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 7

"Still don't know if I did the right thing," Jeval said.

His voice echoed along the deserted nighttime river market as he walked Treads back to her house. Now that it was late, all he could really think about was how mad her dad would be when he brought her home. But it couldn't be helped.

"You lifted a curse. That's pretty good, right?" Treads said.

"I think? But I messed things up for her."

"Tiphannia's life was already messed up because of that curse, however she got it. But Jeval? The only person who can say if it was right or not is Tiphannia. After talking to her a bit, I think it'll be a while before she makes up her mind."

Jeval breathed out a puff of steam and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was too damn cold for late Hearthfire.

"What if she decides I screwed up her life and hates me?"

"She won't only hate you, Jeval. We all went along with it."

"But it was my idea."

"Yeah, well, who's worse? The fool, or the fool who follows the fool? Is that how it goes? Maybe there wasn't any clean solution to this one. We either let Tiphannia spend the rest of her life in a magic daze or completely upend everything she knows."

Seeing the Duke Vedam Dren Bridge leading to Labor Town, Jeval turned left to cross. But Treads made a gurgling growl deep in her throat.

"I hate this bridge," she muttered.

"What? Why?"

"Because of who it's named after. Duke Vedam Dren owns slaves. Mostly beastfolk like me. And the Dunmer and the Empire both love him."

Jeval fell silent, feeling a bit stupid for not thinking of that.

"Yeah, to hell with him," Jeval said. "Uh, we can cross at Foreigners' Span. It'll take a little longer. Hope your dad won't get too mad."

"He'll already be mad at us for being late, so we might as well commit. He should be mad at this!" she said, pointing to the bridge.

"No kidding."

"Wish I could break it."

Anyone could hear the anger in her voice. Anger at something that'd been horrible for thousands of years and never seemed to get better. Jeval knew he couldn't make it go away. But he wanted to make her feel better—make someone feel better—if only for a bit.

"Uh, I could pee on it or something," Jeval said.

He'd said it without thinking. But the words hung in the air, already spoken.

"Seriously?"

Had he offended her? He couldn't tell. So, he kept going.

"Hey, I drank a lot of rice wine back at Muthsera Roweni's place. I'm ready to go!"

His pointed ears burned, and his heart pounded. This was stupid. But no one was around. All the Dunmer were praying over this Nerevarine thing, and the outlanders didn't care.

Treads started laughing.

"I don't think you'll do it," she said, between laughs.

He grinned at her. "Oh yeah? Watch me! Wait, no, don't watch me, that's gross. But I'll do it!"

Jeval jogged over to the bridge. He wanted to laugh at how silly this was. But he unbuttoned the front of his trousers, took it out, and let it flow.

Treads kept laughing—a low guttural laugh that she kept quiet to keep anyone beyond them from hearing. Jeval looked back over his shoulder and saw her doubled over in mirth.

And then he was done. He buttoned up and ran back, grabbing Treads by the forearm.

"Come on, let's go!"

They ran, just the two of them. They ran without thinking where to go, other than the hell away from the scene of the crime.

"By the gods, Jeval, that was so juvenile! I love it!" she said.

"Promise me you won't tell Quinn."

"Can you imagine her reaction? She'd be so grossed—oh, gods, you actually did it! That's amazing! Stupid, but amazing!"

"Shut up, shut up," he said, trying not to laugh too loud, all the while panting as he ran. Oh, this was so stupid.

But he felt great.

They didn't slow down until they reached the Foreigners' Span, near the south wall.

"Let me catch my breath," Treads said. She sat down at the midway point, letting her feet dangle above the Odai's sluggish waters.

Jeval sat down next to her. He put his hands on the bridge's rough surface and leaned back, turning his eyes up to the stars. Secunda was in full blue glory that night, but Masser was just a red sliver.

"So, uh, I'm thinking I might start doing courier work with my dad," he said.

"Oh yeah? Could be fun. Sucks you won't be around as much."

"It won't be that bad," he explained. "Balmora's going to be my main base, so we can still hang some of the time. But I need to do more than I'm doing. Help my folks out."

"I hear you. It's not like my warehouse clerk job helps much. My dad keeps telling me I should enlist in the fleet. I don't think he actually wants me to. But whatever happens, I can't stay in Morrowind forever. I won't."

"Hey, just had an idea," he said.

"Please tell me it doesn't involve peeing on infrastructure."

"What if you did courier work with me? We could watch each other's backs, build up some cash. When we get enough, we go somewhere else."

Treads turned her head to look at him. Jeval couldn't see the scales around her eyes shift in place like they always did when she was thinking about something, but he knew they were.

