Faded Jeans
Will woke slowly from a dream of scantily clad women feeding him grapes. It was a silly dream that had him blushing. Giving a growling yawn, ans stretching from head to toe, he pushed himself out of bed. He walked to the shower to attend his morning ablutions a tuneless hum on his lips.
He emerged from the room a half hour later, his wet hair pulled back into a pony's tail at the nape of his neck, held by a long piece of thing leather. He used to trade for them with wood scraps from the tanner near his workshop, now he was forced to buy them in a craft store. A lady friend had once given him rubber bands, but he could never get them out with out breaking and pulling his hair painfully, so he blew them off.
With a fuzzy white towel draped low around his waist he moved to the oak chest of drawers he's made shortly after moving to Nachton. It was a simple unadorned piece, but he had put love in its making and it had served him well all these years. He pulled a pair of grey boxer briefs, and a pair of thick white socks from the top drawer. His under-things like everything else had changed over the years. He'd tried everything they put out, and so far in this century he enjoyed the comfort of these the most.
From the next drawer he pulled out a faded navy blue shirt. It was getting close to needing to be retired, but he wouldn't do so until it had a hole. He had a new one already, but he saw no reason to use it until this one was no longer serviceable. He tossed the clothes on the bed and went into the closet.
He took down one of 10 pair of blue jeans hanging there. They ranged in wear from the very new to those getting holes in the most stressed places. Next to the jeans hung twenty long sleeved chambray shirts ranging the colors of the rainbow, on the right hand wall were long sleeved dress shirts also ranging the colors of the rainbow with several white shirts among them. Beyond those was a tie rack and four pairs of slacks, two casual and two dress. On the opposite wall hun a plastic covered suit, a plastic covered tuxedo and a belt rack. Below them, on the floor, were his shoes, excepting the pair of Wolverine Multi-shox he wore to work everyday.
He took the jeans to the bed, tossed his towel next to the clothes pile and dressed. The jeans were a comfortably snug fit, and the t-shirt hugged his muscled chest and arms. It allowed freedom of movement with out worrying about loose clothing getting caught in his tools.
He moved into his kitchen. He had gotten used to and enjoyed indoor plumbing, but the stove, baffled him. He'd tried to use it once and had burned himself when he'd the red circles. The ice box however, was the once piece of technology he took well to, as was the advent of blood stores. He opened the lower half of the box and pulled a bag of crimson from the drawer at the bottom. He pierced the bag with his fangs and drained the bag. It was rather nice not to have to hunt all the time.
He put the bag into a trash bin and went to find his shoes. He sat on a ladder back chair that had been made for a customer, but they had not liked the high back and so he'd brought it home to add to the collection of mismatched chairs around his dining table, and put on the worn, dark brown boots.
He put wallet, pocket knife, keys, and the loose coins he seemed to amass in his pockets, put the wrist watch a lady friend had given him on his wrist, and headed out the door. Will bypassed the death box and headed to the stairs. MARI had given him a room as low in the tower as possible, but he was still five floors off the ground. He trotted down the steps, barely winded by the bottom, and made his way out the lobby and onto the busy street. Once upon a time, he had ridden a horse to his shop, but those days were long gone, so instead of a wheeled death box, he walked.
Twenty briskly walked minutes later, and he was opening the large wooden doors of the shop. He turned on the lights, a concession to the times, and went about checking his tools and stores. It would be a productive day today.
((lock please)