“Are you absolutely certain that I have to dress up for this dance?” Kane moaned, squirming in yet another outfit in the ‘latest fashion.’ “Why can’t I just wear my doublet or tunic that I wear every day?”
Leaning back into a padded seat, sipping a dark amber liquid, Damian cringed at the thought, “Your doublet and tunic is great if you’re going to go wrestle an ox, or cross blades with a brigand, or intimidate a local farmer to stop abusing his wife, but… a dance… a dance, this is where you must have flair!”
The pair of Terrasylvans were in a small tailor shop, nestled somewhere in the depths of Paris. With the upcoming Harvest Ball only a few short weeks away, Damian had taken it upon himself to ensure that Kane would be properly dressed for the event.
“I’d much rather being doing those things than wearing uncomfortable clothes.” Kane remarked snidely, removing the royal blue overcoat and blinding yellow shirt he had the displeasure of trying on.
Standing up and moving to the row of clothes hanging near the mirror, “Uncomfortable to the body, maybe. But to the soul, it’s very therapeutic. On a battlefield, a man needs his sword to be sharp. He needs his armor to be fitted, so he can fight his best. At a dance, these things don’t matter. At a dance, he needs his shoes to be shined, his buckles polished, and his attire flawless.”
Damian took a moment to look at each outfit the tailor had provided before sliding it aside with one hand. Eventually, he found the next one he thought Kane might actually like. It was a long black jerkin with a flowing floral pattern in silver thread. He pulled the piece off the rack and proffered it to Kane.
“Most men look down at floral patterns, but to the men who can pull it off… ‘if a ladies heart be thine goal, woe to the man who can’t don God’s great blossoms.’ Besides, let’s be honest, your doublets and tunics are atrocious. In both sight and smell! Don’t you ever wash them?”
“Of course I wash them!” Kane snapped, snatching the jerkin from Damian’s extended hand and marching back behind the folding screen to change. “I just don’t get to it as often. I live on the other side of the village than the river and carrying wet clothes is a hassle.”
“That shouldn’t be an excuse, Kane.” Damian retaliated, “Besides how are you ever going to catch the eye of the fairer sex if you always dress for war and smell just as bad?”
Walking out from behind the screen, Kane finished latching the last buckle. “I’m not doing this to impress anyone. I’m doing this because you bribed me with choux à la crème and a meal at my favorite restaurant I used to go to with my old troubadour group: Le Vilain Caneton.”
“Well, whatever you’re doing it for, I think we have it. It’s perfect! ” Damian said, finishing his drink with a flourish. “It’s elegant, but with a hint of danger… especially for the ladies.”
Turning around to face the mirror, Kane looked at himself but didn’t quite recognize who he was looking at.
The sleeveless jerkin was slim and went all the way to the floor before flaring out into four panels around his legs. Kane appreciated not having sleeves because he could already feel his body overheating. Additionally, the piece was held together with buckles, which he liked but felt like it could use a few more.
Looking down, Kane patted his chest and stomach and remarked, “This thing is practically skin tight. There is no room to hide anything! Where will I put my knife, my sword, or anything else?”
Rolling his eyes, Damian walked up and placed a hand on Kane’s shoulder and looked into the mirror with him, “Kane, it’s not supposed to hide anything.” He paused, and smiled with a smirk. ”And I mean anything.”
Going silent, Kane inhaled through his nose and let out a slow, exasperated breath.
“Fine. Let’s go with this one. I’m ready for food.”