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WHO: Bradbury and Bond
WHERE: The fanciest of The City's suit makers
WHEN: Before the Venezuelan trip
SUMMARY: Bond teaches Bradbury the power of a well tailored suit
WARNINGS: These two
FORMAT: Words

[When in the public eye- and even out of it- Bond had always thought one should look their best. A good first impression is essential, and a good sense of fashion helped that along no end, and a fine suit? That was pretty much the high point of it all.

Bradbury had already proved he was capable enough at his job and honest enough for Bond to soon grow a fondness for him. James had a habit of deciding whether he liked a person within the first few minutes of an interaction, and somehow Rick had pulled through with high grades. James was thankful for it, actually, because if he'd hated the guy, he would have had to make his life miserable and he really doesn't have that sort of time. Lucky for both of them.

Trouble was, Bradbury had one fatal flaw. Suits. The suits were fucking awful to Bond's trained eye.

Which totally explains why he's managed to drag Rick out to some fancy area of the city. The shop they arrive at doesn't appear anything too special, a small glass fronted window with an indistinct sign. The interior isn't much better. Small, uncomplicated, with a few mannequins in suit jackets looking dapper, hands in pockets. There's one row of jackets hung up, along with numerous areas of fabrics and ties, but there's no suits one can pick off the rack and purchase.

The male that greets them with a pompous sounding, "Good afternoon, sirs," is elderly, suited, and staring down his nose through a tiny pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He's English, if the accent is anything to go by, and that might just be why Bond favours this place to some of the others. Nothing like an English cut.

Bond says his hellos and after that, seems quite content to go take a look at the latest fabrics on offer. Bradbury's left to his own devices. Bond might remember in a minute that the poor guy probably has no clue.]

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[ A suit is a suit, as far as Bradbury is concerned. He has a fairly simple set of rules he sticks to when he's looking for one. Always plain and utilitarian, loose enough to move in comfortably, nothing that can get in the way of a shoulder holster or drawing a gun from one, and never expensive, except for the ones he saves for special occasions. Function over form, in other words. Besides, for all that he wears them every day, he knows he isn't the kind of guy who's really made for wearing suits: he can dress up in whatever he wants, but at the end of the day it's still the same guy staring back at him in the mirror. Ex-Marine, ex-cop, ex-husband.

He isn't sure what he's doing here, other than he'd thought Bond had been pulling his leg about it. Another suit, what did Bradbury really need another one for? He'd come along to humor him, because the guy seemed pretty adamant about it, but now he's seriously starting to have second thoughts about the wisdom of the idea. The atmosphere of the place makes him feel out of place enough, but it's only made worse by the fact that he's as dressed down as he can possibly be. Just jeans and (at least) a button-down shirt like a man who hadn't been expecting to go out for anything more sociable than a drink at a bar.

The tailor's professional enough not to stare, but he certainly isn't looking at Bradbury with the same regard as Bond. To occupy himself, Bradbury wanders over to another selection of fabric, squinting down at them like the squares labeled "poplin" and "jacquard" and "seersucker" might magically tell him what the fuck they have to do with... well, anything. The most tailoring he's ever had done was to take up the hem of his slacks and jackets; what does he know about suit couture? ]

Edited (WHOOPS TENSES SORRY) 2012-10-23 15:04 (UTC)

[If it makes Bradbury feel any better, James isn't decked out in his full suit and tie digs either, but in smart slacks, shirt and cardigan combo, he still pulls off the smart casual look better than most. Plus he looks a damn site better than the jeans and shirt guy next to him; yeah, that means you, Bradbury.

After the new items have thoroughly been browsed through (Bond makes a note to ask about one of two of them at a later date), James quietly makes his way over to Rick, hands in pockets and tilting his head just slightly.]

Seen anything you like?

[Sure, Bradbury might be dubious, but he just hasn't experienced the fucking awesomeness of a perfectly fitted suit.]

You know you're asking the wrong guy, right?

[ He snorts, waving a hand the items in front of him with a wry expression that said, louder than words, you're kidding me. ]

I don't know what half this s -- stuff is. [ Seriously, what is he doing here? He's with a guy who wears cardigans. ]

[Cardigans are the height of English fashion, Bradbury. Get with the times.]

It's not difficult. You just choose something you like. [But he can see Bradbury is in over his head here, enough that Bond's leaning in to offer a bit of quiet advice- he's keeping it quiet to avoid patronising and embarrassing the poor guy in the middle of a high class suit makers.]

