The Last Days of the Fashion Club Options

[WellTemperedClavier]

Chapter 1

A single lock of blond hair fell down on Jeval's brow, just a little left of center. He zeroed in on it, seeing his black eyes reflected back at him in his mom's polished brass mirror.

Is this what he wanted?

Because that little lock said a lot. It changed the image he'd sported for the past three years, made him look more daring, more relaxed. Not some kid any longer, but a man. Or at least a guy. A guy girls would want (he hoped). He'd already fixed up his outfit to reflect that: undid the two top buttons, loosened the threads around the cuffs. Enough to make him look chill without looking messy.

Quinn worked magic with this kind of thing. Jeval wasn't as good, but he'd picked up some tricks from her, things like how to take a tunic or a collar and get it to tell the story you wanted it to tell.

"Jeval, are you still at the mirror?" came his little sister's voice.

"Yeah, obviously," he said.

"Mom, I need to use it!"

Jeval sighed. Okay, he had to figure this out pretty quick. He brushed the lock to the side, giving the bare brow look one more chance.

"Jeval! Why in the world do you need to spend so much time grooming yourself?" Mom demanded, her voice carrying up from the kitchen, where she was busy heating up yesterday's stew for breakfast.

He turned his head to the door, where his sister Seleynia glared at him, and spoke over her. "Because looking good is important!"

Screw it. He didn't need this. Jeval let the lock fall, studied himself one more time, and stepped back.

"All yours, sis," he muttered.

"Weirdo," she muttered back.

He ambled down the adobe stairs and into the cramped kitchen. Mom looked at him through the steam rising from the big cookpot.

"Jeval, I know you want to look good, but isn't it a little odd for a man your age to spend that much time at the mirror?"

Jeval shrugged. "Shouldn't a man my age look good?"

Not like he had much choice. Skinny little Bosmer guys weren't exactly in high demand among girls in Morrowind. He had to make the most of what he had.

"A man your age should be working at a trade."

"I have a job!"

"Cleaning tables isn't a trade, Jeval. And you spend all your money on clothes and cosmetics!"

"Are you kidding me? I stretch every septim I get. Meanwhile, Seleynia breaks the bank each time she goes to the market—"

"Clothes are important for girls. They shouldn't be so important for you."

"Yeah, well, I dunno how to break this to you, but this isn't Valenwood. In Morrowind, people expect you to look sharp."

"Always good to look sharp!" Dad declared, stepping in from the street. He'd just come back from a big courier job to Gnisis the other day.

Dad pointed to his horns and flashed a file-toothed grin.

"Yeah, see?" Jeval said. Not like Dad didn't have his own agenda on this. But right now, Jeval would take whatever help came his way.

Mom frowned. "It's strange for a boy to spend that much time in front of the mirror. That's all I'm saying."

"You say that now, but just wait until he brings home some gorgeous Dunmer girl from a rich family. I bet he'll punch above his weight. Same as his old dad," Dad said, leaning in to give his wife a quick peck.

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she did it.

"You staying for breakfast?" Dad asked.

"No, I gotta work. Then I'm hanging out with my friends."

"Good, good."

Okay, he was free from them until late evening.

"Let's walk a bit," Dad said.

Or not.

Jeval and his dad entered the street outside their home, packed with the midday crowd. The autumn sun shone weakly above Balmora's sprawl, all its hundreds of brown adobe boxes and the thousands who lived inside them.

Jeval picked up the pace. He wasn't mad at Dad or anything. Just kind of didn't want to talk to anyone.

"Uh, no offense, but I might be running kind of late."

"We can jog," Dad offered.

Dad was a courier, so yeah, that'd be a cinch for him. No avoiding this parental conversation.

"Have you made any friends at work?" dad asked.

"I'm usually the only guy there my shift," Jeval lied.

"So still hanging with Quinn and the other girls?"

Jeval's heart sank. He knew where this was going. "Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! Having friends who are girls is a good way to get girlfriends. But you've never dated any of them? Quinn, Satheri, uh… Tiphannia?"

