The weather could be nice, or it could be awful; it could be a gorgeous, golden day, or a gray and dreary thing. It doesn't matter. Bahir would have no idea. Buried in the basement of a building, locked in a windowless room, he is at work. There is a number outside the door, but no name. It is the directory, one floor and a lot more sushine up that identifies it as his: ALRAZI, B.
It is a nice building, despite his dreary office. The outside is brick and the campus is picturesque. The interior is warm with wood and plaster, although it gets a bit industrial in the basement, cool and sterile in lighting.

There's a rapping at the door. The person's knuckles rain staccato beats against the portal. The voice that asks if anyone is home is hollow and muffled beyond recognition.

Bahir's voice rises sharp and annoyed: "What?" He leans back in a squeaky, protesting chair. Shoddy wheels jitter as he scoots backwards in order to reach and open the door. He looks upwards with an expression of tried patience. He is not wearing Hello Kitty today. Today he wears jeans, lime-and-blue sneakers, a polo of blue striped with black down the sleeves, and an annoyed expression.

Elias looks just about as ragged as possible today. A random and senseless graphic covers his abdomen and up his chest, highlighting a lighter gray against the charcoal that makes up the rest of the shirt. His jeans are a lighter denim and look more comfortable than the stylish cut they were originally sewn. A couple safety pins line the pockets and more than a few scraps of paper look as if they were going to escape. On his feet are nondescript black sneakers. Sunglasses part the waves of dark brown hair and only draw attention to the dark circles under his eyes. In one hand and flung over a shoulder is a large black garment bag. In the other is clasped a venti iced coffee. Elias sighs and puts on a soft yet professional smile. "Oh, good. I found you. Wondered how many B. Alrazi's there might be at Columbia. Got a few minutes?"

Bahir stares. "--are you kidding me?" His hand twitches as if he briefly contemplates slamming the door shut on Elias, but then his fingers curl around the doorknob and he pushes it wider as he uses it as leverage to pry his chair further out and turn. He drops his hands, lacing his fingers placidly across his abdomen as he takes in Elias's ragged couture. He waves two fingers indulgently: go on. There is a wooden chair inside the door that looks ancient and uncomfortable, but sturdy enough to serve. It is one of the few surfaces not covered by something or another. The walls are bare of anything that would indicate personality. It's all work.

"I don't kid this close to Fashion week." Elias steps in and smiles a little brighter, pulling the garment bag off his shoulder and takes it to the empty chair, laying it across the back. "The suit turned out rather nicely. Evil bastard of a brainchild, to tell the truth. There are things I'm supposed to be working on." He pauses here, his eyes lowering as he processes, picking up the narrative when he's a little less jittery. "Here's the thing: I actually want to show it. Unfortunately, it's too late in the game to find anyone else to model it at the show, since any model worth having is booked up solid or charging an exorbitant amount. Besides, since you were the inspiration, I actually don't feel right having anyone else wear it first. Is there any possibility that you'd reconsider? You don't have to answer before you see it."

Jaw briefly slackening, Bahir snaps it shut with a click of his back teeth as they clench. He breathes a hissed sigh, and after rubbing his eyes, lifts them again with dark eyebrows arching. "That explains the whole zombie thing you are affecting, I assume," he says with a broad wave of his hand at Elias, head to toe. But, no -- the bitch can't last. He's back to incredulous. "Are you /serious/?"

Elias's lips slacken wearily, hints of mirth still clinging to his features. "Zombie... yeah." He shakes his head a little as Bahir protests again, his attention fixed on the garment bag as he pulls the zipper down from under the protective flap and down its entire length. He then pulls the plastic material off the hangers within, exposing dark black material that has a hint of dark brown in the dye make up. Behind the jacket, there's a flash of a brown color. Elias reaches down to the bottom of the bag and withdraws a pair of leather shoes. The cut and design is athletic, but the polished quality and patent leather strips on the side add some class. "I had to guess at your shoe size, but I've got three other pairs back at the shop. Want to see if they fit?"

Bahir rubs at his eyes again, and then his temple. Then his other temple. Then both temples. "I'm trying to decide where this ranks on my list of 'bizarre things' -- and a lot of pretty fucking bizarre things have happened to me. Say I do." His tone casts doubt on the possibility. "I'm not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. And if the time commitment is serious, I really /don't/ have the time."

