#french uniform coat

[ltwilliammowett]

Uniform coat of an officer of the French Navy, 1852-1870

[cynics-and-cynology]

Suddenly, there is a cat. In its mouth it holds a small piece of paper, which it offers to the recipient.

The content of the paper is as follows:

Friend?

The cat will now follow him around.

Despite his inclinations towards free thought and independence, Blaze is not much of a cat person. Quite the opposite, really. This is one of the instances when he almost regrets that there's nobody else in the vicinity whom this cat could latch onto instead.

"What business do you have tracking me, huh? How did you take care of yourself before now? Did your mother not teach you how to catch field mice for yourself? If you want to be kissed and pampered and whatnot, go find yourself a sentimental lady of higher society who'll give you fresh beef every day, a satin pillow to sleep on and probably festoon you with lace and ribbons or (God forbid) put a little dress on you."

He crouches to read the note properly.

"Friend?"

He snickers, but not unkindly so.

"A blue coat and a white nose,* of course you need a friend. Well, a friend I could be." (A peer. An equal.) "I have to warn you though, my friend, that there is a capricious little lady in my household, and if she doesn't like you, there's not much to be done against it, you understand. But if all goes well, I will not be a bad host."

[pomefioredove]

could you perchance do a part two to the yuu getting sold to the highest bidder? like how would that characters treat them if they actually get them? sorry if this doesnt make sence!! but thank uu!! ^_^

more than happy to! <3 I'm writing this as a follow up/pt. 2 to this post but if you'd like something different don't be shy! I love getting requests

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: joining their dorms + wearing the uniforms (for some). a proper ending to this type of post: short fics characters: trey, cater, leona, rook, idia, lilia, malleus additional info: yuu is gender neutral, rook is weird, both fem and masc french words are used during rook's part but reader is still gn, I need to replay book 2 to get leona's voice down, Idia being fun to write, maybe a little ooc

If you thought it was bad before, the news that Malleus intended to marry you made everything about twenty times more chaotic. Bids were upped to insurmountable sums, rumors were spread like the plague, fights were raging through campus as the deadline to donate approached. Even Crowley was starting to feel a little antsy, despite all of the brand new amenities he had already ordered for his office.

Finally, the day came. The announcement was held in the courtyard, where just about any student who had stakes in the matter had shirked whatever after-school responsibilities they had to gather. The prefect themselves was nowhere to be found, though only few noticed their absence.

"Maybe it'll be nice," you say to your direbeast companion, the both of you tucked away in a dark corner at Ramshackle.

"It'll definitely beat living in this dump. You think they got good food in Diasomnia?" Grim murmurs.

You grimace. "Uh... sure. I can't imagine they wouldn't, right?"

Crowley clears his throat, pulling a thin, delicate envelope out of his coat pocket while the crowd eagerly watches on. He takes his sweet time opening it, much to everyone's utter dismay, and when he finally withdraws the contents the entire courtyard falls quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"And our winner is..."

Trey and Cater's Ending

"Cater Diamond and Trey Clover!"

Everyone stops dead and turns to the back of the crowd. There's a certain sense of unity that, for a brief moment, everyone can feel in the form of a single thought: Them, of all people?

Cater, ever the people-person, can already tell what's on everyone's minds. "What can I say? I run a mean social media campaign. I had some sick infographics,"

Trey can only smile and shrug at the growing disdain coming from the other students, most of which from his own housewarden, who is s currently turning a lovely shade of crimson.

"...Right. Well, the prefect will be ready for you shortly," Crowley says, folding the envelope and setting it back in his pocket. "I trust your housewarden will help you sort out the details."

Riddle looks more like he's about to start throttling them.

"Nah, it's cool. We got this," Cater smiles, though he's only half paying attention as he posts an update to Magicam. "The prefect is in great hands. Right, guys?"

Ace and Deuce shrug. Not the best outcome, not the worst, and either way it's still their friend coming to stay with them. Riddle is gritting his teeth so hard you could practically hear them grinding from Ramshackle.

"Was anyone going to tell me you two had pitched in, as well? Or was it a surprise?"

Trey smiles, almost nervously. "Well-"

"We were only giving the dorm a better chance. It's basic statistics- more Heartslabyul names in the hat, more of a chance one of us will be drawn, y'know?" Cater beams. "No disrespect, of course."

"None whatsoever," Riddle hisses back.

---

"And you're sure he's not really mad?" you ask, trailing behind the two third years.

It had been almost an hour since you'd updated your Magicam feed and read the announcement firsthand, but the shock is still wearing off.

Cater scoffs. "Whaaaat? No, he's totally cool about it,"

"Well. Now he is, anyway," Trey murmurs back. "But he certainly won't kick you out. As long as you're in the dorm uniform, you're one of us. He's just upset we went behind his back."

"...Understandable,"

Cater holds the door open for you, letting you inside to see a precariously placed mannequin with a dorm uniform in your size already on it. You hate to admit it, but it's lovely.

"Riddle had one ready. You know, just in case," Trey says, gesturing you forward. "And don't worry, we'll all be taking it easy on you while you adjust."

You run your fingers down the durable fabric. "Hm. Thanks,"

"You should get changed, I need a post to commemorate the moment," Cater says, beaming. "And I kindaaaa want to rub it in for everyone else who lost out on the best giveaway ever."

Leona's Ending

"Leona Kingscholar! Please... be responsible. Ruggie, I hope you'll keep an eye out for the prefect,"

Ruggie rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything. Leona, who had been absent-mindedly picking his teeth before the big announcement, flashes a big smirk to the audience while swaggering to the front of it.

"Well, well. Look who's come in first place, after all. What, didn't think I'd bother to try?"

Vil grimaces, crossing his arms. "Is there a point to this?"

"Obviously. I'm showing off," he rolls his eyes. "I guess I'll be seeing the rest of you lot around my territory a lot more, then?"

He snickers and then disappears back inside the building. Ruggie can only shrug at the disgruntled crowd before tailing after him.

---

"Well, that felt nice," Leona sighs, stretching out on one of the lounge chairs. "Pity that I couldn't see the lizard's reaction, but I'm sure we'll get to that eventually."

You're sitting at the table across from him, playing cards with a very invested Ruggie. You raise an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Malleus," Ruggie mutters, shuffling his cards around in his hand.

"It's never a party without him, right? He was probably off cowering somewhere with his tail behind his legs," Leona chuckles, picking his teeth again. "But everyone else's faces just about made up for it."

"Whatever," Ruggie grumbles. "I'm all in."

Though you're not exactly invested in the game anymore. You set down your cards, much to Ruggie's dismay, and stand over Leona with your hands on your hips.

"I hope you know that I won't be one of your errand runners for you. I've done enough of that with Crowley,"

He pauses, sharp eyes scanning you over. "You certainly know how to rain on someone's parade,"

"This is not a parade. This is my sanity we're talking about,"

"Tch. And what're you gonna do? Run away?" Leona rolls his eyes. "Hide in the jungle? Maybe you can take Ruggie with you and make it a party!"

"Hey, leave me out of this," the aforementioned says, shuffling the deck.

You stand your ground, though you don't know what else to say. Eventually, Leona sighs.

"Fine. I won't make you do anything you don't want to if you're just going to whine about it,"

He pauses, and a small smirk crosses his face. "But you'll at least have to wear the uniform. I need the satisfaction of seeing the look on everyone else's faces."

You smile triumphantly, and sit back down across from Ruggie for another round while Leona watches on, pretending not to care about the game.

It could be better, but it could also be worse.

Plus, something about that smile of his let on more than just a little self-satisfaction.

This could definitely be interesting...

Rook's Ending

"...Ah. Rook Hunt!" Crowley says, folding the paper back in his pocket and leaning down to whisper to Azul in the front row. "Tell the prefect I said good luck."

At the heart of the crowd, Vil turns to Rook, hands on his hips. "Rook..."

"Ah, magnifique! How happy I am, my heart could weep for joy!" he says, completely ignoring whatever disappointed comment Vil was about to unleash. "I must run to my prize at once, there's not a moment to lose!"

Vil grimaces as Rook bounds off into the school, moving so swiftly that he cuts through the crowd of confused (and mildly concerned) students like an arrow.

As always, Rook is genuine with his words- he truly feels as if his own heart is about to leap out of his chest and race him towards Ramshackle.

What a chance, what an opportunity! Not only to be close to someone he has his own private fan club for, but to truly, finally possess beauty in physical form. He would display you on a shelf if it were feasible.

The idea so overwhelms him with joy that you barely had time to ask what was going on before you suddenly found yourself sitting beside him in the Pomefiore lounge as he smooths out the crinkles in your new uniform.

He murmurs under his breath, kneeling before you while inspecting the uniform. "Magnifique, joli, belle, quelle beauté, une rose parfaite..."

...Leaving you in a torn state of embarrassment and shyness. You look across the room to Vil for help, and he rolls his eyes.

"I coulda get used 'ta this!" Grim shouts, lounging on a nearby silk pillow with a mouthfull of pâté. Two freshman are tediously brushing his fur with the nicest set of combs you've ever seen.

"Comfortable?" You ask, only a little sarcastic.

"Uh-huh! Ya know, when I found out the winner was Rook, of all people, I was a little worried. But this is way nicer than collecting dust in Ramshackle!"

You couldn't have said it better yourself.

Rook smiles. "Tsk, tsk. I would never let anyone harm a single hair on your precious head,"

The question is directed to Grim, but he looks straight at you when he says it. "Like a delicate porcelain doll, I will handle you with the utmost care,"

You're not exactly sure what you had been envisioning- maybe he'd release you on a remote island and hunt you for sport?- but this had far exceeded any of your expectations.

Though his gaze is as unsettling as ever, and any hopes of personal space are gone out the ornate glass windows, his usual guarded demeanor had softened just the tiniest bit.

It was unnerving. But nice, in a way.

"Mon trickster, this is just the beginning for us. We have many shining days ahead, and I plan on spending every beautiful breath of them with you. Do you hunt?"

"Oh, sevens," Vil murmurs.

Unfortunately for Vil, Rook's smile is contagious and you can't help encouraging him. Just this once. "Not usually, no,"

"A merveilleuse opportunity! I will teach you all I have learned, then. Ah, this reminds me of a poem I wrote for this exact occasion!"

He may or may not be watching you sleep tonight. Hopefully you're the kind of person who can live with that.

Idia's Ending

LOL. Normies.

Look at them, crowding around like a bunch of sheep. As if anyone has a real chance. SMH.

I knew it was pointless to begin with, but getting into Crowley's banking account and seeing the bids... now I feel lame for even trying at all.

That money could've gone to some new parts. I've been itching to build another PC...

