mogget_cat | OOM: Open-Mic 2

Yrael and Teja step through the door and out into a deserted alleyway in New Orleans. It's evening, here, around eight o'clock with the sun just having fully set. The people in the street before them haven't noticed them yet.

"All right... to find a clothing shop."

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Yrael glances at him, eyebrows raised, from a row of hangers that have dark red shirts with angry things written on them.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I do not know -- perhaps one should wear colours for such a concert?" Teja says. "I know not much about the symbols and colours of those clothes, and what opinions and loyalties they represent. Only that they seem meaningful. Eirene gave me one with her symbol on."

Pause, during which he browses the racks. "What, for example, would this one mean?"

It is brown, and says 'ARCHAEOLOGISTS DO IT DOWN HOLES'

Yrael tilts his head at it.

"I think it is meant to be suggestive. Archaeologists dig up ruins and things to see how people of the past lived, so they do dig holes. The pun is that they dig holes, but they also might have sex in those holes... with another pun on the word 'hole,'" he explains.

Teja quickly puts the brown t-shirt away again. "I would have nothing to do with it, then," he says. "For the innuendo -- the digging up of old things might be interesting. I was told that the lost cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, that Pliny wrote about, have been found again -- the men who did that would have been archaeologists?"

"They would have been, yes," Yrael says, picking up a black T-shirt with a red dragon coiled on it, fangs and claws much in evidence. Hmm.

He puts it back.

"That one was grim, but a bit garish," Teja says.

Pause.

"What kind of tea shirt would you think would be right for me to wear?"

"Anything you find that you would like to wear," he says. "I've only done this once before, myself."

He turns to a green shirt with Japanese characters on it.

Yrael, of course, can't read it.

It could say I forded the river and my effing ox died, and he'd never know. He puts it back.

"It looks strange," Teja says. "I might like to wear this one."

He has found a black t-shirt that say, in dark red, GOTH.

"Why would they write that on a shirt?"

Yrael tries to suppress a smile.

And fails.

"To let people know?" That seems like a safe answer.

"But there are not many Goths around," Teja says, "unless they mean the sort of goths that are -- what do they call it -- a sub-culture?"

Pause.

"It is amusing to you?"

"I think they mean the modern subculture, yes," he smiles.

"Those of the modern goth subculture often brood, are grim and wear black... I had not thought of it, and it made me smile."

That makes Teja smile a little. "I often brood, am grim, and wear black," Teja says, still holding the t-shirt, "but not many of my people were -- most liked their ale and their women, were blond and strong and cheerful, wore linen and wool in nice colours, and rarely brooded. I was the one who was different, among them."

Pause, and Teja smiles more, amused.

"One would not assume the entire sub-culture was named after me alone?"

"The inspiration of the entire sub-culture," he grins. "As the one that stood out, the memorable one." As far as Yrael knows.

He picks up a sleeveless shirt of dark red. Hm. He might want to try that one on. Vaguely, Yrael wonders what size he'd wear.

"Would this be the right size for me?" Teja asks. "And where would one hange, before the concert."

"There will be restrooms where one can change," he says. "It won't be a problem."

Yrael looks conflicted for a moment, as he was just about to try on the shirt (since he can unmake the shirt he's currently wearing)...

"I'm going to find a fitting room, and try this on to see if it looks good." He takes one of each size of that shirt, just in case. It's not like he knows what size he wears.

"Oh, one may try it on in the shop!" Teja says, comprehending. Slowly, as not to come too far, he wanders after Yrael.

There's a door in the wall that says "FITTING ROOMS" over it. Yrael heads there.

"You can try on yours in the next room, if you want," he mentions, going into the first changing room.

The purpose of the little room is rather clear -- secluded from prying or ogling eyes, one can take off one's clothes, hang them on one peg, take the shirt off the hanging device which had been put on another peg, put it on, and look at oneself in the mirror provided by the shop.

When Teja wrestled into the shirt and looks at himself, it seems to fit quite well -- through the thin fabric, tight in places, it's rather obvious, though, that Teja, albeit rather lanky than muscle-bound, normally, does rather -- how do these people from the future call it?

Pack a lot of punch.

Not obscured by armour, loose shirts, cloak or coat, it is very visible that his shoulders, chest, arms and back are quite strong, from a lifetime's fighting and forge work. Teja looks at himself in the mirror, wondering whether this would make him look intimidating (good) or rather ogle-worthy to the ladies, and the men thus inclined (bad).

Yrael comes out wearing the dark red sleeveless shirt, which only accentuates both his paleness and his thinness. He hardly looks strong.

But, as Teja knows, Yrael's appearances are deceiving.

He kind of likes it that way.

He leans against the wall outside the changing rooms, turning his head a little to call in to Teja, "So, is black really your color?"

...He's half tempted to get Teja a yellow shirt. Just because. Or purple. Surely there would be some shirts here the color of his cloak.

Teja comes out, with a dubious look on his face.

"Is it?" he asks. "Is this suitable?"

"It's fine," he grins. "You'll see others there wearing similar, probably."

"And mine?"

"It looks like those on other people," Teja says, "so must be right. I'm not experienced in this, so normalcy is all I can go by."

"It'll do, then," he grins. It's not like he's going to be wearing the shirt much, except for visiting New Orleans.

"I'll see about paying for them after we change back."

"Thank you," Teja says, and retreats to the small room in which he may put on his modern shirt and coat again. Armour, they are not, but the leather gives a nice, heavy feeling of security, and not having one's muscles stared at.