Jack Rackham (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jackrackham) wrote2019-11-02 06:13 pm
jackrackham) wrote2019-11-02 06:13 pm
Entry tags:
fashion wears out more apparel than the man (for eliot)
Jack looks down at the phone screen, frowning as he tries to figure out how to navigate the map that Eliot had sent him. In the end, he pulls up a static map instead and finds the appropriate street there. Eliot had said to leave his sword behind and, while he knows that is probably the most prudent decision given how few people in Darrow seem to be armed on a daily basis, it still makes him feel a little wary. This place is strange and he doesn't know what dangers to expect.
He keeps his dagger tucked into his belt. Hopefully Eliot won't object to that.
As he leaves, he tucks the scarf that Eliot had lent him around his neck. He'll have to return it today, but it proves useful on the walk over to the mall. He's familiar with the large building where Eliot had said to meet, but hadn't given much thought until now about what might be inside of it. Whatever is there, he feels better about having a little guidance at navigating it.
He spots Eliot and gives a brief wave to catch his attention before shoving his hands back into his coat pockets. Eliot looks just as put together as he had the last time Jack met him, but he notices the addition of a dark sweater under his coat. He thinks that he did make a good choice in asking Eliot for help with this. He could have found a warm coat on his own, but Eliot will know which coats are more fashionable than others. That, and he would like to learn a little more about him and his magic. He can still barely believe that magic exists, and he has a hard time picturing the sort of world that Eliot comes from.
He rounds his shoulders forward a bit and looks over at Eliot, nodding towards the building rather than stopping outside in the cold. "Thank you for your help," he says. "I appreciate it."
He keeps his dagger tucked into his belt. Hopefully Eliot won't object to that.
As he leaves, he tucks the scarf that Eliot had lent him around his neck. He'll have to return it today, but it proves useful on the walk over to the mall. He's familiar with the large building where Eliot had said to meet, but hadn't given much thought until now about what might be inside of it. Whatever is there, he feels better about having a little guidance at navigating it.
He spots Eliot and gives a brief wave to catch his attention before shoving his hands back into his coat pockets. Eliot looks just as put together as he had the last time Jack met him, but he notices the addition of a dark sweater under his coat. He thinks that he did make a good choice in asking Eliot for help with this. He could have found a warm coat on his own, but Eliot will know which coats are more fashionable than others. That, and he would like to learn a little more about him and his magic. He can still barely believe that magic exists, and he has a hard time picturing the sort of world that Eliot comes from.
He rounds his shoulders forward a bit and looks over at Eliot, nodding towards the building rather than stopping outside in the cold. "Thank you for your help," he says. "I appreciate it."
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So he'd downed some coffee and half a bagel and hurried over, eager to introduce his new acquaintance to the comforting routine of errands.
He grins when Jack catches sight of him, and returns the wave, but the poor thing looks like he's freezing.
“No trouble at all, Captain. Let’s get you out of the cold, eh?” He ushers Jack to the door and gets it for him. Eliot hadn’t bothered to explain what exactly a mall is, but he supposes that it will be more or less evident very shortly.
Once they’re inside Eliot pulls a pen and a small notebook from his bag to start a list. He writes ‘Coat’ at the top and then, glancing at Jack, underlines it.
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Jack watches Eliot pull a notebook out of his bag and takes a step closer to look at what he'd written down. "Yes, a warm coat is my highest priority. And I'd like to find at least one set of clothes that I can go outside in without being approached by concerned people who think I've only just arrived."
He glances sidelong at Eliot, curious about how helpful Eliot has been since they met. He's willing to go along with this, and to ask him for help, but he's still curious about what Eliot is getting out of this.
Maybe he just agreed to this because he also needs to shop for clothes. "Are you looking for anything?"
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Eliot nods, jotting down another line of notes as Jack explains what he needs. The disrespect for personal space notwithstanding, Eliot’s glad to be able to help here. He writes down basics—look normal, and considers what all that might entail, how many stops they’d have to make. He only glances up when Jack asks him if he has any purchases he needs to make for himself.
“Oh,” he says by way of answer, looking probably very stupid before he stops being surprised by the question and affects a smile. “I’ve no great need of anything, no, but of course I can’t resist making at least a few frivolous purchases.” Eliot laughs with practiced self-deprecation.
“Anyway I haven’t been here long enough to know how cold it gets in the winter, but seeing as you came from the Caribbean you’ll probably be suffering even if it’s mild.” He looks Jack over, appraising his general look. “Even with a warm coat, let’s get you some layers for versatility. Never fear,” Eliot smirks, “I’m not going to put you in a parka.”
He finds the directory a few yards in and begins the tedious business of decoding Darrow store names into anything that has meaning to him. “Dacy’s?” Eliot shakes his head in disgust, but it’s probably their best bet. “For fuck’s sake.”
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He follows Eliot over to the map, curious about what a parka is and why Eliot won't put him in one, but he's distracted by just how large this Dacy's place seems to be. If it's anywhere near accurate to the size of the other shops, it must be gigantic.
He looks at the key and finds it listed under department stores, which doesn't provide him any additional information. He puts his hand up to point to the large square on the map. "It that all clothing? It's so big."
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Eliot looks at the map; it certainly doesn’t appear too complex as far as malls go. A basic square path with a food court in the center, but looks are deceiving in these places, and there’s every chance Jack isn’t the type to enjoy shopping as a recreational activity. Eliot doesn’t want him to get worn out and have a bad experience. “So I think that’s our best bet to start,” he concludes as he finds the You Are Here marker and determines the easiest route to the (ugh) Dacy’s corner. “Get you some good quality basics and if you don’t find any pieces that really spark joy then we can reformulate the plan of attack and look at boutiques.”
Eliot nods, satisfied with his own reasoning, and tilts his head in the direction of the department store. “Shall we? And we can also get food here if you like, there’s plenty of restaurants and I don’t know when you last ate but I only had a little breakfast, we’ll probably get hungry.” He could absolutely demolish a giant pretzel but he’s not sure he wants Jack to see him in such a monstrous state.