The door flies open, slamming against the wall behind it so loudly that even if Idia wasn't completely absorbed in watching the announcement on his biggest monitor, he would've jumped anyway.

He whirls around in his chair, wide-eyed and shaking like a prey animal, expecting to see some high level boss or classic horror game antag waiting for him.

Instead, it's Ortho. "Idy! You'll never believe-"

"Geez, Ortho, you nearly killed me. And I don't have any extra lives this time," Idia says, spinning back around to face his screen. "Something wrong?"

"Actually, I have some really great news! Wanna guess what it is?"

Idia grumbles, powering off his computer. "Nah, not in the mood,"

Ortho's brow furrows as he catches a fleeting glimpse of the camera feed playing over his brother's screen before it flickers to black. "You've been watching the announcement on the courtyard cam footage?"

"No! I mean- well, I was just curious," Idia says. "I watched for like two minutes. Who even cares about this thing, anyway?"

"Well-"

"I mean, it was a game over from the start. Taking on the highest level bosses at our school with my measly stats? Forget it,"

"But Idia-"

"Who even cares where the prefect ends up, anyway? I doubt they'd wanna be trapped in a basement like this for all eternity,"

"Idia!" Ortho shouts, loud enough to shake his brother from his ensuing pity party. Idia can only stare as he moves to the side, revealing a rather surprised looking you, dressed in the dorm uniform, behind him.

"Idia, you won!"

And then he dies.

That's what he thinks, anyway. Really, Idia goes into a state of complete shock and blacks out so hard that, for a moment, the blinding light shining through his eyelids feels like the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Is he okay?" you ask, tentatively watching as Ortho clicks off the small light he'd been shining in his brother's eyes.

"He's displaying symptoms of a panic attack. Don't worry, he gets them quite frequently,"

A distant groaning pulls the both of you back into the present moment and you watch Idia slowly rise.

"His heart rate has steadied to 70 BPM," Ortho says. You raise an eyebrow. "That's normal. Idia, can you hear us?"

He takes a long moment to respond.

"This isn't real. I'm sleep-deprived from my last speed run and now I'm hallucinating. There's no way,"

You look between the two brothers. This hasn't exactly gotten off to a stellar start.

"Your vitals are normal, although you're lacking Vitamin C. Might I suggest having a fruit cup while we talk?" Ortho asks. Idia shakes his head. "Yuu? Snack?"

"I could go for something,"

Ortho hovers out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. You're too nervous (or is he too nervous?) to ask to sit, so you stand over him while he practically rocks back and forth. His face is so red and hot with embarrassment you could cook an egg on it.

"Um..."

He mumbles back. "Just pretend I'm not here. IK you probably wanted one of those epic SSR students to pull you, I don't blame you for being disappointed,"

He talks so fast and quiet it's hard to make out what he's saying... but you get the gist of it.

"Hey, don't put words in my mouth. This is a hell of a lot better than it could have been,"

He seems to genuinely consider your words for a moment before you're interrupted by Ortho coming back with snacks.

Idia is back on high alert the second he's returned. "This doesn't make sense. I got into Crowley's online bank info and saw all the bids, I wasn't even close to the top five. How?"

"Oh, easy!" Ortho chirps. "I simply rewired funds from Crowley's bank account to up your offer!"

"You... took money out of his account and sent it back to him?"

"Clever," you murmur.

Idia grumbles. "I guess that's not technically stealing... fine. But why? I thought I told you not to bother!"

"My user intel indicates that the prefect is very popular amongst the student body. Their top three descriptors are helpful, kind, and friendly! I thought you two might be able to practice your social skills together... Perhaps you could show them around the dorm as a starting point?"

You turn around to look at Idia, who's sheet-white. Nonetheless... he sighs and stands, muttering a quick "Let's get this over with,"

You watch, as still as stone, as he stops in the doorway and turns to look at you from over his shoulder, his face and hair a pleasant shade of pink.

"Well? Are you coming?"

Lilia's Ending

"And our winner... is... hm. I don't even remember seeing this one in the pile," Crowley grumbles, scratching his head under his hat. "Um, Lilia Vanrouge!"

Silver is the first to look at him. "Fa-Lilia, I thought we talked about this,"

Lilia, currently hovering in the shade of one of the courtyard's signature apple trees, simply shrugs. As if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Oh, we did. I really thought about what you said, about the prefect's freedom, and I decided that you're right! But how could I guarantee their safety from everyone else?"

Silver groans (which turns into a yawn) and Lilia puts on his best cute look as everyone else in the audience turns to him.

Crowley clears his throat. "The prefect will be ready for your-"

"Oh, no need! Thank you, though," he says, and then disappears into the building.

---

You've been distracting yourself by counting cobwebs for far too long, as evident by your headache and the taste of dust on your tongue.

You turn to look at Grim. "Should be over by now. I'm surprised I haven't heard anything yet,"

"Surprised, you say?"

No matter how many times he does that, you're never quite prepared.

You jump, nearly hitting your head against the table you'd been taking refuge under. Grim yowls, clawing into your sleeve (and just barely missing the tender flesh on your arm, thank goodness), and you both stare at the fae ahead of you.

Lilia is sitting on the table, hanging his head upside down and staring right at you. Grim mumbles.

"Don't even tell me. I'm out!"

Lilia waves him goodbye as he makes a swift exit, and then turns back to you.

"I have a secret. Wanna guess?"

You're a little curious (aren't you always when it comes to him?) but that isn't enough to overpower your rising dread.

"No,"

"Aw. Really? I'm sure you'll like it,"

"Definitely not, then,"

He slinks off the table and lies on the floor, cupping his face in his palms and kicking his legs back and forth.

It would be amusing if you weren't so sure of what he's about to say.

"Well, despite your best efforts, I'm not surprised at all. But Malleus couldn't even come here to get me himself?" you sigh.

Lilia tilts his head to the side. "Now, why would he do that?"

There's something written within the margins of his tone that makes your eyes lower at him. Something he's keeping from you.

"...Well... he did win, didn't he?"

"Oh, my. You were hoping for Malleus to win? Now I'm sure we both feel silly,"

You raise an eyebrow. "Hoping is... a strong word. But I was expecting it, yes. So he didn't win?"

"No, dear, Malleus is not the winner,"

"Then... who is?"

Lilia gives you a sweet, self-satisfied grin, his fangs glinting. "You're looking at him,"

Ah.

If there's one thing Lilia Vanrouge is good at, it's surprising you. No matter how stoic you act, no matter how clever you are, he always manages to catch you off guard.

This might take the cake, though.

"I didn't even know-"

"No. Initially, I wasn't going to. But Silver and I... we had a long talk about valuing your freedom and independence, and thus I so valiantly threw myself into the flames to save you from becoming someone's slave," he pauses to smile. "Chivalrous, yes?"

"...Charming," you mutter. "But what was that thing about-"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry, you'll be treated as any other student at Diasomnia. In fact, I'm sure we already have some uniforms in your size!"

"This is... quite the turn of events,"

"Ah, isn't it? I haven't felt this elated in... well... a long time," he grins. "Come along, now. I plan on treating you to a hearty welcome dinner!"

You can only grimace at that.

Malleus' Ending

During all of the confusion, the fighting, the rumors that shook the school, no one, again, had remembered to invite Malleus Draconia to the announcement.

Not that it mattered. Not this time.

One knock at Ramshackle's creaky door and you were suddenly in the depths of the forest around the school, admiring a crumbled stone structure.

"What was it?" you ask, turning to your walking companion.

Malleus smiles slightly. "I believe it was a wall. Fascinating, no? Since you have inhabited Ramshackle, I come here when I want to be alone,"

Ah, right. You'd almost forgotten that you'd made a home out of his ruins of preference.

Ramshackle was in a much better state than this, though. At least you had four walls and a roof over your head.

"Are you alone a lot these days?" you ask, rather absent-mindedly for such a heavy topic.

You're well aware of the answer already. No, of course not. Malleus is constantly surrounded, whether that be his friends, personal guard, mentors...

"Yes,"

Oh.

"I'm... sorry to hear that," it's all you can think to say.

Fae don't seem to know the conventions of human small talk. Or maybe that's just him. Not that you mind. "What about Silver, and Sebek, and Lilia...?"

"Fine companions," he crosses his arms. "I owe them a debt of gratitude. But being physically surrounded does not amount to closeness."

Oddly profound.

You can't help but relate, thinking back to everyone you know. Even with good intentions, they're still out there, bartering over your life.

"I'm glad you came and got me," you say, breaking the tense silence. "I was afraid you'd gone to that... announcement thing."

He raises an eyebrow. "The what?"

"...Never mind. I guess my point was that I've been feeling a little lonely lately, myself,"

Malleus is quiet for a moment, staring directly ahead at the mess of stones and moss that once made up a sturdy wall. Now crumbled, scattered across the ground.

And the, he smiles.

"Well, there is a solution to this trouble of ours. But I'd need your consent,"

What exactly is he getting at? You raise an eyebrow. "Go on,"

"I've been so preoccupied with the formalities that I haven't had the chance to ask you properly, yet. Lilia suggested I might have more success this way,"

He pauses, and then smiles. "I would like us to marry. Does this agree with you?"

You thought you might be stunned. Speechless, even. But the answer comes so naturally.

"Yes, it does,"

[fire-gift]

carolcutshall: French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

LOUIS DE POINTE DU LAC, Interview With The Vampire Season 1 Mardi Gras Ball FINALE Costume

1940 Mardi Gras Ball, Marie Antoinette theme Costumes for our Vampire family

Louis’ Costume was less ornate and encrusted than Lestat’s. Feeling more streamlined like a livery or a uniform and less aristocratic. Nodding to Louis and Claudia’s feelings of never being seen as equals to Lestat. Claudia’s Costume pulls inspiration in shape and detail from period portraits of Shepherdess styled gowns.

Pink costume here is of a fit model helping us work with samples and land on our shape. My department was working all day and Jacob was shooting all night so we had to get so much done without him and really make our time with our actors count.

Coat, waistcoat and pants built by Pae and Kim Custom Tailoring in North Hollywood

Ribbon, appliqués and trim @/promenadefabrics and Jefferson Variety Store in New Orleans

Shoes made by Jeff Churchill @/jitterbug.boy Beautifully destroyed on set by @/thenatewasson

[valend]

Do we know what kind of fashion styles (for their time) did hamburr have? Were they following whatever is trendy or doing their own thing

I love this question sososo much!

Unlike Jefferson, who was described as being unfashionable/old-fashioned, that his clothes were too small and that he wore slippers etc. we don’t have any similar descriptions for either Hamilton or Burr. On the contrary!!!

