Chapter 24
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
Zanac Zenfield flipped through the designs he'd drawn and compared it to the few designs that Zah Playa had provided. He could spot the differences in themes already.
His designs were more evolved versions of what were already popular. He had pared down ostentation for a more refined, understated elegance. Some of that was also apparent in what Playa had provided. A sense of being mass-produced, a sense of equality and social mobility. Another hint, and another thrill of pleasure that he had found someone that really gets it, someone that could think on his wavelength.
Practicality was its own finery too!
"Tea, sir?"
Zanac looked up to see Nora approach with a tea set. "Oh. Thank you. Set it down there, please – I'm busy."
Nora nodded and put down the tray. Zanac looked away from his sketches and enjoyed watching her leave. Most people thought he probably had unconventional preferences, but really he enjoyed the female form just fine.
He loved the way cloth draped over the female form, and he loved helping to emphasize their own natural beauty.
Once more he was struck by the genius of it. Her tight pants really drew the eyes to those tight buns, and he wasn't just referred to her hairstyle. Most thought about short skirts when trying to drool over naked girl legs, but fully covered legs had their own reward for the viewer. Nora didn't realize how the way her clothes were cut highlighted the glorious curve of her spine.
Zanac picked up a charcoal stick and began sketching again. His own personal Null Magic was [Garment]. It was a similar ability to [Drawing] and [Modeling] about transforming exactly what he was visualizing into reality, but much more restrictive. It only allowed him to design garments, not anything that had secondary uses as armor or other protective clothing.
There was another hidden part to this ability. Every garment to him carried a message. The workman's simple clothes, a baker's apron, a noble's frills that stated how he was so privileged that he didn't need to care about getting his clothes dirty, how people stood inside their clothes and the way they moved while wearing it – Zanac understood it all.
Just as clothes spoke to him of people's inner desires, so could he make a conversation with others and try to change their feelings through their own clothing.
He had actually tried to prove this theory before. He had provided some laborer with better clothing, and for all that he was being taunted by his peers for trying to look uppity, he was also treated better by others who didn't know him before. He was instructed to wear sensible work clothes, but outside of his work hours he must always wear the good clothes that Zanac provided.
It was just envy that motivated his friends to try and pull him down back to their level, an envy that blew into resentment. The worker's boss began to treat the better-dressed laborer as the leader of the crew, and when the crew began to obviously shirk he put the well-dressed laborer in charge of another crew that didn't know him before. This one turned out to be a much more productive team.
Even when his former friends beat him up, the worker didn't care anymore. He was on the road to winning at life, he had found confidence instead of spending his pay on drinks and whores, and then his new crew banded together to beat up the old crew in return.
Zanac had actually been afraid he would get beaten up too for his role in that, but he was thanked instead. He was the one that showed them they could be more than just some dumb muscle.
Confidence. Just… confidence. He could change a man's life simply by allowing him to look at himself in another way.
"Walk like them until they walked like you – what an interesting turn of phrase!" Zanac remembered another of Sir Playa's casual sayings.
Zanac did not care about Playa's apparent age. He knew there were people who looked young even at an older age, and in fact he was one of those people. With his wide baby face, if only he took a good night's sleep and shaved his mustache, he would shave a decade or two from his life. Those wise words just really resonated with him.
Clothes were tools to sway opinion. In many ways they were women's only weapon against society.
In many ways, Zanac was weaponmaker, in a battle of culture and social dynamics that no one else knew was being waged. He told Playa that Belfast was peaceful – but he never said it was equal or fair.
Fashion changed as people's ideals changed. It was not so far back that it was men who wore frills and stockings after all, drawing attention towards their slim attractive ankles and shins. Now most preferred the unruffled stateliness of boosts and pants, as society moved away from a dueling culture.
Zanac licked his lips and began to draw Sir Playa's outfit in a variety of poses – walking, crouching, jumping, punching. It was so easy. This outfit was not armor, other than the thick gloves and the helmet on his head. It was impractical, with its flapping cape and cloth that would pull tight against muscles.