Alright, you and I aren't that far off when it comes to colouration- skin tones, hair and the like. We don't suit pure black like some of the others do. Best to steer away from it and veer towards charcoal, anything from light to almost black. Navy's a good colour, again, varying shades of blue should suit. And- while I don't go it for myself- brown can work for us, which I've caught you wearing, so you're not doing too badly.

Give worsted wool a look at for your fabric choice, it's comfortable, easy to work with and extremely durable for our working choices. Mohair tonic's a good one too, might want to invest in one for the summer months.

As for cut, the tailor will be able to sort all that out. I imagine something with a light padding at the shoulders, three-buttoned, narrow lapels. And vents, you'll need those if you're planning on any sort of movement out on the field.

[A pause as he reaches for a wad of fabrics, handing them over to Bradbury with an encouraging;] Here.

[ Numb and on automatic, there's little else Bradbury can do or say other than take the cloth Bond gives him, though he stares between it and the other man for a few seconds before he starts flipping through it. In true Bradbury fashion, despite his reservations, he's processing what Bond said and taking his advice into account. He may have his doubts, but if the point of the expedition was to make him look and feel ridiculous, he would have expected the people jumping out with hidden cameras to yell "GOTCHA" by now, which they haven't.

Which means Bond is probably serious, and Bradbury should take it seriously, too.

All he has to do is pick a fabric and a color. He can do at least that much, right? Bradbury rubs the fabric samples between two fingers, uncertain what exactly he's looking for, though Bond's advice is something he keeps in mind. ]

I thought black was supposed to look good on anyone. [ It's something to fill the air while he decides, uncertain how Bond even knows all this. All part of being an international man of mystery, maybe. The physical similarities between him and Bond are something he's noted, but only in an abstract way; now that his attention's been drawn to it, it's a little... weird to think about. ]

[Bond is always deadly serious when it comes to fashion. No matter the situation, no matter how bad it all gets, James can always safely say he will at least go out in style. If you're doing a job that gives you a likelihood of death within a few years, might as well plan for that sort of thing.]

The odd black tux or shirt is fine, don't get me wrong, but for day to day wear with a suit, I'd steer away from it. If you're interested in something darker, how about... [Taking over for just a second to flick through the book to a particularly dark looking fabric.] Midnight blue. Very dark, yet you get that hint of blue under the light. You know, I think it might quite suit you.

[There's a moment of careful eyeing up, thankfully lacking in any interest other than to ascertain Bradbury's suit 'type'.]

[ Bradbury squints down at the cloth, unable to distinguish it definitively from any of the other shades of blue on the same page. No two ways about it, this all feels a little queer - and not that way either, it's just fucking strange to be clucking over fabric colors like a couple of hens window shopping. ]

Kinda looks like the dress blues we had to wear in the corps. [ What he means to say is that he's worn something like it before, and that the familiarity of that isn't actually unappealing. He even looks marginally more enthusiastic about the whole thing, though anything's a step up from total disinterest. ]

[Admittedly, even Bond can't notice the difference between all of them, but then again, sometimes it just takes the right lighting. Either way, he'll never question the tailor when it comes to colouration.]

Corps? I was Royal Navy myself. Commander. [Sounding moderately pleased about this little revelation. He can't help but have that old kinship for fellow men of the forces.]

Why not keep you to the dress blue, then? [Too late if Bradbury thinks any different, because James is already waving over their tailor.]

Marines. Captain. [ Bradbury clarifies, shoulders and back straightening just a touch. Like this, it's easier to see the military man he used to be, though the signs of it are still there for people who know how to look. It's been years since he was in active service, but there's always pride in having had the chance to serve your country. Navy's not the same as Marines (not that he knows if the old inter-service rivalry really applies across countries) but the camaraderie's still there.

The way Bond just railroads the process doesn't get any protest out of him either. If anything, there's even relief. That was easy and relatively painless. ]

Sounds fine to me. I've never had a blue suit before. [ He shrugs and watches the tailor come over with a hint of trepidation. What comes next? ]

[There's no doubt about Bradbury being military, ex or present, it tends to take a certain type of someone to join. He can see it in Bradbury. Perhaps it's the unquestioning loyalty or the straight forward manner, but there's something distinctly ex-forces about him.

But that's the past, a past of wearing uniforms and not having to worry about fashion? Now Bradbury's in the public eye and he better look his best, or else.]

Over here. [He gestures softly towards the open end of the shop, the tailor sweeping behind Bradbury to oh so carefully arrange him into place, prompting him occasionally with simple words like "Back straight". Once the measure comes out from around his neck, the old gent starts up, very slowly going through the motions of shifting Rick around while he gets the measurements needed. Starting at the top, Bradbury will be pleased to know.

