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 6

They retreated to the safety of the Roweni house.

There, Quinn fanned Tiphannia's face and talked to her as Satheri let the girl's head rest in her lap. Treads sat on the ground below the couch, a bowl of water in her hands. Tiphannia had sipped from it the first time it was offered, but nothing since.

Meanwhile, Jeval twisted the fabric of his tunic (the way you weren't supposed to) and wondered how badly he'd screwed everything up. He should've just kept his stupid idea to himself.

The seras Roweni were upstairs, arguing about something. He couldn't hear what, but it sounded pretty intense.

"Hey, Jeval?" Treads had sidled up next to him.

"Yeah?"

"You doing okay?"

"No. I should've kept my mouth shut."

"Just stay calm. Look, you were right about one thing: something was going on with Tiphannia. Otherwise, the ritual wouldn't have done anything."

"Yeah, but I might've hurt her!"

"Just wait. Think about it: if you suddenly got your regular brain back after years and years of it being messed up, you'd be disoriented, too."

They waited and watched for what seemed like forever. Treads was about to give Tiphannia some more water when her eyes opened and she looked right at Jeval. He could already tell there was something different about her. Usually, it always felt like Tiphannia had her eyes on something behind you and far away. But this time? They actually looked at each other.

"Tiphannia? Are you awake?" Satheri asked.

"Yeah… I'm awake."

"Are you okay? Is anything messed—"

"I'm okay," she said, her voice quiet.

"Oh, thank the Divines!" Quinn said.

"Praise ALMSIVI," Satheri cried.

"Yeah, thank the Divines," Jeval said. "Tiphannia, do you know what happened?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I remember… all the stuff you said. About how I might've been like… cursed or something. You were right."

"So, you're not cursed anymore! That's wonderful!" Quinn exclaimed.

All at once, she and Satheri had Tiphannia between their arms, hugging her as tight as they could.

"Fashion Club group hug, guys!" Quinn said.

"Wait!"

That was Tiphannia. She pushed back at the two, and they let go, both with shocked looks.

"There's like… so much going on in my head right now. All this time… nothing ever made sense to me. But now, I can like… fit it together."

She still paused a lot. Maybe that's just how she spoke.

"That's good, right?" Quinn asked.

"I… I don't know. Jeval?"

He gulped. Now he was starting to get why Treads wasn't so sure Tiphannia would be happy with all this. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. I think. It's… a lot to deal with."

"For sure," Treads said. She knelt next to Tiphannia. "Do you want some time alone?"

Tiphannia didn't say anything right away, her eyes going around the room as if she'd never really seen it before. She shivered, and then nodded.

"Give her some space," Treads said. "Tiphannia, do you want to go home?"

"Yeah. I'm not feeling sick… or anything. I'm not like… mad at you guys. But this is kind of… a lot."

"I can walk you home if you need," Treads offered.

"We'll all walk you home!" Quinn offered.

"No. Thanks… but no. One person's all I can take right now."

Treads glanced back at Quinn. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Okay," Quinn said. "And Tiphannia, we're there for you, okay? All of us!"

"Always!" Satheri added.

Treads led Tiphannia out the door. Satheri went up the stairs to tell her parents that Tiphannia had recovered, and her father came back down with her.

"I wish you'd told us before she left. But this is good—very good! I'm sure she's just adjusting to her restoration," Sera Roweni said. But he didn't look so sure of himself. "Anyway, you girls—and Jeval—are welcome to stay for supper. I'll instruct Livia to prepare a larger dinner. I think we've all had a harder day than expected."

Treads came back a bit later, and they all stuck around the Roweni house. But it wasn't much fun. How could it be? Jeval kept to himself as best he could, taking a plush chair in the corner of the living room. He'd never liked visiting the Roweni house. Everything inside was overstuffed, heavy, and delicate. Each time he moved, he worried he'd break something expensive.

Everyone else talked in quiet voices, usually about Tiphannia though Quinn sometimes tried to push the subject elsewhere. Meanwhile, Livia, the Rowenis' live-in maid, prepped roast kwama for everyone. It smelled good, at least.

It was Satheri who came to check on Jeval, her sad, red eyes searching.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Huh? I guess. Wondering if I did the right thing."