"Uh, no. It'd be kind of weird." But even as he said it, he felt the warmth creep into his cheeks. Since yeah, he still kind of wanted Quinn. Not as much as he used to, but the feeling never totally went away.

"Don't get hung up on her, Jeval. There are a lot of girls out there. I'm sure Quinn can introduce you to someone. You're not interested in, uh, Treads, are you?"

"No," Jeval said, squeezing the word out between his clenched teeth.

"You do spend more time with her than the others. Look, I know things are done differently outside of Valenwood. And I'm open-minded. I'm just… not sure there are good long-term—"

"I'm not attracted to Argonians. She's not attracted to Mer. That's why she's my best friend. We can just chill."

"Okay, I believe you," Dad said, in a tone that suggested he did not, in fact, believe his son.

They turned the corner, going along the riverside market packed with the morning crowd. The thick and sour smell of roasting kwama rose from dozens of outdoor grills, mixing with the damp riverbank air. The Odai flowed thick and black beneath the Foreigner's Span, swollen by the recent rains. Nearby, a Dunmer priestess stood on a crate, denouncing the cult of the Nerevarine.

"Stay true to the Tribunal and the Temple teachings!" she proclaimed. "Heed not the lies from the House of Troubles, who take the memory of blessed St. Nerevar and twist it to their own foul ends!"

Jeval had been hearing a lot about the Nerevarine lately but didn't get what it was about. Something to do with an old prophecy that the Tribunal Temple didn't like. But he wasn't a Dunmer and he didn't worship the Tribunal, so whatever.

"What about coming with me on my next trip?" Dad asked.

"Huh?"

"You know, go with me on the job. You don't want to be serving drunks at the Lucky Lockup for the rest of your life."

Jeval thought about it a bit. Working as a courier would be interesting, at least. He didn't know if he wanted to hike that much. But he'd get used to it, right?

"Uh, maybe. When's your next job?"

"Don't know yet, but not long from now. I think you'd be good. Just have to build up your endurance. And I know all the tricks: how to figure out if a storm's coming—"

"Lift a finger to the wind and see if it's going to push the dark clouds toward you," Jeval said, remembering the many stories Dad had told him about his adventures on the road. He used to love those stories as a kid.

Hell, he still did.

"—how to negotiate with bandits—"

"Give a little cash to make them happy, but never let them corner you or take your cargo."

"—and why you should never camp out in an ancestral tomb."

"Because you'll get cursed or killed."

"Of course, you can always get un-cursed. But getting un-killed isn't usually an option. Sounds to me like you're ready for the job."

Jeval chuckled. Dad had charm. Jeval wished he could be like that.

"Can I think about it a bit?"

"Sure, but not too long. It's been months since you graduated. It's fine to rest a bit, but you have to keep moving forward."

"Uh huh. I know."

They turned the corner again, keeping some distance between them and the Council Club, where Dunmer gangsters glared down on them from the roof. The Lucky Lockup, haven to outlanders and weirdos, lay right next to it.

"Have a good one, son," Dad said.

"Yeah, you too," Jeval said.

He'd spend the rest of the day scrubbing corkbulb tables and serving drinks to rude people from all over Tamriel. At least he'd look better doing it.

He hoped.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 05:38 AM

[WellTemperedClavier]

Chapter 2

"I love what you did with your hair!"

Quinn clapped her hands together and leaned down for a better look at the lock of hair Jeval had let hang over his forehead. Jeval smiled back.

She looked like a goddess. More than that: she acted like one. She always knew what to do, what to wear, and where to be. Sure, plenty of stuck-up nobles were the same. But with Quinn, there was always room for you.

Even if you were a Bosmer boy.

"Yeah, you look so dashing," Satheri said. Her lips turned up in a smile that lasted maybe a second before going back to the worried frown she'd had for the past month. She was a Dunmer, gray-skinned and red-eyed, even though her features were so soft that Jeval couldn't help thinking she had human ancestry somewhere in her bloodline.

Not that he'd ever bring it up, with all the stuff she had to worry about.

"Hair care… is so… like… important…" Tiphannia droned. She wasn't even looking at him. Tiphannia stood out from the crowd, why shouldn't she? Keptu-quey like her weren't common on the mainland. Helped that she was gorgeous, with gleaming straight black hair and delicate little facial features that might even make Quinn jealous.

