Cynical

Samuel Phillips

Part-Veela | Artist | Scrivenshafts Owner
Messages
3,812
OOC First Name
Anna
Blood Status
Mixed Blood
Relationship Status
Interested in Somebody
Sexual Orientation
Bisexual
Wand
Straight 11 1/2" Flexible Cypress Wand with Veela Hair Core
Age
42
Racks dotted with expensive clothing cluttered the usually neat living room, with Samuel shifting various items around in search of the perfect outfit for the upcoming economy debate. Being the moderator of the debate, his appearance needed to be elevated, a showing of his success and competency as a business man. Ideally he would look neat and well put together, a positive representation of himself as well as his store that would allow the candidates to take him seriously as the debate unfolded. Hours of outfit planning verged into days, later verging into weeks and Samuel found himself increasingly frustrated with the task, not solely due to his insatiable perfectionism. While displaying success and competence there was a level of expectation for him to act humbled, or rather appear humbled in the face of the candidates and spectators alike. An appearance that Samuel was unfamiliar with in the briefest of terms. Humble being the least accurate word in the English language to describe his style caused him to enter a rut time and time again, torn between his instinct to maintain his regular style or construct a muted, sensible version of himself for the sake of the debate. Whether it was a tailored Armani suit worth thousands of dollars, or a more casual outfit, also costing thousands of dollars, Samuel found none of the pieces currently in his wardrobe sufficed in showing humbleness. Oozing wealth never equated to being humble, and in many ways would allow Sam to appear arrogant, his fashion choices too excessive for him to seem responsible with his money and by extension, not knowledgeable about the economy. Being someone who was responsible and versed in the way the economy worked, appearing differently in a debate broadcasted around New Zealand that focused on the economy was the last thing he wanted.

Frowning in his evident frustration, Samuel returned his Balmain jacket to its hanger, stopping dead in his tracks when he spied a familiar furry silhouette next to another rack. Stepping over, Samuel flicked his hands towards the dog in a 'shoo' motion. "Jon!" He called out, knowing his half-brother was somewhere nearby amongst the clothing taking up any empty space of the room. "I don't want drool on my Armani! Get your dog away!" Bongo was eager to help, Samuel was sure, and he would never dream to fault the dog for being curious about the changes to the living room, but the possibility of one of his favourite suits becoming ruined with slobber was not one he needed when his stress levels were high. The debate drew closer by the day; a clothing disaster would tip him over the edge and was not what Samuel envisioned when he initially asked Jon to assist him in choosing an outfit.
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The world of fashion was a different universe entirely to the one Jon found himself standing in, being someone adverse to purchasing clothes himself and impeccably dense to why a sense of style reigned so important. The notion of keeping Samuel company at all, let alone helping his brother choose an outfit for an important event was therefore impossible for him. Unsaid was the fact his help would be no more than what Sam would consider an impartial viewpoint from a person that didn't know any better, an opinion from a 'commoner' to put it in his terms. Jon, being unable to see past the colour of an item of clothing, the finer details of an outfit and words describing styles as well as the evident value of pieces of clothing being lost on him, was certain this was the only help he could provide. With no other purpose being in the living room in its cluttered state, he could at least assure any opinions he had on his brother's dress sense would be unfiltered in their honesty, and what he was looking for in some way. Nevertheless helping Samuel was a grueling task, the shopkeeper's perfectionism halting potential decisions time and time again, leading what should have been a decision made weeks ago into a pretentious spiral of excuses to why each item wouldn't work in portraying the image he wanted to convey. Jon should have expected such an outcome instead of assuming it would be easy, but now realized the expectation that helping Samuel in what was apparently such an important decision had been unrealistically optimistic.

As another afternoon turned into evening, the only thing keeping Jon from giving up was his unflinching loyalty to his half-brother, and his understanding of the level of importance moderating the next election debate was to him. In between potential decisions Jon weaved around the clothing racks taking over the room, heading to the kitchen to pour himself a drink, wanting something to dull his senses and wind down, allowing himself to be relaxed as he continued trying to assist Samuel's increasingly difficult decision. He placed two ice cubes in a glass, then added some gin and tonic, although was interrupted before taking a first sip with Samuel's exclamation of his name. Returning the glass to the counter, Jon stepped around the clothing racks again to find Bongo, quickly and wordlessly leading the dog into the kitchen and adding kibble to his bowl, knowing food would keep the doggo away for the time being. When he returned and his drink was once again in his hand, Jon spoke, tilting his glass towards Sam. "You know, that black jacket looks exactly like the other four next to it." He said, brows furrowing slightly while glancing between the others on the rack. Yes, they were absolutely the same and not even worth half the price he was sure Samuel paid for all of them. Though instead of voicing this Jon finally sipped from his drink instead, waiting to see what outfit idea his brother would produce next.
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Charlotte was very excited at the prospect of helping Sam pick an outfit for the debate. The woman knew that Sam was the right choice for this sort of job. She was always pleased to have been tasked with getting a few shoes, it was nice to put her talent and her eye towards something that would help him. The woman was however running a little late, and she felt still a little nervous flutter whenever she had to go meet with Sam. Time had passed between them, and they were on friendly terms, but she always felt a little odd in his presence, like they always just ignored how they were both feeling about it. Like all the words they’d said to each other just hadn’t happen. Charlotte didn’t mind this, not too much. At the very least she was happy to have now been single for a while. Breaking up with the guy she’d been with had been an easy choice, now she was open to new people and dating, but all in all, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake her lingering feelings for Sam. Though, they both seemed to burying everything away. Charlotte was happy to do that too, their friendship was important to her, and she could hold off for a little longer. She adjusted her hold on the magically enchanted bag with all the shoes in it as the woman reached where she needed to be.

Charlotte knocked on the door, but just invited herself in like Sam had encouraged her to do. She stepped through the doorway and was greeted by the dog. She leaned down and pet his head lightly, careful of the dog's proximity to the shoes and sure to keep them away. Bongo was a cute dog, but certainly not something she could see herself having, "Where are they then Bongo?" she addressed with a smile to the dog as she stepped passed him and towards the main room of the house where she could hear the brothers and noted the last thing Jon had said. She smiled a little, of course that was what Jon thought, ”It’s a nice black jacket,” the woman commented with a small smile, it was a nice black jacket and she glanced at the other four which where on the rack, ”Hmm, I brought the shoes like you asked,” the woman said with a smile holding out the bag and from within pulled out a couple of the options she’d picked out for him, ”They’re all black shoes, different sorts of black, I assure you Jon, they are all different,” She smiled at them both, placing the boxes down and leaning in to greet them both individual, first Sam and then Jon. "Let's see the options then!"
 

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