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 13

Mr. and Mrs. Morgendorffer set up a little sleeping area for him in the office. He lay down on the blankets, rested his head on a pillow from the upstairs bedroom, and stared into the darkness. It was the most exhausted he'd ever been, but his heart wouldn't stop pounding and his brain wouldn't stop thinking.

Each second that passed made him think of other horrible things that might happen. His whole body ached. Sometimes he imagined that the night would just never end, and he'd lie there being scared forever.

At least if he got arrested, it'd be over. No running, no worrying about getting anyone else in trouble. His fate already decided.

So why not get it over with?

Or he could lay low. Hope that this lockdown ended, so that he could skip town for a while. Or maybe the witness wouldn't say anything, and things would go back to normal.

But right then, Jeval wanted an answer more than he wanted hope. At least an answer would let him prepare.

Anything beat not knowing.

Jeval couldn't tell if he was getting any sleep. Time stretched out like rubber. He'd close his eyes but still be thinking. Then he'd open his eyes and drift off.

He lay there, not really awake and not really asleep, when he heard footsteps. Firelight flickered against the adobe walls of the stairway, fabric rustling against the steps.

Quinn descended the stairs, a candle holder in her hand. She raised it, the flame's light revealing her features. Gods, she looked perfect somehow, even after just waking up.

Had she dolled up for him?

"Quinn?" he said.

"Jeval!" she whispered. She hurried over and sat down next to him. Next thing he knew, she was holding his hand.

This was it. The moment he'd been dreaming and praying for. Him and Quinn alone, nothing but the night around them.

Except it wasn't. Not really.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered.

"No. I'm too scared about you. And Treads. And everyone else, I guess. This sucks!"

"Tell me about it."

"Mom says the courts aren't fair. Maybe that's one of the things Daria was always complaining about. But why shouldn't they be fair! Like we have this big Empire, right? That's something we should fix."

Quinn wanted to fix it. She just didn't know how hard that'd be. She probably couldn't. What would have happened if Quinn had been the one to save Treads? Would she be in as much trouble?

There's no way she'd get off scot-free. But Quinn had a way about her. She spoke, and people listened. Because she was an Imperial, because she was wealthy, and maybe most of all, because people liked following her.

It wasn't fair.

"I'll fix it!" she said. "My mom has tons of law books around, so I can start reading them. It'll be a cinch! Once I become an advocate, you'll be my first case! Or wait, maybe I'll do some practice cases first. But one way or another, I'll get you out."

"Heh, thanks," he said.

She wouldn't. It was a nice thing to say, but it was silly.

That's when it hit Jeval. Treads had been right. He was over Quinn. Had been for a while. And even though he was scared, figuring that out made him feel a little lighter somehow.

"You being an advocate won't give you much time for the Fashion Club," he said.

She sighed. "That's over anyway. I guess this is what I can do now. And mom says that having good style is really important for advocates."

"Yeah, I bet you'd be like the best-dressed one. Maybe, uh, sweeten the deal for the magistrate by giving them fashion advice."

"Ugh, I know! Those robes they wear are just so boring!"

He laughed quietly at that, and she joined in, like she'd heard how silly she sounded. But silly wasn't bad right then. Thinking about silly things had gotten them through Drenlyn.

"I dunno if your mom told you, but I might have to leave pretty quick tomorrow. Or today, I guess," he said.

"Yeah, she did."

Would Quinn let him stay longer if it was up to her? He decided it wasn't worth finding out.

"But I bet we can fix things if you go to court. Like, I know it's bad, but it can't be that bad."

It was. "We'll see."

Quinn didn't respond. She blew out the candle, and they sat there in the dark, hand in hand. He didn't know what she was thinking, but for the first time, that didn't matter. He'd be alone when he ran out of Balmora or was marched to jail.

But he wasn't alone now.

The sky was just starting to lighten when she spoke again. "I should go back up. Mom and dad wouldn't like me here."

"Yeah, that's cool," he said, taking his hand away from hers.

She stood up and slowly walked back to the staircase.

"Quinn?" he said.

"Uh huh?" She turned back to look at him.

"Thanks for being a good friend."

And he meant it.

*********

Jeval lay there as dawn's gray light brightened the living room. Too tired to think, too worked up to sleep, all he could do was wait.

"Jeval?" hissed a familiar voice from the other side of a shuttered window. "Are you there?"

He jumped to his feet and hurried over to open the shutters. Treads stood on the other side, her scales looking somehow dusty. She'd slung a bag over her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you. I told your mom what happened. She's, well, upset is probably too mild a word. Not at you—she's proud of you—just at this whole situation."

"[censored]," he said. "Mrs. Morgendorffer said I'm screwed if I go to court. I wanted to skip town, but they're not letting people in or out."

Her gills flared. "There's going to be some big temple announcement today. Are you going to stay here?"