The most obvious proof of Hamilton being “trendy” is this from Chernow:

“From the time he started out as a young lawyer in postwar New York, Hamilton presented a dashing figure in society. He was trim and stylish, though not showy in dress. His account books reflect a concern with fashion, as shown by periodic visits to a French tailor, and his sartorial elegance is confirmed in portraits. In one painting, he wears a double-breasted coat with brass buttons and gilt-edged lapels, his neck swathed delicately in a ruffled lace jabot. One French historian remarked, “He belonged to the age of manners and silk stockings and handsome shoe-buckles.”He was as fastidious as a courtier in caring for his reddish-brown hair, and his son James recorded his daily ritual with the barber: “I recollect being in my father’s office in New York when he was under the hands of his hair-dress[er] (which was his daily course). His back hair was long. It was plaited, clubbed up, and tied with a black ribbon. His front hair was pomatumed [i.e., pomaded], powdered, and combed up and back from his forehead.”” [Chernow p. 187]

More detailed I remember one particular description of his clothes from Chernow’s biography again:

“When [Hamilton] entered the room, it was apparent from the respectful attention of the company that he was a distinguished individual. He was dressed in a blue coat with bright buttons; the skirts of his coat were unusually long. He wore a white waistcoat, black silk small clothes, white silk stockings. The gentle- man who received him as a guest introduced him to such of the company as were strangers to him. To each he made a formal bow, bending very low, the ceremony of shaking hands not being observed. . . .” [Chernow p. 334]

Hamilton was also really interested in the design of the soldier’s uniform:

“A chronic stickler for etiquette, Hamilton entered into the minutiae of protocol and dress, showing an unrestrained love of military matters. The most fastidious tailor could not have dictated more precise instructions for Washington’s uniform: “A blue coat without lapels, with lining collar and cuffs of buff, yellow buttons and gold epaulettes of double bullion tag with fringe, each having three stars. Collar cuffs and pocket flaps to have full embroidered edges and the button holes of every description to be full embroidered.” For Washington’s hat: “A full cocked hat, with a yellow button gold loop, a black cockade with a gold eagle in the center and a white plume.” For his boots: “Long boots, with stiff tops reaching to the center of the knee pan, the whole of black leather lined above with red morocco so as just to appear.” Hamilton’s descriptions of other uniforms were no less meticulous.” [Chernow p.564]

So it’s pretty obvious that Hamilton cared a lot of someone’s physical appearance therefore I doubt he would dress unfashionably.

Now for Burr I don’t seem to recall anything particular about his dress. Besides the silly rumour of him wearing that one bullet proof silk coat to the duel I don’t really remember anything else.

This is what I could find from a casual search (if I have more time I might look into it a bit more)

“Like Hamilton, the impeccably tailored Burr made an elegant impression, with his lustrous dark eyes, full lips, and boldly arched eyebrows.” [Chernow p. 192]

(no comment on the lustrous dark eyes, full lips and bold arched eyebrows bit, im completely ignoring it)

“According to eighteenth-century caricature, womanish men were fickle and disloyal, while as men of fashion, dandified politicians could be expected to change party affiliation as easily as they changed their clothes. By comparing the Burrites to beaux, dandies, and foppish boys, he associated them with prodigal dissipation and sexual indulgence—the twin vices of luxura and licentia, the antithesis of republican virtue.” [Isenberg p. 276]

I’m assuming since Burrites in general were described as looking like that then I believe it’s pretty fair to assume that same caricatured description goes for the man himself as well

There is also this description of his clothes, but in his defence he was on the run lmao:

“He wore a slouching white hat with a broad brim, sported a long beard and a checkered handkerchief around his neck, and a great, baggy coat tied with a belt. Hanging from the belt was a tin cup and a butcher’s knife. The outfit did not fit the profile of the dapper Burr, known for his stylish dress and genteel manners.” [Isenberg p. 353]

So from that description we’re able to tell that Burr was usually fashionable.

“Two prominent Federalists had loaned Burr $1,000 for new clothes, so that he could be tastefully attired in black silk for the duration of his trials.” [Isenberg p. 362]

I suppose silk would’ve been considered pretty fashionable for the time

Now, I might be misremembering this so if anyone has a source for this please let me know but I think I remember somewhere being mentioned that the way Burr was discovered and arrested in Alabama in 1807 was because his boots were too nice 😭😭😭

I genuinely have no idea if what I’m saying is true but apparently his boots were too trendy and polished and didn’t go along with the rest of his shabby clothes

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #21

xxx alternate prompt: shivering

Illya looks over to the opposite corner of the train compartment where Napoleon sits scrunched. The American is somehow looking even worse than he had the night before; his suit jacket is crumpled on the empty seat beside him, his tie hangs loose around his neck, and his cheeks are an unhealthy shade of pink. Even though his eyes are closed, his face is tight with discomfort, and he's shivering.

It's clear to all of them that whatever is wrong with Napoleon it isn't a hangover.

"Cowboy," Illya says softly. There's no response from the American, though, so he speaks a little louder. "Cowboy!"

One eye pops open. "Hm?"

"I'm going to dining car for tea. Do you want to come?"

"I'll make sure no one steals your fancy coat," Gaby adds.

Napoleon sighs, sitting up slowly. He takes a deep breath, then says, "I suppose something to drink couldn't hurt."

Illya would smile at the small victory if he weren't so worried about the man. He holds out a hand to help Napoleon to his feet. Napoleon looks at it, then up at Illya with an expression of mild disgust.

"I can stand by myself, thank you," he says, and the reediness of his voice undermines the statement somewhat. He fixes Illya with a determined stare and stands, bracing a hand against the wall for support. As he straightens, the color drains from his face, and his expression becomes slightly panicked.

"Solo?" Illya says slowly, moving toward him. No sooner has he done this than Napoleon bends at the middle and vomits. Illya looks at Gaby who looks back at him, her eyes wide.

"I'll go find someone to clean this up," Illya says, lingering in the doorway, torn between desire to help and reluctance to leave Napoleon.

"And you should get some ginger tea if they have it," Gaby says.

Napoleon, still folded in half as he catches his breath, makes a sound. "I think I've changed my mind on that drink, thank you."

"It'll soothe your stomach," Gaby says. Then, to Illya, "Go on!"

He nods and exits the compartment, stopping the first person in uniform he sees and explaining what happened. She makes a face, but says she'll find someone to clean it up. Illya thanks her and then heads toward the dining car, walking through it and directly to the kitchen.

"Excuse me--" a man with a French accent begins.

"I need ginger tea," Illya interrupts. "And a cool, wet cloth, please. As quickly as you can."

The Frenchman looks at Illya for a moment, sizing him up. Illya straightens to his full height. The man's eyes widen just enough to be noticeable, and he finally nods.

"The tea will take a few minutes."

Illya nods curtly, and the man bustles off. Illya steps back and stands waiting, arms crossed over his chest and his leg bouncing, for what seems like an eternity. Finally, the Frenchman returns, the tea in one hand and the cloth in the other. Illya reaches for his wallet to pay the man, his hands patting every pocket and finding each one empty.

"Chyort," he swears quietly, then looks up at the Frenchman. "My wallet. I will come back later to pay, you have my word."

The Frenchman rolls his eyes and sighs, offering the items to Illya. "Take it. Compliments of the kitchen."

Illya takes them with a grateful nod. "Spasibo."

The man nods back. "De rien."

Illya hurries back to the compartment, carefully so as not to spill the tea. By the time he gets back to the car, the mess has been cleaned up and Napoleon is back in his seat looking sweaty and sickly, eyes shut, a rubbish bin next to him.

"He's burning up," Gaby says quietly, taking the wet cloth from Illya and pressing it to the American's forehead. His eyes open halfway and he raises an eyebrow.

"You don't have to play nursemaid," he grumbles, and Gaby glares at him.

"I am not playing anything," she says, and turns and takes the tea from Illya. She holds it out to Napoleon. "Drink this."

Napoleon scowls, and the petulance in his expression would be more amusing if he weren't so obviously miserable. "I told you, I--"

"Drink it."

Napoleon's jaw tightens stubbornly.

"I would drink it if I were you," Illya says. Gaby looks ready to force it down Napoleon's throat.

Napoleon haves a dramatic sigh and takes the proffered cup. Illya notes with concern that it shakes as Napoleon raises it to his lips. He takes the smallest of sips and immediately makes a face, holding the cup away from himself as though it had somehow wronged him.

"What?" Gaby asks, hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed.

"It could use a bit of honey," Solo says, then adds under his breath, "and so could you."

Gaby throws her hands in the air. "Fine! Drink it or not, I don't care. I'm going to take a walk. It smells like sick in here."

"Gaby," Napoleon says, but she ignores him, slipping out and closing the door behind her. Illya turns to Napoleon with a raised eyebrow.

"You look like shit."

"Yes, well, that's about what I feel like funnily enough," Napoleon responds. He makes a face and shoves the tea back into Illya's hands, then leans over the rubbish bin and is sick again. Illya looks away in an effort to give Napoleon a modicum of privacy. When he turns back, Napoleon is sitting back, sweat beading his pale forehead, breathing shakily.

"Not very soothing after all," he says with a weak smile.

Illya sets the tea down on the empty seat beside him, then leans forward and presses the back of his fingers to Napoleon's cheek. He frowns. "You really are burning up."

Napoleon puts his hand over Illya's for a fleeting moment, then lets it fall back into his lap with a discontented noise. "I don't feel hot," he murmurs, and as if on cue, a violent shiver runs through his body.

"Izvini," Illya says softly. Napoleon lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

"Not your fault..." His brow twitches down into a frown as his nose starts to bleed, a line of red tracing its way to his upper lip. He wipes at it, looks briefly at the blood on his hand before putting his hand back up to his nose as it continues to drip. "The hell?" he murmurs. He looks up at Illya, and in his eyes is something close to fear.

"Relax," Illya says as though he's not also afraid. He reaches for Napoleon's jacket and pulls out the handkerchief that he knows is kept in the breast pocket. "Here."

Napoleon looks at it with a pained expression. "That's silk," he says miserably.

"Come on, Cowboy," Illya coaxes, and Napoleon finally gives in, taking the handkerchief from him and shoving it partially into his nose to staunch the flow.

"I hate this." He practically whimpers it.

"I know. Why don't you try and get some sleep? It is a long ride and we still have a ways to go."

Solo leans his head back, putting the back of one hand up to press the damp cloth against his forehead.

"I don't know if I can sleep," he mutters. He sounds pathetic.

"Just try," Illya says. He's never seen the American looking so unwell and vulnerable. Hell, he's seen Napoleon look more alive with two bullets and another man's tooth in his body. He stands and moves to the seat next to Napoleon. "Come here."

