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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"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.

Yrael changes back pretty quickly, heading back out among the clothing racks to look around some more while Teja changes.

Teja follows soon, t-short in hand. "Once we paid, where do we go?" he asks.

"To the bar where the Open Mic night is going to be held," Yrael replies, heading towards the counter. "It's not far."

He checks the clock on the wall.

"We have plenty of time."

"Good," Teja says. "So we can go there slowly, and if we pass by any lupae again that would molest us, we can shake them off first so they would not follow us there."

"If we make it clear that their company is not welcome, nor their services, and they will not be receiving any money for anything they offer, they will probably give up on us in favor of more likely clientele. Just these, yes, thank you," he says as his attention turns to the person behind the cash register.

A couple of twenty-dollar bills and two plastic bags later, they're heading out of the shop to continue their safari in the untamed streets of Nawlins Wild Human Reserve.

Some of the people walking by do have rather colorful plumage. Some just have plumage. And some must be rather cold to have so little on. Most, though, are pretty normal. Jeans and teeshirts, some men in suits of various styles, some in button-down shirts like Yrael tends to wear, some women in jeans and blouses, some in dresses, some in skirts, a few in leather. A very few with feathers.

Some men with feathers, too.

Teja observes with fascination - a greater variety than Rome even held, in his time!

"I would rather wear leather than feathers," he remarks, when an especially colourful specimen has passed.