#borrowing clothes

The objective is a complicated one, but it was supposed to be simple with the aid of magic.

The spell is a simple one, but the objective you want to achieve has made it overly complicated.

You wanted a longer sweater for the upcoming months something long on the lower end with equally long sleeves to tuck your hands and legs into when it got particularly cold, turning yourself into a ball of soft fabrics—a sponge of soft fabrics when you inevitably leaned against Muriel.

There were a handful of well failed attempts that you've since set aside to mess around with later with the help of some borrowed yarn from Portia , or attempts that near destroyed the sweater you were working on. Thankfully the bunch you've targeted using, were either sweaters that have already been worn to bits and a handful of cheaply bought sweaters for more experimentation.  

From the various failed attempts you have one sweater that ended up with sleeves so long you could use it for a scarf. Another attempt stole fabric from the sleeves to lengthen the torso portion, and one of the attempts had simply made the woolen material far, far, far too thick to work with. Each were an interesting discovery in their own right of course, with the latter one in particular being added as a possible adjustment you would like to make to your end result. Not as thick as the material at hand of course, but something akin to that amount.

Beneath your fingers the well worn fabric of one of your more damaged sweaters stretches and expands. Fabric spills over your lap, as threads twist and turn growing thicker or longer depending on your desires, and as the light finally dims from it's passage through your fingertips and into the very fibers of the sweater you find yourself with a substantially larger and thicker sweater, fluffy and soft, though a little too big around the collar, and the sleeves seemed a pinch too loose. Practically perfect though! You promptly turn your attention to the target sweater you're intent on changing setting aside the successful practice to join the other attempts and work at slowly expanding the sweater. It doesn't take long before your sweater is now larger and comfier and fluffier around you, and very eagerly, you dash out of the hut intent on showing off your new creation.

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Muriel returns, to the pleasantly warm confines of the hut. You're still outside, having gone on a quick trip to the marketplace, to go grab some groceries intent on getting the most important goods before the worst of an upcoming snowstorm hit. Snow wasn't exactly common in Vesuvia but on the odd occasion a wash of cold weather sweeps through, sometimes bringing snow, sometimes only bringing ice. While Muriel felt far more comfortable than most in the cold chilly temperatures, he knew full well he wasn't exactly a good example of an average citizen and though he knew how to manage his way through frost and snow, getting extra groceries was always a good help.

Extra cuddly items like sweaters and blankets couldn't hurt either.

Noticing the pile of thick fabric materials Muriel pokes his way through your failed attempts. You very eagerly showed off your brand new sweater, or well, old-ish sweater with brand new measurements. Made to protect even better against the cold beneath a water and wind proof cape. While you had tried to explain your process to him, bouncing around with glee at your success, Muriel found it difficult to imagine how you had been able to change the fabric to somehow create more of itself.

His hands stop at the sight of one sweater, well worn, and almost tearing at the seams. There's a little hole around the chest, and the sleeves seem to be moth-bitten, and he wonders how long you've had this. It's a much bigger size, clearly a victim of your testing for your sweater, and as he holds it up into the air to inspect it more, he finds it to almost fit his own size.

Tugging the fabric over his head, Muriel is greeted by a wash of scent. You've worn this sweater a lot surely. Perhaps as casual wear at some point of time. He recalls dimly seeing you wear it around the hut on the odd occasion, and though he feels slightly bad, he takes a moment to appreciate the feeling of being wrapped in something that smells so strongly of you.

When he finally pulls the sweater down, he finds the fabric fits him like a glove. No slouchiness or poofiness that you seemed so fond of in your own sweater, but it fits him, and it fits him well, even if there are a few odd holes amidst the seams.

Muriel takes off the sweater, setting it aside atop of your shared bed before he goes digging in the shelves of your stuff. Portia had lent the both of you some yarn at some point, if he recalled, perhaps he could patch a hole in this.

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Muriel returns home a little later than you, and though you're curious to see what he's done while you were out helping Asra and hauling groceries, the question escapes you when you actually see him. Patched with little hearts Muriel wears your old and tattered sweater, the one you made a little too large for you, but perfectly fits him.

And when he walks in the door, he stops, stares, and drops the knitting tools he's likely borrowed from Portia.

And in typical fashion, his face grows pink

"Is that my...?" you barely finish your question before Muriel sputters his reply.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't.... There were a bunch of holes in it and...." Though you try to hide it, try to bite your lips and cover your mouth to hide your grin, there's no mistaking the delight and glee that fills your cheeks, as you grin. Just seeing it Muriel seems to grow worse, face growing redder and redder. "I... Uh.... I didn't ........... It was just there.........and I just thought..........."

You don't say anything, no longer finding any need to hide and instead unabashedly grinning from ear to ear, pleased as punch at the sight of Muriel wearing your clothes. It fits him so nicely, you're almost upset you hadn't thought of doing so yourself.