Elias exhales with a slight burst of emotion, but he licks his lips and smiles quickly after. "What? You've never been stalked by the fashion industry before? I'm really not the best emissary on the subject, more used to being the go-for rather than the designer, but it's just how things happened to pan out." He places the shoes on the ground and rubs a finger under his nose as he straightens up. "Two hours on Sunday - that's all I'm asking. I should hopefully get all the necessary alterations done in this meeting today. It would ease my paranoid mind if you could stop by Saturday at any time for fifteen minutes just to make absolutely sure, but I'm rather confident that you won't /have/ to."

"No," Bahir says, leaning against the side of his chair with his elbow planted on the arm. He slides his fingers along the line of his features, thumb scratching over stubble as he tips his head. "I can't say that I've ever been stalked by the fashion industry. Certainly not as a whole, and not even by individuals within it. Two hours on Sunday." He smiles slightly with a briefly nasty gleam in his eyes before dark lashes fall as his gaze turns back to the suit. "What sort of exorbitant amounts would a model charge on such short notice? I'll just take half," he says, a modest reduction, "being inexperienced."

"As an inexperienced, /unsigned/ model, I'd normally give you $100 for the runway and a few shots for your portfolio." Elias is honest as he returns to unpacking his garment bag. He hangs the jacket on the door knob for the time being and finally withdraws a hooded tunic from behind it. The piece is the color of the outfit, a bronzed brown cotton blend with thin streaks of silvered gray woven into the fabric itself. A zipper runs down the center and a basic rounded neck tshirt lies beneath. Elias extracts the pants from underneath before he lays the tunic down on the back of the chair. "Your turn to propose a better wage."

Bahir's lips twitch with a touch of something smirky. "You pay poorly. I have no need of a few shots for my porfolio, and it would be a shame to have all your work and inspiration go to waste," he adds, leaning back with a squeak of protest from his chair as he stretches toward a more reasonable amount. Shields fall from his mind and telepathy unfolds in a lazy curl to listen in on Elias's thoughts. Are you /lying/? he doesn't ask; what /is/ reasonable? he doesn't ask, either. Rather, as he curls in from his stretch, he regards Elias with narrowed contemplation, and sifts through his thoughts for answers.

<< Like I have money for any of this... >> Elias continues to smile as his thoughts churn over the facts and figures of the whole affair. << I still need the crinoline for the rose dress and hopefully a softer mesh for the slinky number. I know I have $2000 for the other five models, which is practically nothing. I've got to make some phone calls. Why did I agree to this? Six looks just to get this one out? Think Felipe's just thrilled he doesn't have to do the full eighteen now. Maybe I can give Bahir $350 at the most. Can't do the full $500... >> "Well, I suppose I don't mind skimping on the photography price, but those will be merely prints of what I need for my design portfolio."

Bahir makes a show of thoughtful noises. "Five hundred," he suggests as he slouches comfortably in his chair, arrogant in his assumption of power in the situation.

<< Bastard! >> Elias's brows rise as his nostrils flare. "Two fifty. I could get in trouble for using an unsigned model." << Oh, but the employees in the shop can be passed off. Shit. Wonder if I can can take Mark's place, since he isn't talking to me. Why the hell did I have to move out just before this 'opportunity' came up? >> He licks his lips. "I didn't know that doctoral candidates made so little." He takes a long drink from his iced coffee, his mood crashing slightly. << Wonder if I can force myself to weave for another hour tonight before my powers give out... >>

"We live our lives from grant to grant," says Bahir with a breezy wistfulness. His mood is improved, bizarrely enough, but the wave of his hand briefly arrests before falling. Telepathy tarts briefly after that tantalizing hint of << Wonder if, >> to see what else Elias has to think about that. "Graduate life is very sad. Four fifty."

