i've gotten funny looks. i've gotten laughs and even point and laughs. i've gotten honest questions, curious questions, dubious questions. these are all fine. but you're the first with the audacity to condemn me. you really surprised me. i thought your kind existed only in bad old high school movies. you actually told me i was a freak and should not be wearing a cloak. then you said why. "because they are so ugly and out of style! what's wrong with you?" then they demanded i explain to them why i do such a horrible thing. all i regret is that i was late to class and didn't have a chance to give you the piece of my mind i so wanted to. and not that i'd expect a single one of you to actually use a place like this, but here's your answer, dears. oh here's your answer in spades.
guess what. i have no respect for your sense of fashion. you want to know why? because i have memories longer ago than last weekend's fuck and run, and memories deeper than "what did i wear then so i don't wear it for this week's frat party". try a thousand years and bleeding to death. or burning.
when i'm from, clothes make *sense*. (course, in over a thousand years there's some parts that don't. i was never particularly fond of corsets. but today's fashion is at least as silly.)
when you travel and wander, a wayward warrior/merc, or a healer, who both is often called to other villages, and needs wander afar to find all the needed herbs... when you do these things, fall into these patterns over and over, practical clothes beat "pretty" ones anyday.
tell me, when a sword catches the pretty tender shoulder laid bare by your gap tanktop, that you wouldn't have rather had a heavy tunic there instead. tell me when you're caught in the rain and traveling in the mud you'd rather have a miniskirt than sturdy pants against the elements. and tell me a skimpy fleece makes more sense than a full cloak when it's snowing and blowing and gusty.
i wear my clothes because they are comfortable. because i can go to sleep in them, and wake up in them, and continue on, if i need to. i wear a cloak because it doubles as a bedroll. (i know, i have at this time no good need for this. but old habits die hard). i'd like to see you sleep, or travel, or just exist comfortably, in yours. if you didn't suffocate from the tightness you'd freeze to death, or strangle yourself in one of those sexy straps.
you don't understand my ways of life. that's fine. i don't understand yours either. frat girls make no sense to me. i don't understand you at all. your penchant for getting smashed out of your mind, running through the dorm halls giggling and laughing and crashing into the walls until our RA stops you. i don't understand your desire to go sleep around for social status--not because it makes you happy, because you're "supposed" to. and i don't understand your clothes. you leave me to my ways, and i'll leave you to yours. but don't *stop* me when i'm late for class to criticize my fashion sense. i'm already late, and it's not like you honestly wanted to hear the answer anyways.
jennifer--practical, normal modern clothes are one thing. i wear sweaters and sweatpants or jeans under my cloak, or coat. you wear sensible clothes, you're not the target of my rant. but i have issues taking criticism for my choice of attire from a shivering chick in a thin cotton sweater, a sleevelesstanktop, and a short skirt, when it's below freezing outside. ^_^ | 