"Can't," he said, shaking his head. "Don't want to get the Morgendorffers in trouble."

"Where will you go?"

"Beats me. Hey, I was just thinking: the south wall isn't that high. Maybe I could climb over?"

"Not a good idea," she said. "There are a bunch of guards on watch. Wait, I brought you these."

She put the bag down and reached inside. A moment later, she took out some of Jeval's clothes.

"Here. Your mom wanted me to give this to you."

Just then, Jeval could have fallen on his knees and worshipped her.

"Thank you! I'm sick of wearing these loaners."

He took the clothes. Figuring Quinn and her parents would be asleep for a bit longer, he quickly got dressed in the office. Everything fit again, and that made him feel like he could do anything. He also grabbed his dad's spare cloak and put it on, even though it was caked in dried mud.

"Okay, I'm getting out of here now. I'll try to hide somewhere," he said.

"Where?"

"Maybe an alley or something. Who knows, maybe the woman who saw me didn't report it, and we'll be fine."

Jeval exited through the front door and out onto the narrow street outside. Sunlight and shadow marked the adobe buildings around him. The air was fresh and crisp after yesterday's storm.

Up ahead, a bunch of Dunmer in fancy clothes walked his way. He almost panicked and ran back in, but then he figured out they weren't guards. The leader was a bald Dunmer in fancy robes who might've been a priest of some kind. They walked right past Jeval without a word, jaws set and lips pressed tight.

Something big was happening.

Treads rejoined him, and they headed out. The streets were already filling up. There was this weird nervous energy in the air, carried in whispers and looks. One of the town criers, a Nord, had taken position in the middle of St. Roris Square and had started ringing his bell.

Damn, he thought. Crier had been his first real job for the Fashion Club, telling people about seminars and events. He wished he could go back to that.

"Hear ye, hear ye! The city of Balmora is hereby closed for a period lasting no less than three days and no longer than five!"

The crowd reacted. Everyone rushed the guy and demanded to know why. The crier held up his hands.

"I'm an outlander, same as you! They don't tell me anything! The Tribunal Temple's going to make an announcement at noon today."

"Is this about the Nerevarine?"

"Smart money says yes. Now back away, I'm not done! Ahem. A Dunmer has been murdered in Labor Town! The victim was not a resident of Balmora, but his violent death shows the dangers that stalk our streets!"

Jeval closed his eyes and whispered a curse. This was it.

Treads put a hand on his shoulder.

"The only suspect is a young Bosmer male, between five and five-and-a-half feet tall. He has blond hair on the longish side, may be parted in the center, and with an undercut at the back. The suspect was last seen wearing a netch leather cloak and with a fire petal pinned to his shirt. Contact a guard if you know who this person might be. He may or may not be armed, but he is dangerous."

Jeval had ditched the flower, but he still wore the cloak. He dashed to a nearby alley, where he tore off the garment and tossed it aside. Nothing he could do about his haircut, though it was mussed up enough to not have any part at all, center or otherwise. He should've asked Quinn to give him a haircut!

But he couldn't go back now. Not when they were likely closing in on him.

"Maybe Mrs. Morgendorffer was right," he said. "I should just turn himself in."

"No!" Treads cut the air with her hand as she said it. "That's crazy! You won't win."

"I know, but what can I do here? I can't hide for days. Unless you know somebody."

Treads peered out of the alley. "Maybe my house."

"No. I'm not putting you guys in danger! Mrs. Morgendorffer even said it'd get worse if you were involved. Because they're always looking for an excuse—"

"I know! Maybe hide here… "

She trailed off. Jeval saw why a moment later. Tiphannia stood at the entrance to the alley, staring at them.

"Wait, Tiphannia!" Jeval said.

[censored]. She'd know about the flame petal, too. She'd been there when Quinn had recommended it.

Treads raised her hands. "Tiphannia, it's not what the crier's saying. Jeval didn't do anything wrong. Some Dunmer tried to enslave me! Jeval saved my life. I know you don't like me, but I'm begging you: don't tell anyone you saw us."

Tiphannia's eyebrows turned into an annoyed little V. "Wait, what? You are talking way too fast."

Jeval explained, giving Tiphannia the basics. All the while, he prayed that she wasn't so mad at them that she'd turn them in. Gods, he'd never imagined his freedom hinging on Tiphannia of all people.

But her expression softened as he told the story. When he finished, she was silent for a bit.

"I'm not going to turn you guys in," she said. "I don't like you that much… but I don't want you to go to jail."

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"But you better get out of town."

"We're trying to figure out a way."

"You should ask… Satheri's mom and dad."

Jeval wasn't sure he'd heard right. "What?"

"Yeah. The Rowenis know a lot about, like, smuggling people. They're members… of the Twin Lamps."

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jul 12 2025, 06:02 AM