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 10

Jeval went over to Quinn's house after the thing with Tiphannia. She'd just gotten home from the Portollos, and even though she'd done her best to look perfect, he could tell something was bothering her.

But she said she needed to be alone.

He went home. On the way, he passed a flower seller and bought a fire petal. It seemed kind of silly now. But that was the last bit of fashion advice that Quinn had given him. Once he got it, he pinned it to his shirt.

It did look good.

Jeval spent Fredas working at the Lucky Lockup and helping his mom with chores. Dad had already gone on a long courier run to Ald Velothi; Jeval had been too busy with the recent drama to ask about going, and Ald Velothi was pretty far. But he'd go for sure next time.

Not like he had much reason to stick around in Balmora.

A cold drizzle hit the city just after sundown on Fredas and turned into steady rain by Loredas morning. The rain drummed on the adobe rooftops and splashed down onto the Commercial District's flagstones. The shadows in the small rooms of Jeval's house seemed to get bigger and darker as the morning hours wore on. Seleynia and Mom argued about whether to use more candles.

If Jeval stuck around any longer, he'd get drawn in. Better to try his luck out there than inside.

He threw on his dad's spare netch leather cloak and snuck out of the house. Balmora was all about business and didn't normally let rain get in the way. But the street was quiet that day. A few stall merchants called out their wares, though their hearts weren't in it. Workers and walkers moved quickly, like they didn't want to be seen.

Hardly anyone was a Dunmer. Must have something to do with that religious trouble. It made him think of the riot last year, which had started as protests that slowly simmered until they'd boiled over. Hopefully, the folks in charge were paying more attention this time.

They probably weren't.

Jeval decided to take a chance and see if Treads was off work. Once at her home, he knocked a few times. Lucky for him, Treads answered.

"Oh, hey!" she said.

"Hey. You off today?"

"I wasn't, but they gave my shift to Occitus. I was glad they did; it's too nice a day to work there. I was going to go over and see what you were up to."

"Oh, neat! Hey, I got the fire petal, like Quinn said. Think it works?"

"Yeah, has that vibe. Dashing without being rakish."

"Sweet, that's what I wanted to hear. Anyplace you want to go?"

Treads thought about it a bit. "You ever been to the Spiked Scrib?"

Jeval tried to remember if he'd heard that name before. "Don't think so."

"It's a dinky little cornerclub in the middle of Labor Town. Nothing special, but I like the place. Damp-with-Dew introduced me to it."

"Sounds good to me. You're hanging out with him a lot?"

"Damp-with-Dew's okay, though he can be a pain sometimes. I like his girlfriend, Acclesia, a lot more. If we're lucky, they'll both be there. If it's only Damp-with-Dew… well, he's all right. Just don't let him get under your skin."

"Lead the way."

Treads said a quick goodbye to her family and then stepped out. She sighed in delight as the rain poured down on her scales, the brilliant greens as bright as gemstones.

They tramped through the puddles as the rain crashed down around them, the paved streets by the river soon giving way to mud.

"I decided I'm not going to go out at night anymore," Treads said.

"Oh yeah?" Jeval wondered if her dad had told her what he'd told him.

"I'm not wrong. Argonians are never going to be safe here, day or night. But it scares my dad, and he's already dealing with a lot. So, I'll stick to the day to make things easier for him. Plus, a few beastfolk have disappeared recently."

"For real? What happened?"

Treads blinked slowly, which she always did when Jeval missed the point about something. "They disappeared. No one knows. Hopefully they just left town in a hurry, but I have to be careful."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Let's talk about something else. There's nothing we can do about that right now."

"Sure. Uh, I talked to Tiphannia. Didn't go too well."

Jeval told her the story, and she listened. Hearing it out of his own mouth, Jeval wished he hadn't lost his temper at Tiphannia. Though he didn't think he'd been totally wrong.

"It's got to be hard for her. And I didn't make things any easier," Treads said.

"Oh?" Jeval had left out the part about Tiphannia being pissed at Treads. Maybe he shouldn't have, but he didn't want Treads to get mad at Tiphannia and make things worse.

