Chapter 44 - The Clothes Make The Man

Eric grinned, looking at his friend dressed not in training leathers but like a nightclub bouncer even the classiest joint would be happy to hire, complete with vest, tie, and form-fitting dress shirt that showed off his chest and abs surprisingly well, that Drake proudly informed was made of Italian cotton with mother-of-pearl buttons.

Eric grinned. “Looks like you went to a tailor.”

Drake nodded. “Damn right I did. So let’s go.”

And a somewhat bemused Eric soon found himself heading not to Velvet's archery shop, but rather to a nearby building made of far sturdier wood, as were most of the newer buildings popping up beside original structures. Taller too, with what Eric was almost certain were a handful of apartments above. Eric blinked at that. “If I didn’t know better...”

Drake positively grinned as they passed by a number of busy-looking town dwellers who were either giving Eric and Drake both awed looks, deferential bows, or curtly shaking their heads and jerking aside the small handful of scowling men and women who didn’t like Drake literally plowing through the busy stream of people like he and Eric owned the place. Until a couple frantic whispers made it clear that their crew basically did.

“That’s right. Our town is definitely leveling up! Ha ha,” Drake said as Eric winced in apology at a scowling young woman whose basketful of tubers he nearly knocked over, before 17 Quickness and an absurd 21 Finesse had him pulling them all out of the air and handing them back to her with a smile.

He wasn't expecting a laugh and grin, though he wouldn't have minded it, as she was cute as a button and looked about his age, and he was feeling lonely as all hell. And just for half a second he had forgotten about the scars crisscrossing his face which flirty Alice never seemed to mind… but the terrified look the girl gave him that immediately transformed into a sickly grimace and a very, very deferential series of bows as she all but ran the other way, quickly reminded him.

“Shit,” Eric said, shaking his head with a bitter sigh, feeling a sharp twinge in his gut almost, but not quite as bad as the iron shot that had torn through it, because of his stupid need to look his enemy in the eye the other day.

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” Drake said with the gentle smile of a man who was living the life of the handsome super-criminal, and never had to worry about picking up a date, probably for the rest of his life. “As soon as we get you some sweet threads, the girls will be banging on your door. Just you wait!”

Eric forced himself to laugh. “I doubt it, buddy. What chance have I got with you and Louie always stealing the show?”

Drake grinned and winked. “There is that. But shit if you haven’t grown two inches in the last couple of days. And my build might be a bit bulkier than yours, just those sweet Italian genes, I guess, but you, my friend, are absolutely ripped underneath that sweatshirt that ain’t doing you any favors at all.”

Eric had to laugh at that. “Actually, these muscles still show through whenever I flex. See? And isn’t that the craziest thing?”

Drake nodded. “Only thing crazier is that you’re actually a point stronger than me!”

Eric winced. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to be taking out twenty orcs with what was basically a reconnaissance mission.” He regretted the words as soon as he had said them, noting at least a couple intent stares from passersby. A few were accompanied by smirks from those who assumed he was talking shit. And a few wore awed, even anxious looks, from those who sensed he wasn’t.

Drake clapped Eric's shoulders with a chuckle. "Enough talking shop for the both of us. Let's get doing, my friend."

And that they did.

“Ouch. Is the poking really necessary?” Eric whispered to his friend inside the cloth-filled warrens of what Eric assured was the finest tailor they’d find anywhere, actually having it as his profession, even if the wisened old gnome of a man looked the farthest thing from the fashion mogul he claimed to be.

“Eric, man, chill!” Drake scowled when the old gnome glared.

“Sorry, Mr. Guchi. Eric’s kind of a noob when it comes to style, fashion, and well, pretty much everything except killing.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “Thanks. That paints me in a wonderful light.”

Their tailor snorted. “Clearly. Charcoal grey or black, do you think, Mr. Drake?”

Drake frowned, peering intently at Eric with his baby blues while rubbing his absurdly handsome chin. “Charcoal. Goes well with his hilt and scabbard.”

The old man grinned. “Yes, exactly! This is why I say you should give up your gloriously exciting life of crime and embrace your true calling as a tailor! The old man pinned a suddenly abashed Drake with a too knowing eye. “Don’t deny it. I sense you understand fabric and stitching, and most importantly, style, far more than you let on.”

Drake forced a chuckle. “Yeah, perhaps my father did have a shop, at one point. But, well...”

The old man gave a sympathetic nod. “You couldn’t help but be drawn in by the mysterious allure of the finely tailored men with hard smiles and ice-cold eyes that nevertheless kept your father’s shop afloat in an era of souless chains and deep discount nightmares. To say nothing of… online clothes shopping.” The tailor positively shuddered at this. “Thank god the apocalypse at least brought an end to that abomination.”

