ArchivedLogs:Clothes Diving

Clothes Diving
Dramatis Personae Eric, Sebastian, Shane
In Absentia	22 December, 2012 '
Location <NYC> Clothescycle - Garment District
Selling clothing both new and used -- but mostly used -- this store often has something for those fashion-conscious but on a budget. There is a distinct alternative bent to many of the clothes (and many of the dyed-haired, pierced clientele that often show up) but for those willing to take the time to look through their racks and racks of clothing, there are gems to be found both in their newer and vintage sections. In their basement, for the adventurous, their dollar-a-pound section offers just what the name suggests: they sell clothing for a dollar per pound. The pickings are often unusual, to be sure, but for those handy with needle and thread, sometimes the heaps of fabric can be turned to creative use. It is not /that/ early on Saturday morning, but early /enough/ that this store has not long since opened, and the customers are sparse. A couple of women in the vintage section are searching through blazers and jackets, a skinny young man with green hair pokes through the extensive section of shoes. In the basement, the haphazardly strewn piles and piles of clothing are growing more haphazard, poked through by a slim short boy in tight black jeans and a crushed-velvet maroon jacket. Sebastian is half /buried/ in clothes, more diving than searching as he plunges his hands into a heap. Discarded a tacky reindeer-covered Christmas sweater, discarding an enormous blue apron, discarding a tiny baby's onesie, pausing to contemplate with great sincerity a short pleated skirt with green and blue plaid in between its black folds. The doors to the store open and close, and a man in a black leather and strapped jacket walks in. He has a navy blue pair of pants, carefully pleated down the center, and the buttons of his uniform are visible from where his jacket is unzipped. He hums a song tunelessly to himself as he steps into the store, going straight towards the vintage section. He pages through the clothing there for only moments before he turns to head to the basement and sort through the clothingpocalypse for something more suitable. Sebastian freezes as the basement is invaded by another person, dropping the skirt and digging down further behind the heap of clothing he has claimed. Only for a moment, though, before recognition sets in and his dark eyes widen. Briefly. "-- Is the clothing getting arrested?" he wants to know, still half-hidden behind a heap of mismatched cloth. "I mean it /is/ kind of a travesty down here but I don't think it's /all/ guilty." "Better the clothing is arrested than you are. I think the Lieu will have an aneurysm if I have to pull you out of the back of a squad car again and make the charges disappear," Eric drawls, in a cheerful Georgian accent. "Nah, I'm down here to pick out some new clothes. Going clubbing this weekend, and I need to look my best, yeah?" he winks, bending down to start to look through the pile near him. "Can't you just show up in your uniform?" Sebastian wants to know, a small quick smile flitting across his face. "Some people like a man in uniform. And hey, if they don't you can just threaten to arrest anyone who won't dance with you." Maybe he is serious, maybe not, it is hard to tell. He is unearthing a slightly shimmery red haltertop from the pile, and considering it now, too. "I think my /pa/ is gonna have an aneurysm," he mutters, then, half to himself but half not, his black eyes slanting towards Eric more consideringly. "Landed in detention anyway but that's better than jail. Why'd you do it?" "Hey, I look good in this uniform," Eric grabs the edges of his leather jacket and pulls them apart quickly, causing them to make a small snapping sound and showing of the flash of tin on his uniform underneath. He gives the younger man a rakish grin and a wink before releasing the edges of his jacket and letting the halves fold back to their previous state. "Your brother's a good kid. He doesn't need the stress of dealing with that. Even after I figured out you weren't him." Sebastian's nose crinkles up at the flash of uniform, but he tips his head back to the Pile without answering /that/. He yanks a pair of jeans out of it, deep purple and with a faintly shimmery silver sheen to them, holding them up against him -- clearly /many/ sizes too big, but that doesn't seem to daunt him. "Couldn't you've got in trouble?" Behind both of them, from the entryway, there is a sharp huff of snort. "He's a cop, dude. He can do whatever he wants. Are you /hitting/ on my /brother/?" The hairless ridge of Shane's brow is quirking up up up, though there's a sharp-toothed grin on his face. He is leaning against the low wall of