aterat | (no subject)

Who; Rhy Maresh, Open
What; Loose Lips and Fashion Advice, and Secrets Being threatened
Where; Market Tavern, The Streets
When; Mid December
Warnings; Alcohol consumption and perhaps overconsumption, possible discussions of death

I. Fun And Fashion And Firewarmed Ale | Open; Market Tavern

"Oh god, what is that?"

The words are called out loudly from the bar where someone is clearly holding something like court. There is Rhy Maresh, voice loud and cheerful, plenty of eyes on him and people laughing all about. In one hand is a mug of spiced cider, probably not the first. In the other is a small stick that he's waving around as if to use it to point. Which he is. Now he swings the thing out to tap some local's scarf. The fabric was harringbone pattern in orange and pink.

"With a lime green shirt? Sir! Sir this is an outrage! None of these colors suit your complexion at all! You need colors with deeper hues. Oh how could you not love yourself enough!"

Clearly something is going on. Fashion advice maybe?

II. The Secrets We Keep | Open

Rhy hums to himself, loopy with drink and warm inside and out. It's been a long day and he knew his husband was working late, so there was no reason he couldn't have stayed late at the Tavern. It had been a delight, giving people fashion advice. A laugh, a touch on the past that he knew he could not go back to but also would not truly wish to live again. But brushing against it, once in a while, could be something soothing, like flirting with the fire that burned you.

At first he doesn't notice a light further down the road going out. He notices the second and dismisses it. He notices the third and freezes. This... was not normal. At all.

"Hello?" he called out. Perhaps this was magic? Hard to reason it out, with how loopy he felt from the drink.

Then there was darkness. All the nearby street lights out, leaving him in a large puddle of shadow, one that bled out around him and made him shudder. Darkness was so much harder to deal with since...

Hot breath on his neck. Rhy freezes in fear, and then he bolts. Words that he wasn't ready to deal with, was never ready to face, had been whispered in his ear. They more than anything else were what sent him into headlong flight. Someone knew. Someone had found out. Someone... No, he had to get away. Rhy runs into the night, runs and runs until he slams, unintentionally, into someone else.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rhy rolls his eyes.

"Dramatic. Are you sure you are not acquainted with my brother? No? Good then, we shall talk of colors to get you into."

Jagger crossed his arms at that. He might be willing to discuss clothing with certain people, but that was a big might and pretty unlikely.

"Are you always so pushy, mate?"

"Yes," Rhy says with the widest grin possible, "when they are so desperately in need of help. Is it not our duty to help our fellow man?"

Because he thought he was helping here.

Jagger gave himself a look over, straightening the collar of his black coat over his black t-shirt, frowning down at his black slacks.

"It's not that bad."

Really? Was it not? Rhy's raising an incredulous eyebrow as if to say 'you don't even see the disaster before you'

"There is no character to it. With your hair your whole look is washed out, leaving you more pale than I think you might truly be. You deserve some flash of color."

"Who says my clothes need to have character?" He really didn't understand the weight people put on their clothing, but then again, he'd also never had much luck with friends, comrades, or the ladies. Did that have something to do with it?

That seemed ridiculous.

"Clothes do not make the man, they accent them," Rhy says with a sigh. That's not so wrong, alright? "They help show you to your best effect."

"My best 'effect'?" Jagger wasn't sure he even understood what Rhy meant by that, or if he really wanted to know. And yet, he found himself frowning down at his outfit. "What do you mean?"

"Color, and patterns. To bring out the best of your looks. To let you both blend in but be worthy of remark should you wish it."

Come now, is this man truly blind to fashion? Were there men actually like that?

There were actually men like that, and Rhy had the displeasure of speaking to one of them currently. He'd never put much stock in his appearance, unconsciously aware that it seemed to keep others at bay, which he appreciated. It wasn't that he didn't like most people, but that most people offered way too many situations in which he could read psychic imprints from them. Objects were easier, they didn't have emotions of their own, but people were different. They were constantly in flux, meaning he was constantly open to his emotions blending with theirs. It was exhausting.

A lot like getting told your fashion sense left a lot to be desired.

And, as was common when he was exhausted, he got a bit prickly.

"Don't you have someone else to bother?"

"Are they going to be nearly as entertaining as you are proving to be?" Rhy asks with a smile.

"Oh, I'm entertaining now, am I?" He scoffed at the question, shaking his head. "This how you get customers, mate? Insult them into submission?"

Insult? Rhy rolls his eyes.

"An expert offers you guidance, and you call it an insult?"

"Sure, mate." He's digging his heels in now, crossing his arms. "Knowing what's best for everyone and knowing what you think is best are two different things."

"How about a bet then?" Rhy asks with a smile. Wouldn't that work. "A test of my skill."

He tilted his head to the side, crossing his arms. He wasn't immune to competition, proving people wrong had been the driving force in succeeding where everyone had thought his psychic powers would cause him to fail, or at least get him labeled as crazy.

"You're on."

Rhy smiles at that. Wide and pleased.

"Come by tomorrow? We'll get your measurements then. All of it on me of course."

He wasn't even sure what he was agreeing to, but he found himself nodding. "Sure, mate. I'll come by."

"Wonderful. I'll enjoy the challenge. Come see me soon."

He offers and wink and is happy to finish his drink.

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Boy did I ever lose this

were it not for my red cardigan and some red accents to my socks, i'd sorta mirror jagger here

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