Bel, Erskin, and Jethro: Be celebrities.

"Nah, to access that feature you have to do a folk dance, it's very specific," you assure him.

The smell of slow-roasted meat and smoky sauces reaches out and reels you into the restaurant, and you have to pause for a moment lest you drool. Once you're seated, you resume, "The engineer's name is Clarke, you can look her up, she's the best I've ever seen planetside. I met her through the Reenactment Society -- which is obviously a good place for her to pick up custom. Erskin's interim leg had been primed with the wrong hemochrome -- his old old one worked fine, I mean it was a clunker but it functioned, but he overdid a cross country hike by roughly a squillion percent. So then there was the one you saw the other night, primed too warm, and the bioware just kept growing. Apparently that's a thing it does."

"I just wish to fuck we caught it sooner," Jethro puts in.

"What a mess!" Lainey says in a tone that's a bit too pleased for your taste, as if the misattached prosthetic was a type of scandal. "Who made that mess, and what'd you do to them when you caught them?"

"Um." Jethro glances at Erskin and then down.

You flag a waiter instead of answering.

 

"There's been a lot of misunderstandings between myself and Bel's clade, lately," you say delicately. You add, less delicately, "He shot her in the head."

Lainey and her camera boy look at Bel admiringly. You look at him very flatly. Jethro looks incredibly uncomfortable and so you say, for his sake, "And that's the end of that conversation! What do you recommend from here, Madame Investigatrix?"

 

"I'll get the story out of you eventually," she says with a saucy wink, "I always get my scoop." But then she obligingly focuses on the menu. "The marinated short ribs are so. good. oh. mygod. They bring a little grill right to your table, it's kind of a social experience." She glances at camera guy as if he nudged her, and adds, "Oh yeah, get it with the mushrooms, they're only two caegars extra and they're huge."

"Oh look, they got wings. I ain't had wings in a maskbeast's age," Jethro says.

"I'm not especially picky," you shrug. "As long as there's a lot of it."

"So, both."

"Both is good." You toss your menu down and lean back. "You want a scoop, Lainey, pester Jethro about blackflirting with the prosthetics engineer. He made her spider fries twitch and she freaked completely the hell out."

"Bel, no."

"Bel yes. You got wood when she whipped that wrench out and attacked the plate, admit it."

"Jethro Makwaa has left the building." He puts the menu over his head like a roof and slides down in his seat until it's all that shows.

 

"Wait, wait, what?" you interrupt before Lainey can, "Jethro Makwaa can get right back in the building and explain to me, his moirail, Erskin Aspera, sitting right here, sharing a very important quadrant with him, he can explain what's all this with the hateflirting and the wrenches and the spiders. With my mechanic. Don't get involved with Bel's war game friends, Jethro, they all have the bad taste and brain damage to be friends with Bel."

 

You give him baby barkbeast eyes from under your menu roof. "I ain't even trolled her yet," you insist. "You was right there, darlin', remember the soup? Anyhow, it ain't True Hate Five-Ever like you two, I didn't like, fall for her or sumpin. I just think she's funny an' she could gimme a good fight is all."

 

"I don't remember hardly anything thing about last night," you say carelessly. "Probably for the best, all things considered. But I don't suppose it would be the worst thing ever if you dated around a bit, as long as you're, er, judicious about it, everyone needs their quadrants filled in eventually. I was awfully worried when I heard about you and—" you bite your tongue. "— your prior, er, pitch incident. She's not a psionic, is she?"

 

"Not that I know of?" You look to Bel and he shakes his head. "Galley's still my ash buddy," you remind.

Lainey is doing chinhands. "Who's Galley?"

"My ashen bro, Bel's matesprit. He's a stubborn smartass, but dang he's cute. He -- mph!" That's Bel's hand over your mouth.

"He's outside the scope of this inquiry," Bel says primly.

Lainey makes a lip-zipping gesture.

 

"I hope you're not planning on being any sort of secret agent after ascension," you tell Jethro, patting his back. "I don't think that's an occupation that'll play to your, er, strengths. But if you want to go fight with some wrenchkind engineer you have my solemn blessing to kick her ass, I'm sure you'll do splendidly."

To give Lainey something better to think about than whatever illegal mess Bel and his matesprit are conducting between themselves, you add, "We were held up on the first leg of our roadtrip by brigand car-theives. Jethro put all of them to the chase in half a minute flat, it was impressive as anything."