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He nods, and starts to follow, but for the moment he focuses on the shopfronts that they're passing. He squints at a store called Cher's with a bright pink interior and lots of things covered in shiny fabric and sequins and bows. When he turns back to Eliot, it takes him a moment to refocus his thoughts.
"Eliot...When I asked for your help, I honestly didn't think that this task would be so ...involved? You've already done plenty to help me, without any good reason." He tucks his hands behind his back, clasping his hands together, and looks forward at the hall filled with stores and the morning's first few mingling shoppers. "You don't have to spend your entire day trying to make me look presentable to society. If you would rather go, I'm sure I can manage." From what Eliot has said, the whole thing sounds incredibly daunting and potentially confusing, but he doesn't want Eliot to be here just because he thinks that Jack can't fend for himself. He finally looks back to Eliot, and nods as if they've both decided already. "We can meet up some other time."
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“It’s not a hardship, I assure you.” It takes Eliot a moment to hit on what he thinks Jack was talking around. He doesn’t want to be a burden, probably doesn’t like looking ignorant in front of others. And to that Eliot can certainly relate.
“I only meant,” he begins carefully, “that navigating this sort of errand isn’t something that everyone enjoys, even when they’ve grown up with it. I rather do, though, and I certainly enjoyed your company the other day, and I thought...”
For a moment Eliot can’t quite express it, worried it would be too earnest, too much honesty for someone he’s only just met, really. He looks at the display of samples on tap at the entrance to a Daniel’s Tea but doesn’t really register the flavors.
He sighs. “Well, since you need to do this anyway, I thought it would be less stressful if you had a-“ He looks at Jack directly, and offers a smile. “-a friend. So you wouldn’t have to be alone.” There, he’s said it. He’s not often in the position to brace himself for rejection, and it’s not a pleasant feeling. He holds his breath, and waits.
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"I'll confess, this wasn't at all what I was expecting. There's so much here. I can see why you like it," It does certainly seem like it could be entertaining, having a whole shopping district under one roof, with restaurants besides. It seems like it could even be fun, under the right circumstances. "...but I think it's going to take some getting used to."
They pass by a clothing store that seems to deal specifically in women's clothes, and Jack slows to peer at the window display. It might be worth trying to find something warm for Anne as well, if he can find something that she would actually wear- at least until she can come back with him and shop for herself. He doesn't see anything in particular here that she would be comfortable with, and he realizes that he's not entirely sure how buying clothing even works in these kinds of stores. Presumably there are set sizes and you must go in hoping that one will match what you need.
"Does no one have their clothes made anymore? Tailored?" He gestures back to the store as they walk past. "Or is it all like that?"
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The change of subject is welcome, he thinks, a concrete thing to focus on. Eliot nods at Jack’s assessment. “The shopping mall is best approached with a specific goal in mind, a solid plan of attack, and the acknowledgement that you will probably need to take a break. I think they engineer them that way, to easier part people with their money. ‘Oh look there’s food right here, wouldn’t it be nice to sit and buy some in between buying other things.’ Kind of genius, really.”
He gives Jack a smirk, but doesn’t know if he’d really enjoy hearing Eliot ramble about marketing and late capitalism, and Jack seems to be figuring out the enigma of fast fashion, anyway.
Eliot clears his throat. “It’s not common,” he says, following Jack’s gaze, “but it is still done in some places, usually if you’re wealthy or want to look it. The way the manufacturing process is streamlined now it’s easier for most people to buy clothes ready-to-wear, rather than spend the time and money on something personal.” Eliot frowns, thinking about the inconvenience of looking good in a place like this. “I don’t actually know if there’s any place in Darrow to get a suit made bespoke, but there should be at least one menswear place here that offers some things made-to-measure, if that interests you.”
He looks Jack over and tries to imagine the pirate in any sort of modern business wear and draws a complete blank, a void of television static. “Unfortunately you’re just going to have to try on multiple pieces to see what works.”
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"Shopping for me was...very different, but I may enjoy this. I don't know yet quite what to expect except for the sort of things I've seen people wear around town." They're approaching what he assumes is their quarry- a storefront bigger than all of the others. The large sign above what is less a doorway and more an opening in the wall proclaims it Dacy's, and Jack heads in that direction. He's not entirely sure what section of the store they've entered in, but the clothing here is a kind that he hasn't ever seen before. There are pants with a strange shine to them, some that look like they're meant to be worn tight against the skin, some oddly-cut shirts covered in bright geometric patterns. A sign at the back wall shows a man smiling as he runs. He looks at it with some confusion. It's all very strange.
"Though I do understand now why even the boutiques are so large. When you're having a piece made to order, the tailor only needs space for the fabric and perhaps a few samples. Like this, they need space for ten of the same piece, for every—" He reaches out and touches a pair of pants as they pass, and immediately stops and goes back to it. The fabric is odd and smooth, and has a little stretch when he pulls it between his hands. "—piece. What the hell is this made of?"
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They land in activewear, of all places, and Eliot's bone-deep commitment to idleness whenever possible means that his eyes tend to glaze over around this department. Jack's comparison to clothing purchasing in his own time is far more interesting. Eliot nods along, about to say something about how it's a whole ecosystem dedicated to keeping production costs low, but startles, giggling a little, at the sight of Jack pawing at a pair of leggings.
"Oh," he says, trying to keep from grinning too much, "Lycra, I think? they do all sorts of things with synthetics these days, taking stuff like rubber and plastic and turning it into fiber with chemicals. Clothing alchemy." He pauses for a moment. Maybe that's a bit insulting, but he's not sure when modern science started supplanting turn lead into gold with a basilisk egg for the mundane world anyway. "It's good for--well running, cuts down on wind resistance, but it can be blended with other fibers for things like underwear, if you want a stretchy knit that's not going to lose its shape and chafe. But unless you plan on joining some sort of...sports team while you're here, we can probably bypass this section today."