He goes quiet in reply, staring down at the floor as smoke seems to puff from his ears, while Inanna rolls her eyes behind him and starts headbutting him in through the door. He scrambles to pick up his things at the gesture closing the door and keeping the chill from filling your little home.

Still he tries not to look at you. And yet you can't help but poke and prod.

"Is it comfy?"

He almost jumps at the question. "I.... Yeah. It's really soft and....." His mouth snaps shut with a faint click of his teeth, as he returns to busying himself with putting away the tools Portia let him borrow.

It's just a few tools, in any other scenario, he'd just set them on the shelf and sort it out later, there was no need for him to hem or haw over any container to put them into.

He just doesn't want to look at you right now, doesn't want to see the grin you have at seeing him in your clothes or at what he almost—

"and what?"

He doesn't have to reply, but you both know he will anyways.

With a soft and tepid voice, Muriel turns to just glance at you from the corner of his eye. "It..... It smells nice."

He doesn't say "it smells like you," but you both know that's what he means, and though you can't quite manage a pout around your grin you still lift up the sleeves of your sweater, and open your arms up to him.

"Aww, could you help me make mine smell nice as well?"

And though red faced, and still blushing, Muriel finally turns to you with a smile. How could he not? The prospect of a hug far too enticing, though he still tries to look away to hide it.

Curling up into your arms as his own come up to wrap around you, the both of you find the overwhelming warmth... Pleasant.

Outside it's frigid, icy and cold.

"Ah-ah-ah, don't try to resist! You're a fine young man, my friend, but we all have our weaknesses. Appearances are easy to fix!"

My neck is going to start hurting if I keep having to look up like this. Julian is gesturing enthusiastically, his coat billowing in the breeze as he gets caught up in his monologue on self-improvement. Do I point out the irony, or -

"He doesn't look that bad, he just needs some more ... smrthrgnh." The last word of Asra's sentence is muffled by a mouthful of bread. My bread. Why is he eating my snack?

"Why are your clothes so shapeless anyways? Show off a little something! You should do like I do and get everything tailored. Work that figure!" Lucio takes a few heeled steps and then spins, striking a pose to show off his suit. Muriel frowns.

"It's okay if you don't want to show off." Thank you. "But maybe you could ... pay attention to patterns." I take it back.

"Yeah, what's up the funky looking skeleton? There's no way the fabric it's painted on is going to last longer than a few washes."

"It's merch, Portia." She huffs at my defense and plops down across from me, brushing my parchment out of the way. "I like it because of the pattern, the quality is just ... unfortunate, sometimes."

"I believe we've made our intentions clear." Nadia sails into the discussion and gives me a no-nonsense look. "It would be remiss of us to allow our friend to sit in a public space with so little care for his appearance. Especially when he is one of Vesuvia's aspiring authors."

I try a pleading look, but the only person who starts to look remotely guilty is Julian. Portia's elbow to his ribs makes quick work of that.

"I have shi- I mean, I have stuff to write. And to get done. If you want to look through my wardrobe and help me put together outfits later, we can, but I don't want to leave my corner right now."

"I cannot say this response is unexpected," the Countess gives me a sly but friendly smile, "so I've prepared something for you in advance. When the time comes to return it to me, I expect you to do so with a cleared schedule and an open mind to fresh aesthetics." She holds out her hand, an intricate set of silver chains dripping from her fingers. "From my personal collection - I expect it will suit you nicely."

I sigh. The sooner I accept, the sooner I can go back to not being scrutinized by six pairs of frustratingly kind eyes. "Thank you. I'll take very good care of it."

Nadia moves the jewelry out of the way as I reach for it. "I desire something in exchange."

"What ... what something?"

"I'd like your sweater, please."

"My hoodie? But it's so comfy!"

Her eyelids droop in poorly concealed annoyance. "Your 'hoodie' is in a severe state of disrepair. I can see the threads poking out from the seams, young man, I don't care to see my prized jewelry hidden under such a tired item."

"... okay." I squirm out of my hoodie, handing over the pile of fabric in exchange for the chains. The short sleeves of my undershirt leave my arms exposed, something that I thought I did more often, except -

"You have tattoos?!" Portia's reaching across the table, snatching up my wrist to get a closer look at the slowly growing sleeve. "That's so cool! I've heard that they can really hurt."

"That's a familiar symbol," Asra eyes the lineart on my upper arm where its stretched across the table in front of them. "What do the other ones mean?"

"There's one on your neck, too!" Lucio sounds almost scandalized. "Let me see it!" Before I know it, my freshly exposed neck and arms are being closely examined while a few more sharp eyes focus in on the hints of ink peeking out on my shoulders and chest. This is why I wear hoodies.

Muriel's quick to notice my discomfort when the attention shifts to my neckline and bound chest. "My turn," he grumbles, dropping a navy blue scarf around my collar.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now give me the second hoodie."

It's hard not to scowl, but I untie the backup hoodie's sleeves from my waist and hand it over. Dang it. "Here."

"You look chilly, my mentally decaying friend!" Good lord, when is Julian going to stop ribbing me over my pen name?