"I know. Nothing's simple anymore, is it? And all this talking makes my head hurt."

She sat down next to him.

"Thanks for always being there," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"You're normal. Muthsera Morgendorffer's always leading things. Tiphannia's totally out of it until, like, today. Treads is usually kind of mad. Me?" She shook her head and half-laughed, half-sobbed. "I'm just pathetic. But you balance us all out," Satheri said.

Jeval shook his head. "Whoa, you aren't—"

"I am. I'm glad you're here, okay?"

"Uh, sure."

They were called up to dinner soon after. Livia pulled in another table for the lot of them, and it still wasn't enough, so they squeezed in elbow-to-elbow as the glazed kwama was served with blue-glass bowls of spiced saltrice stew.

Sera Ulnar Roweni carried the conversation, making little jokes that sometimes were even funny. It was after the soup course that Jeval decided to find out what was going on in Morrowind.

"Sera Roweni?"

"Yes, Jeval?"

"Not to get too personal, but what was going on in the temple today? If you don't mind saying."

Sera Roweni's smile faded, and he slowly exhaled. "It's fine. I can tell you the basics. As residents of Morrowind, you all have a right to know."

Satheri's face crinkled up, and she shot an annoyed look at Jeval. He shrugged, but her dad had already started.

"I don't know how well most of you know Tribunal theology. The short version is that, thousands of years ago in the First Era, the Tribunal's champion was one Lord—now Saint—Indoril Nerevar. He was a great hero to the Dunmer people. But he died defending the Dunmer from the Dwemer and the Sharmat.

"Now, there are the so-called Nerevarine Prophecies. These state that Nerevar will be reincarnated—"

"Reincarnation is not temple doctrine," his wife added.

"Of course, Naldra. Anyway, some believe that Saint Nerevar will be reincarnated as this Nerevarine and bring the old ways back to Morrowind. It's silly. But you get the occasional crackpot who decides that he's the Nerevarine and tries to fulfill the prophecy. Always ends the same way, of course. The temple ordinators break up the cult and, ah, correct the would-be savior. Problem solved; everyone goes home happy."

Treads made the high-pitched hiss she always made when someone said something offensively stupid. Jeval raised his eyebrows. He didn't believe the 'everyone goes home happy' part, either.

"But this year it seems as if there's a Nerevarine with some staying power. I'd been hearing bits and pieces of this since late spring, but it's reached critical mass this month. There are rumors—baseless, mind you—that this Nerevarine now has support from the great houses. As if Great House Hlaalu would ever support some self-proclaimed Nerevarine!

"I promise you, things will soon settle down. None of these Nerevarine crazes ever last long, and why should they? The prophecies are all based on a misunderstanding."

"Yeah, this Nerevarine stuff sounds silly," Quinn remarked.

Jeval still wanted to know more. "What about those preachers? The ones who always talk about Dagoth?"

Sera Roweni drew back in his chair, his eyes going to the corners of the room. Then he leaned forward, speaking in a quiet voice. "Ah, well, you have to understand I'm far too busy a Mer to research heresies in any detail. Suffice to say, Dagoth is the Sharmat—the Devil, if you will—"

A loud pounding came from the door. Sera Roweni jerked back from the table, and the rice wine in his goblet splattered against the wall behind him. He stared at the door with an expression of absolute terror.

"Open up!" came a voice. A human one.

Sera Roweni relaxed a little. "Everyone, stay here," he said. He stood up from his chair and straightened his clothes. "I will see what the matter is. I'm sure it's nothing."

But Satheri and her mother were hugging each other, both scared out of their wits.

Jeval had to admit he was kind of relieved to see it was just Mr. Blumius, his face as red as Masser and twice as bright. Satheri and her mother let go of each other and whispered prayers of thanks to ALMSIVI. He didn't know what they'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "What did you people do to my daughter?"

"Oh crap," Jeval muttered. He hadn't even thought about Tiphannia's parents.

"We merely restored her at the temple," Sera Roweni said. "I did find it curious you did not accompany—"

"You have no right to practice these heathen rituals on her!"

"I'm afraid I don't understand. Were you not aware of this?" Sera Roweni glanced back at Quinn, who suddenly turned as stiff as a board.

