[Lamb Freed in its Cage] 5 – Cracks hidden under the Rug

When B0oker finally awoke from his nightmare, I had already bought us breakfast using some of Booker's money. I would have stolen the breakfast if I had the chance, but with the store that I went to being staffed, that was not an option. I did, however, manage to pickpocket some of the men who were more distracted by my...assets than my hands, leading to me getting my hands on a few thousand silver eagles, quite the absurd sum in all honesty. Enough to easily let us stay in the hotel for a week or so, buying food included.

As I was thinking about what to do next, Booker came out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel.

"What's the plan now?" Booker asked.

"First? A change of clothes and something to help cover your face, soon Comstock will have supplied the police and his men with portraits of us, which will make finding the Vox a bit harder, not that it isn't already with the number of men Comstock has patrolling the streets, looking for us," I answered before sighting, "I'll need to change too, especially seeing as whatever portraits they make will be far more accurate when it comes to me than you.

"And how do you expect us to pay for all of this?" Booker asked, crossing his arms.

Tossing him one of the coin pouches I was carrying shut him up pretty quickly.

"Breakfast is over there. Eat up, and then we'll be heading out." I pointed to the plate of food, which was now room temperature.

...

A few minutes later, we were out on the streets, looking for a tailor. Luckily, it did not take long to find one further down the street, over a bridge, and on another floating island. 

Columbia was a collection of dozens of independent floating islands that constantly changed positions and moved around. I had no idea how anyone managed to navigate without getting lost. 

Stepping into the store, we were met with a woman and a man.

"Ah, welcome! What can we do for you?" the man with a rather fancy mustache asked as the woman stepped away from the counter.

"I'm afraid we need some clothes; ours were stolen," I answered the man.

"Oh my! Are you two alright?" The woman spoke up, covering her mouth.

"We are, thank you for asking," I replied with a smile.

"You may call me Mr. Louvie. I am the owner of this establishment, and this is my lovely wife," The man suddenly introduced himself and his wife.

"It's nice to meet the both of you; you may call me Elizabeth, and him Booker; he's my brother," I introduced Booker and I, leaning on Booker's shoulder, making him tense up.

"Well, let's get you sorted then! What do you need?" The man asked, stepping forward to shake hands with Booker.

"We need something casual, just to get us by for a few days until we can order something custom," I spoke up, watching as the man nodded along in understanding.

"I see; we do have some clothes that should fit the both of you, though they won't fit perfectly," The man offered.

"That's perfect. How much is it?" I asked, reaching into the pouch I had in my hand.

"Tell you what, not many need or want these clothes, so I'll give them to you for cheap, just 25 Silver Eagles for two sets for yourself and your brother here," The man generously offered.

"Really?" I asked, surprised by the cheap price.

...

Walking out of the store surprised, Booker and I now had two extra sets of clothes to help disguise us, even if they didn't fit correctly in some places.

"Now that we got some clothes, we'll need to see a barber," I pulled Booker along.

...

A few hours later, and after a lot more shopping, Booker was a new man. His beard and hair were neat and tidy, and his change of clothes was more casual, making them plainer than his old set of clothes, which would have easily spotted him. At the moment, he was wearing but a button-up shirt and some slacks. As for myself? I was wearing a simple long-sleeved shirt and a shorter skirt. Once I shorten my hair, I'd be much harder to recognize, and the same goes for whatever makeup I manage to get my hands on.

After Booker had his hair done, it didn't take long to get mine. I planned on growing my hair out to resemble my future self's, but as it was now, the barber made it too short; remarkably, it looked exactly the same as the one the future I would have on the First Lady, a flying ship.

Constants and Variables.

Now that we were properly disguised, at least as straightforward a disguise as it was, I wanted to start asking for directions to Shantytown, and the answers I got were...unsurprising, all things considered.

"That slum? Why would you want to go there?"

"Stay away from that place; it's filled with nothing but filth and criminals."

"Where?"

The first honest answer I got was from two black men speaking French in an alleyway. Based on their outfits and the brooms resting on the wall, they were clearly street sweepers. When I caught them taking a break, they froze like deer in headlights.

"Excuse me, do you two gentlemen know where I can find Shantytown?" I asked gently, giving the two a friendly smile. Booker leaned against the alley wall, looking out to the street on guard.

"I'm sorry, miss. Did you say Shantytown?" One of the men asked, clearly confused as he looked at his coworker.

"That's right," I agreed with the man.

"Pardon me for asking, but why would you be looking for Shantytown, Miss? " the other man asked suspiciously.

"Well, I want to help. I have some training in medicine and want to help those in need, and to my understanding, there are not many doctors in Shantytown, if any at all," I told the two men before me, watching their eyebrows crunch in suspicion and confusion.

"And the man behind you?" The first man asked, his gaze sweeping to Booker.

"He's my brother. He thinks my idea is foolish and wants to make sure I'm safe," I waved to Booker, who even now sported a frown.

"That's a....noble goal you have, miss, but you and your brother would not be taken too kindly in Shantytown, I'm afraid," The second man responded with a frown.

"While I appreciate the worry, I can take care of myself. I want to make the lives of the people in Shantytown better, regardless of whether I'm welcome or not," I answered with a frown of my own and crossed my arms.

We exchanged words, going back and forth until, eventually, our conversation turned into an argument. It took a lot of arguing before the two finally seemed to give up.

"Fine. We can't stop you, but please, if things get too tough...just cut your losses. Some of our brothers and sisters are not as... friendly as we are," one of the men said before continuing with a sigh, "If you want to get to Shantytown, here's where you'll have to go."

"First, you'll head down Baker's Street, then you'll hop over to Niagra Avenue before heading down the sky-line too," the more he talked, the more increasingly complicated his directions became, making the constantly shifting layout of the city seem more insane with each moment.