<< Running across town to option Bahir's mucked up my schedule. Have to go to the store or order out something 'rich' to get by. >> Elias shrugs a little at the statement of financial means. "Know what that feels like. Well, contract work anyway. How about we meet in the middle. My next quote is three hundred. If you go down to four hundred, maybe three fifty's an option." Weariness is creeping into his face, but he just plain keeps smiling. << Want to match the tunic's color scheme to the shift on the lady's suit, but then I'd have to change Bahir's tunic to silk... and I need a few more yards. >>

Elias's assumptive bargaining prompts a brief smile. Bahir inclines his head and agrees, "Three fifty, then, in the interest of sparing my valuable time from further bargaining. Three fifty for two hours on Sunday, ten minutes on Saturday." Telepathy delicately reshields, leaving Elias's thoughts his own. His fingers lace in his lap and elbows prop on the arms of his chair as he slouches. "Would you like to shake on it?" he asks in a low, amused tone.

"Shaking's fine and all, but I'd rather fit you in the clothes." Elias wipes the sweating bottom of the plastic cup in his hand with his shirt before he thinks of setting it down anywhere. Eventually, he picks the floor then wipes any residual moisture from his palm before extending his hand to his reluctant model. "Don't suppose you'll need a contract? The boss has some generic ones at the shop."

Slitted eyes gleam as Bahir pushes himself vertical and holds out his hands, arms loose at his sides. "Fit me. No, no need for a contract." His tone meanders with a brief, thoughtful glance aside and then his gaze returns to Elias. "I'll trust you to keep your word. What do I need to do for this fitting of yours?"

There's a relief in Elias's eyes now, as some of the worry lines around his eyes decrease. He's too young for them anyway. "Well... you have to try on the clothes. I'm a pretty decent judge of size, but I made them a little big just in case." If there was a handshake to be exchanged, Elias has neglected to go through with it. He's too busy searching his pockets for something. "I'll wait in the hall." He turns and heads out.

Bahir toes the door shut after Elias, and leans against it a moment. There's a faint, stifled sound. It may be a snicker. He considers the clothing as laid out, but it all seems fairly straightforward, so. He thumbs the lock on the door, because you never know with weirdos, and then changes. His own clothing is neatly folded and stacked to the side, with vibrant shoes tucked under the desk. He then opens the door, stepping back to allow Elias back in.

Elias is quiet as he reenters, his eyes narrowing to examine the fit of the clothing. "Anything feel tight at all?" The pants are a little long, falling well below the heel over the shoes, but Elias makes no comment about that. His lips purse as his eyes move up the ensemble, eyeing the where the jacket falls mid-thigh on his leg. He steps closer as he examines the jacket's fit, a piece of fabric chalk appearing out of his closed fist. "Can you move freely? Dare I ask if anything's too loose?"

"I'm used to better tailoring than this," Bahir doesn't mind telling Elias at ALL. In fact, by his tone, he takes some pleasure in it. "Your eye must not be very good." His teasing lacks the malicious edge of the previous evening, however. He's not quite in such a mood. "Nothing is too tight, but everything seems to be a bit loose -- except for in the shoulders." Indeed, Bahir is broader in the shoulders and stronger of build than most slim, effete models; there is a lean strength to his frame.

"Yes, and I'm sure your tailors take your measurements or have them memorized. I was guessing." Eli's slightly defensive of the criticism, but the words come out a little harsher now that he's got a straight pin or two caught between his teeth. "Was worried about the shoulders. Can you turn for me?" He steps behind Bahir and starts smoothing the fabric across his shoulders before tugging on the seems to lay them in the right places on his form. "And the thighs?" That's another point where Bahir might have other male models beat.

Tone one of mock surprise, Bahir asks, "You mean it's /not/ supposed to cling like that?" It's not that bad, really: tighter, yes, certainly not in need of any tightening, perhaps a little room to allow give might be nice. But he doesn't say that. He lets Elias discover that on his own as he turns to make shoulder fussing easier. A slight half-smile remains twisted at the corner of his lips.

"You're enjoying this too much." Elias notes idly, his movements becoming more brisk as he moves along. "Though, I should be grateful you haven't decided to criticize the concept of the ensemble in it's entirety." The pins are slipped into the top layer of the fabric on the shoulders of the suit. The sound of his tongue running over dry lips may be heard, simply because he's so close to Bahir's ear. The jacket takes on better shape as Elias traces along seams and inserts pins, the chalk is used sparingly.

