-knit mouth-less ski mask that doubled as a normal hat if the bottom was folded up, some gloves, and a set of very nice omniwool socks - Bud remembered Glytch mentioning they didn't stretch out like Hanes socks did, and bought a pack for herself - and some good, sturdy, steel toe winter boots that, if worn under jeans, looked like regular boots - not out of place at all in the winter, unless John planned on going to a wedding... And Bud already had a plan for that.
The next stop was an army surplus store. They didn't find anything for John, but he enjoyed looking at the items for sale there. Plus, it wasn't nearly as crowded, so it gave the poor guy a break.
Their final stop was Casual Male XL. John felt like a normal person there, and Bud looked like a hobbit amongst humans. Not only did the people not constantly give John weird looks, but most of the customers were about as tall as John... Although some were five times as wide and looked like a Sasquatch. John easily got everything else he needed... Upon seeing a screen tee for the new Star Wars movie, John immediately decided he would try to see it in theaters - after he was done suppressing his excitement at finding out a new Star Wars movie was coming out in the first place.
Bud recommended he talk to Glytch to bring himself back up to speed with current events once John had stopped staring with an open-mouthed, ear-to-ear smile at the shirt.
They loaded everything into the Cayenne (which was now riding noticeably lower) and made their way to the nearest tailor to see if they would be able to get John a suit.
The receptionist took one look at his towering figure and blanched. "Um. I'm pretty sure we don't have anything, uh, tall enough for you, sir... Let me check." He went into a back room and held a whispered conversation with someone... Then came back out with a middle-aged woman with a stern, no-nonsense expression on her face. "No, I'm afraid we don't carry anything even close to your size, sir. I doubt any of the local stores do. You'll have to go online for someone like yourself."
John nodded and turned away... He wasn't expecting anything else. He spoke first once they were both back in the Porsche. "I guess I can hide out in some side ro-"
"No, no no no! John, you are security! You are going to need eyes on the situation as it happens!"
"Well, how am I supposed to-"
"We call Al and get him to get you an appointment wherever he went to get his stuff!"
"That's in London!"
"John. I can poit you there no problem. We poit in, get you fitted, have some fish'n'chips, get your suit, and poit out. Easy peasy." She narrowed her eyes and raised her eyebrows at John. "Besides, this is all going on the MIB card. I'm sure they will have a way for you to pay it all back." Crap... John thought as he remembered his conversation with Safyr.
"...what?" Bud's expression became suspicious.
"Nothing, I'm... Just a bit wary of owing people."
"Well, you don't have much choice... Either you owe some people some favors or you show up to the wedding looking like a bad attempt at a Ringwraith cosplay."
Author's Note: Goddamn this was hard to write. I still get a bad taste in my mouth from reading it, but I'm not sure how to make it better. I just know this isn't my best.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
"Yeah, it's a big clothing store... They sell a little jewelry too, not much else."
"Huh. Weird name."
"Weird? How?" Bud glanced at John before focusing back on the road.
"Well... Uh... I dunno, I wasn't expecting it to be named after chunky, hot ash."
"What? No, Kohls! K-O-H-L-S, you dork!" She laughed and shook her head. "Wow, I guess you really did forget a lot of stuff."
John blinked. "Well, that's still a weird name, but for a different reason
No, that would be K-O-H-L-E-R...
Good stuff.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
Imagining him in the "big and tall" is serious gigglefits, and only because of how often I've had to show someone how to pick a suit before they get it tailored.
Having to go in there to help fit friends or mothers customers kids for suits to tailor is a PitA, because they think their tailor is the bees knees(hint: he's not, and can't tell the difference between a dart and a taper, and tries to make standard trouser cuffs without the required four inches of extra fabric, then gets pissy when you tell him it don't fit and he ain't getting paid).
They cannot believe someone as short as me(or shorter if my Mother has to leave her shop, and that tailor of theirs hates her) knows anything about tailoring for big and tall.
My Mother had to tailor for some extremely tall folk before, and they were too tall for stock in there, and short on time. She made them buy two sets, and cannibalized one for parts to lengthen the second. When finished, you had to look real close to see the extensions.
The poor woman. She was supposed to wear a formal dress, but everything looked like a mini dress on her. She was as tall as the guy, which is taller than most runway models, and though she was in the prime target size for the big ticket dresses, they were indecently short on her, and she went to some of the highest ticket dress/suit shoppes for women.
Mom had her buy two split skirt silk pantsuits and with some creative beadwork and stitching(and to this day I hate embellishing with beads, because I helped on that one...damn my love of my Mothers chajang, bulgogi, mandu, and oikimchi), on both the sleeves and trouser legs, she had a couture formal suit that hid the extensions while making her look like she had a pocket designer(she kind of does, because she won't let anyone but her tailor for her now, and it's been a decade).
So yeah, good visuals.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
AN: DInk, you do good work - it's easy to tie to it.
Tap.
Tap, tap.
Taptaptap.
Rosalita looked up from the vegetables she was preparing. What was that?
Tap, tap.
Taptaptap.
There it was again – and a glance at the window showed the source. The elf…Emerauld? Was there, beckoning Rosalita toward the door to the back.