He's not sure if Napoleon will; they have to be careful about being too affectionate in public. So it speaks volumes to how unwell Napoleon is feeling when he leans toward Illya, his head falling heavily to rest against Illya's shoulder. The shivering has gotten worse, and Illya reaches over Napoleon to grab his jacket and drape it over him. It's not too long before Napoleon's face relaxes and his breathing becomes even.

It's not long after that the compartment door opens and Gaby steps in, bringing with her the smell of baked goods. She looks a little surprised to see Napoleon leaning against Illya—she knows how careful the two of them are—but doesn't say anything about it.

"I thought you might be hungry," she says softly. "Is he sleeping?"

"Yes," Illya replies, taking a scone. "Thank you." He cranes his head to look down at Napoleon. The white handkerchief hanging out of the American's nose is now half-red. He looks back at Gaby. "I am worried.

She nods, her eyebrows drawn, mouth twisted to one side in obvious uncertainty. Even though, she says, "He'll be okay."

Illya nods.

"I hope so."

xxx

[sanguinarysanguinity]

I have Just enough understanding of what you're up to with 'Omega3-verse' to be both curious and also somewhat trepidatious... so do tell!!

So, you might remember a post by @jeejyboard that was making the rounds:

...yeah.

It was spawning season, when the Highland's departed sons and daughters returned in their masses, each seeking the glen of their birth. There were fewer on the roads these last years: too many killed at Culloden or exiled in France. The French exiles would arrive eventually, the poor brutes -- too late, haggard and wounded, to die alone and unsatisfied in the spawning grounds. So it had happened in the years after the '15, Ewen had been told, and the '19, too.

There was no small number of spawning Redcoats on the road, either, headed for Argyle, the Lowlands, or the southlands. Most had shed their eponymous red coats, the narrow backs of their uniforms burst by the bulging shoulders beneath. But even without their coats, they were still recognisable, their military footgear and distinctive waistcoats surviving their owners' increase somewhat better than their coats.

But Redcoat or Highlander, the salmon-kin were harmless so long as one did not impede their journey. It was not until they reached their respective spawning grounds that the cock hookjaws became fierce, their breeding fangs and newfound five stone of muscle at last finding employment -- but only against each other. So long as one posed no competition for the henfish, one had nothing to fear from the jealous cockfish. But there were always a few intrepid youth, who, more horny than wise, tried for one of the henfish and were savaged for their impudence. Lachlan, as a boy, had donned skirts and bonnet and almost succeeded in slipping in and out of the spawning grounds undetected, before running afoul of a hookjaw's wrath.

Ewen had never been tempted by such sport. He yielded to the salmon-kin on the roads, and guarded the privacy of Ardroy's spawning grounds so that the Cameron salmon-kin may conduct their affairs unmolested. When the season was over, he arranged for the pregnant henfish to be taken in and cared for, and likewise saw to the dead. Not one in twenty hookjaws survived the spawning grounds to see another season. They died of exhaustion or hunger or their festering wounds, their bodies a feasting for carrion-birds. Only a few kelts -- emaciated, wounded, and barely conscious -- were found alive, lying scarcely breathing among their dead kin. Ewen saw that they, too, were cared for. Most still died, but at least they died in comfort. They were as Cameron as those who never left, and the Clan took care of their own...

[ellas-journey]

From a thing to wear to an icon of culture 👘

There is this hidden detail in Muzan that when I noticed I could not help but smile. Remember how he said that the thing he hated the most was change? Well coming from someone that had to live in 5 different eras is kinda funny, and it's even funny when you realize that he ended up adopting the Western fashion pretty fast. But that's the twist, if you look at Muzan's vest you come to realize that it's the exact same pattern as the kimono he used to wear. The best part? That was a thing that actually happened in history.

Wanting or not, the clothing that the people used to wear represents the history they lived through. "To look seriously at art objects of the everyday, such as clothes - their discourse and practices, their meaning-bearing forms and their codes of internal and external interpretations - in an essential, and often neglected, component of any study of modern aesthetics." - Slade, 2009 Yofuku [Western Clothing] is a type of clothing that is now common all over Japan, but during a lot of time, it was a type of clothes that only selected few grew up with. The 1st contacts with these types of clothing [even if extremely different from what we now call western clothing] was in the 16th century when the Portuguese arrived in Tanegashima. With them came not only different shapes but also different fabrics. But the “true” introduction to western fashion would only happen with Commodore Matthew Perry, catharsis to the Meiji restoration, where Emperor Meiji would start to dress in a typical western military outfit, and soon after the empress would start to aper in the typical victorian dresses. In the Edo period clothing visually distinguished the social classes. "Certain articles of clothing visibly differentiated people of diverse social classes, and simultaneously distinguished an individual within a specific group. The materials, motifs and construction of military campaign coats, for example, marked their wearers as men belonging to the military class." - Milhaupt, 2014; Samurai ranked on the top, followed by farmers, artisans, and merchants on the bottom. What happen was that most of the times the samurai where poor while the merchants lived in economic success. But samurai had the privilege of using certain types of fabrics and patters, even tho most of the times they could not afford them, and so, the merchants would start to adapt the fabrics and patters they were allowed to were and would end up becoming the patrons of arts and fashion. The trends of fashion would later be documented in ukiyo-e, and not only in the work of art sense, but also in pattern books were people could browse the prevailing styles. After the 1st contacts with the westerners, what would start to happen is that slowly but surely the Japanese would start to integrate the western ways of dressing into their lives. The Japanese started to introduce some of its elements with the kimono, shoes, hats, gloves, glasses, umbrellas, etc. Then in the 19th century a full change would happen starting from the man in the highest classes to the man in the lowest classes. The emperor decided to cut his topknot in 1872 and started to dress in western clothing in official appearances, also changing some of the more cultural habits like eating meat and more wester kind of meals. In the official portraits he appears adorned with a French-style military uniform with ornaments in gold and ostrich feathers. Before this, the emperor was never a public figure, so when pictures of the Meiji Emperor became available, and he started to appear more publicly the nation would have their eyes on him and start to imitate him. Women would, for the longest time still dress in the now classic kimono, that would develop as a symbol of the old and traditional Japan. The idea of the western clothing being associated with a modernized Japan and the Kimono [that literally means “thing to wear”] to a traditional country came from the fact that the emperor would choose to wear western clothes in more formal, international events, and for religious national events would choose the traditional Japanese court dress. The western clothes will end up being a symbol of the modernization of Japan, and the Meiji government would use it as yet another tool of national control. For all the Japanese born after 1945 the western clothes became the norm. Most families would end up transforming their kimonos into western clothing pieces, and the patterns sold for kimonos would double for kimonos and western clothing.

But it is funny to notice how despite it all Muzan is the one being presented in western clothing and Ubuyashiki is the one in traditional clothes, always being the contradiction of the other, but also it can also be interpretated as the Ubuyashibi family being "trapped" in the past since in hundred years the corps never killed an upper moon, the history never changed. And Muzan in his ever-changing cycle of his life, in the changing of eras and changing of personas he decided to reuse the only thing he could: his clothes. And just like him, they would adapt through the times.

MILHAUPT, Terry Satsuki. 2014 - Kimono: A Modern History. London: Reaktion Books [Ebook]; SLADE, Toby. 2009 - Japanese Fashion: A cultural History. Oxford, Berg. [Ebook];

[amrass]

8 films that inspire my RDR2 fanfics

So this is for the kind and patient anon who asked me for some movie recs relevant to my writing, and for anyone else who might be interested.

This list has genres like western, drama, crime and horror. Most of the films have darker themes, half are non-English, and some have that surrealistic edge that I try to emulate as a nod towards Rockstar games. I consider fanfics closer to screenplays than literary fiction, and so it feels natural that this list has an emphasis on fun!!!

1. Il Grande Silenzio / The Great Silence (1968)

I've said it before and I'll say it again, this is my favorite western film of all time. It is a classic, a spaghetti (Italian) western made by Sergio Carbucci ("the second greatest spaghetti western director"), and it has a Morricone score - buuut it is set in snowy mountains as opposed to deserts, have anti-fascist themes and is revisionist and dark.

The main character Silence, who is an outlaw who kills bounty hunters, reminds me of Arthur Morgan, and the main villain, the evil bounty hunter Loco, of Micah Bell. I think it served as an inspiration for them. It's great if you want to get that western atmosphere seen through a colder lense.

-

2. Utvandrarna & Nybyggarna / The Emmigrants & The New Land (1971 and 1972)

These two movies are best seen as one imo, as they follow the same Swedish family of farmer immigrants through the 1800s, as they travel across the sea to settle in the USA. These films are great for getting into the history at the time, as they are quite accurate, and might give you a realistic portrait to "lawful" human beings lived and died, such as Abigail and John in RDR1-2. To say it's a harsh life puts it mildly, but there is also joy, and I love how unflinching this film is in showing the life at the time. Great for seeing why it isn't easy for the Van der Linde Gang to settle down.

The last one might be the most relevant since it's set wholly in the USA, but personally I adore the shift from the Scandinavian landscape to the American one, a contrast that helps me describe it better. It has great actors you might associate with Ingmar Bergman films (no one is as good at dying as Liv Ullmann lol, kudos).

PS: PLEASE DON'T WATCH THE NEWER NORWEGIAN REMAKE. THE SWEDISH VERSION IS SUPERIOR.

-

3. The Thing (1982)

AHHH I couldn't not put it here, and not only because the main character wears a cowboy hat, or it being my favorite horror film. No, this one is just great for learning how to write tension. The whole movie is super tense, and made more so by the characters being smart, the stakes being high, and the whole setting being used. It’s also gory and FUN.

-

4. Le Cercle Rouge / The Red Circle (1970)

Lolol when I first wanted to watch this I got the German one made many years prior, which was pretty meh. Afterwards I watched the correct version, and MAN, truly a great heist film. It really gives young Dutch & Hosea vibes. This one is great how at showing how much planning and carefulness one has to do if one wishes to lead a life of crime, and how it might not save you. It’s also just a cool movie. Old school cool.

-

5. Le Trou (1960)

More tension ... And god, the sound picture in this movie is something else. This is a French prison escape film, and can help you if you want to see just how important loyalty is among criminals. It really has that harsh, high testerone vibe to it lololol, and I'm sorry, but the French butts in tight and sexy prison uniforms are a sight to behold.

-

6. Sin City (2005)

Okay this is the sort of film I can't watch with just everyone because it's so exploitative and over-the-top, but it's my favorite comic book style movie. It has extreme violence, very sexy men and women in nice coats or underwear, and it's just so much fun. The character Marv reminds me of low honor Arthur Morgan, and Dwight, of high honor John Marston. I love the comics too. Just know that this isn't for everyone, but it is very me.

-

7. Female Trouble (1974)

LOLOL another film that isn't for everyone, but it's kind of considered mandatory viewing if you're queer. I know this is an odd choice to inspire RDR2 fics, but I write crack fics, and believe it or not they require work as humor requires a degree of form, seriousness and precision.