It was a very eye-catching outfit, the garb of a showman, an inspiring leader.
And yet…
He tapped his fingers on the table. There was something about this outfit that just positively reeked to him of BETRAYAL. It was the garb of someone lying to himself.
And it was odd, because the way Sir Playa wore his clothes was also that of someone so content, so honest with his own desires and his own life. Zanac thought of the girls accompanying him, and he liked their outfits too. Sober purple and white, and while the latter may be impractical for fighting (what with blood spatters and dirt and all), clean white did help give an impression of purity and professionalism. Perhaps that was why Sir Playa also wore a white helmet and white gloves and boots.
The two conflicting thoughts whirled in his mind until Zanac came to a realization.
This was the outfit of someone who betrays and fails to live up to expectations. It was a symbol, it was NOT Sir Playa's own outfit, he wanted it in order to imitate someone else. Someone who still remained inspiring despite all his obvious flaws.
Perhaps he wanted to reclaim this symbol, and make it actually deliver what it promised.
Zanac nodded approvingly. He too would do this, would make this garment to the fullest extent of his own abilities, because this suit promised him a story for the ages.
He wondered just how far Sir Playa would bring his legend... or would he just crash and burn like so many other prodigies ramming against uncaring reality and the fickleness of crowds?
-
-
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
Zanac Zenfield flipped through the designs he'd drawn and compared it to the few designs that Zah Playa had provided. He could spot the differences in themes already.
His designs were more evolved versions of what were already popular. He had pared down ostentation for a more refined, understated elegance. Some of that was also apparent in what Playa had provided. A sense of being mass-produced, a sense of equality and social mobility. Another hint, and another thrill of pleasure that he had found someone that really gets it, someone that could think on his wavelength.
Practicality was its own finery too!
"Tea, sir?"
Zanac looked up to see Nora approach with a tea set. "Oh. Thank you. Set it down there, please – I'm busy."
Nora nodded and put down the tray. Zanac looked away from his sketches and enjoyed watching her leave. Most people thought he probably had unconventional preferences, but really he enjoyed the female form just fine.
He loved the way cloth draped over the female form, and he loved helping to emphasize their own natural beauty.
Once more he was struck by the genius of it. Her tight pants really drew the eyes to those tight buns, and he wasn't just referred to her hairstyle. Most thought about short skirts when trying to drool over naked girl legs, but fully covered legs had their own reward for the viewer. Nora didn't realize how the way her clothes were cut highlighted the glorious curve of her spine.
Zanac picked up a charcoal stick and began sketching again. His own personal Null Magic was [Garment]. It was a similar ability to [Drawing] and [Modeling] about transforming exactly what he was visualizing into reality, but much more restrictive. It only allowed him to design garments, not anything that had secondary uses as armor or other protective clothing.
There was another hidden part to this ability. Every garment to him carried a message. The workman's simple clothes, a baker's apron, a noble's frills that stated how he was so privileged that he didn't need to care about getting his clothes dirty, how people stood inside their clothes and the way they moved while wearing it – Zanac understood it all.
Just as clothes spoke to him of people's inner desires, so could he make a conversation with others and try to change their feelings through their own clothing.
He had actually tried to prove this theory before. He had provided some laborer with better clothing, and for all that he was being taunted by his peers for trying to look uppity, he was also treated better by others who didn't know him before. He was instructed to wear sensible work clothes, but outside of his work hours he must always wear the good clothes that Zanac provided.
It was just envy that motivated his friends to try and pull him down back to their level, an envy that blew into resentment. The worker's boss began to treat the better-dressed laborer as the leader of the crew, and when the crew began to obviously shirk he put the well-dressed laborer in charge of another crew that didn't know him before. This one turned out to be a much more productive team.
Even when his former friends beat him up, the worker didn't care anymore. He was on the road to winning at life, he had found confidence instead of spending his pay on drinks and whores, and then his new crew banded together to beat up the old crew in return.