"I like that idea, Jeval. But it's not safe for me. An Argonian on the road, even with a friend…"

Deflated, Jeval looked down at the water. "Not to tell you how to do things or anything, but my dad does know an Argonian courier who runs out of Vivec."

"It's more…" Treads trailed off.

"More what?"

"I don't want to go and see the slavery that's there in the countryside. Maybe I should go. Maybe it's bad of me to hide in Balmora and pretend it's not there. But I can't handle that, not right now."

"Hey, hey, it's okay. How about this: You keep on doing the clerk stuff, and I do courier work. We both save up some money, and when we have enough, we ditch this place."

"Heh. I like that idea. Where do we go?"

"Cyrodiil, maybe? Wait, no! Hammerfell!"

"Huh. Any particular reason?" Treads asked.

"Always sounded like a cool place to be. Like over there, you can't even go to the cornerclub without having a heroic adventure or something."

Treads chuckled. "Think that might be a little exaggerated."

"Yeah, sure. But maybe there's some truth to it, you know?"

"Could be. The climate there's a bit dry for me. But I'll manage."

"We'd live by the coast anyway. That's where all the cool cities are. Deal? We save up, and then break for Hammerfell?" He looked at her, waiting.

Treads made that rumbling sound deep in her throat, the kind that meant she was happy. "Yeah."

"Okay, let's shake."

They did, her scaly palm pressing against his soft skin.

"I always got your back, Treads. I mean that."

"And I got yours, Jeval. Whatever happens."

They stayed there a bit longer, talking about Quinn, Drenlyn, Hammerfell, and what seemed like everything else as the moons moved through the sky. But eventually, they had to go.

But he got scared again as they got closer to Treads's house. Worse, Jeval felt like he'd let down her dad. Sure, the thing with Tiphannia gave them an excuse. But him peeing on a bridge and then running halfway across town?

That had been stupid. And dangerous. And not really fair to whoever had to clean up the mess, who'd probably be some poor stiff like him.

If that made Mr. Flowers mad, Jeval couldn't blame him.

As it turned out, Mr. Flowers was already waiting outside and leaning against the door. Jeval thought he looked like a dragon ready to strike, and then felt bad for thinking that.

"Late again. It's past midnight. What do I have to do to get basic self-preservation through your skull, Treads-on-Ferns?"

"It's my fault, Mr. Flowers—"

"Shut up, Jeval," he growled.

Treads hissed in anger. "Why don't you get mad at something worth getting mad about for once in your life? There's a lot worse going on than me staying out too late!"

"No, there isn't! Because you're my daughter, and you matter to me!"

"Which is why you took me to Morrowind. The only province in the Empire that enslaves people. Most of them, by the way, being people like us!" Treads shouted back.

Jeval already knew that this fight was going to be worse than the last. But he didn't have a clue what he should do.

"Oh, you feel so strongly about this?" Mr. Flowers crossed his arms and took slow steps toward his daughter. "Then why don't you do something about it? Go enlist with the Imperial Fleet, like I told you. You hate slavers? Then go kill them, with the emperor's blessing."

"Are you kidding me? The fleet and legion don't do [censored]! All the Dunmer have to do is bribe a commander here, a ship captain there, and then they're in Black Marsh, killing and kidnapping our people!"

"Treads…" Mr. Flowers growled.

"You know why, dad? You know why? Because your precious Empire makes money off it! Because the slave labor here means cheaper goods in the rest of the Empire! You honestly think anyone in the Empire is going to stop it? Are you that naïve?"

"I'm the only one here who has a clue! The Empire's the only thing keeping our family safe. I've seen what Tamriel looks like without the Empire, and I'm telling you, you have no idea—"

"I don't care!" Treads bellowed. "You'll just keep making more excuses! How can you even stand living here? Fine, whatever. I'm not coming home."

Treads immediately turned around and walked in the other direction.

"Where are you going?" Jeval asked. Her father asked the same, just louder and angrier.

A high-pitched rasping sound escaped her sharp-toothed mouth. Argonians didn't shed tears. But she was crying.

"Treads?"

"I have some Argonian friends," she said, her words interrupted by sobs. "Damp-with-Dew and Acclesia. I'm staying with them tonight."

"Uh, okay," Jeval said. He looked back. Her father was shouting, and windows were opening up. "I'll come—"

"It's fine, Jeval. I need to be by myself for a while. Or with them—by myself—I don't know. I really, really didn't want you to see that. Just go home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

Helplessly, Jeval stood in place as his best friend stormed away, consumed by demons he'd never understand.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 05:51 AM