Page 18 of Steel & Thunder
He smiles at the title. “As long as you do not give me a reason otherwise, your arms may remain free today.” He grabs the discarded cuffs from the bed and puts them in a leather pouch slung over a corner of the bed. “These will be coming with us, so that can change at any time.”
“...Yessir.” I try not to glare daggers at the bag. The threat is clear enough.
I watch as he finishes straightening his clothes, and I attempt to do the same with mine. I look absolutely ridiculous in these. I really hope he’s not lying when he says I’m getting new clothes. Satisfied, he grabs the bag and slings it over his shoulder as we head into the living room. I move to the door, but he aims for the kitchen counter—and the damn leash.
“Oh, come on,” I whine as soon as he walks toward me with it in his hand. “Why do I have to wear that?”
“We are going to be walking around the city a lot today. I do not want you getting lost.” To his credit, he doesn’t sound like he’s fucking with me.
“I’m not going to get lost.” Why does he insist on treating me like a child? “Everyone will be staring at the human on a leash.”
“I will feel better if you are wearing it.” He crowds me against the door and clips the leash to my collar before I can fight him. “Besides, I think everyone will be staring at you for entirely different reasons.” He steps back and looks over my “outfit” for emphasis.
I glare, seeing as the only reason I have to wear this oversized bullshit is because of him. Then he pulls me away from the door so he can open it, and we walk outside. He takes a right once we hit the road. He’s not moving fast, but I wish he was so I can hurry up and get out of this fucking get up. The rope belt is doing a really shitty job of keeping my shorts in place, and I have to pull them up more than once.
Between the distraction of my wardrobe and not wanting to make eye contact with any passersby, I don’t do a great job of paying attention to where we are or where we’re going. I just focus on Ironstorm (Khazak? Sir? Asshole?) in front of me and making sure my lower half remains clothed.
At some point, I notice the amount of people around us growing and a quick look up reveals a street full of carts and stalls selling all sorts of things: clothes and fabric, what I’m pretty sure are fruits and vegetables (from what I can recognize), and even weapons–it’s an open-air market, same as we have back home. The stalls look different, fewer wagons and more tents, but it’s basically the same thing. There’s a lot of people around us talking, all of it Orcish, so I don’t really notice when one orc in particular calls out Khazak’s name.
He walks up and they greet each other loudly, like old friends. I can’t understand a word of it. It’s all smiles until the new orc notices me and what I’m wearing, and I wish the ground would just swallow me up right now. He says something—about me, I assume—to Ironstorm, who turns to look at me in response. I just stare at my feet. Did he have to run into a friend here?
I hear Ironstorm say something to his friend, then I’m being tugged along again. I look up and after passing a few more stalls, he enters a building with me right behind him. Standing in the entrance, I immediately notice two very detailed wooden mannequins to our left. I sigh in relief. A clothing shop.
“I apologize for that.” He turns to face me and clasps my shoulder. “I did not expect to see anyone I knew here. I also apologize again for the clothing. I assure you—I did not choose it to intentionally humiliate you.”
“...Thank you.” I’m uncomfortable with the sincerity and eye contact, so I turn to look at the rest of the shop.
It’s not too large; there are a few tables with folded clothing on top, some shelves with more of the same, and a few more mannequins. They’re vaguely orc shaped, all of different builds and genders with the same level detail. It’s not their faces; those are all blank. It’s the rest of them—their bodies, the proportions, the musculature—it’s all very lifelike. Either the result of a very talented carver or magic.
A clerk behind the counter notices our entrance, walking over and speaking animatedly at both of us. She does a double-take when she sees my outfit and then says something else.
“Do you speak Common?” Ironstorm asks before responding, gesturing to me as he does.
“Oh, yes. How may I help you?” she asks as if it isn’t obvious.
“As you indicated, we are in need of some new clothing for this one.” He clasps a hand on the back of my neck. “Some shirts and trousers.”
“Is there anything in particular you are looking for?” She looks me over as she asks. “Any colors in mind?” She’s speaking Common, but both questions are directed at the orc. I guess the collar and leash clued her in.
“Hmm.” He turns to look me over. “I am rather fond of blue, but green would match your eyes.” I shift uncomfortably at the comments about my appearance.
“I think I have some options you may like.” She turns and walks toward some of the clothing and begins pulling various articles from different shelves. “Could you bring him over here?”
Ironstorm turns to me and unhooks the leash before walking me over to the clerk. She holds up a few different shirts in front of my body, each a shade of blue, green, or brown. The first few are oversized, but she seems to figure it out. She puts the shirts down and from a pocket on her hip pulls out what I’m guessing is measuring tape. She quickly wraps it around my waist before dropping down to measure the length of the outside of my leg. Thankfully she doesn’t check the inseam, just turns to grab a few pairs of pants, mostly browns and tans. She stacks some of the shirts on top before handing me the pile.
“There is a changing area right over there.” She points at a wooden divider against one wall, her voice still directed at Ironstorm and not me. “Please let me know if anything does not fit well.”
“Thank you.” He gives her a nod of appreciation before guiding me to where she pointed, clothes in hand. I am not surprised when he follows me behind the divider and takes the clothes from my hands. There’s a large mirror against the wall.
“Go ahead and undress.” He nods to me with his arms full.
“Come on. I can try—” A raised eyebrow cuts me off, and with a sigh, I pull my shirt over my head. I throw it over a chair to my right before kicking off my shoes and bending over to follow suit with my shorts. No reason to fight something I know I won’t get out of anyway. Standing as nonchalant as I can, I hold one hand out for the first item, which ends up being a pair of pants.
“We, uh, didn’t get any underwear,” I point out, holding them in front of me but not stepping into them.
“We will be taking care of that later.” He nods at me to continue. I feel kinda weird about my dick flopping around in pants that aren’t technically mine yet, but I don’t really have a say in the matter.
After the pants comes a dark green shirt with buttons down the center. I pull it on and start buttoning it up as Ironstorm sets the clothes down on the same chair. He looks me over while I finish adjusting, before I turn to check in the mirror for myself—not bad, honestly. Then I see his figure stepping behind me and I turn.