"It does look good," Treads said. "Adds a little something extra."

Treads-on-Ferns rounded out their little group. She was Argonian, which in her case meant vivid scales, mostly dark green and pale green (except for a cobalt band around her neck), a snout, and a long tail.

"That's what I was thinking," Jeval said. "Like, I've been keeping the same hair for the past few years, and that's kinda sad, actually."

"Well, if it works, it works. That's the nice thing about hair: you can always change it, and even if it's not great, it grows back!" Quinn exclaimed.

They were hanging out at the Glass Crown, a nice outlander cornerclub in the Commercial District. Used to be they'd get together every week. Nowadays, it was more like once or twice a month, and not always with the whole crew.

They'd all moved on from Drenlyn Academy back in late spring, and that already felt like a million years ago.

Jeval looked at Satheri. "Hey, Satheri, you said I look dashing; that's kind of the image I'm trying to go for. Does the rest of the outfit work for that?"

"Um, I think so. What do you think, Muthsera?" she asked, looking at Quinn.

"Oh, it totally does! Though…"

Her blue eyes narrowed slightly, the candlelight glinting off her gleaming, coppery hair. Jeval's heart skipped a beat.

"Pin a flower to your vest. Something bright and bold. Not a stoneflower… I know! A fire petal. That'll stand out and be a contrast to the cooler colors you use."

Jeval nodded. A fire petal was perfect. Why hadn't he thought of that?

Another thing he loved about Quinn: she'd never tell him to buy more clothes, because she knew he didn't have the budget. She always made her advice fit the person, not the other way around. Quinn was what the Empire was supposed to be.

"Cool, I'll comb the markets. But yeah, figured the dashing look was better for the ladies," he said, forcing a laugh at the end. Since he wanted them to know he was interested in girls, but not, you know, interested in a way that'd make anything awkward.

"Any girl would be lucky to have you, Jeval," Quinn said, and her words stabbed him straight in the heart because, yes, she meant it.

Just not for her.

Would it be the same if he was some rich Imperial with a big Heartlands estate? A Redguard who'd gone all over Tamriel and had a crazy story for every situation? An Altmer who knew all the styles going back for eons and then some?

If he were anything other than the shrimpy Bosmer he was?

Whatever. Sooner or later, like Treads had told him more than once, he'd have to move on. He just didn't want to. Not yet. Because Quinn was still single, and he could still pretend there was a chance.

Gods, that was pretty pathetic, wasn't it?

"Any chance you know someone?" Jeval asked, mostly because Dad was pushing him. But hey, Quinn knew lots of people. Or she used to, anyway, back in Drenlyn.

"I can look around! It's just harder now. I hardly ever talk to anyone anymore except the Portollos," she said. The Portollos were rich silk traders who'd hired her as a governess for their kid.

"Fire petals are… so… bright…" Tiphannia said.

"Tiphannia, maybe you know someone that Jeval could date?" Satheri asked. "Most of the other girls I know are already in arranged marriages."

"Huh? I thought… we were talking… about flowers…"

It was weird how Tiphannia always fell behind in conversation. Sure, she wasn't that smart. But plenty of people weren't that smart. They didn't keep getting stuck the way Tiphannia did. There was something weird about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The five of them chatted as the Glass Crown filled up with the dinner and evening networking crowd. Candles burned bright as the sun set, but the thick adobe walls kept out the damp and the cold. There they were, warm and cozy as always. The world changed, but the Fashion Club stayed the same.

"I should probably get going, guys," Satheri finally said. "I have to get up early tomorrow for a temple blessing."

"Oh, Satheri! That's so sweet. The first of seven, right?"

"Of six, actually. The first three for ALMSIVI, the fourth for the saints, and the fifth for my family, and the last for me. And then, well, I'm off to get…"

She giggled in a high-pitched tone. Her lips trembled.

"… married!" Satheri practically shrieked the word, her hands balling up into fists.

Quinn threw her arms around Satheri and drew her close. "I'm going to miss you so much, Satheri! But we'll be with you every step of the way. Especially when you plan your dress."