Zanac had actually been afraid he would get beaten up too for his role in that, but he was thanked instead. He was the one that showed them they could be more than just some dumb muscle.
Confidence. Just… confidence. He could change a man's life simply by allowing him to look at himself in another way.
"Walk like them until they walked like you – what an interesting turn of phrase!" Zanac remembered another of Sir Playa's casual sayings.
Zanac did not care about Playa's apparent age. He knew there were people who looked young even at an older age, and in fact he was one of those people. With his wide baby face, if only he took a good night's sleep and shaved his mustache, he would shave a decade or two from his life. Those wise words just really resonated with him.
Clothes were tools to sway opinion. In many ways they were women's only weapon against society.
In many ways, Zanac was weaponmaker, in a battle of culture and social dynamics that no one else knew was being waged. He told Playa that Belfast was peaceful – but he never said it was equal or fair.
Fashion changed as people's ideals changed. It was not so far back that it was men who wore frills and stockings after all, drawing attention towards their slim attractive ankles and shins. Now most preferred the unruffled stateliness of boosts and pants, as society moved away from a dueling culture.
Zanac licked his lips and began to draw Sir Playa's outfit in a variety of poses – walking, crouching, jumping, punching. It was so easy. This outfit was not armor, other than the thick gloves and the helmet on his head. It was impractical, with its flapping cape and cloth that would pull tight against muscles.
It was a very eye-catching outfit, the garb of a showman, an inspiring leader.
And yet…
He tapped his fingers on the table. There was something about this outfit that just positively reeked to him of BETRAYAL. It was the garb of someone lying to himself.
And it was odd, because the way Sir Playa wore his clothes was also that of someone so content, so honest with his own desires and his own life. Zanac thought of the girls accompanying him, and he liked their outfits too. Sober purple and white, and while the latter may be impractical for fighting (what with blood spatters and dirt and all), clean white did help give an impression of purity and professionalism. Perhaps that was why Sir Playa also wore a white helmet and white gloves and boots.
The two conflicting thoughts whirled in his mind until Zanac came to a realization.
This was the outfit of someone who betrays and fails to live up to expectations. It was a symbol, it was NOT Sir Playa's own outfit, he wanted it in order to imitate someone else. Someone who still remained inspiring despite all his obvious flaws.
Perhaps he wanted to reclaim this symbol, and make it actually deliver what it promised.
Zanac nodded approvingly. He too would do this, would make this garment to the fullest extent of his own abilities, because this suit promised him a story for the ages.
He wondered just how far Sir Playa would bring his legend... or would he just crash and burn like so many other prodigies ramming against uncaring reality and the fickleness of crowds?
-
-
Zanac Zenfield flipped through the designs he'd drawn and compared it to the few designs that Zah Playa had provided. He could spot the differences in themes already.His designs were more evolved versions of what were already popular. He had pared down ostentation for a more refined, understated elegance. Some of that was also apparent in what Playa had provided. A sense of being mass-produced, a sense of equality and social mobility. Another hint, and another thrill of pleasure that he had found someone that really gets it, someone that could think on his wavelength.Practicality was its own finery too!"Tea, sir?"Zanac looked up to see Nora approach with a tea set. "Oh. Thank you. Set it down there, please I'm busy."Nora nodded and put down the tray. Zanac looked away from his sketches and enjoyed watching her leave. Most people thought he probably had unconventional preferences, but really he enjoyed the female form just fine.He loved the way cloth draped over the female form, and he loved helping to emphasize their own natural beauty.Once more he was struck by the genius of it. Her tight pants really drew the eyes to those tight buns, and he wasn't just referred to her hairstyle. Most thought about short skirts when trying to drool over naked girl legs, but fully covered legs had their own reward for the viewer. Nora didn't realize how the way her clothes were cut highlighted the glorious curve of her spine.Zanac picked up a charcoal stick and began sketching again. His own personal Null Magic was Garment. It was a similar ability to Drawing and Modeling about transforming exactly what he was visualizing into reality, but