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 8

Jeval didn't like working at the Lucky Lockup. But he didn't exactly hate it, either.

It gave him a safe place. Here, he didn't have to worry what Tiphannia thought about being restored or what was going on with Treads and her dad. All he had to do was keep track of drinks and wipe down tables. Folks from all over came to the Lucky Lockup, so there was always good people-watching.

He hadn't heard from anyone in the Fashion Club since Tiphannia's restoration. All he'd done since was return the book to Jolda.

It was on a rainy Tirdas afternoon that Mr. Flowers came by for a visit. Jeval's stomach sank to his feet as the massive Argonian sat at a table in the middle of the parlor. He looked calm, at least.

But even now, Jeval wasn't great at reading Argonian emotions. At least for anyone other than Treads.

Okay, well, he was at a semi-respectable cornerclub. Mr. Flowers was a legion vet. Didn't like chaos or mess. Maybe he just wanted to relax.

Gulping and taking a deep breath, Jeval walked up to check on his best friend's dad.

"Uh, hey, Mr. Flowers. Can I, uh, get you anything?"

Mr. Flowers blinked. "Oh, Jeval. I didn't know you worked here. Yes, I'll take some Free Estates wine if you have any. Mazte, otherwise."

"We do have some bottles of Free Estates," Jeval said.

He hurried over to the bar, grabbed a pewter cup (one designed for snouts instead of lips) and a bottle of the stuff, and returned to the table.

"Four septims," Jeval said, putting the bottle and cup on the table.

Mr. Flowers handed him a five-septim coin. "Keep the change," he said.

"Thanks. Uh, sorry again I couldn't get Treads home on time."

Mr. Flowers waved it off. Maybe he didn't want to talk. That was fine by Jeval.

"No, you don't need to apologize. Heh, I know my daughter. There's no way you can convince her to do something she doesn't want to do."

Jeval grinned. "Yeah, that's true."

"She's a fighter. And I love that about her," he said. "Do you have a few minutes, Jeval?"

"Uh, hold on."

Jeval checked with his boss, who said it was fine. Then he sat down across the table from Mr. Flowers, wondering exactly what the old man wanted to talk about. Mr. Flowers had already filled the cup and was drinking from it.

"Wait," Jeval said, the sight of Mr. Flowers drinking making him think of something Treads had told him. "Can Argonians get drunk?"

Mr. Flowers put the cup back down and smiled, the cheap wine staining his sharp white teeth. "We can. But not from the kinds of drinks you get here."

"You like the taste of wine?"

"Not especially. But even though I have scales and a traditional Argonian name, I'm Cyrodiilic down to my bones. And when the men of Cyrodiil are scared and sad, they drink wine. Thus, when I'm scared and sad, I do the same."

Jeval simply nodded. If he had to take a side, it'd be Treads's. But he didn't want to hurt Mr. Flowers, either.

"I don't know if Treads told you, but we'd been helping Tiphannia."

Mr. Flowers nodded. "She did. Took me a while to tease out what happened. She's, ah, not speaking to me much these days. But you made the right call. Not fair to the girl for her to live under a curse."

"Yeah. Just hope it didn't mess things up for her."

"You can't always know the long-term consequences. If that had been me under the curse, I'd be glad."

"No offense, but it wasn't you."

He chuckled. "I suppose I can't argue with that. We're stuck never knowing exactly what effect our actions will have. I think my daughter has trouble understanding that."

"How do you mean?"

"She wants to make a better world. And she should. At her age, that's a good thing." He took another drink, nearly emptying the cup, and then refilled it.

Jeval wasn't sure what Mr. Flowers was getting at. "What's the problem then? You didn't like what she said about the Empire?"

"Well, she isn't entirely wrong. The Empire doesn't care as much about Argonians—or Khajiit—as it should. But for all of that, it's the best bet we have."

Jeval forced a smile. "Sure, I'm all for the Empire," he said.

Actually, Jeval didn't much think about the Empire. It was just there, like the sky and the sea. And like the sky and the sea, there was no point in getting mad at it.

"You're too young to remember the Imperial Simulacrum Crisis." Mr. Flowers said.

"My dad was around for it. That's why he got out of Valenwood."

Mr. Flowers nodded. "I know some terrible things happened there. My unit was stationed up in Skyrim, in the Reach, right when the War of Bend'r Mahk broke out. All of a sudden, you had these armies of half-naked Nords howling as they charged south to kill and burn everything in their path.

"As the legion, it was our sacred task to protect the Empire. Except we didn't. Because the False Emperor Tharn wanted chaos. He wanted dissension, confusion, and terror to undo all Tamriel. The word came on down that the legion was to stand by and let the slaughter happen."

