[ If only because he asked for this (and because it's Markus at the helm of this ship, steering them in the uncharted waters of upmarket fashion in the year of our Lord 2511), Fitz is game. He follows along, occasionally even picking something himself, and only rejecting a select few items that are too out-of-sync with his more subdued personality. Dry remarks happen, inevitably, alongside some whinging about how none of the stores seem to have everything they need, specialising in one thing or another 'cause that's inefficient. Besides, it seems like Markus is having fun, which — well, it might be the sneaky point of this endeavor, doing a recce to see if his dear friend takes care of himself the same way he looks after others. He won't have prodded much yet, but it's there in the way he studies how Markus determines which items of clothing to hand-off and leave behind, hovering beside him all the way (in part because Markus dresses like he belongs here, and Fitz, y'know, isn't at that level).
When Fitz wanders out of the dressing room, he lifts both hands, as if to say well, what do you think. Even as he tries to look neutral, the corners of his mouth quirk, giving away the fact that he's pleased with the cool blue of this suit and sharp lines, if nothing else. By now, Fitz has stopped fussing when Markus asks for a bloody twirl. That's the name of the game today, and nothing he says can be worse than his initial verdict on Fitz's corporate casual wardrobe.
A slow turn for Markus ends with a hand over his face, one blue eye peeking out between his fingers. ]
Good? [ hopeful... ] It's bad, isn't it. [ this is outfit three from this place alone, for fuck's sake. ] No, just fine? Markus, mate, you're killing me. I'm dying.
perfect beautiful legendary
When Fitz wanders out of the dressing room, he lifts both hands, as if to say well, what do you think. Even as he tries to look neutral, the corners of his mouth quirk, giving away the fact that he's pleased with the cool blue of this suit and sharp lines, if nothing else. By now, Fitz has stopped fussing when Markus asks for a bloody twirl. That's the name of the game today, and nothing he says can be worse than his initial verdict on Fitz's corporate casual wardrobe.
A slow turn for Markus ends with a hand over his face, one blue eye peeking out between his fingers. ]
Good? [ hopeful... ] It's bad, isn't it. [ this is outfit three from this place alone, for fuck's sake. ] No, just fine? Markus, mate, you're killing me. I'm dying.
[ HE'S FRAGILE. ]