Eric blinked, carefully not responding at all to that assertion, especially to the man placing far too many pins near his crotch.

Drake grinned. “Damn, you are good, Mr. Guchi!”

The man dipped his head. "Of course. I am the best. And you, Drake, should definitely speak to me when we eventually arrive at Freetown. But please, by all means, continue killing orcs, or horrors, or whatever it is you do for fun these days. Until we safely arrive… I fear Strength will be your greatest virtue, and it is for me to make sure you look your absolute best while doing what you so skillfully do.”

He then turned to glare up at Eric. “And you, boy, had best not be flinching so much for your final fitting.”

Drake laughed at that. “He’ll be good. I promise, Mr. Gucci.”

“I have no doubt. Here. A suit that should at least tide you over.”

And before Eric knew it, he found himself wearing a stylish double-breasted charcoal suit with an absurdly comfortable Italian cotton dress shirt with both a tapered waist and a roomy chest. He wore a dark silk tie that was surprisingly a clip-on, though perhaps not so surprising as anyone attempting to grab a handful for a choke or knee bomb wouldn’t even tear off any of the shirt’s lock-stitched mother-of-pearl buttons.

The pants looked as fine as the jacket, but were made of a surprisingly stretchable fabric that meant that Eric could flex, run, and fight in, without discomfort or tearing a seam.

That, along with charcoal grey socks and the most comfortable leather shoes Eric had ever worn left him in such a good mood that he was almost okay with the fedora.

Almost.

“You gotta wear it, Eric. Come on… it’s a look!”

Eric couldn’t help but glare at his friend. “The rest of the suit? Fine. I can deal. Hell, it actually feels pretty comfortable, a hell of a lot better than the suit Mother stuffed me into for that damned premier. But fedoras? Seriously?" Eric glared at the selection of admittedly tasteful and stylish hats, but absolutely could not see himself wearing any of them, especially with his now fiery red hair.

The tailor gazed at Eric for long moments before finally shrugging. “Fine. I know they look a bit off. In truth, I told the smith that it doesn’t matter how strong or light or comfortable the steel skull caps you insert happen to be. My clients aren’t fools. They have taste. Fashion sense. They…”

The old man blinked as Eric abruptly darted back around and snatched the one that most closely matched his suit.

“Then again, who the hell am I to discount the importance of a complete ensemble?” Eric said with a sheepish smile.

Drake laughed, bumping Eric's fist. "My man! And the suit's lined with kevlar. Same as before the apocalypse, which, you know, is good. Because orcs..."

“Somehow managed to get a green slip for muzzle-loading shotgun muskets while the rest of us have to rely on sharp sticks?"

Drake grinned. “Exactly.” He then shook the tailor’s wizened hand, the gnarly old man possessing a surprisingly powerful grip, as Eric discovered for himself, a second later. “See you in a few days, mister Guchi! And thanks again!”

The pair soon found themselves on the now hard-packed dirt road, a far cry from the trail Eric most definitely remembered from a few weeks before, he and Morlekai hardly having walked it at all when they last left the town, heading straight to the reinforced gates. Now, however, things were decidedly different.

“It seems like our town really is leveling up," Eric said with a bemused smile, his friend grinning while nodding at a pair of blushing young women who gave him a wink and giggle before darting off, innocent flirtation Eric still found utterly at odds with the post-apocalyptic world they now found themselves in.

“It really is,” Drake said. “I mean, not literally. The mayor has to achieve Claimance over this territory by clearing out all the baddies and uglies, which is where you and I and the rest of the crew come in. But since he has an Administerial class that technically allows him to serve as a ruler, even if at lowest tier and with minimal benefits, he still has the power to help our town blossom and grow, once any other contenders have been put down."

Eric frowned at that, effortlessly dodging a pair of racing kids and a woman he assumed to be their mother, offering a sympathetic smile even though her look had been one of terror when her boy had almost run into him.

Eric sighed and turned away, focusing only on his friend's words. Because playing a badass online might have been fun, but in real life, he'd far rather be ignored than feared. And if people actually looked up to him or smiled at his presence? That would be a massive bonus as well.

But at least now, no one was looking at him with disgust.

No one dared to.

"Well, it's nice to see that people are coming out of their shells, and refugees with actual professions are starting to come into their own at least," Eric said as they arrived back at Velvet's sporting goods and archery store.

Drake nodded at that before turning his focus to the wide-eyed stubble cheeked man who was still quite chunky despite having lost at least a bit of weight, with his hands once more on what Eric now realized was one of Smith’s shortest and lightest bardiches, though it looked like the man visibly favoring one leg was actually holding it with a bit more familiarity than he had last time.