doorway, elbow propped on the half-wall and his black eyes raking the cloth-strewn room. /He/ looks like -- prooobably he did not get his clothing from the dollarapound, sleek trim-fitted black jeans and a deep green button-down, collar neatly turned down over the v-neck of his soft grey sweater. "It won't get you far, why don't you flash that uniform this way, instead?" Eric turns around and glances back and forth between the two brothers. One can almost see the gears grinding together unpleasantly in his head. Then he laughs. "Well, my mistake. I guess /you/'re the good guy, not your brother." he says, grinning widely at Sebastian. "Why? You have a thing for a man in uniform?" he says, voice a purr that is equal parts teasing and mischief. "I can't do anything I want. But my Lieutenant agreed to look the other way, this time, considering the circumstances." "He has a thing for pissing off Pa," Sebastian answers with equal parts fondness and /resignation/. "Pa's not too keen on cops, if he brought one home that might be /more/ of an aneurysm than jail. How about these?" He is holding up the shimmerypurple pants towards his brother. "Hot," Shane answers, "keep 'em. Pa /expects/ jail by now. And yeah. 'Bastian's the god kid." He is sauntering forward, past Eric (with an absent-casual /brush/ of shoulder to Eric's chest in passing) to run fingers against the jeans. "With that strappy black shirt. I gotta say it's the first time a cop's been /lenient/ on me 'cuz of my face." "They look good," Eric says, glancing at the pants himself. His eyes flick up and down Shane for a moment and then he leans down to begin digging through the clothing himself. "Well, in my defense, you do look very much like your much more wholesome brother." he says, grinning briefly at the two of them before he begins going through the clothing in earnest. "Here." Sebastian is tossing a shirt towards Eric; a black tee, that'd likely fit the man though somewhat tightly; it is striped diagonally down the chest in three blue slashes. "Blue's already your color." He sets the jeans aside in a much smaller pile, out of the way of the mess. "Yeeeeeah," Shane drawls in acknowledgment, moving forward not to look through the clothes but to flop down /on/ a pile. Obstructing. It is Sebastian's pile, inconveniently. He sprawls out expansively, taking up a good deal more space than he really needs to. "But usually my face is getting /him/ into trouble. This is like some weird Twilight-Zone shit." Eric gives Sebastian a small, appreciative smile as he holds it up to his chest. "Nice pick," he says, folding it and slinging it over one shoulder to continue digging. Out comes a dark shirt lined with red edges which he turns over, examining, before folding it, too, over his shoulder. "Well, this time it worked to your advantage. Next time, perhaps, I'll make sure to check an ID first." he teases. "He steals mine a lot," Sebastian replies lightly. Less light is his sharp dig of /claws/ into Shane's side. Jab. "It's easy to tell, though. If he hits on you, it's probably not me." Shane /yelps/ and jerks upright, scooting back -- off of Sebastian's pile and onto Shane's. "Heeey this is a nice sweater!" He flops right back down. On the clothes Eric is digging through. And eyes Eric suspiciously. "/You/ don't have claws, do you?" Eric laughs and gives Shane a friendly glare. "I have a pair of handcuffs, and I know how to use them." he says, tugging clothes out from under the teenager and, after examining them, dropping them on top of him. "Oh, and a tazer. Can't forget the tazer." He aims the next shirt at Shane's head. "That's a terrible threat," Sebastian is warning, absently as he returns to digging through clothes. "Where do you go clubbing?" He is asking this as he compares two pairs of pants, thoughtful as he looks between both and Eric. It /does/ seem like a terrible threat insofar as Shane does not seem to take it threateningly at all, answering it with a quick flash of teeth (soon obscured by shirt-on-head) and a further nestling down into the clothespile. He doesn't try avoiding the clothes being dumped on him, slowly just disappearing underneath them. "The left pair'd look good. Need some taking in, though. Like yours. D'you sew?" This might be to Eric, it's hard to tell given that Shane is mostly hidden away. "We're going to Evolve tonight." "/He's/ going to Evolve tonight," Sebastian reflexively corrects. "We're going to Evolve tonight," Shane repeats. Confidently. Eric chuckles. "I usually go to either Evolve or Heaven. Well, Hell, but I think it's all called Heaven. Sometimes I do go to Heaven." He winces, slightly. "That's a really fucking annoying name for a club." he murmurs, dumping another shirt on whatever part of Shane is still visible. Bury, bury, bury. "I