SV Chapter 56 (Patreon)

Tiff could not convince her family that something was off about Victoria’s jacket or the [Tailor] shop. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe her, but the girls, who’d all tried it on, gained a very slightly befuddled look before brushing it off and changing the subject. The brief fuzzy look in their eyes only made Tiff’s premonition worse.

Unable to speak sense into her family, Tiff fell back on the only reasonable thing she could think of. Spying with the TAS.

Tiff stayed up late that night scrutinizing the city. She had so many things to look for, so many items to track, that she was starting to feel overwhelmed again. What happened to the days when her life was simple? She was going to go grey by 20. Fortunately, her TAS was more adaptable than a machine had any right to be, and it let her start categorizing points of interest on the map. She had a new icon for the Super Serum, which was basically a little potion bottle with some fizzies. Sentinel’s icon had reappeared, which made Tiff frown, but he was stationary in the middle of downtown LA. She could have zoomed in on him and found out exactly where he was and what he was doing, but even the thought of peeping in like that made her feel dirty. Besides, it was getting late, and the odds were just as good that he was sleeping as he was out partying or fighting crime.

Sugar Rush’s little icon made Tiff smile, in all the ways she thought about the happy-go-lucky Sidekick that didn’t conform to traditional demands. She, too, was stationary, but Tiff had a different reason not to spy on the heroine: she felt the girl deserved a bit of privacy.

Tiff did spy in on the Michoacana, however. Nobody was inside since it was long after business hours, but that gave Tiff a prime opportunity to gather vital reconnaissance on the enemy. She peeked into the large freezer, categorizing the fruit and cream-based ingredients. While most of the menu was made fresh daily, many tubs of premade ice cream were ready for pickup in case of a surprise birthday party.

They really did have 40 options to choose from….

Unfortunately, after business hours meant that Fabulé was also closed. The owner wasn’t burning the midnight oil and he didn’t leave any incriminating evidence out in the open for a snooper to conveniently find. A close look at the clothing on the rack revealed nothing new either; as far as Tiff could tell, they were just clothes. Nothing more, nothing less; the System didn’t feel it was necessary to give Tiff any freebies or make them trackable on her map. She’d simply have to wait until the store was open and try again.

​

Since it was Saturday morning, Tiff took the opportunity to sleep in. She got up at a decent hour only because someone woke up and decided to be diabolical. They were making cinnamon rolls and bacon! Two irresistible smells that might as well combine into the culinary equivalent of mind control! It was a good thing Tiff was immune to that, or else she’d become a slave to breakfast.

…which she did anyway. But it was totally her decision!

She sat down at the table next to Amy and Victoria, and without saying a word, a plate with a gooey roll dripping with icing and two crispy pieces of bacon slid in front of her.

“Thanks,” Tiff muttered before pinching off a chunk of roll and puffing on it to keep her mouth from burning.

“You look like crap,” Victoria said, grinning. “Somebody had a late night?”

Compared to Tiff’s reasonably sized roll, Victoria was nomming a cinnamon bun that filled her entire plate. Even more interestingly, her side dish of bacon was stacked like one of those square funeral pyres. At least anyone who met their end at the hands of the bacon would go out in a delicious blaze of glory.

“You’re not doing it right,” Amy instructed. “You’ve gotta crumble up your bacon and sprinkle the bits on top of the roll.”

Tiff watched her sister pick up a greasy slice of bacon with her bare hands and get absolutely destroyed. But she looked like she was having fun, crushing her bacon like a barbarian.

“I wanted to see if that [Tailor] guy was going to do anything suspicious after closing time,” Tiff said, sucking the icing off her pinky. “I poked around in the shop, but didn’t find anything.”

“Are you still on about that?” Victoria asked, rolling her eyes. “I think you would have been better off going to bed.”