I love also John Waters so much, I remember watching this exact movie with my first queer friend at sixteen and we were like, hugging and kissing each other in sheer joy. I am inspired by this type of surralist, over-the-top, dark humor across all my stories. Tbh if Divine showed up in the Rockstar universe, probably toned down for Rockstar due to marketing reasons, would you be surprised? I'd love to see her on a horse spray painted with glitter.

-

8. The Hateful Eight (2015)

I almost translated this movie title into Italian just for fun, but ... Yeah, I guess I had to kind of end this list with a circle composition, what with The Hateful Eight being inspired by Il Grande Silenzio and all, and those two GIFS before the list being from the film.

I grew up with Tarantino movies, and when I watched this in the cinema I liked it but was underwhelmed. It's only after rewatching it a couple of times that I started to really, really like it. I like and understand the references, I love the atmosphere, it just helps remind me how fun a movie can be. It's also great for giving characters the necessary degree of coolness. I reference this one a lot in all my works, and would love to do write a fic directly inspired by this.

-

That was it! I can mention some more movies I like that are kind of relevant to this list: Army of Shadows, Django, Man Without a Past, Werckmeister Harmonies, Jackie Brown, Diary of a Country Priest, The Price of Fear (French one!), Event Horizon, Hellraiser, Braindead, Green Room, Rec, Withnail and I, Ravenous …

I always welcome movie recs! Just know that I got specific tastes lol.

Thanks for reading!

[fashionsfromhistory]

Ensemble

c.1790

France

The dualities and contradictions that characterized male fashion in the early Napoleonic period are captured in this spectacularly schizophrenic ensemble. Under the disintegrating forces of the French Revolution (1789-1794), the 18th century confidence, some might say smugness, in its uniformity of aesthetic beliefs was to disappear. The restless need for social and political reform, which began in the 1780s and was fostered through the works of the philosophes, resulted in new patterns of consumption and new forms of self-expression. For a time, however, the ideas, values and aesthetics of the Ancien Régime competed and co-existed with those of the founding Republic.

This jockeying for position between the old and new elites gave birth to a variety of hybrid or transitional styles of dress, this suit being an outstanding example. Comprising a coat with narrow sleeves and a straight, cut-away skirt, a short vest or gilet and a pair of breeches that covered the legs below the knees, it recalls the cool Neoclassicism of the Enlightenment. At the same time, its simple lines and complete absence of decoration reflects the Anglomania that had been a feature of male fashions in France since the 1740s, but which came to the fore in the 1780s. The opulence and frenzied frivolity of Ancien Régime court dress or habits à la française, however, remain in its luxurious fabric and its lurid, effervescent color. Its stand-up collar is also a vestige of the old order, but its exaggerated height anticipates the style of the Incroyables. Like these giddy young men of the mid- to late 1790s, the wearer of this suit was almost certainly an élégant, an 'enlightened' aristocrat who hid his anti-Jacobin tendencies by adopting the puritanical design vocabulary of the republicans.

The MET (Accession Number: 2003.45a–c)

[neylo]

Becoming Marshal of France - Part one: The annoying but necessary shit

@cadmusfly is a bad influence and a terrible temptation. I want you to know that you have succeeded.

Since I was a kid, I loved the feathered hats, the colourful shiny uniforms and the overall vibe of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century. Apparently, it wasn't a phase.

I am a cosplayer and I love myself a good challenge. And now here it is. I am to make the ultimate entry for the Napoleonic fandom of Tumblr and make my own marshal uniform. I cordially invite you all to join my journey and perhaps, get inspired!

Let's start with the tunic.

Disclaimer: Reenactors, chill, I am not a millionaire - I can't, unfortunately, afford the expensive replicas of the buttons etc. I do not intend to participate in any kind of reenactment activity, and therefore I can't promise 100% historical accuracy. I would love to. But right now I can't.

Note: I use the metric system. It is nice, it is logical, and you should implement that too, Americans!

Before you start:

Step one: find the appropriate fabrics. Are you looking for dark blue? Great start. Now, it's time for some research. Napoleon's Marshals book by Osprey Publishing has done a great job describing the details. You can basically choose your own preferred material: Silk, velvet or linen. Congrats! For a whole-ass marshal tunic, you will need 2-3 metres of fabric depending on your size.

You will also need lining. I recommend linen lining and viscose lining for the sleeves.

Step two: Assess your insanity. There are multiple uniform patterns, each for a different occasion (source):

If you have three years of free time and unlimited supplies of goldwork threads, you can do the grande tenue - the first picture. I would advise you not to. But if you want, there is actually an extant one you can draw your inspiration from. It belonged to Ney. If you are going for this, you will indeed be the bravest of the brave.

Petite tenue is more subtle with less embroidery. Still, difficult as hell.

Tenue de campagne is the one I am going for. I don't like commitments. You will only need to embroider the collar and the cuffs + some stuff on the back. That is doable. That is what I am doing.

Step three: The pattern. The thing is, the patterns of the era were almost the same. I simply butchered my civilian coat pattern and changed it for a single-breasted one with a standing collar. Do you want help? I will share the pattern with you.

This is how my thing looks at the moment.

Step four: Embroidery. What is this shiny thing on the Marshals' uniforms? This is a kind of embroidery called "goldwork" and you need special metallic threads for it. They are not exactly easy to find, but Etsy is your friend. There are multiple US shops, and there is also EmbroideryMaterial shipping worldwide from India. They have a great selection and very agreeable prices.

For the Marshal tunic you shall need two kinds of threads:

The French wire (lol, it is really called like that!)

The Japanese thread (a thread wrapped in a thin gold plate)

You will also need small gold sequins.

I will show you the embroidery progress when my threads arrive. Before that happens, we need to design the embroidery. No worries, someone did it for you. That someone was actually me:

That's it for today.

Stay tuned for more posts.

[auguste-marmonts-only-fan]

Hello hello

So, I have been thinking....there is pretty much NO information about the Iliriyan provinces online....it is extremely hard to come by

That lead me to compile as many pictures as I could with the resources I had on hand, before I start some pictures might be bad quality becouse I took them on my phone with bad lighting...sorry 😅

A monument built in 1808 to honor Marmont, Trogir- Croatia

It's whole purpose was just to look pretty

The Napoleon monument in Makraska

It has nothing to do with Napoleon, it was built to honor Marmont

Border stone for the Iliriyan provinces, Zagreb-Croatia

It marked the border between the french and austrian sides

Map of the Iliriyan provinces

Orange marks the provinces,light green the ottoman empire,dark green Austria,light orange Croatia and the brown is Hungary (Ugarska/Vugarska)

Pages of the Kraglski dalmatin/Royal dalmatian

Aka the first ever croatian news paper in both italian and croatian, which was print by the french

A law signed by Marmont preventing the arrival of Russian boats in iliran docks

French wear house in Slunj, Croatia

Clerks seal, around 1809 from the city of Karlovac in Croatia

Ilirian coat of arms,1809

Next post will be the uniforms!

Check reblogs

[diluclover300]

Just One Week (7)

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

also posted on my ao3 account: diluclover300

CHAPTER INDEX:

I H8 U

My Kinda Fun

Balance

{S] Awake

Eggs and Rice

Wait, but I'm broke

Couple's Discount

CHAPTER 7: Couple's Discount

...

Satoru is beyond ecstatic, his vision sticky and gooey at the insane amount of silks and wools carefully hung and displayed. There's a catalog of clothes, an array of expensive clothes. Top-tier luxury brands, ones you'd catch celebrities sporting like a pair of pajamas at the local airport. Ones that he can caress between the delicate friction of his fingers as a warm smile spreads across his face like butter on toast. Oh, how lucky he is. 

To reunite with his long-lost friend, whom he spent years tracking down, whom he was able to convince into allowing this moment to blossom into reality. He feels like a kid in a candy store, ogling at each piece of fabric, at each suit jacket and pant. And how tempting the sight is, how it tempts him to envelope himself in pure greed like a creature of sin. 

The assortment of colors, the breathtaking pigments, the unique textures of each cloth...

The excitement is so wonderful, so captivating that he doesn't even begin to notice the woman greeting him at the door. He takes off like a rocket ship, roaming around the men's section. A maze that he hasn't ventured in, yet one that feels familiar and natural to navigate through pure instinct. 

This must be heaven. 

"I think he, uh... I'm so sorry if he causes trouble." You half-groan, head threatening to hang low at Gojo's energetic aura. "Thank you."

The woman nods, a typical response that you'd expect from someone working customer service. You've been in that position before, squeezing out an exhausted smile at something you had no idea how to respond to. Funny enough, your cheeks sting from the muscle memory. 

You think to apologize once more, but you refrain, biting your tongue as you dejectedly follow after Gojo. He buries his head in a ring of hung-up clothes, swiping through each shirt like a potential match on Tinder. 

"Oh? Do you frequent here often?" 

You turn back, confusion overcoming your face. 

"No, I've never been, actually." You slowly shake your head, examining the woman for a moment. "Why?"

That low bun of hers wrapped in a red scarf, and that sleek, white uniform doesn't ring a bell. Does she know you?   

"Oh, sorry, it's just that your jacket... I couldn't help but notice that it is from our brand." 

"Oh," You smile, the interaction as awkward as awkward gets. "That's weird, I never noticed." 

You walk away with an understanding nod, fumbling with your lips as you fidget with the black jacket lying in the crook of your arm. Now that you think about it, it does feel like silk, expensive silk at that. 

Maybe your memories have faded over the years. It's possible that you snagged this from another one of those annual holiday sales, sort of a bad habit you've accumulated. You always browsed for coats and blazers when no one was around to watch, hunching over that compact cubicle as you frantically refreshed your search engine. Occasionally, when someone would walk past or start conversation, you almost let out a guilty flinch out of fear for getting caught. Almost. 

Nonetheless, the suggestion doesn't strike you. There's not a single instance where you, the loyal slave to some measly corporation, could justify the selfish purchase of a fancy coat. A coat was a coat, no matter the price. It would have torn up in that monster of a washing machine you own either. Not to mention the void and guilt that would stem from such an unnecessary purchase.

"Is that my jacket?" Weird. You don't expect it, but you recall the events from this morning. The skeptical look on his rather punchable face. 

Your fingers trace over the sewn-in label, mumbling the brand to yourself. Even that leaves a pretentious, bitter taste on your tongue.

Nope, it doesn't ring a bell. 

You suppose it's French, and to be honest, you don't have an opinion on the French. There are far more significant matters, at least in your opinion, than some species of European folk. Why would you spend your precious paycheck on such a useless thing?

