Chapter 52.3

“Well?  What do you think?” Arx asked as we stepped through the door.

Apparently, she had taken the opportunity to preemptively don her outfit.  And from the eager expression on her face, I assumed she had done so solely to be first in line for compliments.

Not that I was one for high-fashion, of course.  Or particularly good at compliments.

And the outfit… well…?

The top half was a red blouse that looked like something an 18th century blackjack dealer might wear, complete with poofy sleeves, a high collar, and brass buttons.  She even had one of those thin, black armbands they liked to wear around one bicep for no apparent reason.

Meanwhile, the bottom half was just a pair of thigh-high tights with some securing straps disappearing up her waistcoat.  She was even wearing a bit of a thong.  Or some kind of triangle to cover her mons, anyway.

Which meant her butt cheeks and the tail swinging between them were left exposed to the open air.  Not that I had a problem with that, but she would probably have gotten herself arrested wearing that in public where I was from.

Unfortunately, whatever the tailor had been going for was being spoiled by the evident discomfort of its wearer.  Despite the smile plastered over her features, Arx was fidgeting like she was covered in ants and kept scratching at the material over her chest—whether consciously or not—literally to the point where large rents had opened up to expose her cleavage.

It was kind of funny in an unintentional sort of way.  True to the tailor’s word, the garment kept trying to heal itself, which meant it had started sewing over and through the amulet she kept hanging from around her neck.  So she seemed to be stuck in a frustrating battle of attrition with the thing.

Then there were the leggings… the bottoms of which had not survived contact with her feet—and the spikes protruding from her toes.

Weirdly… I kind of liked the overall effect.  It gave Arx that ‘proper lady cast into a savage land… and become savage in turn’ kind of look that was popular for heroines in those old turn-of-the-century serials.  I might have even asked her to keep it…

Except her vagina appeared to be trying to gum its way to freedom.

“You look beautiful, Arx,” I lied baldly.

Sexy?  Of a certainty and easily, at that.  She would have been hard-pressed not to be.  Especially with the cleavage she was sporting.  I was much more used to the free-hanging look, so it was amazing to see how much bigger they looked once given some support.  Which was almost certainly the point of push-up bras, now that I was thinking on it.

However, beautiful?  Graceful?  Elegant?  If anything, she looked more like a wild animal on the verge of chewing through her own foot.

“But you would look beautiful in anything.”

She grimaced, having detected the falsehood before I even opened my mouth.  However, she still took the attempted complement with grace and curtsied.

“Dearest is too kind,” she managed through her teeth.

“You aren’t even wearing the hat!”

Arx did not turn to look at the tailor, which told me all I needed to know about her opinion of whatever this was going to be.  However, when I looked…

Honestly, it took me a moment to figure out what I was even supposed to be seeing.  The tailor seemed to be gesturing toward a weirdly-symmetric pile of laundry sitting on his counter.  Yet, once I got a little closer, I realized it was actually an extremely wide-brimmed hat topped with what had to be hundreds of delicately-folded flowers, all made from a random assortment of cloth textures.

And all of which had been selected from an array that could not have been more violently removed from color theory had the man tried.  Which he might well have.  Artists could be like that.

All in all—and with the outfit it had been meant to go with—well, if there had ever been a candidate for the most horrible taste to ever be graced with such excellent execution, this was it.

No wonder this crap was so expensive.

Hesitant at first, I began to lift the hat from the counter, only to discover that the thing had to weigh close to thirty pounds.

“Watcher’s breath.  Have you tried this thing on yet?”

“It’s a little… big,” she said.  Which about as diplomatic a reply as this monstrosity could ever warrant.

“Fah!  What is a little discomfort in the name of fashion?!”  The tailor sniffed.  “And stop your scratching!  You will wear out the skill enhancement before you even leave the shop.”

Arx grimaced.  “I… can’t.  There needs to be a hole here.  I can’t… I can’t breathe otherwise.”

I nodded along.  If it had been me, I would have stoically let the man dress me in whatever ridiculous outfit he wanted, then go home and hang the thing in a dusty corner of my closet to quietly forget about.

However, it was not me, and Arx looked in genuine distress.  Plus, I was pretty sure a guy with an attitude like his would expect his clientèle to be just as much up their own ass as he was.

“Yes, I quite agree.  Won’t do at all.”  I tutted aggressively.  “And just look at what happened to her leggings.  Did you forget they had claws?”

The man stiffened, caught off-guard, then cleared his throat.

“All part of the process, I assure you.  One does not deal in bespoke items without a few… final adjustments,” he assured me coolly.  “Here, off with it.  I’ll take care of that while the rest of you try on your own selections.”

Behind me, I heard Jax whisper into Lynnria’s ear, “The Master likes to claim a’times he ain’t nobility.”

Lynnria sputtered softly.  “How utterly ridiculous.”