“I think he’s up to no good,” Tiff pouted. “But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

“I think you are overthinking it,” Victoria countered. “Guy makes good clothes and charges too much. You don’t gotta like it, but it’s not illegal.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Tiff grumped. “Before you bought that jacket, even you thought he was suspicious.”

“Eh, I was wrong,” Victoria shrugged. “It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. It’s part of life.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be singing a different tune if you felt what I did,” Tiff said.

“About getting creeped out when you put on the jacket?” Victoria asked. “Yeah, no,” she shook her head. “I tried it again and I didn’t feel a thing. It’s just a jacket, Tiff.”

Tiff finished her roll in grumpy silence. She’d already said everything there was to say, and if they didn’t want to believe her, fine. She planned to tag along with her mom when she went shopping today, and if she felt the same thing when trying on any clothes, she’d protest until her family stopped wearing anything from that place. At least until they could figure out what was really going on.

Melissa wasn’t ready to go shopping until early afternoon, another couple of hours, so Tiff wasted some time playing one of those addictive matching games. Something about finding three like objects and smooshing them together to create a bigger and better object really tickled Tiff’s fancy, and nothing quite hit the dopamine receptors quite like creating a mega-merge in the fourth or fifth tier.

Of course, getting that far in the first place took considerable foresight and planning, so pulling off a big merge always made Tiff feel like a gaming god. She didn't just have to manage the playing field strategically; she had to maneuver the right pieces next to each other so they wouldn’t get blocked off and create a traffic jam. After creating a mondo-floating-deluxe-sky-castle, a whopping rank 7 merge, Tiff calmly put the game down, threw her hands in the air, and strutted around like an MLG champion. Yes, she was a boss, thank you very much. That one single building was the cumulative effort of 729 matches! From the lowly single-story house all the way to the top! Tiff’s life had obviously reached its peak; clearly there was nowhere else to go from there.

“Are you ready to go?” Melissa’s amused voice floated in from the doorway. Tiff froze mid-strut and glanced nervously at her door-filling mother. “Yes, I saw it all. No, you can’t take it back.”

“Fiiine,” Tiff sighed. At least there was no photographic evidence of her parading around her room to blackmail her down the road. “Yes, I’m ready. Are we leaving now?”

“As soon as Amy puts her socks on,” Melissa sighed.

“They’re socks,” Tiff said, dumbfounded. “How hard could it be?”

“One day, you might understand!” Melissa cackled. She didn’t elaborate and Tiff wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. Especially since it occurred to her that socks did bring out the weird side in people…like the strangely compelling impulse to throw them at a moving ceiling fan just to watch them get flung in random directions.

Fortunately, it didn’t take Amy long at all and soon enough they were in the driveway getting a boost up into Melissa’s truck. It was a sunny day, the air conditioning was fantastic, and everybody in the truck was in a fabulous mood. Nothing, not even evil clothesmakers and their diabolical cloth, could bring Tiff’s spirits down, and she joined her sister and her mom in singing along to a pop-rock chart-topper playing on the radio. They bounced in their seats, hollering at the top of their lungs, and probably scared the pants off the people in the small sedan next to them at the traffic light because the giant truck was shaking so much.

By the time they pulled into a small parking lot in north Hacienda, Tiff’s spirit meter was full. There were very high chances that, like the overplayed song from years ago, if she got knocked down, she would, in fact, get up again, and it was unlikely that anybody could keep her down for very long.

“So this is Fabulé?” Melissa asked as Amy hummed the song stuck in everybody’s head. Tiff looked up at the sign and nodded.

“That’s the place.”

“You know, for a real hole-in-the-wall, this place is doing okay,” Melissa said, leading her daughters to the entrance and pulling the door open. She waited until the girls shuffled inside before squeezing her way through the door. A small, plump woman clutched a shopping bag to her chest and stared up at the giant in mild shock as she hurried out of the way. There was no chance Melissa would accidentally trample anyone, but Tiff always found it amusing.