Lainey seems interested in the story and you don't suppose Bel has heard it either, so you sketch the situation out for everyone in terms that has Jethro blushing. Of course, if he didn't want to be remembered heroically, he shouldn't have bravely charged into a murderous cluster of desperate lowbloods with nothing but his fists to rescue his insensate moirail. And you actually win a smile out of the camera boy, when you do a little reenactment of a damselfish's maidenly fearfulness in the face of his palemate's majestically intimidating blood fervor.

"It was romantic as hell," you conclude, and then the waiter comes back with the first course of orders.

((maybe this can give bel and jethro a better idea of how erskin likes to spin his life into a series of goofy, cartoonish yarns, with himself as a haplessly persistent fool and any damage he accrues as the punchline? and how that's the lighter side of his issues with sincerity and vulnerability (and objective reality)))

 

"You guys really are cute," you grin, and punch Erskin in the shoulder. "I know I'm contractually obligated to heckle you about everything, but the truth is you're perfect for each other."

((sorry i'm kinda freezing up, can u move them along to the shopping))

 

"The truth is you are contractually obligated to heckle me about everything, and I'll take that scandalously unnecessary compliment out of your hide later," you tell him with exaggerated primness, and dust your shoulder off. Then there's hot and spicy cuts off hoofbeast meat and bone, and you crunch your way happily through as many portions as you're handed.

Lunch goes well, and you even get a waiter to bring a few pitchers of dark, strong beer for the table, so you're properly braced by the end for a round of shopping and extended socialization. You pay the tab and push back from the table, stretching, and Lainey catches her flushed and clumsy camera chap around the waist before he can fall off his chair.

"Is he alright?" you ask, concerned.

"Yes," the fellow says, out loud and everything, then seems to realize the enormity of the event and hides his face against his partner's shoulder, nearly doubling over in order to do so. You suppose you can see Bel's thing for leggy goldbloods, they're rather cute. Lainey certainly seems to think so, anyway.

"Can we stash him in the car, do you think?" you ask Bel quietly, in the bustle of everyone getting upright— and staying upright— to leave the restaurant. "He should have somewhere safe to steady out in."

 

You push the key remote. "There, it's unlocked. If you'd like to go have a nap or something." You give the guy a smile you hope isn't as awkward as it feels. "Can you get there on your own?"

 

Your eyebrows raise at the look of sparkly reverence the poor fellow levels at Kadros, and you hook your arm into his free elbow before anyone can embarrass anyone else further.

"Lainey and I will get him there, won't we," you say, and the three of you manage to lurch off in roughly the right direction. You set him up in the backseat with one of Jethro's blankets and a canteen of water and let Lainey do— er— quadrant-type things with him while you patiently observe the sky for a few moments, then you cough pointedly and she scrambles back out of the car looking flushed and happy.

"You're sweet," she says, taking your arm again.

"I never," you object, flatting your fins dramatically back. "Who says!"

It's a shorter walk back to Bel and Jethro, and then another easy stroll to the ring of shops.

"Oh, hallo," you say, looking around. "I've been here with my Lady, that's excellent. I can just ask the salesfellows for whatever it was we ordered from them last time around."

 

You make :/ face at him. "I can't wait to see what that was." But you have to admit it can't be worse that what he's got on right now.

 

You lead the way to one of the shops you remember actually liking, all dark squashy furniture and cheerful pink and green glow-lights, and racks of clothes in sensible blacks and greys, if rather more complicated cuts than the standard issue.

"Oh! Lord Aspera!" the kid at the front counter, who you utterly fail to recognize. "Back again?"

"I suppose I am," you say. "All the clothes my Lady and I purchased together are currently, er, inaccessible, at the moment, and my friends and I were in the area, so, here we are! Again! I liked this place."

"Well! Uh, good! I hope, uh, all of you, like this place..." the kid fidgets with their claws and eyes Jethro, who's poking at a table display of gloves, before slipping out from behind the counter and going to stand by your moirail's elbow. "Can I help you find anything?"

 

"Me?" Jethro laughs. "Nah, we ain't shoppin' for me."

You realize he doesn't know the shoptroll is doing the 'why is there an oliveblood in my store' routine, and can't bring yourself to quash his cheer by letting him know, even to defend him. If Erskin wants to defend his moirail's honor you won't blame him, but as a friend, you decide to let Jethro take it as mere helpfulness. In fact...

"We are too, Jethro, those high-water jeans are a terrible fashion decision and you would be doing me a personal favor by retiring them from your wardrobe."

He crosses his arms stubbornly. "I like 'em."

"On my credit."

"Well, I can't stop you from givin' me a prezzie, can I," he grins, and turns back to the shoptroll. "Guess you can help me after all, we're lookin' at pants. Reckon my moirail knows what kind."