He peers across the floor, trying to internalize the layout. "Did you want to look at coats first, or should we start with like, basic shirts and pants?"
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"A coat won't make much sense until I know what it's meant to go over." He glances at Eliot's shirt and can see how closely the arms are cut compared to his own shirt's much roomier sleeves. He looks down at where his embroidered cuffs poke out like improvised ruffles from the wide cuffs of his coat, adjusts one, then looks back up. "I fear my current shirt could present some problems. I suppose now it's something of a museum piece." He sighs, a brief recognition of how he himself is something of a museum piece here, then directs a smirk in Eliot's direction as they walk. "I should sell it at auction." He holds out one of his arms, as if putting the sleeve of his coat and the shirt beneath it on display. "Authentic early 18th century linen shirt, once owned by pirate captain Jack Rackham. Very rare."
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He steers them towards an array of dress shirts, letting out a legitimate snort at Jack's playacting. Who gave him the right to be so charming? "I'm sure you'd get plenty of takers," he grins, "but you might as well keep it, unless you're that pressed for cash. It'll probably get warm enough for it in the summer, and it does make a good statement piece. Who knows if there's any place to get good quality linen around here." Eliot's certainly hanging on to his own poofy shirt for that reason, though who's to say how long any of them will be stuck in this dimension.
"So anyway, a lot of them are packaged up like this," he gestures to the shelves of folded and wrapped oxfords, rolling his eyes, "because it's assumed you're not going to put any thought into your shirt beyond if it fits. So you should probably try on some more casual styles to get an idea of sizing before you jump into that mire." Thankfully there are plenty of button-downs hanging on racks, though Eliot frowns a little at all the flannel. Surely not.
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"Buttons..." He trails his hand down the placket, then lifts his hand to pull up the edge of the collar and look under it. No buttons there, where he might have expected them. "Huh. Attached."
The strangest thing is the length of the shirts. He runs his hand down the length of the shirt, frowning at the hem before finally looking back up at Eliot. "Why are they all so short?"
"Is there..." He hums in consideration. "Doesn't that get uncomfortable? To each their own, but I personally would prefer something soft between my cock and the rest of the world. Or..." He looks back down at the shirt, considering it." Is there another layer that goes under this? Hosiery?" Eliot did mention underwear, maybe that's what he was referring to.
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"Wh-" Eliot blinks, and opens his mouth to speak, but closes it abruptly as he parses the implications and his confusion gives way to abject horror. This can't be right. This can't be happening. He takes a deep breath, or tries to anyway.
"You--" he tries again, looks quickly from Jack to the shirt. "Y-you mean you're not--" He makes a valiant effort to avoid looking at Jack's crotch, fails, and clenches his jaw against the nervous energy that threatens to come out as a laugh because how could he be so stupid but he can't laugh, doesn't want Jack to think he's laughing at him. Eliot feels heat rise in his face and wishes he could stop being so fucking childish for a moment. He stares determinedly at the shirt.
"Okay." Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, okay this is an oversight on my part, I apologize...fuck, you’ve really been suffering, you poor thing." He sighs and steeples his fingers. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. “Right, first things first, it’s a miracle you haven’t frozen to death already, but underwear is an essential social norm in modern society, we need to rectify this immediately if you’re going to be trying things on.” He looks around at the shirts. "Do you want to just...grab a few shirts while we're here? We can take everything along to the fitting rooms."
This is probably not technically true, there’s usually some kind of item limit, but Eliot’s used to blithely ignoring that sort of thing. Ensuring that Jack doesn’t freeze his balls off is far more important than abiding by an arbitrary set of retail rules. He peers at a rack that looks promising, looking for a distraction as much as a viable option, and grins when he finds something with a bit more drape: deep blue with a subtle, exotic-adjacent print in a slightly lighter shade of the same hue. "What do you think about this?" Eliot asks, pulling it off the rack for Jack to see. He doesn't wait for an answer, just brings it over and holds the hanger to Jack's collarbone, and nods. "It actually looks lovely with your complexion."
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Jack nods and goes to look at what other shirts are here, but is pulled up short a moment later when Eliot unexpectedly shoves a shirt under his chin. Reflexively, he grabs at the other side of the hanger, and when Eliot steps away he holds it out to look down at the color.
"Does it?" he says, barely intoning it as a question. He doesn't know whether Eliot meant that as a compliment or an assessment, but either way Jack isn't sure how to respond. He checks what size Eliot had selected, then folds it over his arm without examining it too closely. The color is fine, and he likes the pattern. It seems like an all-over print is the closest he'll get to an embroidered pattern in this place.
"Alright." He steps away, both to give himself a little room and to look at what else is here.
"Is the place that you came from much like Darrow?" Jack passes over a few racks, then glances back to find Eliot. Eliot hasn't spent more than a year here, but it seems like he is familiar with how everything works. It's strange trying to think of a magical place also having places like shopping malls, but Eliot had said that magic was hidden away from most people. Maybe the rest of his world is just like this. "You seem to fit in well."
Jack leans over a rack and flips through to pull out a sage green button-up. He's not sure what he'll be needing, but he doesn't want to carry too many things through the store. He heads back towards Eliot, but pauses at a table display of what the sign calls tees. If he's looking to layer for warmth, they seem like they might be a good option.
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He wanders a bit, idly looking at shirts for himself, but nothing immediately jumps out as appealing. If anything he only needs accessories, but he's not about to go that far off and abandon Jack to the wilds. Eliot looks up at the question, smiling a little. It's a simple enough inquiry, but his history makes the answer a bit complicated.
"Rather," he answers after a moment's hesitation. "The world I grew up in...it's similar enough in culture and time period, I think, the differences are almost negligible. Just the names of stores and brands and things. It's still America, or something very much like it. Darrow itself though..." Eliot pauses, considering his words. He's not certain how much sentience he believes this universe to have, and it might be unwise to be outright insulting to his jailer. "Well, it's a little bit small-town for my tastes, if I'm being honest. I used to live in New York for a while, and I don't know if it was as major of a city in your time but oh, it was vibrant."