“Hey Fat Sam, still sleeping on the job?” said Drake, giving the man a friendly clap on his shoulder.

Sam visibly winced at that, chuckling softly where he stood, just beside numerous store racks filled with an eclectic mix of both unused sporting goods with signs promising deep discounts in town credits, and an eclectic collection of longbows quite different from the previous selection, looking somehow both cruder, yet far more deadly.

“Drake! Hey man, it’s good to see you! And you look damned good in a suit. You're whole crew always does! Who's this cat by your side?"

Eric couldn't help but smile at that. "Forget me already, Sam?"

The man’s eyes widened before he grinned. “Hey, Eric, right? Damn, you look well put-together, and quite fine in a suit! How much steel have you been pumping?”

Eric laughed. "A hell of a lot, actually. But that's not where all this came from."

The hefty guard gave a knowing nod. "You leveled up. Just like in World of Warblades 2.0."

“You got it,” Eric said. “And it looks like Velvet restocked his bows. Though I’m guessing he’s no longer using your typical chain store suppliers,” he said the last with a chuckle, noting several laminated bows that appeared to be made of a combination of cavern vines and bone.

“Damn right!” Fat Sam said, beaming with pride as if they were his own collection. “Turns out our hunter’s also quite the bowyer and fletcher.”

Drake whistled. "Sweet! I didn't know you could dabble in multiple Professions. Did you, Eric?”

Eric shrugged. "What I don't know about Classes and Professions could fill every tome of every specialized library in every world ever. So… yeah, your guess about how the hell it all works is just as good as mine."

Eric turned back to the guard, surprised a certain someone hadn't already made an appearance. "Is Velvet around?"

Fat Sam gave a quick nod, pointing with his stubbly chin. “Yeah, man, he’s in back of the shop at our store’s range, testing out a few of the bows our friend dropped off yesterday. He's more into hunting and crafting than, you know, dealing with crowds of people and selling, so Velvet offered to sell all his bows, no matter how exotic, on commission, which is a damned good thing, since no one is buying all the other sporting goods shit we have here, after you cleared us out. Not that my brother-in-law has any right to complain, being up several gold Krugerrand. But don't tell him I said that, okay? Anyway, he tests out all the bows to get a sense of draw weight, how fast and accurately it shoots, what's the draw length, the best matching arrows, all that shit. So… yeah, the better he knows the weapons, the better he is at meeting customers’ needs, as he puts it."

Eric nodded. “Thanks, Sam. You ever finish that book?”

The man chuckled at that. "I did indeed. And the way that girl stole his heart before shooting him in the chest? Pure evil."

Eric nodded in complete agreement, and couldn't help but savor the man's awed expression when he tossed the man one of the books he had in storage.

“A Salentino Thriller? Damn, I’ve been after this book for ages!” He looked genuinely touched. “Thanks, Eric. You’re a real stand-up guy, you know that?”

Eric laughed. "Would you believe I didn't even realize I was still carrying it around? One of the advantages of a spacious… backpack. You never know what you have till you clean it out." Which was entirely true. "Anyway, enjoy the read!"

“I will, Eric, and I’ll drop it by the house when I’m finished. I promise.”

Eric smirked at the man’s leg. “You want to traipse a mile through what’s now loamy but still pretty uneven ground to the compound? Go for it. You'll get a beautiful view of the ripest-looking fruit and vegetables you ever did see. But if you think someone else might enjoy it, definitely feel free to pass it around.”

The guard nodded. “My wife and boy love these books just as much as I do. Thanks, Eric, I owe you one.”

Eric couldn’t help but smirk in apology, suddenly seeing the man as a husband and father with a family he was caring for in uncertain times, far more than just a cartoonish character popping up in a single scene of Eric’s life. Because once Eric went home, Sam would still be a boy’s father and a woman’s husband, perhaps the most important person in their own little world, keeping them sheltered and fed.

So many lives, precious and fragile all around him, Eric thought, feeling a solemn sense of connection with the entire community in that moment as he pulled out several absolutely fresh and completely unzombified lizard steaks from his inventory. He was happy to still have a fair portion of untainted meat, in addition to one complete lizard, a few bolts of lizard scale hide, a score of fallen orcs and their gear, and one massive self-repairing bulwark he chose not to think too deeply about in his inventory.

Because he most certainly hadn’t been so stupid as to risk all of his delicious meat on something so banal as a life-saving barrier.

Only most of it.

“You’re starting to look a bit too thin for my taste, Fat Sam. How about you and your wife grill up some tasty lizard steaks tonight? My treat.”