Rosalita dried her hands and stepped out the back onto the swept concrete area.
“Where is your mistress?”
“Mistress Daisy? She is down at the centaur quarters. You can usually find her there at this time of the day.”
“Thank you!” Like a puff of wind she was gone again. Rosalita sighed – the mansion was getting stranger and stranger with all these paranormal beings and not just a nice, normal family of centaurs. She went back inside and returned to pickling carrots.
Emerauld went to the main door of the centaur quarters. She’d never been there, so approached the building with a little bit of curiousity. What kind of houses do centaurs live in?
Knocking, then entering, she was surprised at what she saw. Other than the comfortable tile-patterned rubber matting below the centaur quarters were not at all unlike the comfort of the house. Warm, quiet, well-appointed and lit, it was simply a house for beings that were seven feet tall to live in.
She called, softly, then a bit louder. “Daisy! Mistress Daisy!”
A door down the hall opened, and Daisy stepped out. As a centaur, she was a magnificent example of her breed, and very well-kept. She saw the elf, stiffened a bit and said, “What can I do for you, Emerauld?”
“I have something for you. Al and I discussed this, and he asked me to make it for you.” She walked down toward Daisy, then suggested “Perhaps we should speak of this in your room.”
Curiousity thoroughly piqued, Daisy ushered Emerauld into her room.
Done in a quiet cream colour, with tasteful art on the walls and furniture to suit, it was much like any room in the house save an absence of chairs and couches. The tables were much higher, as well, to suit the needs of beings whose comfortable range is five feet from the floor. There were a few human-sized items, though, and Daisy and Emerauld walked to one of these.
Kneeling and setting her bag on the floor, she withdrew a wrapped parcel, set it on the table and unwrapped it. Both of them leaned over it, one curious, the other anticipatory.
Done in a dark silk with dark maroon embroidered trim, the bodice lay there on the paper. It would fit a human from above the bust line to the hip junction and below in the front, less on the sides and back – allowing free movement but covering and protecting the vulnerable torso area. The lacing at the back was in a dark maroon to match the embroidery, with the eyelets picked out in the same colour.
Looking at it Daisy’s expression was excited, then her face fell. “Emerauld, it’s beautiful, but I can’t wear it to the wedding. I’ll likely have to change while we’re there, and there’s no way I’ll be able to get it off before I do – and it’ll be shredded. That would be a horrible waste.”
Emerauld giggled, startling Daisy who’d never heard that before. “Then it is good you will not need to take it off. This has tinker’s work in it along with dragon scale and what Glytch is calling Elven Kevlar – it will change with you. It is heavier than the linings the men will be wearing under their garments, but as you will not have other items on it should not prove to be a hindrance. Please change to human and I will help you put it on – then we will see how well the tinkers have done their work.”
Daisy changed while Emerauld unlaced the back of the corset, and then helped her slip it on. Daisy held the front while Emerauld re-laced the back, pulling it closed but not overtight. Daisy walked around the room, turned, bent and moved to check the fit, each move causing the shimmer of the light on the silk to change.
Emerauld was pleased with what she saw – it fit Daisy’s human torso perfectly, supporting where needed but not restricting movement at all. It fit like a second skin, not altering the contours of her form at all but enhancing them.
Now for the test – had the tinkers done their work properly?
“Please change.”
Daisy changed in a moment – again becoming the handsome centaur she was. The bodice changed with her – widening, cups growing and moving apart, length changing to accommodate the equine torso, and the front extension moving to cover the changes in the length of its protected area.
With it on, Daisy looked magnificent – like one of her long-ago warrior kin, lacking only a bow, quiver and helmet to look like one of her armored ancestors.
“Please walk around and move again – we need to make sure that the edges adjusted properly so that you’re not chafed.”
Going through the same movements as before, Daisy stretched, bent, moved, shifted and twisted.
“There’s a spot on the left at the center line that seems to be sharp – can you have a look?”
“Emerauld walked over and looked at the spot indicated by Daisy’s finger. Ah, yes, a rough edge of cloth hadn’t been quite covered by the sewing – the protective material was sharp where cut. Reaching to her pack for needles and the maroon thread, she neatly top-stitched over the spot.
“Move again please. Does that feel better?”
Going through the motions, Daisy was very pleased. The bodice did nothing at all to block her motions, but covered most of the upper torso vulnerable area.
Changing back to human, the bodice did what it should have, again fitting perfectly.
“It fits beautifully, and the change mechanism worked perfectly! Is there anything I need to know about it?”
“Know only this – it will stay in the form in which it is removed. If you take it off as a centaur, you will need to put it on as one. Human – the same way. It will not fit to you unless on you when you change.”
“This is perfect! Emerauld, thank you. What can I do for you in exchange – please, there must be something.”
“I am content – I have the bounty of your fields and forest, and the company of you all. Just wear it well, and let it guard you in the times to come.”
After helping Daisy remove the bodice, Emerauld was gone again - back to the willow and her camp. Let it guard her well, as the layers of protective fabric and thin dragon scale would turn almost anything. If she exercised good choice in battle she would survive – and that was all Emerauld wanted.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
