stepsideways | Boxers vs. Briefs

Alester's first paycheck mainly went to not getting thrown into the streets, but pretty high up on the list of things he desperately needed was more clothing. While he'd gotten another shirt as one of his earliest Burby purchases he didn't actually have an entire second outfit to wear while the first was being cleaned, which was becoming awkward. Buying clothes, however, presented a problem. It wasn't that he looked out of place, because there barely seemed to be any prevailing fashion, but that he couldn't quite find what he was used to, certainly not at prices he could afford. So he had no idea what sort of thing he should be wearing both in terms of appropriateness and style, which was something of a first. Honestly, he was probably lucky the store sorted things into men's and women's saving him from any obvious disasters.

He ran his hand along racks of clothes, trying to judge his size and wishing he had bought a tape measure because he'd never actually had to buy anything that wasn't tailored before and didn't know his size. There wasn't much of anything that wasn't tailored in Charterre. But then a tape measure is only so much help if you don't actually know the units of measurement or how they correspond to being an "XL" in something, which he was pretty sure he was not. Of course, there were people working there--at least, presumably, he couldn't actually find an employee at the moment--but how exactly do you broach the topic of never having worn either kind of undergarment for sale and how to pick between them, let alone what size. He picked up a package and found himself slightly distracted by the photograph. If anyone had asked he would have claimed it was because photographs were a fascinating novelty and not anything to do with the fact that this one depicted the item being worn.

[ooc: Feel free to respond in action or prose I just happen to be feeling verbose. So very open.]

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[Much to his dismay, Tommy's knock knock jokes could only buy him Cokes at the bar. His and Merton's new landlord demanded real money... or an alternative that Tommy really didn't want to contemplate.

A job was necessary.

A clothes store isn't his ideal place to work, but it's close to the apartment and the pay is okay. It'll do for now.

He catches sight of a customer - Service with a smile! his boss always says, so he puts on a grin and heads over.]

Hi, welcome to Bertha's Barnyard. Can I help you find anything?

Yes, I think so? I don't know, that is, I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for. I've never worn clothes like this before.

[It's fairly obvious what he means given that he is in fact clad in breeches.]

[Tommy gives him a once over. Yeah, that's pretty obvious.]

Well then, you've come to the right place! I may not be a fashion expert, but I know how to put pants on.

[...what does that even prove, Tommy? Whatever.]

So these are your pretty standard underwear - boxers an' briefs. Which do you prefer?

I wouldn't know. I suppose I could try both.

Uh... [He looks around, then leans forward confidentially.]

You don't really try on underwear. It's one of those things you gotta buy first.

That's what I meant. Get some of both.

[He tries not to get defensive. And also maybe to turn the conversation in another direction.]

Can I try on other things?

[That would make sense, wouldn't it? And solve some of the problems.]

Yeah, sure! [RELIEF] You can try on pretty much anything else. Shirts, pants... well, that's really all we have for guys.

Hey Tommy! You forgot your lunch this morning.

[Merton strolls into the store, casually holding a bulging a chicken-y smelling paper bag with TOMMY DAWKINS written on it carefully in sharpie. Oh hey. Underwear.]

That's simple enough, I guess. I just need the right things to wear to work. At a bookstore, if that makes a difference.

[At home it would make a lot of difference what to wear depending on profession and/or social standing, but in Burby it's hard to tell.]

Mr. Chickerings? That's a pretty casual place. You could go with --

[sniff sniff CHICKEN]

Hey Merton!

[His stomach grumbles loudly. CHICKEN TIME!]

[Merton hands the bag over quickly. It's best not to stand between a werewolf and his chicken. Then he notices who he's talking to.]

Wow, cool look! Where'd you get the frock coat?

[Alester is momentarily annoyed by the interruption because it sounded like he was about to get helpful information, but on the other hand when aren't compliments welcome.]

Oh, it's from home.

[Anything more specific seems like it would be meaningless.]

[Tommy is about to snarf into the bag when he remembers he was helping a customer.]

Oh yeah! Anyway, like I was saying, you could probably get away with jeans and a t-shirt there. Jeans are that way.

[He points, but his attention is really on that bag of chicken.]

How's the job going, Tommy? Do you feel fulfilled contributing to the local economy?

[Clearly he is less interesting than chicken.]

Right. I'll just look over there, then.

[The blue things are jeans. He can remember that.]

[Don't be offended. Most people are less interesting than chicken.]

Call me if you need anything!

Merton, I'm with a customer.

Sorry. Sorry! It looks like he's not... ridiculously offended.

He's not supposed to be offended at all.

[He keeps an eye on Alester as they continue talking.]

But what about you? Anything new on where we are?

[Alester doesn't even pretend not to be listening to their conversation and addresses them both.]

Oh, you don't belong here either?

Tommy and I are interdimensional travelers from the sleeping little hamlet of Pleasantville, USA. What about you?

My name's Alester Siddons. I'm from--well, my hometown is a city called Leona, in Charterre, but I've been moving enough that I don't really know where I'd consider myself from. I'm certainly not an 'interdimensional' traveler, though--at least not on purpose.

[to Merton]

Don't you think it's more of a town?

[to Alester]

Charterre? That's in......... [Yeah, he's got nothing.] Where's that?

Boxers vs. Briefs

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