“Just on time,” he smiled, nodding towards the two boxes. “I got done putting the finishing touches on them just this morning. I trust that you will be satisfied.”
“I trust I will,” Zel grinned, pulling out her promissory ticket alongside a small bag of money she’d prepared ahead of time, containing the second half of her payment. She put it down on the counter and reached for one of the boxes, adding, “Let’s take a look, then.”
The craftsman then whipped at her with a roll gilded measuring-tape, its length wrapping her arm like a serpent and uncompromisingly dragging it away from the box.
“Ah ah ah-” admonished the old man, “No. Not here. You take those home, open them in private, try them on in private, and bring the boxes open if you want their price back. Only if you are dissatisfied, THEN you may come back to me with the articles in their boxes, and I shall summarily reconsider my life choices if that comes to pass. And don’t put them in Fog Storage, they’re too delicate right now.”
Though the last of his words were said in jest, the rest were entirely serious. This was something sacred to him, as if the articles of clothing contained herein could only be shown to their future wearer before first being worn…
“Look, just make sure you’re alone when you first put them on,” he explained. “Otherwise there’s a risk of them imprinting on someone else, these magic-insulated boxes prevent that. It’s also why you can’t put them in Fog Storage, they’re unstable - once they imprint on you, it’ll be fine to store them that way. Now, what was the other thing you wanted to ask of me? Come now, it’s easy to tell when you scarcely try to hide your intentions in the first place.”
Zel glanced towards Zef, who had already pulled a note out of her pocket and handed it over. She had refused to share what she had written down with Zel, making her only more curious about what it is that she asked of the tailor.
Regardless of what it was, after a written exchange about the details and quick measuring, the tailor asked for a quite reasonable down payment. Soon afterward they were on their way out of there, boxed pants and boots in tow.
Upon returning to the sect, Zel sequestered herself in the bedchamber while Zef remained just outside, giddily getting her fotoapparat ready for use.
Zelsys set both boxes down on the near-empty writing table, running her fingers over the lid of the smaller, lighter box which contained her new trousers. She took a moment to undress, before taking the box and sitting down on the bed with it in her lap.
It only took the intent to open it for its lock snap to open with a puff of black smoke, soon followed by the bolts that held the box shut. They jumped out of their slots, forcing the lid partially open and breaking the heretofore airtight seal.
With the seal’s breaking a waterfall of Fog began to pour forth from the box, even as Zel opened the lid fully and beheld the bundle of dark leather within. The glyphs which covered its exterior flashed bright white before growing dead and grey, having been broken.
Wisps of Fog rose from it even now, as she reached into the box to pull it out.
The supple leather lightly clung to the skin of her hands as she spread the garment apart to get a good look at it, her attention immediately caught by the wide lines of eye-catching scalebark, which started at the sides of the hips and slithered down towards the front. It merged seamlessly into the leather making up the bulk of the trousers, with individual red scales visible around the main swath and the leather itself textured by the scales it concealed.
Counter to their immediately noticeable flexibility and give the trousers were actually surprisingly thick, doubtlessly owing to their multilayered construction and the fact Zel had explicitly asked for something that could take tremendous punishment.
Slipping them on, she found momentary resistance as the inner lining stuck to her skin at points multiple times, until at last the beltline finally reached her thighs… And seamlessly rode past them to her waist.
To no surprise of hers they fit perfectly already, but silver candlesmoke-trails of Fog continued rising from the leather, and over the course of some twenty seconds or so, the trousers progressively tightened and molded themselves to fit to a degree impossible for any mundane fabric.
Her first pair had been good, but these… These were something entirely different.
Moving in them was even more effortless than the previous ones, the reinforced leather stretching and flexing even to extremes without the slightest squeak. Channeling both Fog and Fulgur through the fabric, too, gave next to no resistance - in fact, the Sturmgandr Leather lining soaked up Fulgur and held onto it when she willed it to do so, and released it just the same.
Within the box was also the belt she had requested, made from bright yellow snakeskin, with a cold-iron end cap and buckle. It was more for holding other things than the pants, not to mention for show.
Next came the other box, its bulk and size both quite a bit greater than that of the first. It opened just like the first, revealing within them gleaming golden metal and supple grayish-blue leather.
The first things that struck her about them were the thick, wedge-shaped shin guards, so closely resemblant of those she’d grown accustomed to that she wouldn’t have been surprised if they shared a design lineage. Second and third respectively came the claws and the difference between the individual boots respectively.
As for the claws, they were cold-iron - curved and sharpened to bite into things, as claws are wont to do.
It was the right boot’s ornamentation that was the real cherry on top, possessing an additional ankle and knee guard, the latter displaying the visage of a predatory bird - perhaps it was unrelated iconography, or perhaps the head of a Sturmgandr, she knew not.
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