Bahir isn't enjoying it /that/ much. He is just smug! Smug, smug, and maybe a touch smirky. "Should I act sullen, instead? Continue to insult you? I could begin by questioning the wisdom of your color choices. Maybe they are avant-garde. Maybe they are ironic. Maybe they are just poor." He stiffens slightly as pins go in, careful not to move and jab himself.

Elias snorts lightly squatting slightly as he works on the back of the jacket. "Well, the sullen thing is more for the actual models - it's ego stroking for high level designers so they think that the model is absolutely thrilled to be wearing whatever potato sack they chose to dress them in. The sad part is that they generally are that pleased." The panel/tails fall well across the other man's backside and Elias steps away pleased. He pulls out a few pins at the top of the jacket and asks, "Move your arms about - cross them in front of you or something. While I don't necessarily need the clothes to be fully functional for the runway, critics will notice if it isn't..."

"Critics will notice if, say, I walk like a robot?" Bahir suggests. He rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders, pulling his arms forward before him and crossing them slightly. "I just remembered why I have only the two suits or so tailored. This takes too fucking long. Stop staring at my ass," he adds, COMPLETELY unfairly.

"Well, they'll insult my decision to pick you - if you're walking like a robot for no apparent reason." Elias straightens and reaches over Bahir's shoulders to help him out of the jacket. "Well, this part is over. Let me see how the tunic and pants fit, then I'll be out of your hair."

Shrugging out of the jacket with more care than his reckless mockery would suggest -- It wouldn't do to ruin it, after all! -- Bahir rolls his shoulders and reaches up to tug at the tunic idly before glancing down the line of his body. "Top's weird," he says succinctly.

Elias snorts again, hanging up the jacket before he takes a look at the fit. "It's men's fashion. You have to be a bit weird to not look exactly the same as your last line. Did you see what came out last season? Pants cuffed at mid-shin, designed for boots. I've yet to find a boot worthy of that type of display." He hmms quietly before looking up at Bahir's face. "So you're saying that you wouldn't wear it alone, or you know you'd get noticed in it?"

"I don't really pay attention," Bahir says with a slightly baffled air, brows knit in a slightly puzzled lift. "But that sounds pretty terrible. I don't know. I like the zipper?" he says helpfully, and reaches to fiddle with it. Whee. Zippers. "Why the hood? That's the weird part. When I wear suits that pretend to be three piece, they are much more formal and -- you know, three piece. Vest."

The cut is similar to a standard hooded sweatshirt, but in a lighter weight material and without the gathered wrist and waist bands. The front pockets are hidden instead of displayed. The length of the sleeves runs to the base of Bahir's thumb and the torso covers the pockets of the pants.

"The hood's to make it casual. My formal pieces are collaborated into Felipe Renauld's collection and he doesn't wish me to draw any attention to that fact." Elias shrugs off the hint of bitterness in his tone. "Since he's my ticket in, I owe him the professional courtesy to honor that agreement." He rubs at one eye with the knuckles of the hand holding his chalk. "You know, I think I like the cotton, but a linen might have worked too. Maybe next year."

"Mm, so when I called you second-rate," Bahir says, slanting a glance over at Elias with cheerful maliciousness, "I was quite right. All right, understood. Still weird," he mutters, curling fingers toward the sleeves in a brief grasp. "Sure. Cotton. Linen." He has no idea.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Elias provides deadpan laughter as a response to Bahir's continued insults. "Keep it coming. I'm pretending you're one of those really rich, bitchy clients that I have to bend over backwards for." He kneels down in front of Bahir and examines the fit of the pants. They're flat style, or sans pleats, making it a little harder to tailor looser. He puts a couple lines on the outside of his thighs. "I'll see if I can't get you some more room. If I can't, you're not allowed to sit down till we're done with photos." The wrinkles might be dreadful.

"I'm not allowed to sit /down/?" Bahir's outrage at that is such that he seems ready to sit down then and there. He reaches back with a hand to lean against the wall, threatening it in a slow lean away. There is a wrinkle. "I'm close enough to one of those really rich, bitchy clients. If you just pretend, you won't be that far off," he says with narrow-eyed teasing. Their voices are low murmurs through the not-quite-closed door.

