ArchivedLogs:Ill Fitting

Ill Fitting
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Eric	2013-07-07 '
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. Outside there are stormclouds looming overhead, but they have not yet opened up; the heat has not yet broken even as the sun sets. The heat wave has pared down foot traffic, some; Sunday night has pared it down some, too. Clothescycle is not hugely packed as it nears closing time -- all the better for those who often encounter /difficulties/ while shopping. Dusk is quiet, trying to be unobtrusive as he browses, but there's only /so/ inconspicuous a man with fourteen-foot bat-wings can /be/; their pointy thumb-clawed apices protrude up high behind his back even with the wings folded in against his shoulders. He's browsing shirts, at the moment. Brow slightly furrowed, upper lip sucked in between his teeth as he examines them. Critically. Fingering fabrics thoughtfully moreso than actually seeming to keep an eye on style. His /current/ attire doesn't seem overly concerned with style, either, plain denim shorts and a soft grey-blue v-necked t-shirt. The door opens and shuts, and the figure who steps inside walks quickly to the counter. "Heya, Marge. Is Bill around? I got a copy of the report that he asked for. Saw it posted to get mailed, and thought t'd be a great excuse to come see ya 'gain, darlin'." It is Eric's voice, and Eric himself, dressed sharply in the neat blues of his work uniform, badge glinting faintly in the light. The shopkeeper smiles, brightly, at him and shakes her head. "Heya, you. Nah, he's not here, but I can take it." Eric grins as he passes the manila folder over the counter to her, winking once, playfully. "Don't I know it, Marge. Don't I know it." He gives her a wink and a little salute, stepping away from the counter. "I think I'll go see if ya got anythin' nice in stock, 'sides yourself, of course." With a quick little wave, Eric is stepping back towards the racks of fabric, boots clomping on the floor authoritatively. The sound of approaching footsteps draws Dusk's wings in just a little bit tighter to his shoulders. A quick glance up -- the sight of that /uniform/ -- has his eyes widening, fingers /clenching/ very suddenly against the hapless button-down in his hands as he eeeeedges back away. But his glance swings up higher and he stops, with a slight puzzled frown on his face as he looks Eric over. "You," sounds startled, eyes widening faintly. Eric's eyes sweep up and down the other man, clearly checking him out, and his voice contains the same note of flirtation that it had moments earlier when he was talking to the shopkeeper. "Heya, Dusk," he says, winking at him. "How're ya doin' today?" he asks, turning to run his fingers along the shirts that he's standing in front of and beginning to shuck them from one side to the other, examining the front and back of each in turn. "I --" Dusk dips his head, turning his eyes back to the shirt in front of him. There's a flush in his cheeks, a slow blossom of colour as his wings shift and resettle against his back. "I'm kinda --" He hesitates, inhaling slowly as he pushes one shirt aside to look at another, "-- rough on shirts. You're --" He darts a glance sideways, drifting up over the uniform to Eric's face. "Working?" "Just got off." The double-entendre is clearly not lost on him, as his smile spreads mischievously and he winks. "Shift. Saw there was a report due to go out'ta here, and decided to trip it over myself." He glances around the shop affectionately, shrugging, as his hands settle down on his belt. Not far from his tazer and gun, perhaps, but a casual motion, thumbs hooking into the thick leather. "My beat used to be here. Got'ta know a lot of these shops pretty well. 'Specially the ones with problems with shopliftin'." Dusk's weight eases back onto his heels at that shift of Eric's hands. "I feel like in this economy that's probably most of them," he says with a slight twitch of his lips. "How've -- how've things been?" "A lot of them," Eric says, chuckling. "But still, some more'n most." His eyes sweep up and down Dusk, again, and his hands rise to return to the clothing. "It can't be easy t' find shirts that fit, huh? What'da'ya do, cut holes in the back or something?" he asks, eyes flicking briefly back to the other man. "No shirts fit," Dusk says wryly. He glances around the largely-empty store, eyes lingering for a bit with a note of worry on a pair of girls looking through pants nearby. His wings shift, pulling back slightly away from his shoulders so that he can turn a little bit and show Eric the neatly hemmed holes that his wings protrude through in the back. "I learned to be kinda handy with a sewing machine after I hit puberty." Eric glances at the pair of girls as well and gives them a quick look before he focuses on the hemming on Dusk's shirt. "Huh. Interestin'." His eyes sweep the other man again, and he lets out a chuckle. "If you're so handy with a sewin' machine, why not just make the clothes all yourself? I figure you'd be able'ta get them to fit better