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 5

It took a few days to get everything set up for restoring Tiphannia. Job schedules were way tougher to get around than the old school schedule. Satheri and Tiphannia didn't work, but Satheri was so busy with wedding stuff that she had less spare time than anyone else. But they finally nailed a date for it. They all agreed to pitch in seven septims for the restoration, which was pretty trivial even for Jeval and Treads.

"We should've done this in the first place," he'd said.

Treads was already waiting at St. Roris Square by the time Jeval got there on a bright but cold Loredas morning. She stood at the edge of the square, where the sun met the shade, her eyes on a ragged Dunmer staggering around the middle with his arms outstretched.

"Remember gloried Resdayn and the ways of old!" he bellowed. "In the days of Lord Dagoth! In the days when law ruled the land. And know that these days shall return! Blight shall drive the foreigners from our sacred soil! Woe to you, Empire! Woe to you, beasts-that-walk-like-Mer!"

Crazy drifters weren't rare in Balmora. Except he'd been seeing way more guys like that lately; all talking about weird Dunmer stuff. They usually got shut down pretty quick, but it seemed like each time one got taken away, two more popped up.

In fact, there were already a pair of armored guards marching up to the preacher. He didn't seem to know they were there as they took him by his arms, still shouting about Dagoth, Nerevar, and outlanders.

Jeval took position next to Treads as the guards marched him away.

"Weird stuff," he said.

"It's always reassuring when I see someone who hates me arrested by people who hate me slightly less," Treads remarked.

Treads had changed over the last half-year or so. She'd always been mad about how badly the Dunmer treated beastfolk like her. But her anger was getting deeper.

It wasn't fun for Jeval. But he got why she felt that way. And she wasn't wrong. So, he stood by her.

They'd only been waiting a few minutes when Satheri's dad, Ulnar Roweni, arrived with his wife, Naldra, both of them decked out in embroidered silk that they must've imported from the Imperial City. Between them was what looked like a walking pile of purple and red fabrics.

It took Jeval a few seconds to realize that the pile was Satheri herself, wrapped up in religious clothes and veils.

"Hi!" Satheri said, her voice muffled behind all the veils. She struggled to lift her arm and wave.

"Hey, Satheri!" But why were her parents there? "Uh, hi, Sera Roweni," he said to her dad. "Sera Roweni," he repeated, to her mom.

Kind of awkward that Dunmer didn't use gendered titles. But it didn't seem to bother them. Both Rowenis smiled.

"Good to see you, Jeval. Treads-on-Ferns," Sera Ulnar Roweni said.

No one in the Fashion Club would ever say it, but Satheri's parents had a better sense of style than her. Sure, Satheri dressed great, but only when Quinn coached her. Satheri's mom and dad always put on the finest fittest silks and looked like they each spent a big chunk of the day getting their hair just right. They looked the way he imagined rich people in the Imperial City would look.

"Hey," Treads waved.

Jeval looked back at his friend. There hadn't been any talk about Satheri's parents coming.

"Oh, I'm sure you are wondering why we're here," Sera Ulnar Roweni said. "Quinn told us about the situation with Tiphannia. We decided we'd cover the restoration fee. Tiphannia's been a good friend to our little girl—as you all have—and there's no harm in trying this."

Of the five of them, Satheri had the richest parents. If some of the rumors were true, richest by a lot.

"That's really cool of you! Thanks," he said.

"It's nothing. Also, the temple is crowded right now due to the recent controversies. We already have a space reserved for our daughter's second blessing—Vehk be praised—and we can get you in as well."

"I love Tiphannia no matter what. But the curse thing makes a lot of sense. So yeah, we should try," Satheri said.

It was Quinn who brought Tiphannia, putting her arm over the Keptu-quey girl's shoulders like she was guiding her. Quinn wore the yellow dress she loved, the one where the shade matched the red of her hair just right, and that had white lace on the hems and ends of the sleeves. No way would she ever be upstaged.

Though Tiphannia came close. Her turquoise dress stood out from the boring old adobe and was made of the kind of silk that shimmered a bit when the light hit it. The spell might have messed up most of her brain, but it hadn't hit her fashion sense.

"But… I don't even… worship… the Tribunal…" Tiphannia said.

"I know, Tiphannia! But we're not going to worship. It's just to, you know, clear things up for you." Quinn turned to the rest. "Hi guys. I tried to explain it."

"We should go to the… shrine… but Moonmoth… is so boring… and dusty…"

"Exactly! Which is why we'll go to the temple, instead!"

*********

The temple was packed.

Jeval hadn't been there before. But there was no way the place usually had so many people. Hundreds of Dunmer stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the grounds outside the sanctuary, and through the gate, he could see a bunch more waiting in the courtyard. It smelled weird, too. They'd been burning enough incense to put Red Mountain to shame.

"Patience is a virtue," an elderly priestess said. But it didn't look like it was a virtue many people cared about. Around her, the Dunmer talked and shouted over each other. Some knelt on the dirt with their heads bowed, muttering prayers.

