capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ 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.]