Eliot smiles, a little wistful at the thought of Manhattan. Maybe there's even an equivalent in this world, but from what he's learned he'll never be able to go there. He'd kill for a Barneys, and ordering things online just isn't the same. "But that's not where I was taken from," he adds, before he notices Jack looking at a table of tees. "Oh yes, that's a good idea, get some base layers. Lots of people just wear those by themselves when it's warmer. You know, if you like to be more casual about it." Which Eliot doesn't, but it would be rude to just impose all his fashion opinions on someone who's just starting out.
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He can see why Eliot might think of Darrow as small, but for himself, Darrow already feels big and complex. It's actual size isn't much different from New Providence, but there's so much more here. Everything still feels new and strange in a way that he can't see himself getting used to anytime soon. If Darrow is dull to Eliot, what is a big city like? He can't fathom it, and he feels grateful that he was dumped here instead of a place like that.
"Casual," He mumbles as he picks out a couple tees from the table. He's not entirely sure if he wants to be more casual about it, whatever that means, but in the meantime an extra layer of fabric can't hurt. He folds them over his arm with the button-ups and heads in the direction that Eliot had been guiding them.
"Were you taught your magic in New York? Or was that somewhere else...the place that you were taken from?" He's still incredibly curious about Eliot's magic, how it works, and what sort of system fostered it. From Eliot's description before, it seems like a fairly exclusive opportunity.
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"The school I attended was further north," he says, weaving through the racks in the direction of Men's Basics. "A prestigious academy hidden away along the Hudson River." He sounds like a brochure, he knows, but he can't think to describe Brakebills any other way. As insufficient as his education had been for all the horrors that came after, passing that exam had still gotten him away from his fucking family, still saved his life. Eliot's sure of that. He clears his throat, and looks back at Jack to see how well he's keeping up. "I lived in the city for a time after that, and then..." He sighs. "It's a different world, a more magical world that I was taken from. My friends and I, we'd discovered a means of travel between...different planes of existence, and I'd been living there for some years before Darrow snatched me up."
Eliot realizes his hand had wandered into his pocket, thumbing the surface of the silver button. It's only a lump of inert metal now, no hint of enchantment. No escape hatch. He gives Jack a rueful sort of smile. "So if I seem remarkably well-adjusted to...well all of this, really, that's why. I've already got experience with the...core concept. Anyway--"
He stops and makes a sweeping gesture at their destination, the array of half mannequins displaying briefs and tanks in a way that manages to be lewd and oddly sterile at once. "Here we are, there's different styles but like, you get the general idea."
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"Different planes of existence...is that the same as alternate dimensions?" Jack had done a little bit of research on the topic after talking with Michael at the library, but he hadn't seen anything in particular that helps to explain how Darrow works or why any of them are here.
He's wondering what this different more magical world might be, his focus on Eliot rather than the store around them, when Eliot stops and directs his attention outward. His train of thought is suddenly derailed by the presence of these sculptural pelvis mannequins.
"The general-" He approaches one, and cringes down at the display. "Jesus." He reaches out as if to touch the waistband, then changes his mind. "Is the pelvis statuary really necessary?"
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The horrors of modern clothing marketing, however, might be beyond Eliot's ability to explain or even comprehend. He winces in sympathy at Jack's shock.
"You wouldn't think so," he sighs, "but it's just one of those things that's deeply weird about modern culture, and no one even really thinks about it. Like..." He chews at his lip, trying to conceptualize the oddity of it all. "Like I think this is one of the things that naturally happens as a result of having a society that, by and large, is obsessed with sex but was also built on a foundation of deep puritanical shame. That's maybe more philosophical than you'd expect to get about the selling of clothes, but here we are."
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There'd certainly been a good measure of that back home. Far less shame in Nassau, and that had made it a more comfortable place. People acted more to their natures there. For the most part, motivations were easier to understand. That is one of the things that he values most about Anne, that he had valued about Charles. He likes the certainty of believing someone when they say what they want.
He huffs a bewildered laugh. "It would be equally disturbing if the mannequin had a cock, so I don't think I mind the shame entirely."
"My problem is that this," he gestures down to his own clothes, "has become archaic speech. Same language," He looks down at one plastic wrapped collection of underwear and tries to discern what the benefits of one versus the other might be. "but to you? I am the style equivalent of The Canterbury Tales."
"And this?" He gestures to the underwear. "I can read the labels, but..." He trails off, running out of steam, then looks back at Eliot. "God, does it matter which one I pick? What do you wear?"
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"Well," he says, once it's become clear Jack's gotten a little overwhelmed by it all, "on a purely practical level it's a matter of...pants or trousers or whatever you call them--breeches?--they're generally cut more snug than what you're accustomed to, and wearing something like a boxer short underneath would just bunch up and be terribly uncomfortable." Eliot finds a pack and holds it up with a little grimace before putting it back. "Plus they're a bit old-fashioned these days, and even if your partner's the only person who'll see them, you probably still want to look, you know, cool."
"As for myself..." Eliot hmms and searches out some higher-end boxer briefs, handing Jack the package when he's found them. "So these are a blend of cotton and modal, which is a lovely fiber extracted from birch bark, and they are just..obscenely soft, trust me."
He looks Jack over, trying to get a read on the style, but it is, indeed, inscrutable to him beyond 'obviously a pirate.' Lots of layers, plenty of patterns and detailing, but he can't tell how much of Jack's dishevelment might be intentional without a baseline frame of reference. "All right, so if we consider what your clothes say, if you can teach me what you're saying with this, then I can help...translate that to a modern cognate, to continue the metaphor. Or perhaps we don't necessarily need to? It's a different society, you might not need or want to send the same message, as you do in a place where you're you know, risking death and committing daring crimes on the high seas." Eliot grins at the thought. Jack might not be planning on engaging in robbery while in Darrow but if he did, he'd likely want to look the part.
