[Back in London, Cain never had to worry about clean clothes. Riff took care of it all--made sure they were washed, pressed, tailored and ready at a moment's notice.
Of course, he wasn't an idiot, and he knew clean laundry wasn't going to spontaneously appear in his closet. He still didn't know how to do his own washing, though, and the machines they had to do it with didn't help any. Given enough time, he could have figured it out, of course, but there was a childish and petulant part of him that didn't want to, simply because he was angry that Riff wasn't around to do it for him.
So, for the time being, he elected to focus instead on rebuilding his wardrobe. Thus he was in the shopping district, browsing through an array of shirts that all seemed to be too long in the wrists and too large about the waist, when he heard the commotion from the other side of the store.
Well, perhaps 'commotion' was putting it lightly.
Though the young lady standing among the rubble looked to be a head or so taller than he was (at least without the aid of his favored thick-soled shoes), and had an athletic build and certainly seemed capable of handling herself, something about her seemed rough around the edges in a way that reminded him of Merryweather, and thus he found himself feeling fondly sympathetic.
So, with a soft smirk, he puts back the shirt he'd been looking at and walks over to the mess.]
Right, then, miss. Would you like some assistance, or shall I gape mindlessly with the rest of the throng?
1!
Of course, he wasn't an idiot, and he knew clean laundry wasn't going to spontaneously appear in his closet. He still didn't know how to do his own washing, though, and the machines they had to do it with didn't help any. Given enough time, he could have figured it out, of course, but there was a childish and petulant part of him that didn't want to, simply because he was angry that Riff wasn't around to do it for him.
So, for the time being, he elected to focus instead on rebuilding his wardrobe. Thus he was in the shopping district, browsing through an array of shirts that all seemed to be too long in the wrists and too large about the waist, when he heard the commotion from the other side of the store.
Well, perhaps 'commotion' was putting it lightly.
Though the young lady standing among the rubble looked to be a head or so taller than he was (at least without the aid of his favored thick-soled shoes), and had an athletic build and certainly seemed capable of handling herself, something about her seemed rough around the edges in a way that reminded him of Merryweather, and thus he found himself feeling fondly sympathetic.
So, with a soft smirk, he puts back the shirt he'd been looking at and walks over to the mess.]
Right, then, miss. Would you like some assistance, or shall I gape mindlessly with the rest of the throng?