The Last Days of the Fashion Club Options

[WellTemperedClavier]

Here's the novella I wrote this year as a companion piece to Outlanders. This one actually takes place during the events of the game, and follows Jeval as he deals with the dissolution of the Fashion Club and some pretty big changes in his own life (and in the world around him). I wrote this to explore some heavier themes that I wasn't really able to get to in the main story. It's sixteen chapters long.

Breaking Balmora, or The Last Days of the Fashion Club

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.

“I need to use it! Mom!”

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, swelled 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.

[Renee]

Very true. Daria was in Sadirth Mora. Not sure how far she walked around, but yeah, if she was headed toward that outdoor marketplace and the docks, chances are she would've seen the slaves in those hanging pod things. Fay Daway (my wood elf) managed to join Telvanni, then was shocked by those pods. She opened every one of those pods. There are no consequences for this, thank the Gods. It would've been 1 against dozens.

Nice, they can hear chanting as they're sitting indoors. Almost sounds like outdoor prayers which occur in some Muslim countries.

He's headed to Skyrim. Twin Lamps sounds a bit like the underground railroad here in America's 1800s.

Ah. So yeah. Let's say Jeval somehow changes his mind or gets caught or whatever, and then he starts rambling about how Roweni is somehow to blame for whatever. Very true. Roweni could just say "Who? .. Jevel? Jevol? Never heard of such a fellow." Then it'd be his word against this esteemed member of the community. I love how this is not a goodness, cut-and-dried situation. There's a lot of risk and the possibility of serious consequences.

My gosh, he's going. Well hey, at least he won't need to argue with his family any longer about what to do with his future. Intead he'll be arguing with himself, in a totally cold, strange land. Hmm. If he's taking the boat to Skyrim where would he port? Solitude? Dawnstar? Windhelm? ❄ Hopefully Solitude. That'd be the least culture shock for the poor fellow.


I think it's possible. Joining the Legion wouldn't necessarily means he'd be a soldier. Like in Laprima's tale, Aunt Elisif recommended Laprima join so she could get involved in administration, or something else which is non-combative. I imagine they'd take one look at Jeval and say "no way are you a capable warrior!" But maybe they'd need him to crunch numbers or clean the mess hall or some such.

Never mind. He's not staying in Skyrim. Rihad, where is Rihad? Ah I see. Hammerfell. Right. The air is crystal clear because he's away from Morrowind's smog.

Even when travelling he's keeping his vanity!

Yikes, THE END. But it's an appropriate end, I'd say. The future's wide open. We can imagine how he got involved with sailing, indeed. Which explains his portion of the Epilogue when he was carrying those stowaways to better times & places. 📖

This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 28 2023, 08:12 PM