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"I haven't seen any ships here, so I doubt that I'll be doing anything on the sea, daring crimes or otherwise." He's disposed to feel a little melancholy about that fact, but the way Eliot is grinning at him somehow softens the blow. It feels like Eliot really does believe that he has adventures in his past worth telling, and he wishes that Eliot would ask so that he might share one or two.
"I'll try whatever you think is best," here he lifts the package of underwear as an example. "The translation can wait. Once I've found all the things I need, you can...tell me what they're saying." The corner of his mouth lifts into a brief smile. "I feel like we've overextended this metaphor."
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And now Eliot really is lost in the weeds, unsure of what he even means to accomplish with such an offer. Commiseration, he decides. Nothing else really to look forward to, assuming they remain stuck in the city long enough to see the spring. He might as well make low-investment plans.
"Anyway," he clears his throat, trying to get his focus back. "That should do you for now, shall we find you some trousers? Since you come from a time with tailoring you...probably know your measurements? Sizing will be easy in that case." Jack's wardrobe is all drape and layers, and Eliot can't tell what his actual build is. Not that he's curious beyond wanting to be helpful, he tells himself.
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He hesitates long enough for Eliot to move on, and falls in step next to him. The plan of action for right now is an easier thing to agree to.
"Yes, and after that I'd like to find a place to try some of this on. I can do some alterations myself if need be, but I'd rather buy things that fit to begin with if that's at all possible." It would also be helpful to know how all of this is supposed to fit before he tries to pick out a warm coat.
As they walk into the new section, Jack pauses as Eliot goes to look at the available options. His eyes scan over the strange line of Eliot's jaw, noting again the subtle deformation there, and wonders if it was something that Eliot had had to fight for people to accept, if they had taken him less seriously because of it.
What even happens to someone that doesn't look perfect in a world where things can be fixed by magic? Maybe something like that could be a side-effect of magic gone wrong. "Eliot," he asks simply, "did something magical happen to your jaw? Or were you born with it that way?"
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“No it’s always been like that,” he answers after a moment. “I like to think that somewhere back in the family tree there’s a Habsburg bastard, but if you were to ask my parents or other similarly small-minded churchy folk, they’d probably say it was all down to God-“ and here Eliot rolls his eyes, just to make it clear where he stands on that point, “-as some sort of means to teach me humility. But obviously that’s bullshit.” He snorts in amusement and smiles at Jack just a little, to show there’s no hard feelings. There’s no angst about it, certainly, and he pivots smoothly back to what he’d been wondering before Jack asked.
“Anyway,” Eliot says, “there’s fitting rooms nearby, that’s no trouble, but can you really do your own alterations?” He looks at Jack with interest, not necessarily as a useful resource, but it’s not what he expected. “Of course I imagine there’s a certain amount of mending you need to do when you’re living at sea but, huh, that’s a bit more specialized, what you’re talking about. Where does a pirate learn to do that?”
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When Eliot moves on, Jack allows the shift, but wonders idly how much worse Eliot's parents really were. Whatever they were, he at least knows that they were wrong on this particular count. Humility is an overrated virtue, and it never did him any good.
"Very few pirates start out that way," he says, coming around near Eliot to join him in looking over the denim. "My father was a tailor." He pulls a pair of jeans out enough to read the tag and decipher the sizing, but his focus is more on what he's saying. "When he died he had debts that fell to me, and my options for remittance were limited, to say the least. So I left. But if circumstances had been different, it's entirely possible that I would be stitching together shirts right now instead of standing here trying to decipher fashion two hundred years past my time."
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"So these started out as like, utility clothes for laborers, hard-wearing twill, copper rivets and all, but most everyone wears them these days. And the higher-quality ones can get very expensive and very fashionable. I'd recommend a darker shade unless you want to look like a farmer." Eliot gives a dramatic shudder. "I myself like to look a little more formal, but that's just..." Just a mix of his age-old aversion to anything from his rural youth, and missing the splendor he'd enjoyed in Fillory. But that's a more complicated subject than he really wants to get into right now. "I'd gotten used to the sort of magical-medieval style garb in the world I came from but I can't exactly go around wearing leather pants every day here." He smirks at the thought. "With my ass? I'd cause a scene."
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"Fashionable might imply that I have any interest or care about what people in London are wearing. This is-" He wavers a moment tilting his head first to one side and then the other as he tries to decide how much he wants to explain and if he even can explain in a way that Eliot might understand. "I had a thought to be a refined version of an image one might find printed on a broadside. Something romantic and dangerous." He gestures down to himself, without looking up from the clothing on display. "Behold, the villain." He catches Eliot's eye briefly, his lips lifting up into a smile that holds a touch of something tight, like grief. "It was never an effective impression on other pirates." In the beginning, he'd wanted to look the part, but it quickly became something else. A way to be memorable, and to be himself. He'd thought that, once and for all, he'd been done with trying to impress people, but Teach had looked at his fine clothes with such disdain and immediately he'd wanted to explain himself.
He looks away, and huffs out a laugh. "Sometimes it's only about wearing very nice things" He kneels down, trying to change out the pair of black jeans that Eliot had handed him for a pair in a smaller size, but once he's pulled one out he realizes that this pair is different. "...If I'm wearing boots, should I be wearing boot-cut jeans?"
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Jack keeps talking, though, and it takes Eliot a bit to catch up, managing a grin as Jack describes himself as a villain. There's an insecurity, he thinks, something more than just the temporal displacement, that's familiar to Eliot even if they go about it differently. A desire to be seen and understood, and Eliot feels the need to offer reassurances.
"Well," he says, trying to sound light, "you certainly look like the Platonic ideal of a pirate to a modern audience, anyway. You could do a lot worse than romantic and dangerous, though I'd...steer away from a boot-cut. They're for a completely different type of boot," Eliot explains. "And they're just generally not good, makes for an odd silhouette and a lot of fabric bunching up around your legs if you tuck them in."
