Beauty & The Beast

[Carthrat]

Sunday morning in San Fransisco.

Dozens of drivers going about their business gawk at the body and physique of one N'Dovu, African immigrant, skilled stick-fighter, and a really scary guy, towering above everyone else in the street and, if he was in a crowd, would be carving a path through it as people try to avoid the heavily-tattoed, bone-speared body-artist who really does make a huge impression.

At the moment, he's hanging about in the area of the Vapor Room, even though it's not actually his shift. Indeed, the bar is closed at the moment; it's not really something that goes on during the day, as it tries (and semi-succeeds) in emulating those ultra-hip clubs that are closer to the city centre.

Today, he has a mission.

Today, he's going to find some pants that fit.

And while there aren't that many, there are enough new-age, drugged-up hippies about that either don't see properly or just don't care about the monster of a man roaming the streets (it's also a bright shiny day, which makes a huge black guy really stand out) who might just be willing to help him get done what needs the doing.

[Brian]

Taking a deep breath, N'dovu glances -- briefly -- at those around him.  Most are of no concern, and are too distant from the spirits to bother speaking to; indeed, they see the spirit marks N'dovu bears, and fear them.

Fools.

Shaking his head, he roams slowly up the street, trying to remember if one of the coffee shops in the area is also a popular hangout for those waiting to get into the Vapor Room, or just those who go to the Vapor Room in general.

Hippies (would-be-brothers, as N'dovu sees them -- lacking the true ambition to become more than just relaxed, and misusing drugs for something other than contacting spirits) aren't hard to find in the city.  Though, finding one who is active, and interested in more than being happy is more difficult.  Still, the would-bes tended to have a keen grasp of what other would-bes could provide for them.  It wouldn't be too hard to find someone who could make N'dovu clothes, either.

It would, hyowever, be much trickier to find someone who was willing.

To that end, N'dovu is carrying both his own prescription, and a handful of the 'dirt weed' as the management calls it to use as barter.  And money, of course, but a little something extra to grease the wheels, so to speak, never hurt.

Pretending to use his iron-wood fighting stick as a cane was never something N'dovu enjoyed, and he doubted anyone who saw him really believed that it was a cane.  But doctor Jones insisted, and N'dovu couldn't think of any reason to deny doctor Jones his spell of 'justification', even if it did mean that N'dovu needed to pretend ... or more realistically pretend to pretend ... that he relied on the stick as a cane.

[Carthrat]

The outer-inner-city district is more populated by cars than anything, but there's still quite a few people wandering about. A short distance away are a bunch of morning-rappers and a boom-box, who seem to be part of the background than a group in their own right.

Office-workers and kids scabbing off school nonwithstanding, there's a couple guys leaning under a palm tree, smoking something that isn't tabacco, and both wearing daggy, long jackets and big, flaring jeans. One of them's wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and the other's got a pair of coke-bottle glasses that seem a little fogged over.

With dreamy looks on their faces, they're certainly paying N'Dovu no more attention than they are to the rest of the world, which is to say, less than none.

[Brian]

N'dovu eyes the would-bes distastefully.  Most can restrain themselves better than that ... and their clothing looks more outdated than hand made.  Shaking his head, N'dovu begins lumbering towards a cafe a few blocks distant.  N'dovu never did grasp the purpose of a car in the city.  They had at least looked useful in his village, but in the city, everything you could need was within easy reach.

Lazy Americans.

[Carthrat]

Perhaps it's to make suitable amounts of noise, and keep people off the nature strips; one of the few bits of the city that are pleasant to look at.

When he gets there (with his long stride, it doesn't take very long), N'Dovu discovers that the not-that-small cafe is filled up with the brunch crowd; that is to say, quite a few single women (none of whom are giving N'Dovu 'considering' looks, unless you count looking everywhere but him and eating very fast 'considering'), and what looked to be a bunch of trendy guys in one corner, wearing spick-and-span outfits with perfectly combed (often blonde) hair, with matching sunglasses and that irritating nasal voice that so often features, these days.

