It was useless. Even worse than the curly mess he couldn’t control were the clothes Lydia had picked out for him to wear. The black pants that buttoned on the sides were extremely uncomfortable and they only went to his knees. From there down, he had on white... what had she called them? Stockings? And weird buckled shoes that pinched his toes and rubbed his heels worse than his armored boots. But the thing he despised most was the gold, high collared, heavily embroidered jacket with a white shirt that had mountains of girly lace cascading down the front. She’d called it a cravat. He called it hideous. And that same scratchy lace spilled out at the end of his sleeves, covering both of his hands, all the way to his knuckles. He’d bitched about this monstrosity the moment she’d shoved it at him. The only reason he’d finally agreed to wear it was that she’d pointed out the fact that it couldn’t possibly be any more uncomfortable to wear than armor- something he emphatically disagreed with.