"Whoa, this is weird," Jeval said. "Satheri, what's going on?"

She whimpered. "Uh…"

"There are some theological matters being discussed right now," Sera Roweni explained. "They aren't things you need to worry about. Stay focused. Muthsera Sadri!"

He drew himself up to call the priestess, who stopped mid-lecture to look at him.

"Muthsera Roweni. A moment."

The priestess put her hands in her sleeves and hurried toward them. Sera Roweni and his family all gave slight bows the way the Dunmer did, with Jeval and the other outlanders doing the same a second later (though Quinn had to push Tiphannia a bit).

"Forgive me, Muthsera Roweni. I knew there would be many faithful here today, but I did not anticipate this many. I fear we simply cannot perform the blessings properly."

Satheri gasped. Jeval didn't need to see her face to know she was about to cry. It didn't take much with Satheri.

Quinn took Satheri's hand. "Hi. Not to interrupt or anything—"

"You are interrupting, outlander!" the priestess barked.

Stunned, Quinn said nothing.

Sera Roweni intervened. "I understand these are trying times, Muthsera Sadri. But my family has a great deal riding on this. Could we maybe perform the ceremony outside the temple? It's mostly symbolic—"

"Death to false doctrines!" shouted a Dunmer woman in the crowd. A bunch of other people cried out and lifted their arms to the sky.

This was getting creepy. Worse, they were scared. He wasn't sure of what, but it was plain as day.

Sadri shuddered but kept her focus. "With respect to your generous donations, Muthsera Roweni, no. It is not mostly symbolic. It is the soul of our people! Come tomorrow, at sun-up. We will clear a space for your daughter. But please be on time. We cannot reserve it for long."

"But what if it's too crowded again?" Satheri cried. "Maybe that means I can't be married!"

Satheri wasn't much of an actor. If she sounded sad and scared, well, she was. But he already knew the marriage scared her, too.

Maybe this was good?

"Nonsense, dearest," Sera Roweni said. "It only makes things a little more complicated, but we'll find a way. And your husband-to-be is a very modern Dunmer; we made sure of that. He won't mind a few irregularities in the rituals."

"Oh, okay," Satheri said, sniffling.

"Wait," Treads said. "We still need—"

Sera Roweni brightened up. "Of course! Muthsera Sadri, one of my daughter's dearest friends is in need of healing." He gestured to Tiphannia. "We fear the daughter may be cursed. I know the crowds are thick, but I'm sure there's something that can be done."

Sadri looked back and forth between Sera Roweni and Tiphannia. Then she nodded. "Yes, of course. We have set up a few temporary altars to ALMSIVI," she said, gesturing to the edge of the temple grounds. People already surrounded the altars, placing coins, jewels, and flowers on top of them.

"Make way, make way!" Sadri proclaimed. She angrily gestured to a pair of bulky Dunmer in robes, maybe low-ranking priests, who ran up and took positions on either side of her. The three slowly pushed through the crowds to make a path for the Fashion Club and the senior Rowenis.

Most of the Dunmer didn't notice. But a few did, shooting angry glares at the outlanders moving through.

"We should've gone to Fort Moonmoth," Jeval muttered.

But no one did anything worse than shoot them nasty looks. Sadri chanted as she went.

"Remember the agonies of flesh and bone so suffered by blessed St. Seryn, all so others might be whole in mind and body! The pain we take is spared others! Contemplate this and grow strong!"

"It's so… noisy…" Tiphannia said. "Like those… riots…"

"We're almost there, Tiphannia," Quinn said. She didn't look scared exactly, but Jeval could tell she wanted to get out.

Hell, they all did.

"So, like, how does this work, Sera Roweni?" Quinn asked.

"Perhaps honored Muthsera Sadri should explain," he said.

The priestess frowned and stepped behind the altar. "I will simplify this since you are not temple adherents. Pay 35 drakes, and I will restore your friend."

"I'll assume the cost for this," Sera Roweni said, and handed the priestess a pouch bulging with coins.

"Have her kneel before the altar."

"Okay, Tiphannia. Just kneel down like this," Quinn said.

"But my dress… will get… dirty…"

"I know, but we can clean it later!"

"It's… moth-silk… from Locutta… which is like… really high… quality…"

"Just do this for me!" Quinn fumed. She pressed down on Tiphannia's shoulders, and the girl finally knelt in the grass.

Sadri raised her arms. "May you be restored in mind and body and soul. May your afflictions flee to the Four Corners of the House of Troubles! All blessings come from ALMSIVI."

Jeval sensed it then. That weird, prickly sensation in the air that always came with magic. Sadri's hands glowed with white light. A second later, so did Tiphannia. She gasped.

The light vanished. Tiphannia still knelt, her eyes open and her lips quivering, like she'd seen something wild.

Then her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she slumped onto the altar.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 05:46 AM