Looking around the shop in person was a very different experience than spying on it through her TAS. Tiff was much more impressed now that she saw it with her own eyes rather than through a camera. Not only was the definition infinitely better in real life, but there was just something…qualitative to being able to reach out and touch the fabric. The physicality added an entire dimension to shopping that simply didn’t translate through the screen. Maybe this was why old people complained about buying things online….

“Anything catch your eye?” Melisa asked. Tiff shook off her stupor and realized she was fondling a nearby hoodie. As fate would have it, it was black, something Tiff would most likely wear, but she didn’t want anything from this shop.

“No,” Tiff said, letting the hoodie sleeve fall back against the rack. “Just looking.”

This was where a normal person might throw the question back for the sake of creating dialogue. But Tiff didn’t want her mom wearing clothes from here, so she didn’t return the favor. Melissa gave Tiff an all-too-knowing smile, having heard Tiff’s dire warnings all last night.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Melissa whispered softly, brushing Tiff’s hair back. “Besides, do you really think I’d lose to a pair of pants?”

If it were Tiff and she had to fight against Melissa’s pants? Maybe. There was a distinct possibility. But the question wasn’t if Tiff would lose, so Tiff followed her mom in silence as Amy wandered off to browse.

Tiff…honestly couldn’t see herself wearing much from a shop like this. Besides the black hoodie or a pair of dark grey sweatpants, Tiff wouldn’t be caught dead in half the garments on display.

The yellow sundress? It’d make her look sickly and green.

A sleek A-line in navy blue? Tiff didn’t have enough to fill it out and she’d be very self-conscious.

Skinny jeans? Her legs were thin enough. She didn’t need to become 2-D.

Tiff was content to tag along with her mom like a lost duckling as the big woman browsed. After a while, even she began to wonder why she wanted to visit this place so much. Now that she was here, Tiff was…bored.

Melissa, however, was not. She was having the time of her life, grabbing garments off the racks that looked like children’s clothes compared to her, even though Tiff would have been swimming in them if Melissa’d needed her to model them instead of standing still while her mom placed them in front of her. Melissa knew Tiff wouldn’t wear half the things she modeled on her, and Tiff felt slightly guilty seeing the bittersweet expression on her mom’s face. It was clear nothing in this shop would fit her.

“Bonjour, mademoiselles!” A very flamboyant voice called from behind Tiff. “Welcome to my store! Is there anything, anything at all, that I can help you with?”

Tiff turned around and stared at the man, shocked. She couldn’t say he matched the voice, but it wasn’t unfitting either. He was tall (by normal standards, not Tiff’s), slightly reedy, with too much leg and arm, giving the impression of a man on stilts or a particularly humanoid spider. He wore a very crisp white suit, with straight-legged pants and a long-sleeved button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. To complete the “established gentleman” look, he wore a fitted, single-breasted vest with gold buttons, pitch black. Like his limbs, his face seemed a little too long, as if someone had grabbed his chin and stretched it down, but forgot to widen his cheeks. His black hair was gelled into a perfect wave, and Tiff was conflicted about whether or not his thin mustache fell into Hot Italian, Waluigi Cosplay, or Porn Star.

On top of that, Tiff didn’t know about wearing bleached white. Wasn’t there a saying about not wearing white after Labor Day? Only kombucha-drinking hipsters and d-bags wore white after Labor Day.

…Or maybe it was that you were supposed to wear white after Labor Day? And wearing it at any other time meant you were “that guy”?

See, this is why Tiff would never be a fashion designer or consultant.

Melissa paused her rummaging, stood to her full height, and turned to face the man with a large smile. Tiff took more pleasure than she probably should have in watching the man pale slightly as he craned his neck so far up.

“Oh, do you work here?” Melissa said enthusiastically. “That’s great! I heard about this place from one of my daughters, and I have to say, I’m impressed.”