Elias rolls his eyes and pulls a tape measure out of his back pocket. It was all wadded up in there. "Fine, fine. I'll practice my really polite conversation like you're some type of paying client." He waves the tape measure so Bahir before he goes in to measure his inseam. It's such an awkward thing to bring up, but it's so necessary.

Percy's approach comes on swift, easy steps, his passage heralded by little noise. He is suited darkly, navy pinstripes and a tailoring job suitable for one of those really rich, bitchy clients -- though he's lost his tie somewhere and looks a little on the more rumpled side. Bahir's door being not quite closed, he doesn't quite knock on it; instead, with palm to knob, he leans it open on the push of his weight and knocks twice on the doorframe in conjunction. And pauses.

Bahir's lips twitch when Elias goes for the inseam. Except for the brief flutter of his eyelashes and a short tension, he submits to it, well-behaved in the manner of one who has had to deal with tailors before. He startles when the door opens, but when his gaze lifts from the top of Elias's head to Percy's eyes, he flashes a brief grin. His eyebrows lift. "Percy."

"Hmm?" Elias is a little less reactive to Percy's entrance, his attention absorbed with fit and the technical numbers there of. His hands begin to move to measure the thigh, but the motion is halted by Bahir's statement. He looks up and then over his shoulder at the new figure. "Oh." He leans back and starts to get his feet underneath him.

Percy prowls into the office through the door on lightly padded footsteps in very expensive shoes, his eyes glittering sharp gold beneath the thick veil of lowered lashes. "Bahir," he says, his mouth's answering curve slow. He sweeps Bahir with a long look, and then turns his interest upon the stranger, moving in a half-circle in the limited space. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes," Bahir says helpfully. "Come in." Room to move rapidly diminishes with the addition of a third body into a space that barely holds two and works best for one, making even Elias's slow rise difficult. Not moving himself, he remains at a slight lean in his ill-fitting couture. A hint of a smile remains about his mouth as his gaze sweeps away from either of the others to contemplate Percy's shoes, instead.

Elias snatches his cup of iced coffee out of Percy's path before he straightens up fully. His eyes take in the newcomer's appearance before he looks over to Bahir for a hint. "We were just doing a fitting. As you can see, it's rather needed." He takes a drink before he stashes the cup somewhere behind him. "I'm Elias." The young designer just smiles neutrally, though there's a little pink starting to tint his visage.

"Is this your intern?" Percy wonders, gesturing with a slightly curving hand at Elias. His shoes are dress black, closed-throated and tightly laced Italian leather. "A fitting. A fitting for what? Is it a formal hoodie?" On this point Percy is momentarily derailed and apparently genuinely puzzled. Then he rounds on Elias again; physically smaller than both the other two men, he nevertheless manages to own a great deal of space in a small room. His inhalation is a test of the air for recent chemistry, perhaps to better fuel his nasty sense of humor, or perhaps just a habit. "Hello, Elias. Yours is certianly a new face."

The nasty touch of humor leaves little chemical trace. Of Bahir, there is /himself/, his scent wound and layered into everything within the room from many hours spent within. Even the books smell of him, a little -- although not necessarily pheromonically. Aggravation has faded, replaced by a muted sort of cheer. Gaze lifting from Percy's shoes, Bahir lifts his hand to his throat to find the zipper at the top, pulling it down partway. "Formal hoodie /with a zipper/," he delights. "Elias, Percy." There. Introduced.

Elias smells of old coffee, second hand smoke and sleep. The man is tousled and weary, but full of nervous energy and more than a slight degree of embarrassment. "It's my design, actually." He chimes in after the zipper comment, eyeing Bahir before turning to Percy and renewing his smile. "Yes, somewhat new. Only been back in New York for the better part of six months. I work in Felipe Renauld's shop as one of his proteges. He's given me six looks at his runway show on Sunday and Bahir's agreed to model this one."

"My God," Percy says. "He's agreed to model? I suppose it could be worse -- not a doile in sight..." He trails off, rocking back on one heel. Then he turns to look at Bahir with brows upswept and smile bright on the edge of a laugh. "/Runway/ modeling? Really? What is with the /color/ choices? Have you considered nudity and doiles? At least those are generally /white/. Fewer seams to allow for such close crotch study, of course."

