Dashing and Dapper

With a growl and a colorful swear, the young ranger threw his hands up in frustration. The poor boy was having quite a time trying to get his wardrobe put together good and proper. For hours he had done nothing but moan and groan about the uncomfortably stiff shirt collar, the trousers that hugged his groin a little too intimately, the stupid waist coat, and now his neck tie.

Tyren observed the young man’s tantrum quietly all the while, a small smile tugging at his lips. Presently, the boy–for despite his thirty-some years he was still very much a boy–was clawing at the partially tied length of cloth until he had freed his neck from its grasp and finally threw it to the ground with a huff. For good measure, he gave it a good kick as well. The silk flew up, then dropped sadly back down to the floor.

“I’ll just not go.” Proclaimed Westel as he eyed his reflection in the full-length mirror. All things considered, he would have looked quite the dandy if he could truly pull off such a look. He felt he looked silly in the tight, black fall front trousers, and the tight, stiff collar of his shirt coupled with the double breasted black waist coat had the young ranger feeling constricted. He had not even put on the “hunter green” tail coat.

“Oh like hell you won’t.” Scoffed the older ranger, straightening up and stalking across the room to join the younger in front of the mirror. “I am not showing up at the Ranger’s Ball without my protege. I’ll have you know I gave up having a darling date on my arm for you. Thus far, you are proving to take longer to get ready than a woman.” Nose wrinkled, Tyren straightened out the front of his own suit.

Ever the one to make a statement, Tyren had donned a cobalt blue tail coat with gold buttons and cuffs, with a gold vest underneath and a blue cravat. His trousers were the same as Westel’s, with black lace up boots that reached his knees. His feathered hat, he said, had gone out of style and so his head went bare for this evening’s event. His scruff had been trimmed and shaven, leaving him with a stylish goatee. Tyren Firewing knew fashion, even if he often took everything a step up, making his clothing bolder and brighter. The Ranger-Captain never failed to draw attention to himself.

“Now come here,” demanded Tyren, taking Westel by the elbow and turning him to face away from the mirror. “It’s an ascot, for goodness sake.” He sighed and shook his head, bending to pick up the black silk. “And I swear if I hear you complain about this suit one more time, I’ll have you shooting at the range until your fingers bleed.”

“You already do that.” Westel countered grumpily. Even now his fingers were bandaged from his last archery session.

The retort earned the young man a smack on the back of his head. “Hush,” Tyren admonished. “I had this suit tailored specifically to your scrawny stature. And it is of the latest fashion. So quit moping.” Nimble fingers swiftly did up Westel’s ascot, tucked it neatly against his shirt and took the liberty of buttoning up his vest as well.

“How do you do it, Tyren?” Asked Westel, as he shrugged on the green tail coat.

“Practice. Over and up and thr–”

“Not the ascot. The whole…look.” Westel turned to face his mentor and gestured to him with a sigh. “I do not understand how you can go from being caked in mud, in scuffed up leathers with your hair all over the place to this…fop.” He made a face and shoot his head, hands sinking into the pockets of his trousers.

Tyren allowed a rather self-satisfied smile. “Some people are just born stylish, kiddo.” He lifted his chin and stroked his goatee, grinning. When Westel frowned and turned away, Tyren sobered up. “And I wasn’t. When I was your age I was never much of one for such styles either. You know me. I love rolling about in the muck and dirt, with troll blood on my hands. But there is a time and place for that. Just as there is a time and place for looking dashing and dapper.”

“But I cannot look dashing and dapper. I just look like a tool.”

“That’s only because you think everyone that dresses like this is a tool. Which, I’ll admit, many of them are. But you and I, are not. Maybe if you ran a comb through that rat’s nest of yours once in a while…Oh bloody hell come here.” Tyren yanked Westel down into a chair and grabbed an ivory comb off his dresser. “While I have to go to this ball with my protege at my side, I will not go to this ball with a protege that looks like some street urchin I plucked up from the gutter on Augur’s Row*.” Roughly, Tyren yanked the comb through Westel’s hopelessly tangled, thick, wavy locks.

After about twenty minutes, Tyren sighed and lowered his comb. “Looks better. We’ll get you a haircut next time though.” He nudged Westel up and beamed down at him. “Remember, boy, chin up and shoulders back. But be casual. You could have a million other places to be, but on a whim you chose this ball. Don’t be too aloof–don’t look at me like that. I know how you are.”

Westel sighed and just nodded as he listened to Tyren’s instructions.

“And gods don’t cling to me for too long. You’re a big boy, I am sure there will be plenty of young ladies you would rather cling to once we get there.” He went to ruffle Westel’s hair, then stopped himself. “And remember, when they call you up there smile and shake hands like I showed you. You’re being officially brought into the ranks of the Farstriders. You are happy and honored.”

“Yes sir.” Westel ventured a smile, though it was clear he was still feeling as hopeless and nervous as he had hours before.

Tyren clapped him on the shoulder and strode forward to the door of the flat, but stopped with his hand on the knob. “And kid?”

“Yes?” Westel looked up from fiddling with the black velvet of his coat collar.

“Above anything else, remember that I’m proud of you.” As he caught sight of Westel’s broader smile, Tyren turned and opened the door. “Now come on, boy. You’ve made us late enough as it is.”

 

 

(( *Augur’s Row is the high elven name for what is now known is Murder Row in Silvermoon City. And here is a visual of Westel’s suit, and the style of Tyren’s: http://tinyurl.com/Dandy-Westel ))