Everything tells you, everything desperately grasps you by the shoulders and shakes you to your senses. And then you finally uncover the answer as to whether or not you "frequented" such a snobby, stuck-up place. 

"I must be remembering things wrong.." Yeah, remembering things wrong, my ass, you think. 

He lied. Oh dear, you really tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

And that certain white-haired culprit is currently nowhere to be seen. Quite frankly, you have no idea where you are either. You've lost yourself in the garden of consumerism, swarmed by the amount of clothes and designer bags laying in front of you. A landfill for the rich, you call it. 

But it's peaceful for a bit as it is overwhelming. You're oddly calm when you take in the privilege of Gojo's absence, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. A heavy one at that. 

Five years was, and is too short, much too measly of a distance. If you had it your way, if the Earth rotated to the drumming of your feet, then you would have never known the words "Gojo Satoru". His face would have been an imaginative blur, those eyes nothing but a mere gaze, and those memories would become one of the infinite "what-ifs" of this universe.

And if you ran into him on a fateful spring day? 

You would have abandoned destiny a long time ago, parted ways like ex-lovers. The occurrence would leave you as you were.

Still, steady, and normal. 

These three values would have stuck with you, through thick and thin. But which one was it? You don't know what to call this incident. Was this the thick? Or was this the thin?

You wonder, mull over it for a bit before you're chained back into the prison of his presence. It's a game of push and pull.

This punishment of a game. 

"Yo! Over here, Y/N." You look up from the leather jacket folded on the display shelf below you, eyes hooked onto that raised hand of his. 

You seem to be on the receiving end, on both sides of that hellish spectrum. 

"Okay." You make your way over to "here", that sigh of yours halted. You have something to ask him anyways, something about that jacket of his. 

His hand is still held up high in the air while the rest of his body entangled in a rack of clothes. Stupid is as stupid does. 

His and Hers, You regrettably read and fully understand the sign hanging overhead from the ceiling, along with the bolded words: NEW Spring Collection.

"Did you find something?" You only ask as a precaution, monitoring his spending habits. An awful habit that solely relied on you and you only for support. 

That hand of his flails around before sinking down into the sea of clothes before him. 

"You're here?" His hands scour and fish into the abyss, voice muffled into the ridiculous amount of suits and dresses stuffed in his face. "I'm surprised-"

A groan follows, the sound of plastic material ringing against his skull. A sound that you would have ignored because it seamlessly blended into the rapid snare of the radio-pop tune playing on the store's speakers.  You could have paid it zero mind if not for the sheer amount of second-hand embarrassment that ensued from your witness of the scene. 

"Careful there," You sneer, watching as his back contorts like a gymnast. "The higher-ups wouldn't want you to come back a complete moron."

Satoru chuckles, scrambling once more before putting an end to his short-lived visit to Narnia. 

"I'm thankful for the concern." There's an array of clothes folded over his arm, and oh, does the sight worry. "Please continue to take great care of me, Y/N."

You give him a strange look, your lips curling in disgust. By no means were you concerned about him, worried about this bafoon of a man. 

"You're dumb." It's a conclusion you should have come to earlier, really.

"Remind me," Satoru's gaze trails off into the air before landing on you. "Who was the one that lost to me last night?" 

You're stumped, mouth opening before it shuts again. That unlucky "who" was you, the loser.

Gojo takes your defeat as an opening, a chance. 

"Wanna try this on?" A dress is shoved into your face, along with that cheeky smile of his that peeks behind the cloth. 

Your attention darts from Gojo to the pink, girlish dress. 

The long-sleeves are puffed just by the slightest bit, and the material a bit translucent until you notice that there (thankfully) is a white cloth underneath to keep yourself covered. Your eyesight was just playing tricks on you. Okay, a bit of decency, you appreciate it. However, you think the skirt is just a little too short, but the sweetheart neckline does look kind of gorgeous, you'll admit. 

"Whaddya think?" He reveals more of that hidden smile of his behind the blinding cloth, along with his now enlarged starry eyes. You don't take that as a good sign, it's more of warning. "Hm?"

Emotionally, you don't exactly feel inclined to wear it, nor does the idea entice you. Logically, you can't and don't want to afford a dress you could easily get for way cheaper on the internet. Besides, you'd rather focus on controlling the inevitable loss of your sweet, hard-earned cash if possible. And with the sleek look of the fabric, along with the carefully stitched in details - the item is nothing but a pure fantasy. 

You intend to keep it that way. 

"No-"

Again. 

Again, again, and again! Satoru groans out of pure annoyance. You're using that word again. That boring word, the word which cages him in like a helpless bird, the word which is so draining, so terribly cruel, absolutely inhumane. 

No. 

How he resents the very existence, the very creation of that word. That word which rolls of your tongue without an ounce of hesitation. 

"No?" Satoru interrupts, raising a brow before yanking off his glasses. 

"Um.." 

When you look into those eyes laced with the pure malice of the devil, your flesh tenses. Your muscles contract, a reaction not one of muscle memory, but one of cold-blooded fear. 

"I, um..." Think, think, think! You can't seem to put two and two together no matter how much your brain tells you to. 

When his eyes release a frosty residue into the air, when you watch the air melt against him, you lose your resolve. Stripped of it, left with the stubbornness lying underneath.  

Telling Gojo Satoru "yes" - you'd rather lie cold in your grave. 

"Is it still a no?" 

No doubt about it, Satoru notices. Your stubbornness surprisingly (as if he hasn't calculated this reaction) clashes with his want. 

Without a single word, you begrudgingly snatch the dress out of his loose grasp, eyes searching around for the dressing room as you turn on your heel, slumping with each step like a deflated skydancer. 

"To your left." Satoru directs, burying the self-conceited excitement down his throat. "You're welcome."

Patience is a virtue, he repeats to himself, over and over as you disappear behind the racks of clothes in front of him. 

...

You don't want to. 

Oh, you really can't stand the look of it because the feeling this dress evokes in you is criminal. The definition of bi-polar, heck, even multi-polar as the fabric drapes around you.

A part of you, the mature side of you, loathes the sight. You feel girlish, frail, and overly-feminine, like a total joke of a woman. You gaze upon the mirror and shy from it, covering your eyes before you peek through your fingers out of pure embarrassment. 

You were well-into your twenties at this point, a young age, but still... weren't you a little too old for this? You can't help but feel that way. With those bags underneath your eyes you look like a princess fresh out of a zombie apocalypse, not some cute, innocent-looking chick. Maybe you look a little fucked-up, honestly. Completely out of place. 

Oh, whatever. You lightly squeeze and pick at the skirt, tracing the pleated lines. 

There's another part of you as well, and you suppose it's your immature side. The side that pokes through your doubts like a roses' thorn. 

It's pretty. You feel kind of special, like an actual princess or some kind of tacky, knock-off Barbie doll. Fluffing your hair, a pit forms in the bottom-left of your stomach, plague pooling up inside of you. 

Envy, desire, selfishness begin to settle in. And to think that you strayed, parted ways with these three "friends" years ago. Only now do they make their grand reappearance. 

So this is what it's like to be normal, isn't it? You ask yourself, only to receive no answer. Surely, this is what it's like to have the world at your fingertips, to have all your wants and desires served to you in silver platter, right? 

You should be jumping up and down right now, squealing like a damn schoolgirl at the idea that you were living out a childhood fantasy of yours.

"It's nice," You mumble, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself to agree. The words don't stick as well as you hoped. 

You're jealous, almost angry you've never got to experience something so trivial, so materialistic. Jujutsu training took up more than half of your youth and those high-school memories you so deeply craved only remained a simple dream. A selfish goal you could never achieve no matter which plan or path you took to get there. The consequences of your choices would always haunt you, and you suppose this is one of those instances when you see the faintest image of a little girl. A little girl with a pair of eyes all too similar, with a nose much like yours, with lips of the same nature. 

You want to scream when your chest compresses against itself, eyes stinging and reddening. 

How tormenting, you would have never imagined your reflection to be one of a burden as your fingers still against the fabric of that dress, lips rolling over each other as a ship sinks to the very bottom of your stomach's oceans. 

You remember. You remember it all too well, those years in elementary school. One question stuck with you in particular. 

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

To first-grade you, that was a simple, easy question. So you churned out an answer with very little thought. 

"I want to be happy! Like... forever?"

Hah. Simple. 

You think, no, you thought that such a simple, inoffensive wish would allow your life to show you a bit of grace, a bit of fulfillment. You were wrong, damn it, you were so wrong that you let out a choked, cowardly sniffle. The little you wouldn't even want to see you face, she'd rather die than accept her reality-

"Yoo-hoo. It's been ten minutes, you done yet?" 

You flinch at his voice, blinking profusely as you touch up your watering eyes. Being sad was one thing, but you were not going to cry around Gojo Satoru. Never. 

"Hello-"

You swing the door open, feeling your eyelashes water before you speak. The sound of your voice is stupid as all can be, but what could you do? You were just crying to yourself like the main character in some cheaply-produced Disney movie. 

"Hi." You frown, crossing your arms as you feel the wind blow against your bare legs. You don't even want to look at him right now. Why? He's not scary. 

It's a silence so thick that follows, so thick that you can't even take in proper breaths from the air that lies between the two of you. 

Gojo Satoru stares, and you hate it. You hate that equally thick stare lying behind those glasses of his, seriously. You want to hide away, crawl into a hole when he hums like that, sucking in his lips as he examines you like a zoo animal. You're going ballistic and all you can do is stand there with your arms crossed as a defense. It's insulting because you're aware of how ridiculous the thing looks on you. Insulting because he makes it so obvious that you look like a little girl playing dress-up.

"What?" You say, tone flat. "Why are you looking at me like that?"  

Oops. He swallows, guilty as charged when he stiffly rubs his neck. Satoru feels like a perv, the memories of that night flooding into the dam of his mind.

No, you're a friend.

Just a friend.

Only a beloved childhood friend of his, so there's no reason that these troublesome fireworks should be going off, bouncing off the barriers of his skin. 

"Like what?" He looks away, hands stuffed in his pocket as he occupies his mind with the displays surrounding him. "I wasn't doing a single thing except looking at the dress." 

Your lips tremble, and you feel dumb. Super dumb. Maybe it's those leftover feelings from earlier that begin to explode out of you, little by little. You can't seem to stop it, and it's killing you as your armor cracks. 

"Is it that bad?" Your voice cracks, and he begins to panic as if he wasn't a nervous wreck before. "Be honest." 

"What? Of course it isn't-"

"Stop lying." You let out, eyes burning up into ashes as they redden like cherries. "I mean it."

"Why would I lie? You- you look pretty." Damn it. He's let the cat out of the bag, fingers covering his lips before he decides to just accept his terrible fate. 