"It's brainrot." He doesn't falter.

"Allow me to rectify your situation! I guarantee you this trusty cloak will protect you from the fiercest of storms." He pulls the massive, dramatic coat from his shoulders in a rehearsed sweep and twirls it to fall behind me. He keeps the armholes open with an excited grin until I push my hands through them.

"This is ..."

"Warm? Comfortable? Touching?"

"Huge." I can barely hold back my laugh. "There's no way even your arms come out the other end of these sleeves! ... but thanks, I'm definitely not cold any more."

"I'll help you roll them up," Portia chirps. Her nimble fingers make quick work of the endless fabric, and I can see my ink stained hands again in no time. "Now give me your socks."

Oh no. My boots are sitting next to the pile of cushions, my socked feet tucked under me for maximum comfort. It's not the stink I'm worried about - for all my poor fashion sense, I never miss my daily shower, or laundry day - but to say that I walk gently would be a blatant lie. I briefly size up the determined look on her face before sighing and shucking them off under the table. "... remember, you asked for this."

Hey jaw drops. "Please tell me you have at least one pair of socks that don't have holes in them."

I shrug. "As long as I can still wear them ..."

"No!" She slams her hand on the table, rattling the now-empty bread bowl sitting in front of a shameless snack thief. "These aren't socks anymore, they're practically cobwebs! I'm knitting at least five more of these."

She shoves a pair of knit orange socks into my hands, lovingly covered with Pepi's cat hair and decorated with little blue bows. "Put these on, I'm burning the rags you gave me."

We both know my pout is just for show. It's not my usual style to wear anything that isn't black (or very, very dark grey), but the bright orange gift is supremely comfortable when I put it on.

"My turn," Asra begins with an innocent smile.

"Where's my bread?"

The dimples deepen. "Give me your head covering, and I'll tell you."

"My beanie?"

"Is that what it's called?" He holds out his hand, taking a closer look at the shabby knit fabric when I pass it to him. "I don't see why, there aren't any beanlike qualities about it. Ooh, unless they're invisible beans ..."

Nadia's sharp cough sets them back on track. "Wear this instead, until we can find a better replacement." Oh god, tell me it's not -

It is. It's his iconic wide brimmed hat, complete with the oversized neon rainbow feather nodding from the band. I don't have time to protest before they're plopping it onto my head and wobbling it into place with a laugh. "Now you're unnoticeable." I highly doubt that. "As to your bread, Selasi's been asked to bring you some of the next hot batch. Can you forgive me?"

Nothing about a smile as smug as his says "guilty", but to be fair, I was never upset. I nod. "So ... can I go back to writing now?"

"What about me?!" I glance from Lucio's outraged pout to the rest of the group. I'm fairly certain that, even if he was invited to the planning for this, he didn't follow through on deciding which offending article of clothing he wanted to replace. "You didn't tell me I had to bring something!"

Portia rolls her eyes. "Well maybe if you had listened when I was talking to you, then you would've known." I don't miss the quiet smile lurking in the corners of Muriel's face as Lucio turns bright red and sputters.

"Well joke's on you, 'cause I'm going to give him something anyways!" He starts taking a hasty inventory of his outfit. "Yeah, that's right! I'm gonna give him ... I'm gonna give himmmmm ... this!"

He unfastens his smallest medal and leans over the table, poking the pin of it through the thick leather of Julian's jacket, disregarding the whimper of protest from the doctor behind him. "It's supposed to be airtight, to keep out the bad humors ..."

"There!" The ex-count grins down at me proudly. "Now your outfit isn't boring. You can give that back to me when you have a better look."

"Thanks," I tell him, and I mean it after noticing the way he glances forlornly at the new empty spot on his sash. "I'll make sure it gets back to you."

"We should go now." Muriel's already half-turned away. "... I'm still not sure this worked."

Asra steps back to his friend, surveying my new look from a distance. "Maybe this will motivate him to let us fix his look sooner."

"It looks better with my medal on it," Lucio announces proudly. Portia lays a firm hand on his shoulder and starts heading away, dragging him with her.

"You'll look better once you make time for us, promise!"

"You should be somewhat protected from the elements, at least." Julian eyes his cuffed coat critically. "If you fasten it correctly, it's airtight, humors proof, water tight, blood proof, pus proof -"

"We'll leave you in peace." Nadia smiles again, amusement dancing in her eyes every time she looks at me. "I suggest you prioritize finishing this project soon."

The six disappear back into the crowd. I lean back against the stone wall behind me, Asra's hat knocking forward over my eyes and giving me a moment of peace. Sure, I may have looked shabby before in my all black-and-grey, well worn clothes, but now -

I'm startled out of my blissful shuteye by a surprised choke. Selasi's standing by my table, a fresh bowl of spiced rolls in one hand and the other clapped over his mouth. "Would you - would you like a mirror, my friend?"

I hold out my hand for the rolls, mentally taking it as a consolation prize for what I've just been lovingly wrangled into.