In another corner are a small group of more relaxed-looking people, who despite looking at N'Dovu with a degree of apprehension (as you do) don't seem overly concerned, more intent on their completely vegetarian meals and large vanilla milkshakes.

[Brian]

N'dovu slows his pace slightly, casually looking around the interior of the place without conspiciously looking at anyone in particular as he approaches the line to reach the counter.

Once there, he pulls out the top two bills from the wad of cash he carries in his pocket, checking to make sure he won't overpay. Once he reaches the line, he looks comfortable and at ease, acting as though this was all very ordinary for him.

Because it was.

Once the line is cleared, N'dovu orders his usual drink (a small glass of whole milk), and looks for a clear place near the more relaxed crowd.

[Carthrat]

The chairs around the place were a little small, but there was one of those semi-couches against the wall (with cushions!) that looked as though it might take N'Davu's bulk. That aside, there was no great shortage of open spaces; the cafe was only about half-full.

[Brian]

N'dovu takes a seat and looks around at those sitting near him briefly, trying to spot anything that might indicate a knowledge of skilled tailors, but not expecting to find anything right away.  This search would be much easier than many others had been, since there was little reason for the law to attempt to stop him.

[Carthrat]

Well, none of the guys are wearing a 'Tailor' badge, but they're in varying states of dress. A couple are dressed pretty much like the guys N'Dovu saw earlier, with similar daggy coats, though both of them are wearing floppy hats and spectacles (with a chain).

The other three hippie-types are notably better dressed, wearing shirts that fit (albeit hang rather loosly. Looks intentional.), and neatly combed hair. The whole group is chatting amiably amongst itself.

On the other hand, the metrosexual group in the other corner look like they've just walked out a designer warehouse. A couple are wearing really suave jackets, and they're all neatly polished, combed, and washed. They even *smell* fresh.

The other people in the cafe are wearing fairly typical suit-ish type outfits. Dr. James once tried to force N'Dovu into a suit, with hilarious (for James) results.

[Brian]

N'dovu supresses a grimace at the memory of buttons and buckles bouncing across the floor, as though fleeing from him, and nods to the most likely of the hippies.  "That is a very nice shirt," he says conversationally, cutting directly to the point.  This could take a while, and dallying won't make it go faster.

[Carthrat]

The hippie blinks, a little surprsied at being addressed, but rapidly regains his composure. "Y'think so, man? Cost a good deal more than I should've had to pay-"

A slightly disgruntled look crosses on of the other hippies faces, but the man goes on nontheless, "-but it's probably my most comfy. Y'know. Like a second skin. Even though it, uh, flares out.

Your shirt is pretty nice, too, uh, sir."

[Brian]

N'dovu looks at what is rapidly becoming a very threadbare shirt with long sleeves.  The elbows had long ago worn out, and since then, N'dovu has rolled them up past that.  The cloth is thin enough that the effect isn't even very noticable.

"Perhaps," N'dovu says dubiously.  "I was hoping," he adds, turning to the man and offering the barest glimmerings of a smile -- more, and they saw the teeth, and tended to get unreasonable -- "you could tell me where you had gotten yours.  Perhaps, I might be able to get one like it."

After an uncomfortable pause, N'dovu adds, "In my own size."

[Carthrat]

The man blinks. "Well, uh, I got it from this street-seller. Down at the Sunday market. Only a couple months ago, in fact."

He gives a small shrug. "I don't remember the guy offhand, but he was just one of many. I'm sure there's at least one shirt down there that'll, uh, fit you. Or maybe you could just ask them to tailor one? I think they're all hand-made."

[Brian]

N'dovu rubs his chin thoughtfully.  An outdoor market?  This would be even better than he had hoped.

"Where is this market?" he asks, raising an eyebrow curiously.

[Carthrat]

The guy shrugs. "Near central park," he replies. "It's on the east end. Can't miss it. Catch the 42 bus to the park, and you shouldn't have much trouble."