No, that wasn't- that wasn't what you wanted to hear. You toy with the flesh in your mouth, the skin of your forehead scrunching and bunching up. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no... You shouldn't be mad at him, he was just looking at the dress, he wasn't judging you, you just made him call you pretty. Wait, you're pretty? 

You ignore that, your skin crawls at the compliment. You hate it, you hate him, everything about him. 

Your eyes are - Ugh. What are you doing? 

"Well, it was just because... because.." You stammer, fiddling with the syllables of your words as the image of that particular black jacket appears in your mind.

"Because?" Satoru questions, taking in a deep breath. He feels strange when your eyes swell up like that, so strange that he can't put it into words even if he tried. 

"Are you crying?" He doesn't know if he should ask, and he's especially scared of sounding like a total asshole. What if the tears just poured out when he asked? But, it felt too wrong, so wrong to just watch you fume up like this without adressing the elephant in the room-- the warm beads flooding the crevices of your eyes. 

"You lied." You use the knuckles of your fingers to pat at the corners of your eyes, breathing in a shaky breath as you do, chest slowly rising. "Why did you-"

Okay, he could understand you were beyond frustrated, but falsely accusing him of lying. Oh, he couldn't stand it, even if it was you pointing fingers at him. Even if it was his dear, beloved friend. 

"When did I-"

"Hello, I just couldn't help but notice that dress on you, ma'am. It looks wonderful."

You turn around, looking like a deer in headlights at the saleswoman who probably watched that whole shit-show with front-row seats. Gojo, on the other hand, takes in a sharp breath, rubbing his cheek before acknowledging the fact that they were in public, fighting in public, like a-

"Oh? Are you two a couple? We actually have a His and Her deal going on until the end of this month. Would you be interested?" It's the same woman he accidentally ignored, the same woman who unknowingly directed you to Gojo's lie. She's back, this time to upsell you on products you really don't need and can't afford. You thought you had formed some kind of alliance, but alas, she was just doing her job. Unfortunately, you were her target. 

Now this, this was the reason for his visit in the first place. There was no way he was going to leave without purchasing color-coordinated outfits, the same ones he's been anticipating the release of since the beginning of winter. Usually, he'd be the type to despise such a release, one that didn't serve him any purpose, but because of you, and solely because of you he was...

"Yes. We're interested-"

"No-" You protest, the tears drying up against the dry of your eyes. 

"We are interested." He grits his teeth at you, pulling you in closer to his side, saving face with a smile as his arm wraps around your uneven shoulders. "There's a matching suit for this dress, right? I saw it in the catalog." 

"I-" You try to refuse, but they've already beat you to it. What was this? Your unlucky day? 

You've been having a lot of those recently. And this day is no different when his arm sticks you to him like glue, feeling the outline of his body against your hip. You shudder, skin crawling once more at the mutual warmth. His fingers press against the fabric of your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze and pat. You might as well bark and get on all fours like his dog at this point, that was how you felt. Like Gojo Satoru's pet, always at his service. 

The woman gives him an eager nod, "I'll get the sets out for you two. Please give me a moment." 

Your eyes shoot up at him, and it's an angry look, no doubt. First, your vision traces his fingers that hold you, then at the knowing smile on his face. He knows you hate it, and he's just going to continue this torture of his until he's satisfied. You didn't even have to go through another cycle of defiance only to cower at his Six Eyes. Like a dog, you've been trained into obedience, without a single treat in your bowl or stomach. 

In other words, you're at a loss. Advantage-wise, speech-wise, physically-speaking, emotionally-speaking... all of it.

Even though you eye him with such venom when that neutral expression looks back down at you, those beads still linger. You don't know what to make of your own conflict anymore, having a difficult time as the ground fills your line of vision. 

"Hey, why did you tell her that?" You whisper-hiss, as if those words were meant to be kept a hidden secret. "Now she thinks we're a couple..."

There they are, Satoru takes notes of those tides as his arm slips from your shoulders. They're clashing, the gritty sand soaking those waves dry. 

"Are you okay?" Did he have the right to ask such a question? To show an ounce of his care? Was he allowed to?

"It was for the discount." Is what comes out instead as he widens the small gap between the both of you. Ironically, this much more appropriate response leaves him questioning his own intentions. "Why? Does it bother you?" 

No, it shouldn't bother you. It doesn't. 

"You ass..." You mutter, hoping that somehow a miracle occurs. One so miraculous that his memories of your vulnerability erase.

However, such miracles never seem to hit you - they miss by a large shot.

"I hate you."

Or maybe they do as Gojo just nods. At least this once as you break contact with him, a comfortable silence settling in. 

"The feeling's mutual, don't worry." 

Satoru doesn't want to test the validity his words.

"You lied." 

That isn't so far off from the truth. 

...

"How is it?"

Your reflection is disappointing. The colors that swallow you are lackluster, they trap you. 

"I don't like it." What outfit was this again? You lost track. 

"Oh, that's too bad. Does it fit?" Satoru crosses his legs, resting in a fancy, maroon velvet armchair. 

"...Yes." You answer, rubbing your arm. You're losing. 

"What was that?" He tips his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, I just can't hear you." 

As if. 

"It fits." You speak up, tone numb as you tell him what he wants to hear. 

"Good." 

This, unfortunately, has been the norm of your conversations for the past two hours. Gojo would pick out an outfit from the spring catalog, force  ask you to try it on, then he'd ask for your optimistic opinions which he held zero regard for whatsoever before buying or trashing it. 

"Excuse me," He holds up a hand before pointing at you. You blink at this, dread filling you whole. "She'll take this one as well." 

You did not say that, but you must be remembering things wrong. 

The saleswoman nods. "Of course, sir."

She moves to pack up a fresh set, but quickly presses onto her own breaks when he opens his mouth to command speak once more. Poor thing, you can't help but feel your own foot ache at the amount of times she's had to deal with this. 

"Also, I want all the accessories."

"A-all?" She raises both eyebrows, masking her shock with a boxy smile. "Are you-"

"I'm sure." Satoru nods, finally looking at the woman. 

"Yes, sir. I'll get started on that right away." She scurries off with such urgency that you'd think she was held at gunpoint. 

Your lips flubber as you exhale, taking in your reflection. Today has weirdly been all about you, in the worst way imaginable. You can't seem to catch a break with the absurd amount of haughty-designer outfits thrown onto you. This one in particular was your least favorite. 

A blue shirt, reminiscent of those soul-sucking Six Eyes, short-sleeved with a slight puff in the shoulders, adorned with buttons of a similar shade. Though it is soft to the touch, it's more than unbelievable to you that this costs around three-hundred yen. The white lace skirt draped all the way down your ankles is no cheaper either, but a couple hundred yen was like child's play for the rich. Another regular day, nothing new. 

Furthermore, Gojo hasn't tried on a single thing. He just assumes he'll like his side of the outfit based on yours, a total gamble of your money.

"Is there anything else...?" You decide to follow routine, but of course, it doesn't work when you finally accept your fate. 

"Nah, you can go change now." He rolls his shoulders back before getting back on his feet, the chair as empty as he found it. "I'll be waiting outside, yeah?"

You carefully nod, studying his sudden change in demeanor as he whistles to himself, that stern expression wiped off the surface of his face. Now that was bipolar. 

"Okay." You'd hate to send him into another frenzy of playing dress-up with a doll that was more than unwilling because you would also like to move on from whatever this was. 

One piece after another, as if you're being timed, you strip down your clothes only to re-dress yourself in your original (work) clothes. Oh, how you long for that nine-to-five lifestyle, how you miss being stuck in that stiff office chair. Today taught you that being rich and ambitious was not for the weak, that you, the weak, suited the likes of a corporate, forty-hour work week. Not this pretend fantasy, this mere illusion. 

Right now, you'd do anything to escape this hell-hole of a place and that demon of man. 

"Oh," Your hands reach for your jacket- sorry, his jacket.

"You lied."

You forgot to prove your point, the evident truth that Gojo Satoru was a liar.

...

You can't believe it. Not a single bit. 

"For the last time, and I say this with all due respect, but your items have already been paid for, ma'am." The bald man at the counter sighs, holding a receipt before you. 

You cautiously scan the very long paper, fingers grabbing it's very end as your eyes widen at the total.   

"But... but-"

You profusely rub your eyes, blinking over and over. You might as well go into cardiac arrest at the seven bolded digits, grasping the thin receipt between your shaky fingers. 

"Correct," His voice cuts through your multiple stammers.  "You didn't pay, your boyfriend did, ma'am."

B-boyfriend? Gojo Satoru? That man? 

"He didn't, and he's not my-" You don't even get the chance to make your case clear. 

"The signature is at the very bottom." 

You stuff your face into the very butt of the paper, eyes flickering between the signature line and the uncanny smiley face drawn on top it. What an eyesore.

How in the world did he pay? You chew onto the flakes of your lips, releasing a deep breath from the very depths of your lungs. You were under the impression that Gojo came here with absolutely nothing but himself. And the flowers. You almost forgot those flowers, and you accidentally remember how ugly and spacious they look sitting on the counter of your kitchen island. 

"Ah, I... I see now, sorry." You let out an involuntary laugh, shoving the receipt down your pocket. "I'm sorry for taking up your time, let me just-" 

You grunt, looping one bag onto your arm after another, the worker behind the counter blankly staring as you visibly struggle. Jeez. Were you the one working customer service or was he? 

"Have- Have a nice rest of your day." Somehow you manage to carry all six bags, three on your left and three on your right as you head towards salvation. Which was better known as the exit of this damn place. 

"You too, ma'am."

Thanks, you mouth to yourself. 

You have a feeling the rest of your day will be anything but nice. 

...

[blue-and-gilt]

17th Century 'Walloon' Sword.

While I've shown this sword before, I've held back from making a dedicated post while I attempted to researched it further. Unfortunately, there just isn't enough information available to come to any definitive conclusions and we are left to speculate based on snippets of information and clues we find in the objects themselves.

This style of sword is typically described and the 'Amsterdam town guard sword.' And is a sub-class of the broader 'Walloon' sword. Calling these 'Walloon swords' is another modern collectors' practice of convenience which is believed to have originated with the French cavalry sword; 'Epee Wallone' which was in service from the late 17th to the middle of the 18th Century.

Walloon swords are believed to have originated in the German states of the Holy Roman Empire during the time of the Thirty Years War. They are identified by the asymmetrical disk shaped guards, solid knuckle guard with two of more side branches. The guards can be solid and decorated with grotesque faces, animals or plant motifs, or they can be perforated. Typically they will have a thumb-ring attached on the left underside of the guard. Blades can be either double or single edged.

