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Borin and Merek ch.4 - "The Tailor" (M/M)
🕑 Added 2018-04-03 00:54:58 +0000 UTC Continuing the adventures of Borin and Merek: the fox gets some new clothes!---
Chapter 4 - The Tailor
Merek had scarcely any chance to react to the world around him as they headed out into town again. Borin strode fast and clutched the fox by the wrist, and all Merek could think was how enormous and strong he was. He felt dwarfed by the wolf, especially since Borin kept him on the building side of his walk and practically in his lupine shadow. His leather sandals weren’t meant for the intricate cobblestones and he alternately felt like slipping or like his soles burned.
The fox could not read the signage and had no warning that he was about to be pulled into the tailor’s shop. Borin strode through the doorway and quickly shut the door behind him. There were example clothing for men and women scattered about on wood dummies and the air smelled of leather and fabric. An elder hunched goat stood behind a wooden display case counter filled with accessories like gloves and brooches, and he squinted forward at the newcomers, adjusting strange circular pieces of glass and wire above his muzzle. Behind the glass, his eyes were milky with age.
“Is that General Stormbringer? Always a pleasure to serve you, sir! And… some pretty young lass?” The goat said, leaning precariously far over the counter to see closer. “Not quite your type. Have you inherited a cousin?”
“This ‘pretty young lass’ is destined to be a thorn in my paw. Caught her trying to steal food from my camp while out for a trophy. Unlike some stag, I am not interested in watching some rare creature become a target for arrows. Surely someone about town will know what to do with her.”
The goat rubbed at his spectacles with his shirt, then opened a creaky top hinge on the counter and walked out. He leaned in much closer to Merek and bleated with surprise. “A fox!” He promptly reached out and felt over Merek’s shoulders, down his arms, and over his rump.
Merek squealed in retort and sprang back, then tripped against Borin’s leg. He clutched furiously at himself, desperate to prevent the goat from groping him in front.
“This fox has obviously undergone something awful to lead her to wandering around outside of the city walls and begging for potatoes. Perhaps you should refrain from groping her.”
The goat withdrew his hands and bowed his head. “Oh, my dear, I’m just quite bad of sight, and a tailor’s hands see so much. Forgive me. Arthur Guildersleeve, the finest tailor in Scourthsway.” The goat bowed and then stepped back. “You are most definitely a fox. And attired in a Feralean common dress, which fits you very poorly. There are no foxes from there…”
“I’s from Routher’s Landing,” Merek said, too scattered to even stutter.
“Routher’s Landing! How on earth did you find your way here?! The mountains are all but impassable this time of year until the spring, and by ship, well, I doubt you would end up here in one piece. We scarcely even trade with them!” Arthur went to return to behind the counter, one hand feeling along the edge as he moved, never faltering away.
“Indeed,” Borin said flatly. “That dress is from Serelda. I think she found it in some dusty old crate of hers. Needless to say, Marla here needs something more appropriate to wear.”
Merek had shifted from fear of being discovered, to embarrassment at his predicament, to complete distraction by the contents of Arthur’s shop. While the store itself was small and not fancy in architecture, Merek had never seen such an array of clothing up close. He couldn’t imagine himself wearing any of the outfits for men, and couldn’t imagine how he would be allowed to wear any of the ones for women. A full royal ballroom gown was on display in the corner, radiating saturated colors from glossy satin and silk. Merek would have turned pink if he weren’t already the color.
“...said, anything you would like, dear?” The old goat’s voice snapped Merek out of his reverie and the fox quickly spun and clutched his arms to his chest.
“I, I was just thinking!”
“Thinking will only get you so far in this fine city, especially for a curious thing such as yourself.” Borin kept his stern eye on Merek.
Merek looked dumbly back at Arthur, then Borin. The wolf narrowed his eyes and Merek flipped his ears back.
“Simple. Rugged. Modestly attractive. She’s a fox. There are no foxes here. No need to attract more attention than necessary. No need to waste gold thread. Perhaps something ready to wear?”
“Ahh, yes, yes, yes,” Arthur said, and turned to walk away from the counter. “No need to measure, even.” His voice trailed off as he disappeared into a back room, leaving Borin and Merek to stand alone.
The fox kept his ears down and his tail tucked, and stared at the floor. He imagined someone coming into the shop. He imagined everyone coming into the shop. He imagined the entire town, village, city, kingdom staring in through the windows. In actuality, Borin stood between the fox and the rest of the tailor’s shop and outsized the fox by two feet in height and double the width.
Nothing to waste gold thread over. Merek had never even seen gold thread - Routher’s Landing, while a significant trading point for the eastern coast, was hardly a royal kingdom and the peasantry were kept far away from the harbor to avoid theft. He had always wanted to be worth a fancy dress, though, and not even in a place like Scourthsway…
“Keeping your chops up with a hunting expedition, eh Stormbringer? I presume that’s why you were out and about to run into this fine fox,” Arthur called out as he made rummaging sounds and a few muttered grunts.