"I made fun of her a lot because, well, I'm kind of mean. Shouldn't have done that."

"Things were fine until I figured out Tiphannia was cursed."

"Would you do it differently, if you knew?" Treads asked.

Jeval thought about it a bit. "No."

"Exactly. You couldn't leave her cursed."

"Maybe you're right. Should I say sorry to Tiphannia?"

Treads sighed and shook her head. "No. Just leave her alone for now. Quinn visited me, yesterday."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't say much. Think she wanted to pretend things were normal, so we just poked around the markets for a while. Sorry I didn't invite you, but we weren't out for long."

"It's cool. I was working yesterday anyway. You know, even after all this, I'm still kind of amazed anyone like Quinn exists. She's, uh, great."

But it felt weird to say now. Not because he didn't believe it. Maybe because things just didn't feel the same anymore.

"No offense, Jeval…" Treads said.

Treads knew that Jeval knew nothing would ever happen between him and Quinn, so she almost never brought it up. He braced himself anyway.

"… but I think you're over Quinn," she finished.

Jeval did a double-take. "Huh?" He hadn't expected that.

"You're not in love with her anymore. But you're so used to thinking that you are that you haven't realized you aren't. Think about it. You used to say you'd always be near her, and now you're making plans to ditch Morrowind."

"Uh, well, Quinn could go with us to Hammerfell," he said. Sure, that'd be a little weird. But it'd work.

Right?

"She won't. What's more, you don't want her to. And why should you? You're a free agent, Jeval! Quinn was special. She made a huge difference in our lives. But our lives have changed."

No. No way. Quinn was the one true thing for him all those years at Drenlyn. Well, that and being friends with Treads-on-Ferns.

"I can't get over someone that easy," he said. "I know it won't happen. But that's just how I am."

"If you say so, Jeval."

They passed by another one of those weird Dunmer preachers. This guy was a mess: he was shirtless, and his gray skin was pulled tight against his ribs. Oozing sores covered his back and right side, and black veins stood out in his red eyes.

"You shall hear Lord Dagoth's sweetness in your dreams, and the dreams will become flesh!"

Then the preacher opened his toothless mouth wide and let out a long, keening sound. It lasted until his voice gave out, but he started again a few seconds later, the pitch of the second almost identical to the first.

Treads glared at the preacher but said nothing.

Not far past the preacher, Treads stopped at a narrow door set into a big and crumbling adobe building that ran half a block. The place looked like it was sinking into the ground. Burn marks stained the walls.

Jeval frowned. He wasn't afraid of dirt the way Quinn was, but this place still looked kind of sketchy. But Treads had already opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open with one hand.

Warm air washed over Jeval's cold and wet body the moment he entered. Candle lights bobbed in the darkness, and a fire pit at the far end burned red and sooty. As his eyes adjusted, he made out more details: rushes on the ground, faded tapestries on the walls, and a long bar behind. Maybe a dozen people were inside, including the publican.

"Hey, Treads-on-Ferns!" called a voice.

Jeval followed the sound to a low table where two Argonians sat. The speaker was the taller of the two, and he sported two horns on his head: one whole, the other broken. He must be Damp-with-Dew.

"Hey, everyone," Treads greeted. "Brought my best friend along. You met him last week."

"Yeah, yeah. Uh, what's your name again?" Damp asked.

"Jeval. You're Damp-with-Dew and you're Acclesia?"

"You got it," the second Argonian said. She was about Treads's size. "Yeah, I know. I'm the one with the lame Imperial name."

Jeval shrugged. "I kinda get that. My dad took on a fake surname when he first moved to Cyrodiil in the '90s. Before I was born."

When Jeval was a kid in Cyrodiil, dad always introduced the family as the Whitethorns. But it had probably been a year since any of them had used that. Didn't seem to matter so much out here.

"The things we do to fit in," Acclesia sighed. "Not like it ever makes a difference."

"Sit down, sit down," Damp said.