much more restrictive. It only allowed him to design garments, not anything that had secondary uses as armor or other protective clothing.There was another hidden part to this ability. Every garment to him carried a message. The workman's simple clothes, a baker's apron, a noble's frills that stated how he was so privileged that he didn't need to care about getting his clothes dirty, how people stood inside their clothes and the way they moved while wearing it Zanac understood it all.Just as clothes spoke to him of people's inner desires, so could he make a conversation with others and try to change their feelings through their own clothing.He had actually tried to prove this theory before. He had provided some laborer with better clothing, and for all that he was being taunted by his peers for trying to look uppity, he was also treated better by others who didn't know him before. He was instructed to wear sensible work clothes, but outside of his work hours he must always wear the good clothes that Zanac provided.It was just envy that motivated his friends to try and pull him down back to their level, an envy that blew into resentment. The worker's boss began to treat the better-dressed laborer as the leader of the crew, and when the crew began to obviously shirk he put the well-dressed laborer in charge of another crew that didn't know him before. This one turned out to be a much more productive team.Even when his former friends beat him up, the worker didn't care anymore. He was on the road to winning at life, he had found confidence instead of spending his pay on drinks and whores, and then his new crew banded together to beat up the old crew in return.Zanac had actually been afraid he would get beaten up too for his role in that, but he was thanked instead. He was the one that showed them they could be more than just some dumb muscle.Confidence. Just confidence. He could change a man's life simply by allowing him to look at himself in another way."Walk like them until they walked like you what an interesting turn of phrase!" Zanac remembered another of Sir Playa's casual sayings.Zanac did not care about Playa's apparent age. He knew there were people who looked young even at an older age, and in fact he was one of those people. With his wide baby face, if only he took a good night's sleep and shaved his mustache, he would shave a decade or two from his life. Those wise words just really resonated with him.Clothes were tools to sway opinion. In many ways they were women's only weapon against society.In many ways, Zanac was weaponmaker, in a battle of culture and social dynamics that no one else knew was being waged. He told Playa that Belfast was peaceful but he never said it was equal or fair.Fashion changed as people's ideals changed. It was not so far back that it was men who wore frills and stockings after all, drawing attention towards their slim attractive ankles and shins. Now most preferred the unruffled stateliness of boosts and pants, as society moved away from a dueling culture.Zanac licked his lips and began to draw Sir Playa's outfit in a variety of poses walking, crouching, jumping, punching. It was so easy. This outfit was not armor, other than the thick gloves and the helmet on his head. It was impractical, with its flapping cape and cloth that would pull tight against muscles.It was a very eye-catching outfit, the garb of a showman, an inspiring leader.And yetHe tapped his fingers on the table. There was something about this outfit that just positively reeked to him of BETRAYAL. It was the garb of someone lying to himself.And it was odd, because the way Sir Playa wore his clothes was also that of someone so content, so honest with his own desires and his own life. Zanac thought of the girls accompanying him, and he liked their outfits too. Sober purple and white, and while the latter may be impractical for fighting what with blood spatters and dirt and all, clean white did help give an impression of purity and professionalism. Perhaps that was why Sir Playa also wore a white helmet and white gloves and boots.The two conflicting thoughts whirled in his mind until Zanac came to a realization.This was the outfit of someone who betrays and fails to live up to expectations. It was a symbol, it was NOT Sir Playa's own outfit, he wanted it in order to imitate someone else. Someone who still remained inspiring despite all his obvious flaws.Perhaps he wanted to reclaim this symbol, and make it actually deliver what it promised.Zanac nodded approvingly. He too would do this, would make this garment to the fullest extent of his own abilities, because this suit promised him a story for the ages.He wondered just how far Sir Playa would bring his legend... or would he just crash and burn like so many other prodigies ramming against uncaring reality and the fickleness of crowds?--