Bond, in the mean time, is quite happy to slip into a chair and observe with an encouraging (and vaguely amused) smile.]

[ Bemused, Bradbury more or less does as he's told, letting the man do his work. There are measurements - a lot of measurements. While the length and breadth of his shoulders and waist are standard enough, the expression on his face grows increasingly perplexed as the tailor keeps going. Just how many measurements does this guy need?

He shoots a look at Bond of the mute save me from this madman and his tape measure variety, except of course Bond finds this amusing. Still, he doesn't utter a peep of protest until the elderly tailor gets down to measuring his inseam. ]

Hey! [ He shifts ever-so-slightly away from the tailor, wincing. ] I don't think I need my pants to fit that close.

[Totally what James was waiting for. All that watching and waiting pays off for a second of entertainment. Sure the rest of it was entertaining enough, just for Brabury's continued bewilderment- it's obvious enough that he's never had quite such a thorough measure up before. But the inner-leg, that's the real gem, the real point of amusement that gets Bond chuckling lightly as he waves for Bradbury to settle down.

The tailor thankfully doesn't seem all that phased, all too used to snide little comments and shifts away that some of the less appreciative of customers can give. New money. Gents only there for their groom outfits. The sort that come for one good suit. Those sorts that think it's amusing to make dick jokes.]

Bradbury. [Just a hint of warning in his tone, like he's telling off a dog.] Let the man do his work. He's not going in for a fondle, for fucks sake.

You set me up for that, didn't you? [ Bradbury rolls his eyes, scowling at the words and at the tone alike, but he responds to it anyway - if he'd had hackles, they would be settling down now. He holds military-still, managing not to flinch as the tailor dove in with the tape measure again, but he still looks too obviously relieved when the man pulls away. ]

That it? [ He steps down from the platform, hand jamming into his pockets to keep them from rubbing over the gooseflesh that's broken out on his arms. ]

[Oh, Bradbury, Bond will have to get you doing more of this sort of thing. It's too much fun to watch.]

Shirts, tie, trouser design, then were done. Just got to wait for the suit to be made. Shouldn't take too long, this chaps a wizard with fast work. Got a team of elves, I believe. [He rises slowly to his feet, nodding his thanks to the elderly owner and ushering Bradbury over to the shirts.]

I'll sort out the trousers for you. Best to get adjustables. Means they work without a belt and fit better with shifts of weight. [Which Bond tends to get thanks to his ever shifting carb and protein diet.]

[ Why does Bond sound so cheerful listing that off? He lets himself be ushered to the shirts, even as he looks a little torn. ]

I've already got shirts. [ His protests are getting weaker, though, since he's already resigned himself to the inevitable. Have a wrinkle of confusion at what Bond's talking about, though. ]

What's wrong with using a belt?

[Bradbury is just getting an 'oh, please' look to both of those comments. It's a good job James is here, honestly, otherwise Bradbury would spend the rest of his life in ill fitting suits and belts.]

There's nothing wrong with using a belt every now and then. Sometimes they can compliment an outfit. However one only tends to wear a belt to keep trousers up, but if trousers fit in the first place, we've already negated the need for it. If you start placing a black belt around your waist, it breaks a clean line between the waist of your trousers and the start of your shirt. [A pause to add a thoughtful hum.] In fact, no belt loops for you, I know if we give you that temptation, you'll just sodding wear one anyway.

[ Somewhere in the middle of that explanation, Bradbury's eyes might be glazing over a little, but he nods anyway. Not that he has any real idea of what he's getting into, but the path of least resistance is probably the easiest, meaning he soaks up what Bond's saying like a sponge, vaguely hoping he'll remember it later in case the guy suddenly decides to throw a pop quiz.

He puts a hand to his belt protectively, as though Bond might suddenly decide to attack his waistband and yank it off. Which wouldn't be a good idea, these pants are actually a little too loose on Bradbury. To distract him, just in case he's contemplating it: ]

You know way too much about this stuff.

[Bradbury is such a good boy, and Bond can't help but like the guy and how hard he's trying to listen. While all of this advice may be forgotten and/or ignored the second they walk out, James can at least feel like he was listened to for a few minutes. But by God, after all this teaching, ignorance won't be an excuse for Rick.]

Nothing wrong with a knowledge of looking one's best. Now pick a shirt before I decide beating this information into you is a better idea. [Threats of violence just mean he loves you.]