Jeval did. There was already a big pot of tea on the table. Since they were seated close to the bar, Acclesia stood up and asked the publican for a few more cups, which he provided. A moment later, Jeval had his drink. He raised the clay cup to his lips and took a sip; it was bitter, earthy, and hot. Perfect for a morning like this.

"How did you two and Treads meet?"

"Don't call her that," Damp warned.

Jeval froze. "Huh?"

Treads snorted at Damp. "Take it easy. Jeval's known me longer than you have." She turned to Jeval. "It turns out that in Black Marsh, it's rude to use the first word of someone's name unless you know them well. Remember that for Damp-with-Dew. Unless you guys become good friends or something."

"Saying the entire name denotes respect," Damp-with-Dew said slowly.

"It's cool. I'll remember," Jeval said. "Thanks. So yeah, how did you meet Treads-on-Ferns?"

"Treads and I work in the same warehouse," Acclesia said. "We're the only Argonians there. Later, I introduced her to my boyfriend here."

Looked like Acclesia knew Treads well enough to go by first-word basis.

Damp-with-Dew spoke up. "Brought her into our circle of two. Now we meet in shady cornerclubs, drink tea, and plot how to shake the world down to its foundations."

Things started to fit together in Jeval's head. This was why Treads had gotten more aggressive lately. She'd been hanging out with these two.

"Mostly," Treads said, "we drink tea and complain about our jobs. Bringing the world down is a distant third priority."

"In case you're wondering, Jeval, I work as a shellbreaker," Damp-with-Dew explained.

"Cool. I clean tables, but I might be a courier like my dad pretty soon."

The four of them got to chatting. Well, three of them. Jeval didn't talk as much. It's not that they were snubbing him. More that they already knew each other. But he joined in, made some jokes and laughed along with theirs.

It sure beat hiding in his house and mourning the Fashion Club.

After a few hours, the conversation turned to the whole weirdness with the Nerevarine.

"I don't give a damn about Dunmer theology," Damp-with-Dew said. "But I do like that this is scaring them. Cults like the Nerevarine's and Dagoth's are more examples of how the whole system's falling apart, from here to Summerset."

"What happens when it falls apart?" Jeval asked, thinking about what Mr. Flowers had said.

"Justice happens. We Argonians get our payback."

"It's been a long time coming," Acclesia added.

Jeval just nodded, not sure what to say. But, apparently, not saying something still constituted saying something.

"I can read Mer expressions, Jeval," Damp-with-Dew said. "So I can see that you aren't too sure. Did Treads-on-Ferns ever tell you what I used to do?"

"No."

"Former Imperial Navy. Spent a couple years as a hand on the TEM Southern Sun, a cutter hunting pirates off the coast of Black Marsh."

Tension crept along Jeval's shoulders and up his neck. He remembered what Treads had said to her dad about the Empire's ships ignoring slavers. He was about to hear the truth firsthand.

And it was going to be horrible.

"There we were, the protectors of justice! The first line of defense against Akavir! We escorted merchantmen, hunted pirates, did all the stuff the navy's supposed to do. Except stop slavers."

Damp-with-Dew leaned in over the table. His hands shook slightly.

"First time I saw it, I didn't believe it. We had the ship in our sights. We heard it. We heard the wails and screams of people like me and Treads-on-Ferns begging for help. But Captain Tovanius didn't do [censored]! She'd already been paid off, you see. What does she care about some lizard people, right? Just wanted more money to add to the fat pension she'll already get."

Damp-with-Dew gave a rattling sigh. He slammed his fist down on the table, and it shook from the impact.

"Who paid her off?"

"Great House Dres," Acclesia interjected. "Or at least somebody who works for them."

"I wasn't going to take this," Damp-with-Dew continued. "I told her to her face that we had a duty to protect these people. You know what she did? She had me flogged! My own mates put me down and scourged the scales off my back! But I didn't give up. When we docked at Archon, I went to the authorities. Thought I'd put my captain in prison. They listened, took some notes. What do you think happened after that?"

Jeval tasted bile. He looked down at the table. "Nothing," he guessed.