“Work here?” The man scoffed, playing the offended. He gave Tiff a charming wink, and she had to admit he recovered quickly. “My good lady, I am Fabio Milan! Owner and proprietor of Fabulé! My name, like the great city itself, is synonymous with fashion! Everything you see is a genuine Fabio original! It would be my greatest pleasure to assist you with your every need!”

Again, Fabio hit ‘em with a wink, and this time Tiff was also certain he used a Skill to make his teeth sparkle. She was pretty sure he wasn’t a dentist, which meant his charisma was naturally high. No wonder everybody who walked in here got conned into buying stuff they didn’t need. Well, the joke was on him! Most of Tiff’s money was tied up in her Core! She couldn’t spend a fortune even if she wanted to!

“Well, the compliment still stands,” Melissa said with a grin. “My daughter bought a jacket here yesterday and it fit her so well. Not just the sizing, but the whole look and feel.”

“Ah yes, the charming young woman interested in bomber jackets!” Fabio enthused. “Quite knowledgeable, that one! And quite the discerning eye! She ended up choosing something from the vintage collection, and we were fortunate to have something close enough in stock that, with a few minor adjustments, it turned out just right.”

“Is that why it cost 350 bucks?” Tiff grumped. The man heard her and shot her an affronted look.

“You wound, ma chérie!” He said, raising a sprawled-out hand over his heart. “It is true, my goods are not cheap, but I believe they are worth every cent!”

“Skills like these don’t come cheap,” Melissa agreed. “It’s just a pity I won’t be able to find something for me.”

“My dear,” Fabio started, pouring on the shmooze, but again he had to look up and his confidence faltered. “It, ah, might be a bit problematic. But have no fear! In my studio, I can take your measurements, and we can have something ready in a week. Now…shall we start with a consultation? What sort of garment are you looking for? Something practical? A pair of jeans, perhaps, for daily wear? Or maybe something…romantic? A low V-neck, or perhaps a backless dress? Something to emphasize your strength?”

Melissa couldn’t help herself. She raised her arm and flexed. Fabio’s eyes went wide; he let out an impressed gasp, clapped, and Tiff face-palmed. She honestly couldn’t tell who had whom wrapped around their little finger.

“Actually,” Melissa said, glancing down at Tiff, “That’s not such a bad idea. Tiff,” she said, crouching down and whispering (as if that could possibly make her more discreet), “What do you think your dad would like better? A fancy dinner gown with an open back? Or a pair of tight pants?”

“Moooom!” Tiff wailed, absolutely mortified. “Why are you asking meeee?!”

But because Tiff’s mind was already working on an answer, the words came spilling out. And thanks to her Quirk…they were true.

“What’s he more likely to stare at?”

Tiff could feel the steam wafting out of her ears as Melissa chuckled.

“Fabio, my good man!” She declared, standing up. “What are your thoughts on pants?!”

​

Somehow, some way, Tiff didn’t explode from embarrassment. She also found herself following her mom into the fitting room, which wasn’t to be confused with a changing room. No guests were back here trying things on; it was, as Fabio said, a studio. It had all the tools Tiff expected to find in a tailor or seamster shop. Mirrors, a desk with bright lights and tackle boxes full of thread and needles, multiple sewing machines (including a genuine antique Singer from the early 1900s), and one of those funky half-torsos on a stick she learned was called a dress form. Fabio didn’t waste any time and immediately got to work measuring Melissa, but Tiff greatly misjudged his ability to multitask. She thought the fitting would take place in complete silence as he used all of his concentration to get everything perfect, but no. It was more like a barber shop, where someone sits down in the chair and is immediately bombarded with a waterfall of words. That was one of the many reasons Tiff preferred long hair…she hated getting forced into inescapable conversation.

But Melissa didn’t seem to mind and instantly got absorbed in talk of jeans, the history of jeans, what sort of people should wear jeans, and the best places for jeans to be worn. Somehow they transitioned into bar talk, specifically the rowdy cowboy places that played honkytonk and made you scoot-yer-boots. Perhaps that was the real danger: as Fabio listened enthusiastically and contributed to the talk, the customer loosened up so much they might forget they weren’t shooting the breeze with an old friend. In fact, Tiff wondered if her mom even realized she'd agreed to two pairs of pants: one that would look extra nice with cowboy boots and another for normal boots.

