Diz headed straight back to the Mordecai garrison, fully intending on making the best of himself for the nights activities. His stuff was stashed in his old room in the barracks, somehow still empty after almost a month. It technically wasn't his, but prior to his excursion he'd made sure to clear it with the quartermaster.
He opened his small pack, hoping against common sense that he had something that could pass as something other than military attire. Unfortunately, he was doomed to disappointment.
But then he had an idea - Ansgar's Hand was garrisoned here as well, and he knew of a young corporal that was just his size - before Ansgar's Hand had formed, they'd done this sort of thing before. And even better, he lived in Reajh.
So, once again, he dashed out of the barracks and into the sunlight. Trying desperately not to seem rude, he headed back into the lower districts, a few blocks yet from the bakery. Finding the door he was looking for, he banged on it. Hard.
"Jyrryk! Open up! It's Diz. Open for your Captain, maggot!"
A moment later, the door opened to reveal a young man, not quite in his twenties.
Diz shouldered past him, and shut the door.
"I need to borrow some clothes. I have.... something going on tonight."
Jyrryk gave a lopsided grin. "Met another lady, Diz? So many, Captain. Eventually you've gotta pick one."
"....you know what? I like this one. She's beautiful, she owns a bakery, and she's very, very kind." It was obvious - around friends and fellow soldiers, he'd dropped the charming tone. Now, he was halfway between casual and professional.
"Sounds like a keeper. What's her name?"
"Nyla Whitewood. Her bakery isn't far from here...I'd like to get this done fast, and maybe do some work around the barracks for some spending money. I'm still paying for Sleipnir and my armor, and every copper I get goes toward that."
".....alright, let's see what we can find you, Captain. Whatever you get, just keep it. I know you're needing some things while we're still off duty."
----------------
A Few Hours Later
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Diz was back at the barracks, at that time still garbed in his thick cotton gambeson. He'd talked to the quartermaster about some odd jobs, making sure not to tell too much - there was enough rumors circulating about him as it was.
But, he'd found himself cleaning the barracks, which as one could imagine, was a nasty job. But it was now done - he had enough time to bathe, dress, and be off.
So this he did, and he found himself still wearing his cotton gambeson, chainmail, and a black jerkin with blue embroidered trim. Not too fancy, but not shabby either.
Dates were...alot of work when you were broke.
Still deciding not to go unarmed, he slung just one of his broadswords on his back, and made for the bakery.
And just in time, as a moment later, Nyla stepped outside, and Diz found himself blinking several times.
"....well, it seems that it doesn't matter what you're wearing, Nyla...." his tone was serious sounding, almost grim.
But then, that charming smile and twinkle of the eye came again, most surely a reassurance that he had bern making a joke.
"You're still a pleasant sight, both in an apron and a dress. You look beautiful."