The 'Amsterdam' Walloon sword, named because of the Amsterdam Coat of Arms invariably found stamped into the ricasso, is a very distinct sub-type that features a perforated asymmetrical disk guard decorated with pierced suns surrounded by moons. It is finished by a short upturned rear quillon. They have a single knuckle bow which is fixed to the ball pommel by a screw and a thumb-ring on the left side that extends out to the edge of the guard. The grip is wrapped with wire and finished at both ends with a 'Turks head' knot. The blades are long, double edged with a single fuller at the base. They are invariably stamped with triple Xs under a crown Coat of Arms for Amsterdam. The surviving examples are very uniform for this period in time, making it is possible that this was the first European pattern sword produced.

While the link to Amsterdam is clear in the markings, it is unlikely that this type of sword was issued to the cities guard or militia. The number of surviving examples indicate that these were made in too large quantities to have been issued to a small localised force.

During the 17th Century, The Netherlands was a republic of seven provinces. And rather than a standing national army, each province would have supplied and maintained their own levies in times of war. One possibility is that these swords were supplied to the cavalry of the Province of Holland, of which Amsterdam was the economic capital.

Another theory is that the French experience of 'Walloon' swords, encountered during their war with the Dutch in 1672 to 1673. Dissatisfied with their current cavalry swords, French King Louis XIV ordered that his cavalry be equipped with a new sword of the 'Walloon' type. This is discussed in an article in the French magazine Gazette des Armes. However that doesn't explain the presence of the Amsterdam Coat of Arms on these swords. Then again, Amsterdam was a major mercantile center for Europe, and it is possible that the French order was brokered by Dutch merchants who placed their mark on the blades when they arrived from Solingen.

It should also be noted that the Amsterdam mark is often accompanied by the Solingen blade smiths' own mark. On this sword the makers mark is mostly obscured by the guard, but you can just make out the top of a crown at the ricasso (the horizontal stamp is another verson of the Dutch markings).

In the hand, this is a beast of a sword, the grip and guard are large to accommodate gloves and the blade is very long, suitable for fighting from horseback. But despite its' proportions, it is not a heavy or unwieldy sword.

Stats: Overall Length - 1,080 mm Blade Length - 920 mm Point of Balance - 120 mm Grip Length - 145 mm Inside Grip Length - 120 mm Weight - 990 grams

[lenievi]

Les Misérables, the musical: things I found worthy of note (seen in Prague on 18th May 2024)

Madeleine/Valjean used a cane and limped

in this version, Javert was shorter than Valjean

when Valjean met Cosette in the forest, he kissed her hand. When he took her away from the Thénardiers and dressed her in the black dress, they held hands and skipped away together. It was cute.

during "Lovely Ladies" there were some threesomes with two guys and one girl

during "Master of the House", Thénardier had several cute scenes with Éponine. They danced together on the table.

during the song, when the second guest came, he had a (toy) cat with him. Thénardiers took it, killed it, cooked it, and served it to him (to go with the lyrics)

sad that during the cart scene, Valjean gave his hat and coat to a random policeman who tagged with Javert because Javert was too busy holding his own hat lol

Javert, played by a 74yo guy, has an aura of being absolutely done with the world and oozing holier than thou kind of attitude. He calls Valjean his rival twice in the lyrics. He also does not have long hair in a ponytail, and he has white hair since Toulon. And his Toulon/Montreuil uniform is chef's kiss

Confrontation: when Valjean was like "pls gimme three days", Javert was like "no *scoffs, shaking his head* no". For some reason, the final fight between them (after they stop singing) was missing, so the scene kind of ended in a way that made it seem that Javert let Valjean go. It was funny because he also wore a weirdly exasperated expression.

During the Arras trial, when Valjean takes of his cravat and exposes his chest (he still has the number on it), Javert just looks at him and then orders Champ to be taken away

Marius kissed Éponine's temple (or forehead) during the scene in Paris when we see grown Cosette for the first time

the café was called Café ABC lol

I think I mentioned this before, but they don't wave the red flag in our adaptations (there are reasons for that), they use the French flag. It's reflected in the song ("Do you hear the people sing?") with "the tricolour will fly" and it was also reflected on stage in a really cool way - they were slowly putting red, blue and white pieces of fabric over a gun to form the French flag (and then in the following scenes, they'd have a real one to wave as if they sew it from the fabrics). The three pieces of fabric thrown over the gun made a comeback during "Empty Chairs", where one of the dead guys was carrying it (which to me symbolized the broken dream because the tricolour flag didn't fly, it stayed as three pieces of fabric)

when Éponine was dying, everyone was crying. Little Gavroche was lying on the ground in some women's lap, crying and being comforted. (Javert was sitting on his chair having the expression of pls let this be over already. why am I still here?)

when they captured Javert, they threw him on his knees and Gavroche was then singing right into his face (and those two were the oldest and youngest ones in the cast). It was fun. Gavroche was really small, the boy didn't look older than 10.

one of the barricade guys carried Gavroche on his shoulders almost all the time (and when Gavroche died, he shouted the loudest). And they appeared liked that during "Empty Chairs" too

Enjolras was the last one to die. He climbed the barricade and waved the flag, was shot and fell down. When Javert came to the barricade, he climbed it (then it got turned, so we saw), and Enjolras was hanging in the middle, covered by the flag, and Javert bowed to him and climbed down.

Javert almost picked up the sewers cover haha

when Javert met Valjean again after the sewers, he was using the formal "you" in the song

when it comes to the lyrics and "look down", I liked how well it was done - our lyrics have "I/we want to exist" and I was curious how it would fit the post-sewers song and it did

Javert jumped from the bridge. Like he climbed up the bridge (and yes, the 74yo guy climbed ladders several times during the show) and then "jumped" and a younger guy plopped down on the ground (= into the smoky illusion of Seine) lol

during the curtain call, Valjean and Javert's actors "high-fived" (but it was on the level of their hips). And Javert's actor got six cans of beer which I found funny.

also during "Master of the House" Madame Thénardier's mic stopped working, so the poor woman had to sing without it for a while until a guy in a suit brought her a handheld mic.

[marimayscarlett]

By all means *eyes emoji*

Hi 👋

I took this ask as an invitation to figuratively dive into Richard's coat closet, and tried to compile every coat he wore in the last 30 years.

And oh boy, this man surely loves a good coat. He's the one member of this band who consecutively wore a coat on almost every tour and really takes a liking in the dramaturgical effect of wearing long (often times dark in color) coats and later reveiling additional outfits underneath, especially in later years. It fits his somewhat dramatic stage presence and he started quite early with these kind of stage outfits!

I subdevided this overview in two sub-topics to give this post somewhat of a structure, because this will be long.

1.) Richard's coats on stage (organized by year and tour)

1.1) Firstly, the plain black coat from the Herzeleid tour which he wore in 1995/1996. It's from what I could find the first time he wore a coat on stage while playing for Rammstein.

1.2) Addtionally, he wore the shiny red and silver coat during the Herzeleid tour as well as partly on the Sehnsucht tour in 1997. Same as the black coat before, he forwent any additional outfit underneath.

1.3) Also on the Sehnsucht tour, Richard wore the somewhat futuristic (reminded me a little bit of Star Treck costumes) black and silver coat which is clearly visible in Live aus Berlin. It suited the whole style of this era quite nicely and fit into the vibe of Till's cyborg/futuristic jacket as well.

1.4) For his outfit during the Reise Reise tour in 2004/2005, Richard settled for a black military-style coat. The button rows seem to be reminiscent of french military uniforms from the 17th and 18th century (as well as the button lines and the embroidery on the collar of the underjacket) and his pants were designed in a similar style. The lining of the coat is bright red, a theme which would occur numerous times over the years.

1.5) During the LIFAD tour, Richard wore a grey-mottled coat made out of a somewhat leathery material, adorned with silver buttons and a red armband - again he incorporated a red element in this coat, just like with the one before. On a sidenote: He once mentioned that Michael Jackson was an inspiration for this armband because Richard liked the cool look of it - his leg-belts (visible in the right picture) also kind of resemble the harness Michael wore on stage and in some videos during his Bad era.

1.6) An absolute personal favourite of mine: The studded coat Richard chose for the 2013 part of the Made in Germany tour, oftentimes paired with the torn black and red top underneath. This one also got red lining, as well as a fine red line near the cuffs of the coat.

1.7) In 2016 for the Festival tour, Richard wore coat in a more cosy and snuggly style, which marked a break in the clean cut coat-aesthetic up to this point. It was more in the style of a cardigan with a zipper instead of buttons. The armband made a reappearance as the signature red element (mirrored by a red band on his pants), and red lines along the seams added this colourful accent.

1.8) For the 2019 tour leg of the Stadium tour, Richard mixed things up by wearing a two piece combo made out of a leathery material, with a studded cap on the right shoulder and red elements in form of the usual arm band and a red folding in the front. The lower part of this outfit was removable, so the upper part remained as a jacket.

1.9) In 2022, he wore an all black coat with a belt and flaps along the shoulders, as well as snap fasteners as buttons; it overall resembled the typical look of a trenchcoat and seemed less rigid then the previous ensemble.

1.10) A true fandom favourite appeared on the scene in 2022 when he presented the infamous chicken coat. This one was already known from the "Freeze my mind" music video (from 2021) from Richard's side project and other band Emigrate. Different than in the music video, where a vest completed the look, Richard again after years went on stage without any outfit under it. This coat was used by him also during this year's tour leg.

1.11) Another personal favourite of mine is the black coat with red lining which he wore during this year's tour. Affectionatly dubbed "the vampire coat", this coat appears to be quite clean cut and simple, but has a very nice and dramatic effect on him (choosing gifs this time to underline this sentiment).

2.) Richard's coats off stage

Here are some of the coats Richard wore off stage during band fotoshoots and outings. Not counting normal jackets or parcas here.

2.1) The fur-lined coat during the Rosenrot fotoshooting:

2.2) The reoccuring black coat with fluffy fur elements, worn by him while being presented with awards in 2005 in Berlin as well as during the Echo award show in 2009:

2.3) He wore another black coat which looked pretty similar to the one before but is still slightly different during a signing in Paris 2004:

2.4) And a brown/beige kind of trenchcoat was his style of choice for the Fashion rock night in 2009:

2.5) During the outdoor shooting for the LIFAD album, Richard wore another black coat:

2.6) And lastly, the fancy embroidered coat Richard chose for promotion pictures for (I think) his first album with his band Emigrate:

Not sure if I was thouroughly enough and found every coat he ever wore, but I think the presented ones here really express his love for this piece of clothing in general 😊 I'm looking forward to either seeing a new coat on Richard next year or a return of his vampire coat 🦇 (Still hoping to see the studded coat someday again).

(Used picture sources: Rammwiki and the Rammsteinworld gallery - wonderful rabbit holes to get lost in.)