“Yes. A purple stag.”
“A purple stag! Did you pay off a faerie to attract one? Or was it your lupine charm?”
Borin growled and Merek flattened his ears further. “Wolves hunt, Guildersleeve. Unlike goats, who eat everything that grows out of the ground, and some things that do not.”
“Please, enough with the family name, Borin. I’m a tailor. You’re the retired general.” At this, Merek looked up at Borin agog. A massive, impressive wolf, and a warrior, a general? His heart pounded and he squeezed his knees together, uncomfortably trapping his assets backwards between his thighs as they throbbed.
“Hopefully it was a buck and not a fawn. Killing a purple fawn is very bad luck.”
“Twelve-point buck. I think there will be a new song at the inns once I present the trophy officially, and I may even shake an appropriate payment out of Torel for once.” The wolf lifted his gloved hands and made a gesture of holding someone by their ankles and shaking them.
“Your little expeditions will be much brighter with your new companion here. Quite literally. Is that a normal color for a fox? I confess to never having seen one up close.”
“You don’t see much up close,” the wolf muttered under his breath.
While Arthur worked unseen and the pair talked, Merek lost himself in thought, trying to imagine the wolf in a vicious battle to stay his lust with images of war and bloodshed. Instead, he kept imagining the wolf in armor storming about and then swooping into some hovel to abscond with him….
“Ahh, she seems to be wandering the Leviathans,” Arthur said, emerging from the back with a bundle in his arms. He unstacked the bundle on the counter and laid the items out.
“Huh? I’s right h-here,” Merek blinked around as he once again realized he was being spoken to.
“The Leviathan mountains, dear. It’s a saying. You crossed them to come here, if you indeed are from Routher’s Landing and didn’t ride an ice shark around the south point,” Arthur chuckled. “I think this outfit will do very nicely. Ladylike but still fit for whatever your brutish wolf will drag you through.” Arthur displayed a cream chemise with short puffy arms, cream undergarments, a burgundy kirtle trimmed with silk at the neck and cuffs, matching red riding gloves, and leather boots.
Merek gawked at the clothing, which was fancier than anything he had seen anyone in his family ever wear. “Go on, the intent of clothing is to wear it,” Arthur urged, gesturing for the fox to take the garments. Merek dumbly pulled them off the counter into a pile in his arms.
“I… I…. it is unbeing of a v-virgin to dress in front of men,” Merek said, deploying puppy eyes in hope of getting a private place to change. Arthur pointed over to a curtained closet in one corner of the shop, and Merek quickly slipped in. Off came the ill-fitting hand-me-down from Borin’s enthusiastic servant, and on went the new clothing. It fit much better, although it was still loose, especially in the chest. Most importantly, the kirtle extended down to his calves, and thanks to a pleated ruffle around the waist, completely hid any bulges.
Merek stepped back out into the shop and froze as both wolf and goat looked his way. Borin furrowed his brow, while Arthur once again leaned forward to try and get a better look. Merek spun on one foot, imagining a twirl like he’d seen dancers do back at seasonal festivals. Instead, he nearly fell over and had to clutch onto the counter.
“That should pass,” Borin said, then stepped forward and grabbed Merek by the wrist. “Place it on my account, Guildersleeve. We must go,” the wolf said, then dragged Merek out of the shop with no further altercation. Just like before, the wolf kept Merek to one side, close to any buildings they passed. More passers-by stared at Merek now that he looked less like a street urchin who had been dragged through the mud and more like a citizen.
Back at the wolf’s townhouse, Borin deposited Merek. Serelda was nowhere to be seen. “I have important things to attend to and I will return this evening. Serelda has a chamber next door and she shall return later this evening to prepare supper. Stay here. Do not leave. Do not answer the door. Do not peer out the windows. If you wish to rest, you may stay in the storage loft. I believe there is a spare bed up there.”
Before Merek could quite react to the situation, Borin was gone and the fox was all alone. Merek almost began to sob, but after looking around the wolf’s home again, he felt the emotions damp back down. Even if he was to be bored all day, shut into a stranger’s home, it was a palace in comparison to the dirt-floored single room he had grown up in.
The attic loft was indeed full of storage, mostly locked chests and leftover construction materials that Merek couldn’t identify. There was a bed that was no more than a cot with slightly musty linens on it. The fox lay upon it to try it out, and found it to be immensely more comfortable than the stuffed bag of hay common back home.
When he returned downstairs, someone had slid a letter beneath the door. Merek picked it up, but couldn’t read the writing on it. He set it on the dining table, then returned up to the loft. He could hear the sounds of the city outside of the house, and could feel the heat of the sun on the roof beating away the drafts of the season. Despite the mid-day hour, Merek was intensely exhausted and fell fast asleep.