It's a natural point at which to move on, to take stock and direct Jack to the fitting rooms and consider this leg of the quest, as it were, complete. Eliot fidgets for a moment before he speaks again. "Just to be clear," he says, hating that he has to do this, "because this is one of those things that people in the current day just seem to be able to tell about me and obviously you're at a cultural remove, but...I've only ever been attracted to men." He smiles, trying to be polite and hopeful, but it's a brittle thing. "And, well. It's really nothing personal but I don't know what the...the social norms were like in your time. And if the thought of associating with a sodomite bothers you, I'd prefer to know now and we can just...go our separate ways. I'd rather not try to carry on a friendship with someone who thinks I'm a degenerate sinner, you understand."
Eliot feels a little sick after he's said it, and part of him wants to apologize for issuing such a sudden ultimatum, but for his own peace of mind he needs to know where they stand. He risks a glance at Jack, hoping that it'll somehow just...be all right.
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He grunts as he stands back up, just in time for Eliot to get to his point. He focuses on Eliot's crooked smile and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can think of anything to say or ask why he's telling him this now, Eliot continues on. It seems that these days not much has changed for general attitudes about men fucking other men, if Eliot is this worried about what he thinks of him.
"I don't care who you fuck, Eliot." He looks down at the clothes in his arms and chuckles, feeling awkward with the topic and not entirely sure why. Maybe it's just that it seemed to come out of nowhere. "And If one of us is a degenerate sinner, I doubt a predilection for buggery would tip the scale in your favor." Jack doesn't imagine that Eliot is very prone to violent crime, especially not the sort that happens aboard a pirate ship.
He glances back at Eliot, checking in before turning to look at a pair of pants that aren't made of denim. "...in London you could have been hanged for it if you angered the wrong person, but plenty of men on-ship have ah- arrangements." He shrugs. "It's decidedly not for me but- It's not uncommon. If the crew functions better for it and it's not causing problems then I don't give a shit what they get up to."
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But there's...none of that, he realizes, and he lets out the breath he'd been holding with a little laugh of relief. Jack's a bit awkward about it but he's just...maybe a bit awkward in general, Eliot thinks. He honestly seems more concerned about finding the right size of jeans than reevaluating his opinion of Eliot, and that's...something. Something good, Eliot decides, even if it's rooted in avoidance out of discomfort it's a better place to start from than outright hostility. He can work with that.
"Huh," he says, both at Jack's relative nonchalance and the tag on the pair he's holding. How thin is he? But he keeps talking, and the explanation he offers sounds a bit like the old rote 'I have gay friends,' but Eliot realizes it's more that Jack just...doesn't care. Which is wildly fucking refreshing, and he quirks an eyebrow at the mention of arrangements; that's certainly something to follow up on.
"Well that's...good to know, I suppose." Eliot takes a moment to fuss with his coat, folding it over his other arm since he's starting to get too warm. It gives him something to do while he works out what to say. "I have to say I'm surprised," he says eventually, careful. "Not about England, of course, they've always been rather terrible about that sort of thing but...well. I guess I just didn't expect pirates to be that accepting. My mistake."
He doesn't know much about real pirates, truth be told, though he was always rather enamored of the pirates in the Fillory books. The ones in The Secret Sea Eliot remembers fondly, though he supposes even they weren't real pirates but nobles masquerading at piracy to avoid their enemies. He'd liked the captain in particular, an exiled duke seeking justice for a crime he didn't commit. Very compelling stuff, the sadness behind the facade; romantic and dangerous, just as Jack's said.
"Wonder if I could have made a go of it," Eliot muses, looking at a shelf of skinny velvet jeans. He picks out a pair in dark berry red for himself. "What do you think, mixing swashbuckling and sorcery? That would probably get results, right? Anyway," he looks around, spotting the doorway to the fitting rooms not far off. "You've got enough things to try on for now, if you'd like." Or if they need a change of subject; Eliot wants to make sure the option's available.
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He's amused at the idea of Eliot aboard a pirate ship, either as a crewman or any higher rank, and for a moment he tries each position in turn, thinking of Eliot trying to live that life. He's a smart man, clearly, but Jack can't imagine Eliot willing to kill a man to obtain a prize. "Depends what the sorcery is in aid of." Eliot did say that battle magic exists, but the last time they talked Eliot seemed like he didn't enjoy the idea. Jack glances in his direction and raises his eyebrows, questioning. "I thought you didn't like getting your hands dirty."
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He'd like to get into more detail, maybe, or perhaps ask Jack about his own combat experience, but a salesperson in an ill-fitting uniform blazer perks up at the sight of them. "Is there anything I could-"
"Oh, yes," Eliot cuts him off, smiling and adjusting his coat so the logo on the collar lining is clearly visible. The brand names might be slightly different in this world but it's still Balenciaga, for all intents and purposes. "We'd just need a room? And my friend here is new to the city, you see, so he'd need to wear some selections out. That won't...be a problem, will it?"
"Oh." The underpaid Dacy's associate pales a little, and retrieves a key from a row of hooks. "N-no, of course not, if you gentlemen would just follow me?"
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Eliot's moving on quickly, and Jack follows, not really paying attention to the attendant or Eliot's interactions with him too closely. They're walked back into a short hallway with a short bench sat to one side, a mirror at the end. The attendant slots the key into one of the handles and opens the door for them, then nods awkwardly and leaves to return to his post. Jack enters the room and starts divesting himself of the pieces they'd picked up so far, hanging up what he can and setting aside what he can't.
"A ship's distance away is close enough for canon fire. You would need your peaceful solution before then." Jack slips off his coat and vest and hangs them up on the opposite peg. He goes to close the door between himself and Eliot, when a thought occurs to him. He pulls loose his borrowed scarf as he asks, "Why not hit the sails with lightning instead? Killing a man with weather is a good show of force, but unless it's the captain you wouldn't get much more out of it." Jack shrugs. No doubt it would set the sails alight and the opposing ship would have no maneuverability in the fight. Plus the distraction of it - It would depend on the crew caring enough about the ship to put out a blaze, which you could depend on most of the time.