Bahir makes a demure face. It isn't particularly convincing. "He was very persuasive," he murmurs in aside to Percy. "He had pictures and everything. There was inspiration. I have nice eyes." He tips his feet. "Look! I have shoes, too."

Elias's eyes lower as he speaks and his ears turn red. "Downright persistent, really. Practically begged." He raises his gaze after a few breaths and looks over at Bahir as he shows off the shoes. "But I won out in the end. The brown also fits the theme of the other outfits. It'll make more sense on Sunday."

"But if you are going to make brown clothing, wouldn't you want to find a model--" Percy starts to ask, and then dismisses the logic in favor of studying Bahir's new shoes. They're shoes all right. Hovering at the very edge of a laugh, he lifts gleaming eyes to meet Bahir's and says, "Were you inspiring, with your nice eyes? -- Really, kid," he adds, turning, despite not being so very much older than Elias. "It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through to get a man into your pants."

"Will you come?" Bahir asks Percy, tipping his head at Percy. "On Sunday?" To the rest, no reply but a brief gleam across dark eyes. He kindly adds to Elias, "You didn't really beg. You got down on your knees, sure -- but that was purely professional."

"I got saddled with this project today, fashion week starts on Wednesday and the city is pretty much devoid of talent that's not already spoken for. Had to outsource. But you certainly have to admit, I did get him into my pants with 36 hours of meeting him. No cocktails required either, just few doodles and a comment about his eyes." Elias's deadpan tone grows warm as he finishes, turning back to Bahir as he smiles sweetly. "Now, if you'd get out of my pants, I'll get them altered so they fit better next time."

"Oh, really," Percy says with a roll of his eyes and the faint prickle of a hit scored. "Of course I'll come. With desperate hoards of horny men of fashion clamoring for your ass? I wouldn't miss it for the world. Now," he adds, with a degree of priss one might not entirely expect from a man of his /history/, "if you think you are going to get a free show watching him strip down, you have another think coming, friend tailor. Run along, if you please."

Reward flashes to Elias on a quick grin: Bahir's expression is, for a brief moment, almost not malicious or smirky at all. ALMOST. "You learn," he says approvingly. "36 hours. Haaa." He laughs briefly, hands falling to the clasp of the trousers. He's totally ready to strip, right then and there -- but Percy's being a nag, so he has to pause. He gives Elias a brief, amused look. "Are you done with your measurements, yet?" he asks, not unkindly.

"Yes." Elias rolls his eyes and nods to Bahir. He then looks to Percy, studies him for a second then nods as well, heading for the door. A little bit of shuffling is required as the jacket is moved, the door is opened and then closed again, the brave little tailor staying out in the hall till he is summoned again.

Percy breathes a low laugh in the depths of his throat, lashes falling low over his eyes as he steps to Bahir's side, sliding a hand up over his back. He gets in the way a lot! "/Modeling/. /Runway/ modeling. That will look great on your CV, right there with your master's and your doctoral work."

Elbowing Percy in the side, Bahir pushes him away. "You're so obnoxious," he says, briefly chasing after to press a kiss on Percy's cheek. He opens the door to shove him out next to Elias. "I don't need /any/ audience!" he calls after them both, shutting Percy out there to begin changing. He takes him time, prolonging the potential awkward between the two.

Elias leans against the door frame, staring vaguely off into space when the door opens. He turns toward it and finds Percy exiting rather than someone beckoning him in again. His brows rise and he inhales, his expression brightening again. Still, he says nothing.

Percy laughs over his shoulder at Bahir and then leans against the closed door's frame for all the world as though he owns it, which in light of certain fiscal considerations makes a /certain/ amount of sense. He raises his eyebrows at Elias in answer, amber eyes amused and smile's curve smirkish.

Bahir taaaaaaakes his tiiiiiiiiiime.

"Did he think I'd start coming up with scenarios for any delay?" Elias quips quietly. "You should assure him that my mind is as pure as the driven snow."

"Is it?" Percy's amusement hardly lessens for the skepticism of his tone.

