Chapter 23: A chimp in an admittedly stylish dress

“Ya know, I really wasn't expecting a Unitarian Universalist church in the afterlife, but I guess it makes sense.”

“Yeah, very pragmatic for a church. Which is a bit of an oxymoron.”

We chat as we leave the nameless town's only church, and wave back to the sole [Cleric] trying to keep it afloat.

“Nice lady. Patience is one hell of a concept to worship as a [Cleric] though.” I remark.

“I know, right? I hope she realizes what that'll entail when she gets to a high level. I don't know how aging works here but she might have to sit in the same spot and watch an oak grow from a sapling to a full tree or something.” Izzy replies.

“For now she can be content watching paint dry.” I joke. That gets a laugh out of her.

“Ey Cy, your book got somewhere we can get lunch?” Demarcus says.

Mato adds on. “Mm. We should probably figure out how far this place yer tryna take us is so we can pack proper rations.”

I think about the information and [Traveler’s Journal] comes up with nothing.

“Uh…” I flip manually through the book.

Isabella snorts. “Some book.”

I stare a single dagger at her and close the book sharply, turning back to the other two.

“No idea about lunch, but we can figure something out. Also, don't have an exact distance but… far. Says conifer forest going into a mountain range similar to the Appalachians in ‘all the worst ways’— whatever that means.”

“Can’t we just… forage and hunt as we go?”

“For four people? I can supplement our meals with some roots n’ nuts or somethin’ but not replace ‘em.” Mato replies.

Isabella butts back in as we walk through the residential district towards the [Artisans].

“All this effort just so you can penny pinch for bail money? Can't you just… I dunno, not commit the crime?”

“It's not for me!—” I trail off.

“—At least I don't think so… It's for somebody whose help imma need later. Besides, that's not how things work. I can't just not do the stuff that happens in the future, that won't change it. It'll just create branching timelines where I diverge from the events of the primary and the primary stays as is.”

Isabella seems to understand what I meant by that, Mato got the gist, and Demarcus is clueless but trusts me when I say I can't do it.

“Ugh, do you at least know how much you need so you can just save towards that number?” She asks, frustratingly reasonable.

My finger finds the page and I flip, covering the majority of the page with my hand so as to not read ahead and see details I don't need to. Regardless, the number I see makes my eye nearly pop from my head.

“Christ on a cracker! That's a lot of pesos!”

After a chorus of ‘what?’s and ‘lemme see's, I tell them the number.

“8,325,220 gold pieces is the listed bail.”

“Jesus, Cy! What'd this guy do, blow up a hospital?” Demarcus exclaims.

“I don't know, but even if we save every copper and silver coin that's gonna be just a drop in the bucket. There's gotta be something more I’m doing than just saving up. I wonder what?”

While saying that, I feel [Traveler’s Journal] activate and the hand covering the rest of the page instinctually shifts slightly.

Dangerously, despite every higher thought, despite everything my future selves have said, curiosity desperately twists like an addict in a moment of weakness. My base instincts betray me as if I'm nothing more than a chimp in an admittedly stylish dress, and I look at what future I’ve uncovered.

Maniacal laughter echoes down the streets of the [Artisan] district until Izzy smacks me upside the head.

“Ow.”

“Pendejo.”

Demarcus looks slightly concerned but he's been with me long enough that he knows the gig. He knows the difference between the laugh of me finding a score versus the laugh of coming up with some insane plot to kill the president.

“What's up man? What'd ya find?” He says, like I'm a dog digging frantically in a field.

“Demarcus. Demarcus. Demarcus. If you went back in time and spoke to your past self, what're some of the things you'd wanna tell him?” I ask, a painfully crazed grin splitting my face.

“Well, to start, I'd tell him my parents ain't worth shit, and to not be busted up over ‘em and that he'd find better people who want him. Then I'd tell him not to hang with those guys over on Leeford street that were selling fent. Then I guess tell him to invest in Bitcoin and not to sell til at least 2020, get him to bet on the Cubs in the 2016 world series.”

“No… Son, you didn't.”

“Holy shit!”

Mato and Isabella exclaim as they get it, Demarcus realizes a few seconds later as I nod my head ominously.

“Oh yeah. You guys go ahead and spend any petty cash you have, but save any big amounts. I've gotta work on my poker face.”

***

The Gold and Glory Adventurer's Casino, day 87 guide. Outcomes to all games.

***

I return to my maniacal laughter and am ready to dodge Izzy's inevitable smack, when I'm interrupted.

“Hey! You in the blue! Stop!”

Someone yells from behind us, and Demarcus and I instinctually set ourselves in a runners stance as our heads whip around to see who is yelling and just how mad they are.

We don't find any cops, or a bodega owner with a shotgun, what we find is a white woman in her mid-30s that looks like she invented the 80s.

Permed blonde hair, cat eye glasses, matching pink leather pants, a short but bulky pink jacket with black lighting bolts across it, a billion bangles on her wrists, fucking legwarmers. What could this Michael Jackson music video extra want with me?

“Stop— please! Thank you… hoo— thank you. These heels— are hard— to run in.”

She pants and catches her breath as she practically collapses once she makes it to where our group stopped in the street. She holds up 1 finger as she gasps for air, but between panting breaths she says

“Please— let me— make you clothes.”

