shapes of men nor beasts
BOW TIE DADDY
Just have your fun, you old son of a gun
Just have your fun, you old son of a gun
LOCATION: Somewhere floating in space
- In his ship
SONGS: Bow Tie Daddy, Dino's song, Paper Bag
PINTEREST: X
- Pod's aesthetic
OPEN TO: Anyone. This post is meant for designers, tailors, creatives, artists, collectors, personal stylists, consignors/sellers, any kind of character that might have an eye for fashion and sense of style that is interested in working with Pod IC to perfect his truly unique and luxurious wardrobe (that he sometimes destroys amidst his shapeshifting silly business)
- Could also be a potential outlet/partnership for Pod trying to sell valuable wardrobe items he finds along his travels and vice versa
- Just a a for fun slice of life post with the opportunity to have an established relationship!
After 133 years of being, there were only a few things in life that never lost their lustrous appeal. Sleeping naked in clean sheets. Sunsets. Deserts. The sound of boots on crunchy topsoil. Sipping blue bantha milk from a chilled glass. Credits. Weddings. Pod loved weddings. He reveled in the idea of being invited to such an exclusive event, to have a grand reason for celebration and consumption. It was joyful. It was romantic. It was carefree. It was intoxicating. Literally. Best of all, it gave Pod a reason to dress up. To REALLY dress up. Having survived past a century in his chosen career of treasure hunting, smuggling and collection, Pod most certainly had acquired some pieces of great value and transcending elegance. Artifacts of a time long past, but of a fashion never forgotten. Now, as a general rule Pod was never one to sacrifice style for efficiency. He would never leave his ship in anything short of luxurious, his own personal goal was to reek of space pirate wealth and success. To show up better dressed than everyone else. I suppose some of this desire to present himself so handsomely was in part due to his upbringing, a lonely enslaved childhood that beat a solid sense of greed and consumerism into him once he was freed...but another story for another time I say.
Of course due to his hypersensitivity to touch and textures Pod preferred large, billowing silhouettes. His every day work wear is ill fitting and wrought with layers and pockets, perfect for stashing his tools of trade. He was keen on having as little fabric touch him as possible, and as such he was not afraid of showing some skin. If it was socially acceptable or practical to go shirtless all the time he would. Nevertheless, his shirts hung off of him in often unbuttoned or so large in size that his chest was exposed, a space Pod decorated neatly with jewelry and other prizes from his endless adventures. All of this is simply to say...Pod LOVED dressing up, and having an actually reason to break out his most coveted apparel was truly a treat.
Im sure you can all imagine his enthusiasm when his ship's comm dinged with a new message. A wedding invitation. The daughter of one of his favorite clients, a man he had procured (stolen) and transported some priceless trinkets and resources for throughout the past decade, was getting married. Ah, a joy it would be. Pod prided himself on invitations like these, being impactful and notable enough to secure a personal invite from another influential client. An eager RSVP was sent.
Fast forward to a month or so before the event, he was off to the closet in preparation. Clothes started to get strewn across his master bedroom, as if he was some teenage girl getting ready for a night out. Mind you, the wedding was some number of weeks from now, but having a break between contracting jobs he found himself in a hiatus. In his free time he found himself eager to prepare for this party, that and to catch up on some philosophical and archeological readings. Had to keep his aging mind sharp you know. When rooting through his closet, he came to a drastic conclusion. Nothing fit. Too tight, too big. Nothing felt right. Too stiff, too soft. Nothing looked good. Too obscure, too boring. Nothing was fitting his grandiose vision. How is this possible? Hasn't he spent decades accumulating the best closet known to man?? Apparently not...apparently he had nothing he could work with.
He tasked one of his ship's crew members to get him some contacts. To get him in touch with someone or something that could help in some way or another, and fast. Time was simply running out, and Pod was desperate to achieve his Slay-The-House-Down-Boots-Kitty-Gurl look.
And with all that, the scene is set.
Pod lounged in his study, a magnifying glass to his golden eye while surrounded by open history books and archeologic parchments. He fiddled with some dusty old chalice, turning the cup slowly in his hands. He was attempting to date the piece, an artifact analysis. An audible 'ding' indicated a new message came through on his hyperwave transceiver. Placing the chalice down, he moved lazily to the transceiver, his interest peeking when the incoming communication seemed to come from an unknown individual. I wonder what they would have to say...
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