"What happened?" Jeval asked.

"We obeyed orders, as soldiers do. At first, we thought we were simply holding position until reinforcements could arrive. No point in fighting a war if you don't have enough troops to win. But when no reinforcements ever came, we figured something was up. My commander, a good man named Haptallus Mantus, sent me and a few others to scout the city of Karthwasten, which the Nords had recently seized.

"It was a horror. Blood-covered streets and burned houses as far as the eye could see. People stumbling bloody through the frozen mud. I saw little children whose heads had been bashed to putty on the stones of the Karth River. These were kids, Jeval. Two, three years old. What could possibly justify that?"

Mr. Flowers's eyes got bigger as he spoke, like he was seeing it again for the first time.

"That's when I learned what happens when the Empire fails. People die. Not a few, but thousands, and in the worst ways. If you want to imagine Tamriel without the Empire, think of the scene I just told you about and imagine it across the entire continent, in every place you've ever called home, to everyone you've ever loved.

"But maybe, if we follow the law and live under the Septims, it'll slowly get better. That if we give people little jobs and distract them with stupid baubles, they'll someday forget the hatreds of their fathers and grandfathers. That all the races and cultures in Tamriel will one day simply be neighbors. Maybe a little petty, maybe a little greedy. But no one that much worse than the other. No one so bad that you'd want to bash their children's heads against the rocks.

"If all that happens, if we keep going in that direction… then Treads-on-Ferns will never have to see the things I saw."

Mr. Flowers suddenly grabbed Jeval's hand, gripping it so tightly it hurt. "And that's worth any price to me."

The gills on Mr. Flowers's neck flattened, his eyes quivering in their scaly sockets. He was terrified. Not just of his memories, either. Jeval sensed something else, maybe all this stuff about the Nerevarine and the Tribunal barreling down on Morrowind.

And everyone knew the emperor was old.

"Could you let go of my hand?" Jeval asked.

Mr. Flowers blinked, and then let go. "Sorry," he said, eyes downcast.

"What happened in the Reach? Were you guys able to, uh, fix things?" Jeval asked. Maybe that's how Mr. Flowers got those scars: doing something badass to avenge the dead.

Mr. Flowers didn't say anything at first. Then he shook his head. "No. By that point, the Nords were too well-situated in the cities they'd seized. Commander Mantus did take action. We found refugees—Redguards and Reachmen mostly, plus some Nords who'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time—and guided them to safety across the border when we could. Fought off a few raiding parties. That's how I got these." He gestured to the scars.

"That's brave."

"We were disobeying orders. But the Legion is the Empire. And my unit fulfilled that, in spirit if not in letter. Of course, they punished us later. That's why I'm in Morrowind. They cut my pension, so I needed to move somewhere with low cost-of-living. Plus, as a colonist I get a few tax breaks."

"But you were the good guys!"

"A soldier understands that you have to maintain the chain of command. We all knew what we were getting into when we disobeyed."

"Still seems messed up." For maybe the first time in his life, Jeval regretted not paying more attention in Dimartani's history class. "What about after the crisis ended? Did you kick the Nords out of, uh, Karthwasten?"

"No. I already said the Nords had taken the place. It'd take another war to remove them."

"But they stole it!"

"Yes, they did. And they claimed that the Redguards had stolen it from them hundreds of years ago. Of course, the Nords stole it from the Reachmen before the Redguards were ever on the scene. Whatever group the Reachmen took it from probably doesn't exist anymore.

"You know, sometimes I wish I could get my old unit together. Then team up with other units that did the right thing during the crisis. We'd fix Tamriel for good. We'd take out every separatist, every slaver, every petty king who'd kill babies to get his name into the history books. And then maybe the world won't need us anymore."

He let out a long sigh, the muscles in his neck relaxing.

"Have you told Treads about what happened to you?" Jeval asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm scared. I'm scared she'll throw it back in my face the way she always does when I talk about the Empire."

Jeval hesitated. "You don't want me to tell her this, do you?"

Mr. Flowers blinked a few times and then laughed—the same warm, hissing laugh that Treads made. "No, no. That'd be silly. A man must tell his own stories. But I wanted to talk to someone. You're a good listener, Jeval. That's a rare quality, especially at your age."

"Uh, thanks." He'd never really thought about that before.

"I know my daughter will do what she wants. But would you look out for her when you're together? Whatever time that is?"

"Always," Jeval said. That was an easy answer.

"Thanks. That's all I ask," Mr. Flowers said.

Jeval sat there a few moments longer. Finally, he excused himself and went back to work, wondering why he felt so heavy all of a sudden.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 05:52 AM