She says that last bit with a manic smile as her head whips back up to me. She takes my hands aggressively and I try to pull away but her grip is like a vice.

“I'm a [Tailor], I have a skill, [Sense Material Quality], and when you walked past it was like I got punched in the face with gold.”

“Your top, please, let me make something with it. At least let me tailor it to fit you, it clearly doesn't.” She says gesturing to how I have it bunched up around my thighs and where the bust flops open.

“What even is this, a dress?” She says, grabbing hold of the hem of it and pulling the skirt free from my pants, letting it fall around my legs.

“No this won't do.” And she begins dragging me towards her shop by the skirt of the dress.

I slap her hands away and begin stuffing it back down my pants, embarrassed, as Isabella laughs up a storm.

“You were wearing a dress! Ahahaha! Oh, that's rich.” She says, wiping a tear from her eye.

The [Tailor] keeps hounding me.

“Please! At least let me cut off the skirt, you aren't using it!”

“Hands off lady! Besides, you can't cut this thing, I've tried!”

“Oho, but you're not a [Tailor].” She says, pulling a pair of fabric shears from… somewhere and snipping them dramatically.

“I won't even charge you! I just want a chance to work with that masterpiece. Magic cloth! Haha! Who cares about the pearly gates, this is heaven.” She says, practically giddy.

“Not interested. We’ve got a very strict schedule to keep—”

“I can work fast! 2 hours, tops.” She says, still dragging me towards her shop.

“Little help here guys?” I yell back to my group.

Demarcus looks like he’s about to help, but is letting me squirm a moment longer as he laughs. Mato is just amused but Izzy is practically on the floor. She shouts back to me.

“Yeah! Leave him alone! I think he looks pretty in that dress! And if he keeps it I can make fun of him for it for longer.”

“We can keep it a dress if you want!” The [Tailor] reassures me.

“No.”

“Oh so, what style would you prefer?”

“None! Would you—” my protests are cut off as I look up to see her shop, and notice the mannequins in the windows. One, wearing a full marching band uniform, hat and all, with a very familiar style of coat.

Double-breasted, 2 buttons, diagonal close with shoulder epaulettes.

I remember the coat my future self was wearing when I met him with the Mark of the Learned. It looked exactly like that one. Except the color was a shimmering sky blue— the same shimmering blue of my dress.

Plus an arm was missing.

I sigh deeply and whisper “oh god damnit” to myself. Then, I yell back to the group.

“I guess get lunch and buy supplies. I’ll meet up with you in two hours! Or else!” I yell that last part to the overeager [Tailor].

My group waves back, laughing, and no help at all.

***

I stand naked in a dressing room as the [Tailor] shouts over the walls.

“This is incredible! The cloth holds 3 different enchantments; self-repair, self-cleaning, and cut-resistant. But fascinating, that’s because it’s not the cloth that’s enchanted but the thread! The thread is actually 3 different separately enchanted and nearly microscopic threads all braided around each other like rope! Where did you get this?!”

I half-heartedly shout, dejected, back over the walls to her.

“Flaming undead viking.”

The door to the dressing room slams open and I cover my bits and bobs with an undignified shriek as her head pops in and her eyes sparkle as she asks

“Where can I find one?”

***

I emerge from the [Tailor]’s shop, spiffy, fancy, and incredibly humiliated.

She gave me a few sets of black high waist pants to go with the coat, and used the excess fabric of the coat to reinforce it around my chest; where all the important organs are.

Isabella falls back into laughter, but Demarcus just looks at me with urbane amusement, biding his time to make sure I can take the verbal jab before he delivers it.

Mato schools his expression before he hands me some rations and asks the group

“Alright, North by Northwest. Y’all ready to go?”

“Yes. Please. Get me out of this town.” I beg. Trying to hide the fact that I actually kind of like the look. Has a sorcerer meets time-traveler vibe, exactly what I’m going for.

“Aww I think you look nice. I think I had a Ken doll with that outfit.” Isabella jokes.

“Oh shut up and move. This thing’s enchanted so, you’ll be laughing until I survive a sword to the chest.”

“I’m sure I will,” Isabella says.

The fact that she says that actually makes me realize that she intends to stick around. In the interest of not getting myself branched and winding up in time-hell, I ask her to confirm that fact.

“I’m not gonna pass up the absolute gold-mine of mockery that is that outfit, so yeah I’m sticking around. For now.” She confirms, snidely.

Then, her expression shifts subtly, in a way I can’t quite name, but I notice the change.

“I talked about it with Demarcus and Mato, and they’re cool enough to just barely make putting up with you worth it. Just barely.”

Demarcus chimes in. “I promised her I can get you to shut up when I need to.”

I play up a faux dismay at the insult, a dramatic hand to my chest.

He smirks, and says. “Don’t make me a liar.”

We get to the edge of town, and pause as I read the binder. I glance up and nod to give everyone the go ahead, and we start our hike towards the treeline.

Demarcus, satisfied, finally makes his move.

“Lead the way, Cy. But hey— don’t forget your stick. Any good [Drum Major] needs a baton.”

I sigh, and hope these jokes won’t last the whole trip.