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But he doesn't, can't, really; Jack's talking away at a tidy clip and between that and the knife he’s carrying and the way he visibly diminishes in bulk as he loses his outer layers it takes Eliot a moment to even register what he's saying.
"Well, it's..." It's a hypothetical, Eliot wants to say, feeling a little indignant, but Jack raises an interesting point. He might as well play in the space; more pleasant than wondering how he might have to explain a weapon to mall security, anyway. "Okay," he sighs, "that's fair, I was thinking more along the lines of covering an assault on a beach but yes, the captain, then, or whoever's at the, you know, the helm." He's sure he knew the proper title at one point, but it hardly matters now.
Eliot sets his things down on the bench and paces a bit, envisioning the logistics. None of the other booths are occupied, thankfully, so he has no qualms about brainstorming aloud. "So really I'd want to disable the whole ship," he says, glancing back in the direction of Jack's door for a moment. "What's the objective here, are we trying to...steal from them, or like just defend ourselves from attack? Because that rather changes the parameters. If I were trying to sink it, I mean I'd probably need another magician's help if it were really big, or terribly far away, but...no, no I think I could sink a ship if I had to." He frowns to himself. It would be messy work, and cruel, but if the situation was that dire he thinks he could live with it.
"Freeze the water around it," he says, one hand working through the basic forms for the thermodynamics, before he curls it in a fist. "Crush some of the hull with the ice. Easier with another pair of hands, certainly, and I suppose if I'm engaging in magical piracy I'd have the proper materials onboard. Really, most of what I could do in the heat of the moment doesn't lend itself to much finesse, I'm afraid."
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Jack shifts on his feet as he watches Eliot crush a theoretical boat in his hand, and for that moment he remembers standing on the deck of The Revenge again, his heart in his throat as he watches Rogers' men winning in a battle that he convinced Teach to fight. He blinks, and he's back under unfamiliar lights in an unfamiliar place.
"Right. Well, that would certainly work - if sinking the ship was the goal in mind." The entire idea has Jack floundering a little, not sure if Eliot is really capable of such a thing. If he can turn the sea to ice with magic, if he can call down lightning, what else can he do?
"Excuse me-" He gestures to the room behind him, and then closes the door between them. For a moment he stares at the blank surface, wondering if Eliot had ever killed a man with magic. If destroying a ship is possible, then who's to say he couldn't freeze a man to death as well? It's a disturbing thought given how little he knows Eliot. If any of it is true, he definitely doesn't want to get on his bad side.
He redirects his attention to something more immediate- and starts undoing his belt.
"Could you really do that? Freeze the ocean?" he asks through the door. "What sort of materials does something like that require?"
The clothes are strange, but they make enough sense. He tears through the odd plastic of the package and pulls out a pair of the underwear to try on. Not uncomfortable, but he does feel a little silly in them. They seem like a strange alternative to adding fabric to a shirt, and he fiddles with where to place the waist band for a moment before moving on. Over the top of those, the more familiar pair of pants, though even these are cut closer than he would be expecting. They definitely won't work with his boots, but it seems that he chose the correct size- they sit at his waist and seem to be long enough for his legs. He notes that they have loops for a belt, but only a very narrow one. Definitely not his belt, which is a shame.
He grabs a white t-shirt and pulls that on, wincing a little as the seam brushes over the fresh stitches on his right shoulder. This shirt, too, feels a little silly and unusual. He's not sure if it's supposed to fit so closely or not.
He tucks in the shirt, then opens the door and steps out so that he can see himself in the hallway mirror. To his sensibilities he looks a little ridiculous, but he does look more like the people he's seen around town. He frowns and turns to the side, pulling his arm forward to see if the shirt will pull up if he makes a broader movement. It does, a little, but not enough to pull it out from the waistband.
He glances to Eliot. "Is this how this is supposed to fit?"
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“Anyway I haven’t been here that long, haven’t had the opportunity to try an large-scale magic because the odds are good it would behave unpredictably here rather than at...at home.” He had more to say surely, but it’s gone, replaced by a quiet little sound of surprise when Jack steps out looking…really nice, actually.
For a moment Eliot just stares, and he feels a bit bad about that but it’s just that Jack’s so very lean, he can’t help being a little startled. It takes another moment for Eliot to register the question, and he clears his throat and takes a couple steps closer.
“Yeah,” he says, doing a fairly good job of sounding casual, “you look all right to me.” It’s almost silly; he honestly could have just given Jack some of his own clothes and simplified whole process, they’re similar enough in build. Eliot almost makes the offer but thinks better of it. He knows he’s staring, and even though Jack asked him to look, at this point it would just sound...untoward.
It is gratifying, though, to realize that Jack’s not emaciated, just apparently nothing but wiry muscle, so Eliot doesn’t need to worry if he and his partner are eating well enough. He smiles a little at Jack moving his arms about, because his arms look very nice, only--
“Uh hey,” Eliot frowns, seeing how red Jack’s bicep is against the sleeve of the tee. He draws closer and points at the spot. “You doing all right there? Isn’t that where you got cut?”
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He points a little higher on his shoulder to two other wounds long since scarred over. "These were the same. The color is fine." He tilts his face back up towards Eliot, a faint smile at his lips. The concern is kind of him, even if it is unnecessary. "If it turns green you can start to worry."
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“If it--” Eliot huffs, almost apoplectic at the piss-poor reassurance Jack gives. “This is absolutely not fine, are you kidding?” He struggles to keep his voice low as he rounds on Jack and presses the back of his hand to his forehead. “For fuck’s sake,” he hisses, “you should have seen someone about this, you could have--I don’t know, fucking sepsis, it shouldn’t take this long to heal.”
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"I did see someone about it, did you think I stitched it myself?" He takes half a step back and brings the sleeve of the shirt back down to cover the wound. He feels a little exposed, being scrutinized while standing in unfamiliar clothes. Eliot is angry at him- why? Because he's not used to seeing this kind of cut?