Tears flowed from Satheri's eyes now, and she nodded. "Thank you, Muthsera. I wish you guys could all go with me."

"We'll be there in spirit," Treads said.

"Definitely," Jeval agreed. He and Treads looked at each other. Would an Argonian like Treads even be allowed at a Dunmer wedding? But bringing it up would just put Treads on the spot.

If there's one thing Quinn loved talking about, it was weddings, so naturally they spent more time than they needed going on about it. Jeval zoned out a little—not like he had much to add. But somehow it still felt too soon when Satheri waved a little goodbye and left with Tiphannia. The two practically lived next to each other.

"I'm not that good at reading Dunmer faces," Treads said after they left. "But even I can tell Satheri's terrified."

Quinn sighed. "I know. It sucks. I talked to her dad once about maybe giving her more time, but he said it had already been set up or something. She's been with me since the beginning! I hope she'll be okay. At least her husband-to-be is nice."

"How do you know?" Jeval asked.

"Oh, I asked Mr. Portollo. He's not a noble, but he works with nobles. And they all say the Lowendral family is nice!"

"But you never met him," Treads said.

"No, but I know someone who knows someone, and that's almost as good."

"Let's hope so," Treads replied. "But we all know that you don't get rich in Great House Hlaalu by being nice."

"Oh my gosh, you guys, relax. Satheri's mom and dad would not make her marry someone mean!" Quinn said a little too loudly.

And if they did, it's not like the Fashion Club could do anything about it. Some days, Jeval felt more like an ornament than a person. Him all decked out in gaudy array: flashy and stylish and useless.

"Uh, changing the subject," Jeval said, "does anyone know what the deal is with Tiphannia?"

Quinn blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Like why…" Jeval hesitated, searching for a nicer word. "… why she's so slow."

"She's not slow! She just has, like, a way of doing things," Quinn protested.

"It's how she is," Treads agreed. "Every group has one, right?"

"Look, I've met people who were, you know, slow. But Tiphannia doesn't act the same way."

Quinn frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but what if she's been cursed? Curses can slow you down, make you weak. It happened to my dad once, when he hid out in an ancestral tomb during a storm. And I'm thinking maybe something like that happened to Tiphannia. Not the tomb part, just the curse part. And it messed with her brain."

"But Tiphannia's a sweetheart! Who would want to curse her?" Quinn objected.

"Because nothing bad ever happens to nice people, right?" Treads said.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You know, I don't even need to miss Daria when you're around."

Treads made a quiet hissing sound. It was how she laughed. "I always liked your sister. How is she?"

"Fine, I think. It's hard to tell what she really means in her letters. Like even harder than telling what she means in-person."

But Jeval wasn't going to give up. Since if Tiphannia was cursed, like dad said, she could be un-cursed easily. All it took was a trip to a shrine or temple. Plus, unlike Satheri, he might be able to do something about this.

"I'm serious. I think someone, or something, cursed Tiphannia," he said.

"Maybe she does act a little strange," Treads concurred. "But when would she have been cursed?"

"Could've been anywhere. Maybe back on Cathnoquey, maybe her dad ticked off the wrong guy in the Imperial City, maybe it happened after she got here. She's moved around a lot."

"Everyone here's moved around a lot," Quinn said.

"Sure. My point's that we don't know. Like that's a lot of time where something could have happened to her."

Quinn got that so-sure-of-herself look that told the room she was done talking. "Guys, there's no way Tiphannia's cursed. If she had been, her mom and dad would have already taken her to the shrine to get it cleared up. Un-cursing is like, super-easy and cheap, so why wouldn't they? We just have to accept her the way she is."

Deflated, Jeval nodded. But somehow, he still wasn't sure.

*********

"I'm telling you, I'm onto something with this curse thing!"

It was nearing midnight. Jeval and Treads-on-Ferns were crossing Duke Vedem Dren Bridge to Labor Town on the other side, where she lived with her family. They walked close, pulling their cloaks tightly around their bodies. It was one of those nights so cold that it felt like it sucked the warmth right out of your lungs.