was thinking Evolve, tonight, but I might just end up drinking at a bar." He shrugs, a little half-movement of his shoulders. "Not sure yet. -- I mean, I sew a little bit to put a button on. Not... well enough to do anything." "You go to Heaven?" Bastian tips up his head at this, abruptly curious. Alert. Sizing Eric up. "Take these," he decides in the end, tossing a dark pair of jeans over towards Eric and Shane's clothingpile, "we can fix them up for you." "/Pa/ can fix them up, it's not like you or /me/ is gonna do any sewing," Shane says, snorting. From under his pile. Which becomes heavier by +1 pair of jeans. "He-ey, you seen the 'tender over there with the --" His clothing shifts around. Hand trying to extract itself, and then giving up. "Piercings. Bright hair. Glittery, a lot. At Heaven, not Evolve. Though /man/ the one at Evolve is /fine/ too. I think his blue hair is natural, though." "Hey, thanks, 'Bastian." Eric leans down to pick up the pants and place them over his shoulder. "Yeah, I do. Hmm. Yeah, I think so. Eye patch, right? Yeah, I've seen him a couple times." He pauses to think for a minute. "But I don't think he's interested in men. Anyway, I try not to flirt with people who can't get up and leave. S'not polite. My ma used to complain to me bitterly about that, so, I try not to." Sebastian shoots a look towards -- well, Shane's pile, really. And opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again with a snap as feet tromp down into the basement, a trio of teenagers pouring in -- and then stopping, /staring/, and pouring right back /out/ against. "Nrgh," he says, immediately ducking his head slightly and standing to gather his small pile of clothes, nudging at the ShaneHeap with one sneakered toe. "Hey. Time's up. Let's scoot." Shane is slow to unearth himself, shedding a waterfall of clothing as he sits up. "Fuck 'em," is his grimacing answer. "/I/ think he likes men. He's just shy. You get what you need?" He eyes Eric's collection thoughtfully. "Fucking Southerners," he adds with a grumble, "too many /manners/. You should flirt with him. He's sweet." Eric looks up as well as the teenagers come and then immediately leave again. He shrugs, then gives Shane a suspicious look. "He might be sweet, but my ma taught me better n' that. If he's nice, and he's interested, he can flirt with me." He smirks. "And who wouldn't want to flirt with me?" he says, gesturing to himself and giving the two teenagers a smirking grin. "A bartender," Sebastian says, with an uncharacteristic flicker of /irritation/, shooting Shane an annoyed look, "on duty. With drunk men hitting on him /all night/. I'm sure he /appreciates/ the good officer's restraint." He closes his fingers around his brother's wrist, half dragging him to his feet. Shane grumbles as he is dragged, a low bemused rumbling as his gills flare in similar irritation. "Maybe he wouldn't want to," he accedes reluctantly, sizing up Eric. "-- He /is/ missing an eye, after all, it'd take someone half-blind to not want to." Eric grins at the younger man. "Come on, I'll check out with you." he says, pulling the clothing off of his shoulder to fold it neatly together in his hands. He offers a hand down to Shane, to let him help himself up that way if he was less interested in getting dragged. "And I thought I was more to you than a uniform, 'Bastian," he says, playfully. "Please. Eric." There's another sound of the door opening upstairs, more footsteps though these do not come down, and Sebastian tugs at Shane more /urgently/. "C'mon, it's getting late," though it's not yet ten in the morning, "people are actually out shopping now." His nose crinkles at Eric, cheeks flushing slightly. "Yessir, I know. I got your card." Shane lets himself get dragged, not taking Eric's hand given that his brother is /yanking/ on him but flashing the cop a quick smile. "Eric. M'Shane." And then it is his turn to do the dragging, tugging Sebastian along towards the door. "He-ey c'mon maybe if we're quick we can make Pa brunch. -- You like waffles?" This is called back over his shoulder, as he leads the way up and to the checkout. "Glad you still have it." Eric says, smiling at Sebastian. "With strawberries? Best brunch in the world. Except maybe blueberries." Eric considers this with pursed lips as he follows the teenagers to the checkout. He waits in line to checkout. "Bananas?" he frowns. "All of them, maybe. With maple syrup." "Well, yeah. Would you put any other kind of syrup." Sebastian has shrugged back into his winter coat as he heads up the stairs, and pulls his hood up, keeping his head ducked and getting through the checkout as /fast/ as possible. Possibly because of the stares he earns from people. Possibly just because of the promise of waffles afterwards.