It has taken longer than normal to heal, but he feels fine. He certainly doesn't have sepsis, whatever that is. In the back of his mind, he'd more or less put the extended healing time down as another strange thing about this place rather than something diseased within him.
He wants to go grab his coat and put it back on. Instead, he takes a breath and lets it out in a huff. "I'm not ill."
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Jack pulls away and everything about him is suddenly prickly, and Eliot feels a lurch of discomfort. He’s crossed a boundary; they don’t know each other like that, or perhaps Jack just doesn’t like to be touched. So Eliot lowers his hand and frowns. At least he doesn’t seem to have a fever.
“Not that you know of.” Eliot knows he’s mostly angry with himself for failing to consider something as important as modern medicine, but he shouldn’t snap at Jack for not knowing about it. He sighs, feeling ragged and tired. “Look, there’s been a number of advancements in healthcare since your time, you don’t have to--to put up with something like that. You’ve likely got germs under the stitches, and--” He stops talking for a moment, horrified by the sudden certainty that Jack isn’t even aware of germ theory. So many things were after his time, it’s a wonder he’s even alive. He should see a doctor, surely the medical facilites in Darrow wouldn’t bat an eye at the host of weird shit people come in with. But Eliot’s probably already pushed his luck this afternoon, and he doesn’t want Jack to be frustrated with his meddling.
“In any case,” he says after taking a breath to try and calm his tone, “Once we’re finished here we can find a pharmacy and get some things to help keep it clean and...help with the pain, at the very least?”
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"If you like." He returns to the changing room and puts on the jeans instead of his linen breeches. He prefers the other pants, but his boots will only fit over the legs of the jeans. To this, he adds the blue shirt that Eliot had picked out for him and tucks it in. His belt he has to sling around his hips and he takes a moment to make sure that his dagger won't be clattering to the ground before he throws his old coat over the top.
With the tags from what he's wearing in hand, along with the rest of the items and what he had been wearing, Jack makes his way to a checkout. It'd do some good to have a bag to carry the bulk so far.
That done, they head in the direction of outerwear.
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He hefts his own coat back onto his elbow and looks for a bench to set the bags upon. “It doesn’t look like there’s a lot of big puffy down-filled numbers, though, so hopefully it won’t be too terribly bitter.” Milder than the winters up in the Hudson valley at Brakebills, he thinks. “So,” he says brightly, turning to Jack. “You really can’t go wrong with a good wool overcoat. Camel would look closer to what you have now, and be warmer and generally more expensive than plain wool, but then black goes with everything.” Eliot peers at the racks and runs his hands over the sleeves of various coats to find the softest weaves. “I suppose it depends on how much you want to spend on a coat in the first place?” He turns to look back at Jack, studying the length and color of the one he’s wearing. “It could be argued that I paid too much for mine but with my wardrobe I really only need the one piece of outerwear, anyway.” That, and it wasn’t real money in the first place.
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He holds the scarf out towards Eliot. "Thank you for this. It was much appreciated."
The sentiment is genuine. For as much as Jack has been confused by how much Eliot wants to help, he does appreciate the effort itself. The scarf had been particularly helpful, both for its warmth and because it had felt like a sign that Darrow isn't an entirely inhospitable place.
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Eliot tells himself he’s just being paranoid, overreacting because he doesn’t want to lose the opportunity for really interesting conversations. So he puts on an affable smile.
“It’s yours, if you like it,” he says, looking Jack over. “Honestly I’d only just gotten it and you’ve had it longer than I have at this point.” Which is true, he’d already been thinking of it as a gift, though he’s not entirely sure why. But that’s an odd thing to admit, so he continues explaining, carefully nonchalant. “Of course,” Eliot offers, “it’s good to have more than one scarf, we should look at more here, but I think this one suits you. You look rather good in gold.”
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"Thank you. Though you don't have to flatter me to get me to take it, it's a beautiful scarf." he smiles as he says it, but he doesn't really believe the compliment. Hadn't Eliot said that blue suited him before? And now it's gold? Flattery seems to be just part of how Eliot interacts with people. It's entirely possible that he hasn't really meant any of his compliments, but that's fine. He's probably just trying to smooth over the situation.
He redirects his attention to the racks of coats and pulls one off of a hanger to try it on. It's a little big and front comes around double-breasted, which seems cumbersome. He takes it off again and moves on.
"I have a yellow coat back home. Brocade, embroidered. Silk Tassels." he smiles a little, more genuine, as he flips through the comparatively drab coats in front of him. "That was after we'd taken the Urca De Lima. There was plenty of gold to go around, for a while."
He pulls out another coat, black and wool but with a nice lining. When he pulls it on, it fits well and feels warm. He buttons the front up, tucking the scarf in as he goes, then pulls at his unbuttoned shirt cuffs so that they come out the arms of the coat, creating a sort of faux ruffled cuff. "Well. This isn't bad."
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Eliot follows along at a short distance, conducting what feels like an anthropological observation as Jack browses. He can’t quite picture the coat Jack’s describing; the mention of tassels is disruptive enough that he can only imagine some monstrosity like a fringed-sleeved rodeo costume. But the fondness in Jack’s tone is endearing and conveys a sense that he likes nice things and has a rather adventurous sense of style, which Eliot can certainly appreciate.
The coat Jack seems to have landed on looks fine on him, and Eliot smiles to himself at the way he fusses with the cuffs of his shirt. He looks, Eliot realizes, like a vampire. Or a punk. Or a punk vampire. Which is not at all what Eliot had initially expected, but it does seem to work. “It’s nice,” he agrees, looking Jack over. “You’re not going to freeze to death, anyway.”
Eliot’s quiet for a moment, thinking about what Jack had said. “Urca de...Lima? Is that some sort of a ship?” It’s a guess, but a reasonable one based on the article and the way Jack had spoken of taking a prize back in the fitting rooms. The name doesn’t ring any bells but there’s no reason it should. Still, it would be interesting to hear about some actual pirating exploits. Eliot smiles and tilts his head, curious. “It sounds impressive.”