Tiff didn’t realize you needed to differentiate between the two.

…Was she being boot-ist? Now was not the time.

Fabio seamlessly transitioned from measurements and jeans-conneseur to consultant and vest-maker. He said (and Melissa agreed) that a good pair of spurs deserved a vest, and that was something he could mock up in the meantime. It took a few moments, but he stitched a few patterns together and had Melissa take the time to consider her reflection in the mirror. While she deliberated, he retreated to Tiff.

Tiff gave him the unimpressed stink eye and they had a rather epic staredown.

“Mon amie, I must confess, I do not think I have much that would suit you,” he said, surprising Tiff. If he intended to slip inside her guard, it worked, because Tiff lowered her defenses and reconsidered her approach.

“I’m not really into fashion,” she admitted. She found his honesty refreshing because, before he opened his mouth, Tiff was sure this guy would do anything to make a sale. She never considered that he might back down.

“While it is not my point of view, even I can admit that people have their own preferences. Each to his own, yes? Does my world truly hold no interest to you?”

The way he said it, with clear eyes and an open heart, spoke of a man steeped in a very specific culture, and he wanted nothing more than to share it with the world. His passion and earnestness moved Tiff.

“Actually,” she said with a faint smile. Her mind was still on boots, and there were some that piqued her interest. Not that she thought she had the body or the figure to pull them off, but if he wanted to know so badly, she might as well admit it. “I’ve always been fond of a specific style of boots. Don’t know what they’re called…they’re those ones with the fur?”

To her surprise, the [Tailor] visibly recoiled.

“Is it because of the song?” Fabio asked, as if the words pained him. His eyes narrowed and his next thought came out laced with venom. “Apple Bottom jeans,” he spat, “Are a brand. Not a style.”

Tiff’s eyes widened.

“Heck no,” she said before she could stop. “If anything, I was gonna call them ice princess boots.”

“Hmm,” he said, his intense gaze relenting. “You shall be forgiven.”

That took a dark turn really quick, and Tiff was desperate to change the subject. Maybe because of Fabio’s natural charm, she decided to bring up something else on her mind.

“You haven’t had any problems with [Enforcers] demanding things of your shop, have you?” Tiff asked on a whim. She watched the man carefully, and while he looked both alarmed and worried, he didn’t give away anything like he might if he were involved.

“No?” He replied, mildly concerned. “And I hope it stays that way. Why do you ask?”

“I’m friends with a local Sidekick,” Tiff admitted with a sigh. “She says there’s been an upswing of [Enforcers] in Hacienda. I…guess it’s a bit of a backhanded compliment, but I thought a place this nice might attract the wrong type of attention.”

“I’ll take it for what it’s worth,” Fabio said with a wry smile. “And, coming from one such as yourself who has no interest in my work, it is quite valuable indeed.”

To be fair, Tiff very much was interested in his work…just not to wear it. But Melissa was done trying the vest on and Tiff wasn’t going to confront a potentially evil [Tailor] without her [Champion] present…even if Melissa might be more dangerous in a pinch. That was something Tiff never wanted to test.

“I think I’ll do it,” Melissa sighed, handing the stitch-infused vest back to Fabio. “What’s the damage, Fab? Give it to me straight.”

“As always, my prices are very reasonable,” he said, cranking up the charm. “Shall we discuss payment over at the counter…?”

Melissa was two steps into making a regrettable decision when the third VanDyne made her presence known.

“MOM!” Amy declared, using what was most certainly not an indoor voice. “Can I have this?! Please?!”

Tiff cringed and didn’t want to look. But she had to. So she did.

Amy was wearing what could only be described as a Terminator jacket.