"No, I was not!" Mr. Blumius said.

"I see. I was under the impression that you had been informed."

"We did tell you, Mr. Blumius!" Quinn said, standing up. "Well, Jeval and Treads told you."

This was bad. Quinn must've told Sera Roweni that they'd already squared things away with Tiphannia's family. Because of course she'd said that; why would Sera Roweni help them unless he thought it was okay with the Blumiuses?

"Who? Wait, this little jungle elf? And his pet lizard?" Spittle flew from Mr. Blumius's lips as he yelled.

Jeval saw red. Stay calm, he told himself. Losing his temper wouldn't help him or anyone else. He wanted to deck the guy, though. Deck him hard.

Mr. Blumius wasn't done yet. "I never gave them permission! Quinn should have sent her mother. Helen at least has credibility!" Mr. Blumius was shouting loud enough to get attention now. Through the (real) glass window in the front, Jeval saw shuttered windows opening and faces peering out.

Quinn raised her index finger, like she was making a point. "But your daughter was, like, cursed. And she's better now! We should—"

"That's not the point! Tiphannia's my daughter! Gods know what those ash-creeper priests did to her brain."

"It was a standard restoration procedure, the same as she'd have gotten at the cult shrine," Sera Roweni said quietly.

Quinn looked scared now. "But why would she be upset? This is a good thing—"

"It's not a good thing! I am her father. Adoptive father, yes, but I am still her father. Maybe she was cursed, but how did it matter? Tiphannia was very easy to manage. We had plans for her. Now, you and your savage lackeys have thrown everything awry."

He turned his attention back to Sera Roweni. "And you Dunmer! Superstitious ingrates, all of you. After everything the Empire has done for your benighted province…"

Sera Roweni's eyes narrowed into red slits. "You forget yourself, Sera Blumius. I've contributed far more to the Empire's efforts in Morrowind than have you. Perhaps I must remind you that I am a member in good standing of Great House Hlaalu."

He said each word of the last three words very slowly and loudly, and some of the bluster went out of Mr. Blumius's face.

"Now these damned provincials think they can lord it over us! We're too soft on you savages," Mr. Blumius fumed.

"Clearly, there was a communication error. It was regrettable but such things happen. We can discuss this further in our own time. If you'll pardon me, I'm entertaining guests."

"You haven't heard the last of this!"

"I'm sure. Good evening, Sera Blumius," Sera Roweni said before shutting the door. He let out a long breath and leaned against the wall. Sweat glistened on his brow.

"It's my fault, Sera Roweni," Quinn said, her eyes downcast.

"No, it's mine," Jeval said. He was the one who'd gotten this whole thing rolling.

"Quinn, why in the world did you tell me that Mr. Blumius had given his permission? You are someone with a level of respect in the community. That you would—"

"But we wanted to help Tiphannia, Muthsera Roweni! I mean, we couldn't just leave her cursed, right?"

Sera Roweni rubbed his brow with his thumb and index fingers. "I should say not. But you can't expect a parent not to to be concerned."

"And I can't believe the horrible things Mr. Blumius was saying!" Quinn exclaimed. "You know most of us Imperials aren't like that, right guys?"

"Totally," Jeval said. Though he mostly said it to make Quinn feel better.

Sera Roweni made a dismissive wave with his free hand. "Of course, Quinn. Mr. Blumius was simply venting. However, you cannot go around a father like that. A parent has certain rights when it comes to their children. That's true across all Tamriel, I imagine."

"I am sorry, Muthsera Roweni," Quinn said, lowering her head.

"We did try to tell him," Treads said. "He wasn't ever going to listen to us."

Would he have listened to Quinn? Or her mom? Jeval couldn't help wondering.

"Whatever the case, it's done. We broke no law in helping Tiphannia. But even someone in my position must be careful. Reputation matters a great deal." Sera Roweni straightened up, closed his eyes, and breathed in and out.

A moment later, all the tiredness was gone. He hurried back to the table, flashing a smile. "Now, where were we before that unpleasantness? I believe I was telling you about some of the fashion in Narsis. I daresay you'll find the sartorial future of Morrowind in that city…"

Jeval wondered how Tiphannia felt about all this.


This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 05:49 AM