Perhaps by now, Bahir has managed the zipper.

"Yes. Simply because I say so." Elias shrugs. "Besides, he's not my type."

Percy looks /more/ skeptical.

Bahir has probably even removed the shoes.

"So... Tell me about yourself?" Elias fidgets slightly, his eyes glancing at the door for a moment.

Percy glances at his nails. Waiting, waiting. "Why do you ask?"

Wait. There are two zippers. One on the trousers (one assumes), and one on the hoodie (which Bahir quite likes). Which has he managed by now? Perhaps both? Perhaps he is down to the shirt?

"You're interesting by association," Elias begins with casual air. "Here you are, dressed very well, I must say, visiting a doctoral candidate who has absolutely no qualms with publicly displaying Hello Kitty on his chest."

"It's ironic," Percy explains kindly of Hello Kitty, brushing fingertips idly over the clean lines of his suit jacket. "He's also got one with a unicorn taking a shit, if I recall. It's all very charming."

Bahir now gets dressed in clothing without kittens or unicorns. At least, one /hopes/ he's getting dressed by now.

Elias snorts softly as his eyes go out of focus. "I bet he does. It'd match what I've learned of him. Are you the motivation behind his previous tailoring experiences, or did he actually branch out to that on his own?"

"I have really had very little influence on his mode of dress," Percy says, with a dismissive wave of his hand as he resettles his shoulder against the doorframe. "I'm not even sure who his tailor is off the top of my head."

There's a bump from the other side of the door, then a soft sound of a (clothed!) body shifting against it. Bahir puts on his shoes.

Elias hehs quietly and raises a hand to rub at the dark circles under his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak again, but the noises from within distract him. He tilts his head to one side and stands up straight, staring at the portal.

Percy keeps on leaning, though his smile does return, and a trifle wider.

At long last, the door opens. Reclothed in jeans and polo, Bahir steps back to finish neatly hanging Elias's clothing in the empty bag. He glances between Elias and Percy, earlier glee having faded to a more muted humor.

Elias waits for Percy to enter before he is able to.

Percy rocks from heel to toe, coming off his lean to sidle in. "Hi again," he says with good-natured cheer. His motion is closer to Bahir than is strictly necessary, even in the necessarily close quarters of the office. "All dressed and everything. Look at that."

"Look at that," Bahir repeats in a tone of marvel. He gives Percy a brief, amused look and then glances toward Elias. "Saturday, then, for a brief final fitting, and Sunday for the show?" he confirms. He finishes putting things away, twitching lines straight to avoid unnecessary wrinkles.

Elias slips in afterward, grabbing his beloved coffee first and finishing off the sweet liquid. "Do you have a trash can?" He searches the small room for the object in question. Chances are he's standing right next to it. "Yes. The show's at 10:00 am, so if you could be there an hour early, I'd appreciate it. Hair and makeup and all." He looks up from his search and smile. "And I really do appreciate you doing this all together. It's really helpful." He pauses then fishes around in a back pocket, withdrawing a business card and a pen. "Here's my cell. It'd be helpful to warn me when you're coming on Saturday. The address is on the front." He scribbles the phone number and then retraces it to make it legible before handing it over.

Percy snorts a little and rocks back on his heels again, listening to these instructions with lower lip caught in smiling teeth.

Bahir points. Elias is standing right next to it. "No problem," he promises as the pointed gesture turns into a receptive one, and he takes the card. He turns it over in his fingers, front and back, and then slides it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Why, it's been a while since I was last anyone's muse."

"Glad I could oblige." Elias makes his way over to the garment bag and zips it up, hooking it over one shoulder before turning back to the other men. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Percy. Bahir." He gives the latter a nod as he angles his way for the door. "Thanks again."

"Pleasure indeed." Percy's voice is lower, draped with mirth rich amusement, and he tips his head in reply. As Elias turns to go, Percy turns to Bahir with laughing eyes. "So," he says. "/Muse/--"

"What!" Taking mock-offense in Percy's amusement, Bahir lifts a hand to give Elias a saluting wave as he sets off, and then turns the gesture into a lean forward to tap the door closed. "Bye," is called muffled. His voice lowers to a softer murmur, and words flow indistinguishable.