It was black leather with an asymmetrical zipper, a button-snap pocket, and a zipper pocket tilted at an angle. It had a built-in belt, which Amy cinched tight, and she made sure the collar was popped. Amy mimed adjusting a pair of sunglasses and pointed her fingers like a gun.

“Hasta la vista, baby!”

She then proceeded to shoot Tiff, which was insulting.

Melissa gave her youngest daughter a warm (if exasperated) look, while Fabio exchanged his eyeballs with dollar signs.

“What is this?” Fabio gasped theatrically. “Encore un petit bijou! Ma chérie, my jeans are no match for yours!”

Melissa let out a dignified giggle and Tiff wanted to guffaw. This Waluigian seducer could never win Melissa's heart. Rick’s position was unshakeable. But Tiff applauded his gusto.

“Amy,” Melissa asked reasonably. “You don’t wear jackets like that. I guarantee you’ll never wear this one. Why do you want it?”

“Because it’s awesome?” Amy instantly answered. Tiff had to admit, she had a point. “And Halloween is coming up! How crazy would it be to go dressed up like this?!”

“Denied,” Melissa shot her down immediately. Fabio, clearly not one to lose a potential sale, intervened.

“If ma chérie is looking for a costume on a budget, perhaps I have something else, no?” He oozed with all the confidence of a snake oil salesman. “I see you appreciate the classics. Perhaps we shall take inspiration from another timeless masterpiece…tell me, are you familiar with Back to the Future?”

“Oh?” Amy’s eyes narrowed as she grinned. “Tell me more.”

Instead of spending a god-awful amount on a leather meme, Fabio introduced yet another jacket. Tiff was starting to suspect this guy was something of a jacket-aholic, which sounded weird and bad, so she probably wouldn’t use that one again. Fortunately, he had the sense to bring the piece back to Melissa so she could make the call.

As the man said, it was exactly what Tiff would have thought of if somebody yelled out, “Quick! Answer or die: what’s a Back to the Future Jacket look like?”

But why the heck would she run into such niche serial killers, and even if she did, surely Victoria’s Skill would kick in and she’d be able to protect her. Or answer for her. Tiff wasn't sure with these theoreticals.

But the jacket!

The jacket was a sleeveless, red, puffy jacket filled with warm down. Technically, it wasn’t a jacket; it was a vest, but by this time, Tiff had checked out. She only cared about two things. One: that their family wasn’t going bankrupt buying jackets. Since this thing was a real bargain at $30, Tiff couldn’t complain.

And two: that her family was safe…from what she was pretty sure might be mind control.

That…Tiff definitely complained about.

There was an exactly 0% chance that she was going to tolerate mind control in her Territory.

“Amy, mind if I try that on?” Tiff asked after her sister had spun around in front of the mirror enough times to make a dancer dizzy.

“Eh?” Amy blinked. “Sure.”

She shrugged it off easily and slid it over to Tiff. Tiff steeled herself and braced for the inevitable skin-crawlies.

They didn’t come.

She let out a breath, not even realizing she was holding it, and proceeded to adjust the vest. It was, of course, too big for her, but now that it was on, she might as well feel it out. And she wanted to be crystal clear that there wasn’t any bad mojo infused with something her little sister would wear. Tiff did all the adjusting she could without physically tearing into it, but there was nothing remotely suggesting that this was anything other than a burnt-red, puffy vest.

Tiff slowly took it off and studied Fabio’s face as she handed it over. His eyes revealed nothing.

As they made their payments and walked back to the truck, Tiff couldn’t help but wonder…what was the deal with Fabulé?

Fabio Milan was a very mysterious man.

Author's Note:

English is my first (and really only) language. I know bastardized Spanish from working overnight in Walmart and Target for several years, especially when I worked in Santa Ana, but I’d never claim to speak it. I did my best to look up French that was both fitting and accurate. I apologize if I’ve used it incorrectly.

Thank you for reading, have a great day!