n' something from the store. My ma used to make us clothes, sometimes, if she could get the fabric cheaper'n what she could get at the store for shirts." "If," Dusk answers with a shrug of his shoulders, "but buying fabric /isn't/ always cheaper than buying thrift-store things. Not decent fabric, anyway. Sometimes I make things. It's a lot of work, though, for --" He shrugs, with his wing more than his shoulder. "It's hard to find a balance between not leaving so much space that it lets too much air in, and not being so snug it's hard to get on or hard to move in. Usually means that actually /flying/ ends up -- kind of putting a lot of /wear/ on my clothes and I have to replace --" He flushes again, dropping his eyes back to look at the clothes. "Sorry, I'm rambling, you didn't need --" He shakes his head, absently fingering a green plaid button-down. "Where's your beat now?" Eric smiles and reaches over to squeeze Dusk's shoulder, once. "Don't apologize. It's cute." He winks at the other man, and his thumb brushes against Dusk's throat as his hand drops back down and returns to the clothing. "I know a bit of sewin', but not enough to make somethin' myself. Just enough to fix up my ratty clothes if my bother was workin' late and I had to wear 'em the next day." he says, shrugging his shoulders. "Oh. Now? I'm a bike officer, workin' the Park." He grins, turning to show off his ass. "Can't ya tell?" Girl, look at that body. The blush deepens; Dusk turns his attention back to the clothes with a slow swallow. "Oh -- the park," his eyes flick briefly towards Eric but back to the rack too quickly to really be properly admiring that Very Fine Ass. "Right, I --" His wings fold back close against his shoulders. "-- think I knew that. That sounds -- tiring." "Yeah, when you first start, it kicks your ass. I ride... I dunno. I measured it once - twenty, thirty, forty miles a day? It's a long ride, n' it can be a hard one." Eric laughs and shakes his head, ruefully. "They tell ya' in trainin' to pay for your own seat instead of the one that they put on, cause it'll never be as good as one that fits ya' just right." He grins. "My ass was sore's hell the first day when I ignored it." Dusk chuffs out a quiet laugh, at that. He plucks the plaid shirt off the rack, draping it over his arm, and continues looking. "Kinda a blessing, though, keeps you in great shape. Sorta breaks the -- sitting in a squad car getting fat on donuts stereotype." Eric grins and nods, turning to the rack across from his current one and beginning to peruse it. "Well, the gym helps with that, too, but I'm sure bikin' a hundred and change miles a week can't hurt neither." A brief pause, and he turns to eye Dusk out of the corner of his eye. "Helps my endurance, too." "Hah," This is quiet and breathy. Dusk takes a second shirt from the rack, this one a soft salmon-pink with darker pink ringing collar and sleeves. It joins the blue over his arm. "With your --" He hesitates, eyes flicking up and around the quiet store before returning to the rack, "-- is endurance even a thing you have problems with?" Eric smirks and he takes a step along the rack - coincidentally, bringing him a little bit closer to Dusk. His voice is lowered, too, almost to a whisper. "Sure - endurance, yeah. But... I can just keep goin'. I have no... recovery time. Just ready to go, all over again, just after I've gone the first time." He grins at Dusk and gives him a playful wink, turning back to the clothing. Dusk's cheeks flush dark again. For a moment his lips part, his eyes fixed on the clothes ahead, but he doesn't say anything. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and he snags a third shirt, black with a pair of diagonal stripes in electric blue. He draws in a slow breath, a little shivery, and takes a step back. "I should um. I should." His head shakes, briefly. "You have a good week, yeah?" "What're you doin', later?" Eric asks, turning to sweep the other man with his eyes and cross his arms over his chest. "I ain't got plans tonight, and I'm lookin' to find somethin' to do." His eyes twinkle as he raises his eyebrows, lips twisting into a smirk. "I --" Dusk's eyes widen, and his blush hasn't faded. "I don't know," he demurs apologetically, "I -- probably working, I don't --" His head shakes, and his tongue darts across his lips again. "I shouldn't --" His weight slides back, another step away. "Sorry. I should. It was nice to see you. Again." Eric gives a little shrug, and disappointment flashes briefly on his face. "Good to see ya again, too, Dusk," he says, raising one hand and giving it a little wave. "If ya change your mind, Shane has my number." He turns to the shelves once more, humming quietly to himself as he begins to ruffle through the clothes once more. Blue sequin shirt two sizes too small? That's on the to-try list. Dusk draws in a slow breath; it's only once Eric has turned away towards the racks that he lets his eyes drift up over the other man again. Briefly. His wings pull in tighter to his back as he turns to head towards the counter and check out.