"Worse. The next night, they dragged me to a cell where a couple of big Nords told me that I should stop lying about the honorable Captain Tovanius and that a sailor with a disciplinary record like me lacked credibility. Also that Black Marsh is a big place where it's real easy to get lost and never be seen again.

"Then they shipped me to Nivalis, a frozen little island town in northeast Morrowind, surrounded by cold seas and slave country. I scrubbed hulls there until my commission ended a year ago. Not easy for someone like me to move around Morrowind, and I only got to Balmora before my money ran out."

Damp-with-Dew started taking deep, gulping breaths. Acclesia put her hands on his shoulders, gently stroking them.

"You're okay. You're with us," she said.

"Yeah, except we're not safe here. Anyway, this whole Nerevarine thing is the first step," Damp-with-Dew said.

"What happens after?" Jeval asked.

"Who can say for sure? But at least we'll be able to do something. The Dunmer are soft and lazy. We'll burn their cities and enslave them, so they know what it's like."

"We don't need slaves!" Treads said. "We just need to get to the point where we can protect ourselves and bring the people who've hurt us to justice."

Damp-with-Dew chuckled. "I dunno. Dunmer slaves sound pretty fun. We can watch them rot to death in Black Marsh. Maybe throw some Imperials in the camps, too. I bet they'd sell each other out to be foremen. Imperials just can't help doing that."

Jeval imagined that happening to Satheri or Quinn and felt sick.

"You don't need to worry, Jeval. The Bosmer never did anything to us," Damp-with-Dew said, his voice suddenly tired. "The only ones who'll lose from the Empire falling are the Imperials, the Dunmer, and maybe some Orcs. You Bosmer can probably team up with the Altmer again."

Jeval shook his head. "Uh, no. My dad said the Altmer did bad things to us before the Empire."

Damp-with-Dew blinked. "Sounds to me like Empire propaganda to make the Altmer look bad."

"No, it's not. His grandpa—my great-grandpa—lived through it! Things like massacres, work camps. They put him in one until he escaped into the jungle. Didn't come out until, well, the Empire took over."

He'd come out when the Empire showed up. But Jeval didn't say it. He wasn't stupid enough to defend the Empire in front of someone who'd suffered so much from it. If the Altmer under the Dominion had done terrible things in Valenwood, the Empire had done—or at least permitted—terrible things in Black Marsh and Morrowind, and probably other places as well.

"I don't have anything against regular Altmer," Jeval continued, mentally checking himself to see if that was true. "Just to be clear."

"We're not Imperials, Jeval. You don't need to pretend to be tolerant here," Damp-with-Dew said.

"I'm not pretending!" he protested.

Damp-with-Dew made a noncommittal shrug. "Well, there will be a lot more fighting when the Empire falls apart, so get ready. Imperials set it up that way, so we'd all be too afraid of each other to break away. But that's how it is. Old-timers call Tamriel 'the Arena', because that's what it's been for all of history. They're not wrong.

"The way I see it, if the Empire's gone, at least we can protect our own kind. So what if there's violence? Violence is already happening. But I'd rather die for Argonians than for Imperials or Dunmer. You probably feel the same way about Bosmer."

Jeval barely even knew any Bosmer outside of his own family and a few of his dad's friends. He liked who he liked, and that'd always been enough for him.

Though it might be nice to not have to literally look up to everyone around him for once.

"Speaking of protecting our own kind," Acclesia said, looking at Treads, "old Rolfjorn's wife isn't going to last much longer. I'm setting up a fund with some of the other warehouse workers so he can cover funeral expenses."

She took out a small purse and opened it up, jingling its contents.

"Poor guy. Yeah, I'll pitch in," Treads said, putting in a ten-septim piece.

"I see someone's changing the subject. But I'll do it. For you," Damp-with-Dew agreed, handing in some coin.

"I'll help," Jeval said, and reached into his pocket to give in a little more than was smart. But he didn't care.

The conversation shifted to other things. Jeval realized that he'd been sitting in a cornerclub for a good long while and hadn't yet had any booze.

He needed to fix that.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 05:56 AM