 

"I like shorts," you say mildly. "Then it doesn't matter how high the water is."

The shoptroll and Bel give you identical looks of exasperated disapproval, and you grin. You go and put your elbow on Jethro's shoulder and point randomly at the nearest clothes model type troll poster sort of thing on the wall. "That looks expensive, put that on."



((it took an absurd amount of time to figure out pictures, jeez. and remember imgur exists))

 

Jethro studies the poster with his head tilted while the shoptroll hurries to fetch the indicated items, and shrugs agreement. He refuses the sweater -- a point of pride, obviously, since the one he's wearing is similar but handmade -- but takes the rest into a dressing room.

"I hate to say it," you confide to Erskin, "but you have decent taste when you try. I like that coat. I like it a lot. Excuse me --" you beckon the shoptroll. "Does that coat come in dark blue?"

Jethro, when he emerges, gives up on the coat quickly -- "Too warm for light weather an' not warm enough for heavy" -- but delcares the trousers 'super comfy' and accepts three pairs in warm gray, olive drab, and black. When the shoptroll moves to a display of socks, a thundercloud crosses his face, and you hide a grin.

((erskin can head off his indignation about factory-made socks if you like, and also bel has good if conservative taste and will quietly and efficiently pick out precisely what he wants in like 5 minutes. you can move them to the tantrum store at any point. :D))

 

((conservative taste? mr tight-pants-tall-boots-and-goth-shirts kadros? suuure))

"Two compliments in a night? You're going soft on me," you grin, elbowing him, but you're pleased. You try on a few pairs of shoes and boots, interested in the fit around your prosthetic, and find that there's just a bit of stiffness added to the foot and ankle, even with clunkier leather contraptions, and it's more than trivial enough to be getting on with. You have a lot of right shoes to pull out of storage now, you suppose.

You get a few sweaters, fitted trousers of various lengths, sharp-looking shirts, and the one pair of boots that didn't have more buckles and polish than leather, all of it in sensible charcoals and slates. Then you find a nubbly sort of grey jacket with green leather patches on the elbows that you think would look very handsome and scholarly to wear while you're finishing up your schoolfeeds, and have to go see if the green matches Jethro, which it does, so that settles that. The shoptroll has a little embroidery machine, and everyone clusters around interestedly while the chap runs it over whichever garments they're handed and adds your signs to various pockets and cuffs and things.

Lainey acumulates a lot of short skirts, bright jewelry, and billowy low-cut shirts on to the counter, then grins at you and snaps her fingers until you come over and authorize the purchase.

"I'm buying you a coat," you tell her.

"Suit yourself," she says, and blows you a kiss: a golden plume of flame curls out with her breath, breaking in a hot puff against your cheek. You laugh, startled but amused, and go get her a coat regardless.

"It's big," you say, tossing it onto the counter. "So if you don't like it you can give it to your scarecrow."

Eventually everything is bought and bagged and tucked into various moduses— modii?— and you stroll out into the night.

"Oh, I say," you say, "It's that one shop I—" had a dangerous breakdown in and likely destroyed one of their changing rooms in addition to taking a swipe at a clerk "—need to pop into for a moment."

You trot across the shop cluster towards your goal. You'll just dash in, make amends for whatever havoc you wreaked, and maybe talk everyone into going for sherbet afterwards.

 

You have a suspicion you know which shop that is. It distracts you immediately from your previous suspicion (which is that Erskin might develop a red thing for Lainey once he gets over Leechy McMurderpants) and you stretch your legs to catch up with him. Of course everyone else trails along. This is turning into quite an expedition. You find you're sort of enjoying it.

 

The shop is much nicer and more spacious than the red-hazed memories from your little meld-down would have led you to think. You look around, stalling a bit in your examination of scarves and ties and shawls and things, and then are startled by the sudden appearance of a shoptroll with a very judgmental face.

"Er," you start. "I. Well. That is to say. I mean, to say, what I mean to say is. Hello? I came by here a little while back and broke some things, and I'm very sorry."

The shoptroll looks mostly confused by increasingly irritated. Out of the corner of your eye you see Bel has followed you in, and you feel your fins heat up. The shoptroll looks at Bel, and light appears to dawn.

"Right, you're Kohoal's whole stupid deal," she says. "The fuckstick's on lunch in the back, I'll go grab him."

"That's kind of you," you say, weakly, and stand there and pick at your claws while she goes to do just that. You look at Bel, who seems entirely too interested in the goings-on, and glare. This is already awkward enough.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.