fashion wears out more apparel than the man (for eliot)

[jackrackham]

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."

Comments

[jackrackham]

"I was assuming you meant the ship as a prize. If you're waging an attack, or covering for one-"

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?"

[eliotwaugh]

“Well,” Eliot considers it, pacing a little. “I don’t mean to imply that it’d be easy.” he does like to brag of course, but the hypothetical is interesting enough on its own that it deserves serious consideration. “If it were prepared in advance, something to store the energy in, like a crystal or a stone or a coin. And it would probably be--well, exhausting, really. And dangerous, if one weren’t careful.” An easy way to burn yourself up, firing off big magic in the heat of battle like that. It brings unpleasant memories to mind, and his jaw feels tight.

“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?”

[jackrackham]

"Oh, it's alright." Jack pushes up the sleeve of the shirt until it exposes his shoulder. The actual wound itself is tender and red, but not enough to concern him. It had been stitched up well and so far it's behaved more or less like any other sword wound he's sustained.

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."

[eliotwaugh]

For all Jack’s cavalier attitude, Eliot can’t help his alarm at the sight of the wound. There’s surely a lingering infection if it’s still this red and puffy after what, weeks? A month? He scowls, and sucks in a sharp breath when Jack reveals the other scars terracing his shoulder. They’re not even that extreme but it’s a shock to see them, all the same.

“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.”

[jackrackham]

Jack's brow furrows at Eliot's immediate reaction, and he tolerates the hand at his forehead for a moment before pulling away.

"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."

[eliotwaugh]

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?”

[jackrackham]

Jack feels at a loss, not entirely sure how to respond. He doesn't understand most of what Eliot is even talking about, or why he's so adamant about something that Jack had figured would eventually sort itself out. It seems like if he keeps saying no Eliot will only hound him on the subject further, so he nods.

"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.

[eliotwaugh]

“Now I don’t know exactly how cold it gets here in the winter, I haven’t been here long enough for that…” Eliot surveys the variety of coats, largely to avoid outright staring at Jack. He does look quite nice in those jeans, something of a punk vibe going for him, but there’s more pressing issues to focus on.

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.

[jackrackham]

Jack hums in response, looking over the different options. He feels at the fabric of a couple different coats, then steps away to set down his bag and pull off his coat. He tosses his coat over the bag, adjusts his belt on his hips to make sure that his dagger is secure, then heads back to the racks. Before paying attention to the coats again, he first heads back towards Eliot, pulling his borrowed scarf off as he goes.

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.

[eliotwaugh]

“Oh,” he says, and stares at the scarf and feels inexplicably sad. It was a courtesy in the first place, and Eliot knows that Jack’s appreciation is sincere, but some small part of him mistrusts it. It feels, irrationally, like a rejection. Like he’s been too overbearing all this time and now that Jack’s mostly sorted he doesn’t need Eliot anymore, and the scarf is just proof of that.

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.”

[jackrackham]

"Oh. If you're sure." Jack holds the scarf in his hand out for another moment, then places it loosely back around his neck. He hasn't been given a great many gifts in his life, and none so simply given as this. It seems exceptionally and strangely kind.

"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."

[eliotwaugh]

Another reaction that’s not what Eliot expected, which further cements the impression that Jack is just...rather odd. Eliot’s instinct is to insist that the compliment’s not flattery, which it isn’t, but there’s the overpowering sense that Jack might not understand because of some cultural difference, and so he only nods pleasantly and says nothing.

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.”