Give Me A Reason...

How did he get here? His head swam, his eyes watered, he felt like he could barely breathe. The horrid smells that inhabited the air were second only to the people lining the street. This place was awful. This place sucked. So why was he here? Looking back, he couldn't remember anything past five minutes ago, when an overweight man had leaned over and threatened to heave on his shoes, which Ambrose replied to with his own, different kind of threat. Was it necessary? No, god no. But it had felt good in the moment, and that was what mattered to him right now.

His head throbbing, Ambrose grasped the back of it, dull pain spreading along his head, feeling like it was traveling across the synapses of his brain. Christ, what had he done, why was he here?!? Looking around, he took in the sights around him. Bars, clubs, and various other...locales...surrounded him, the people were intoxicated and loving every second of it. Every five seconds someone looked at him with one of two faces, looking to take his money one of two ways.

He needed a break from this. Taking a second from walking aimlessly along the strip, Ambrose ducked into a divet in the walls of some building or another, leaning and catching his breath the best he could. Rubbing his eyes, Ambrose took another look around, his eyes widening rapidly at his surroundings. The pain forgotten, he gazed at the multiple colors that seemed to light ever alley and dance along every face. This place sucked and the people were awful, but there was something addictive about those neon lights and the sense of satisfaction of being here.

However, he wasn't out sight-seeing. Or...was he? Whatever. Ducking into the building he had been leaning against, paying no mind to the type or sign, he would take a breather inside, away from people hopefully. He needed to get home.

Or...did he?

Ambrose immediately straightened up at the sound of a voice. Female, older than him. Something about...fashion?

Aw, hell.

He had meandered into a clothing store. Not just any clothing store, a dark arts based fashion store. Taking stock of his surroundings, the boy would notice the amount of female and feminine geared clothing put in display. In fact, from where he was he couldn't see any amount of masculine clothing. Then again, the room was dark, his vision was blurry and his head was pounding harder than the bass at a rave.

Not long after he himself had entered and the woman tending the store had asked what she could help him with, another entered the store. He didn't get a good look, but from the glance he managed, it looked like a girl, rather short and surprisingly pale.

Turning his attention back to the shopkeep, the boy would grab the back of his head, deciding a witty reply would go over well, at least so he hoped. "Hmm. Find clothes that'll make me attractive?" the boy would say, murmuring under his breath after speaking. Part of him wanted to turn tail and run. These two would never remember him. He had no reason to be here. But...being in here was better than being out there. So in here he would stay, at least for a small while.

Wordlessly, the boy would follow the shop tender, running her response through his mind a few times. It was true what she had said, attractiveness did vary incredibly depending on the person. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, yadda yadda yadda. He had been sarcastic, but she seemed to have taken him quite seriously. Ambrose couldn't yet tell if that was a good thing or a bad one.

Stepping onto the raised floor, the boy would look at the mirrors surrounding him, his tall and lanky physique reflected multiple times over. God, he really needed to work out. Lift weights, start running, maybe join some sort of athletics team or group. Get buff. Maybe that'd help him find a friends group, or god forbid, a girlfriend.

The shop tender asked if he was alright with being touched, as was required to mend clothes accurate in size. The boy would stop looking himself over in the mirror, turning to the tender. "Hmm? Yeah, that's fine. Fair warning, I have a bad track record with uh...spontaneous combustion" Ambrose would say, opening his left hand and letting fire roll from his fingertips before closing it, extinguishing the flame. The boy would then look over his shoulder, a single eyebrow cocked and a grin on his face.

The boy's face would return to normal as the shop tender explained something called Shadow Silk. Apparently a very sturdy substance, proofed against fire and blades, and even bullets if it was woven tightly enough. The boy's mind would flit through pictures of his past. He would give off a visible shudder before nodding, impressed at the durability of the material.

As the talk turned serious once more, the tender seemingly spawned a curtain around them, making everything outside seem gray, quiet and solemn. From outside, he heard a small thud. Thinking of the only other person in the quaint store, the boy would turn around, looking out towards the girl. Se had, indeed, fallen, though it didn't look as though she had taken anything with her.

"Are you alright out there?" the boy would say, raising his voice slightly. He hoped the fabric didn't completely muffle sound.

After a hopeful wait for a response, the boy would turn back to the business at hand, putting a hand to his mouth and pausing in thought. "I'm not much of a fashion expert, so feel free to stop and correct anything that might be better fit. So...button up shirt, snug fit- not constricting but enough to legitimately show my body. Tailored soft, a tad short in the arms so I can roll them. Pants, fashioned resembling dress pants, but not an exact copy. I'm looking for everyday clothes, that comfortable space between street clothes and dress clothes. Neutral colors, darker suits me better than lighter. And if possible, do weave them tight. Never know when it may come in handy." Ambrose would say, using his hands to gesture as he spoke.