The armor alone had eaten through half of what Makarov gave us, which left the actual clothes-and-essentials run feeling a lot more budget-conscious than either of us would’ve liked.
My half of the shopping went fast enough — a few shirts, pants, boots that actually fit, done and paid for inside of twenty minutes.
Erza’s half took considerably longer, mostly because it turned out there were some fairly basic essentials nobody had ever actually explained to her, growing up the way she had.
“You need actual underwear, Erza,” I said, for what felt like the third time, deeply regretting that this conversation had somehow become my responsibility.
“It’s not optional.
It’s not a luxury item.
Everybody wears it.” “Nobody explained that to me before,” she said, which — fair, honestly, given where we’d both come from.
Neither of us had exactly had a normal childhood full of basic life lessons.
“Well, I’m explaining it now.
Go get some.
Please.
For both our sakes, let’s never discuss this topic again after today.” She went, mercifully, without further debate — but that was when the real problem started, because apparently having just been informed this was a thing she needed, Erza had no idea what size any of it should actually be, and decided the solution to that was to keep coming back to me to ask.
“Does this look right?” “I don’t — Erza, I’m seven.
I do not know clothing sizes.
I don’t even know my own clothing sizes half the time.” “You’re the one who told me I needed it.” “That doesn’t make me an expert on the specifics!” This happened three more times before I finally flagged down the shop lady, who took one look at the situation, sighed the exact same sigh Porlyusica had greeted us with the day before, and offered to help Erza properly.
Erza, predictably, balked at that too.
“I don’t need her help,” she said.
“You clearly do,” I said.
“She works here.
She measures people for a living.
I am a seven-year-old boy who has never once in his life had this conversation before today and would very much like to never have it again.” “Fine,” Erza huffed, “but you’re staying too.” Which is how I ended up standing awkwardly to one side while the shop lady patiently walked Erza through sizing basics, occasionally glancing at me like she was silently asking why exactly I’d been dragged into this in the first place.
I picked up more about the subject in those ten minutes than I’d ever wanted to know, purely by osmosis.
We bickered the entire walk back to the guild afterward — Erza insisting she could have figured it out herself eventually, me pointing out that “eventually” wasn’t really an efficient use of either of our afternoons, both of us too tired and strange-day-worn to actually let the argument go even though neither of us meant much by it anymore.
Makarov was waiting for us back at the guild hall, looking pleased with himself in the way of a man who’d already sorted out several problems on our behalf without asking.
“Dorms are ready for you both,” he announced.
“Gray, Cana — come show our new members around, would you?” Erza’s enthusiasm for this plan was, predictably, minimal.
“I can find my own room,” she said.
“Nonsense,” Makarov said, already waving Cana over.
“Go on, get settled, make some friends.
That’s an order from your guild master, if you need it phrased that way.” She went, reluctantly, dragged along more by Makarov’s insistence than any actual desire to socialize further, and I ended up walking with Gray toward the boys’ side while Cana led Erza off toward the girls’.
“So what’s your magic?” Gray asked, once we were out of earshot of the girls.
“Haven’t seen you use anything yet.” “Distortion magic,” I said.
“Space-based, mostly.
Cover distance fast, make a weapon out of nothing, bend things off their path if they’re thrown at me.
Still figuring out the edges of it.” “Huh.
Never heard of that one.” He held up a hand, ice crystallizing across his palm in a neat little flourish.
“Ice-Make.
Runs in my family — well.
Sort of.
Long story.” “Everyone here seems to have a long story.” “Yeah,” he said, with a short laugh that had more weight behind it than the moment strictly called for.
“Guess that’s kind of the whole guild, honestly.” The boys’ dormitory, when we reached it, turned out to be less a peaceful living space and more an ongoing low-grade disaster — someone’s laundry draped over furniture that clearly wasn’t meant for drying clothes, a half-finished card game abandoned mid-round on a table, someone’s snoring audible from a room down the hall despite it being the middle of the afternoon.
“It’s usually messier than this,” Gray said, with the air of someone genuinely trying to be reassuring.
“That is deeply concerning information,” I said, staring at a pile of what might have once been someone’s shoes.
Still, chaotic as it was, there was something almost comforting about it — the mess of actual people actually living somewhere, instead of the sterile emptiness of a cell.
I found my assigned room, dropped my newly bought clothes into it, and sat down on an honest-to-goodness bed for the first time in longer than I wanted to think about.
Chaotic.
Loud.
Definitely going to trip over someone’s abandoned laundry at least once a week.
I could get used to this.