"I don't know. Seems like a longshot."

"But you admitted it yourself! Tiphannia doesn't act the way a—you know—slow person acts. Like she's slow, but in a different way."

They reached the other side. A row of grubby adobe homes stared at them from along the riverbank. People placed the torches farther apart in Labor Town, so there were these big stretches of night between them. Perfect place to get jumped. Sure, they said Labor Town was safer than it had been before the riot, but he didn't want to bet on that.

"Maybe. But what do you propose we do? Take her to get uncursed?" Treads asked.

"Let's ask around a bit. Who do we know that's smart about this kind of thing?"

"Daria. But she's on the mainland."

"What about Jolda? She's smart." Jeval hadn't talked to her in ages, but he knew she lived on Silk-hawker's Street.

"Oh yeah. And hey, she used to work at the guild. She might know."

"That settles it, then. We ask her tomorrow."

"I have work tomorrow," Treads said. She worked as a clerk for a riverside warehouse and hated every minute of it. Jeval didn't blame her.

"Me too, but I can sneak out early and try to talk to her. And then we, uh, figure things out and talk to Tiphannia's parents. Like they gotta be worried about her, too. She's been relying on Quinn all this time, but who knows how much longer that'll last?"

Treads was silent for a bit. "It wouldn't hurt to check out. I have to admit: the more I think about it, the more I think you might be on to something. Simple stupidity doesn't explain Tiphannia."

They were right at Treads's house when the door swung open and her father, Swims-Slowly-Under-Flowers ("You can just call me Mr. Flowers," he always said), stepped out.

"Treads-on-Ferns! Why are you out so late?" he demanded.

Mr. Flowers was a big guy. He'd served in the legion and could have been the garrison champ or something. Even now, he was a six-foot-three slab of scaled muscle, and in good light, you could see the scars criss-crossing his biceps.

"I was out with friends!"

"You shouldn't be out in Labor Town at night. It's not safe."

Treads drew back and hissed, flashing her sharp teeth. "Maybe it would be if the Empire cared about people like us."

"Treads, it's dangerous for anyone here, Argonian or otherwise," Mr. Flowers said.

"Uh huh. I know exactly what you're worried about, so don't bullshit me. Dunmer and Imperials don't have to watch out the way we do, and you know why!"

Mr. Flowers gave a long sigh and rubbed his snout with his thumb and forefinger. "We'll discuss this later. For now, go inside. Your mother's worried sick."

Treads glared at him and disappeared into the house without a word.

"Good to see you, Jeval," Mr. Flowers said.

"You too, Mr. Flowers. Me and Treads were in the Commercial District, mostly. You know, up by the Glass Crown. It's pretty safe there. We weren't going through Labor Town."

"Sure, but she does live in Labor Town, so she has to go through it a little bit to come home. I'm glad she's with someone. But Jeval?"

Jeval tensed up, not sure exactly what Mr. Flowers would say. "Yeah?"

"Don't let her stay out so late."

He didn't sound mad. But Jeval didn't think it'd be a good idea to defy him.

"Uh, well, I'll try. But Treads does what she wants, you know? I'm her friend, not her boss."

"Just try to get her home earlier. Please. Things are… unsettled right now. Anyway, I'm sure your parents are worried as well. You should get home."

"I told them I'd be out late. Plus, my dad's a courier, you know? Think he likes me to have adventures, and stuff."

"Suppose I can see the logic. But I don't want my daughter to get in trouble. The Empire protects its citizens, but we're in a very distant corner of it. And Argonians are not always accepted here. It'll change for the better one day. Until then, we have to be careful."

"Okay. I'll, uh, try."

"That's all I ask. You'll be okay going home? You can spend the night if you need."

"That's okay, Mr. Flowers. I'll be fine."

"All right. Stay safe, Jeval."

Mr. Flowers went inside and quietly shut the door. Jeval shivered under his cloak (a nice green number he'd gotten at a great bargain from Clanler's shop). Behind him, the Odai's dirty waters lapped up against the levee.

He turned around and started walking back, already thinking of the next day. It had to be a curse. He was sure of it.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 05:41 AM