[ Since they're going with the dress blues theme anyway, Bradbury figures he might as well stick with it, so he picks up a white shirt, a little gingerly. Even he can tell the material's finer than he's used to, and he feels bad just touching it, like his fingers might leave a stain. ]

Goes with anything, right?

Not bad. Nice collar on it too... Well done, Bradbury, you might just be getting the hang of this.

[Bond offers up a reassuring shoulder pat for the poor guy just to reiterate how well he's doing.] And with that, I think we're done. Don't worry, I'll pick out a tie for you. I know it's been a tough day.

[ He'd picked it at random, so Bradbury honestly doesn't feel like he's "getting the hang of" much of anything, but with an end to his trials and tribulations in sight, he's not about to protest Bond's assessment. In fact, there's quite a bit of naked relief on his face he doesn't bother to hide, and his shoulders even ease up a little.. ]

Yeah? Great. [ He doesn't know jack shit about ties, but he's happy to leave it to Bond. Hopefully he's not the type of guy to pick one out with kittens on it or something. ]

You've not done too badly for a first time. I did try to be gentle with you. [James is used to taking peoples virginity, Rick, it's okay. Their suit virginity.]

Come on, let's get you a drink. You're paying.

[Seeing as Bond has just had an insanely expensive bill put on his tab for a new suit. The tie can be picked once Bond sees the finished results, but for now, drink sounds like a damn good idea.]

[ Bradbury groans, but to be fair, he could use a drink after all he's been put through. His protest isn't as vehement as it could be. ]

Should've known you had an ulterior motive for all of this.

This was hardly worth a single drink. [Maybe a full out dinner and drinks. Damn, now he's thinking about it, he should have aimed the bar higher. Well shit.]

[ He laughs, like he can guess what Bond's probably thinking. ]

Well, if you were expecting a free lap dance to go with it, too bad. Should've said so to start with. [ So that Bradbury could have shot the idea down earlier. ]

You wanted the usual place, or did you have something fancier in mind?

I'll have to remember the lap dance for next time. [Because, y'know, having a muscled blondie gyrating against him is all he's ever wanted in life.]

Usual place will do. I could do with a beer. [And with that, he's slamming a hand between Bradbury's shoulder blades (it's meant to be just a pat on the back, really) and gesturing out into the wild world away from suits and ties and stuffy British types.] You'll thank me when you wear that thing.

[ He snorts. ] You're assuming there's gonna be a next time.

[ Bradbury kind of grunts at the hand slammed onto his back, but he's thankfully got enough bulk that what might have sent a lesser man sprawling just kind of makes him grunt and give James a kind of dead-eyed look, even if he leads them away from the direction of the shop gratefully. ] I'll believe it when I see it.

You've got to trust me on this. Tailored suits are expensive for a reason. It'll fit every single sodding bit of you perfectly. None of that mismatched bollocks you get from store bought suits with sagging shoulders and long sleeves and baggy crotches. [Judging by Bond's tone, store bought are pretty much the devil, especially for the untrained eye.

But then he's chuckling lightly.]

You should have seen your face in there.

[ Bradbury makes a face - much like the face he'd pulled inside, actually - as if the idea of a suit that fits every bit of him isn't something he's sure he should be happy with. Also, it makes him a little self-conscious, because now he's mentally going over his wardrobe trying to remember whether or not he any of them have crotches that might be offensively baggy to Bond's eye.

Not that he wants to think about Bond assessing his crotch bagginess in the first place, and now seems like a really good time to end that train of thought. ]

Did you do this to Mitch, too? [ Not that the guy needs the wardrobe help, at least as far as Bradbury can tell. ] Because as long as we're talking about making faces... [ Mitch would be a far more entertaining study than him. ]

[Bond always assesses suit fits, whether it be crotches, leg and arm length or whatever else. He's always judging. Silently. Staring.]

I didn't, actually. Might be an idea! I think that'd be an entertaining sight to watch. [Because every man should have at least one finely tailored suit.]

Good luck with that. I think he gets all his shit made for him, anyway.

[ He jams his hands into his pockets as he goes along. It's not that cold yet, but it's getting there. ]

Should be fun trying to watch you trying to convince him.

I don't need to convince him, I'll just get Zee to teleport him. Saves a whole lot of arguing. [And here comes a wicked little smile, because his girlfriend is the bestest girlfriend.]

[ He blinks, then laughs. ]

Shit, she'd do it too, wouldn't she? I'd ask for pictures, but he'd probably kill every camera you point at him.

You'll have to come along and witness it first hand. Should charge for tickets to see that sort of thing. I'd make a killing. [Out of Mitch's misery.]

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how did i miss replying to this

well i guess i just took even longer so...

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