Thread: Grab Life by the Horns [Massfanatic/Squish]

RE Grab Life by the Horns PearlheartSquish He gave a small nod as she accepted his explanation. Whether or not she was willing to believe it, it was the story he was going to stick to, so it was something of a relief that she'd decided to take it, rather than dragging this out any longer than needed. His eyes darted down as she suddenly shifted her weight, kicking open the moss hatch and pulling the wicker lid away. He watched as she crouched down and scooped something out of the hole. His features brightened somewhat as she drew out his clothes, tossing them to him. He caught them in one large hand, checking them over to inspect the fresh hole the elf had sewn up. It all seemed in order. Though the stitching was certainly not professional, it seemed like it would hold for long enough for him to make it to another city and get it properly patched there. Before he could offer thanks, she turned again and spoke. He frowned, somewhat, and the frown only deepened when she elaborated on the severity of his wounds. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the wound twinge, and paused. Now that he wasn't in combat mode, his plentiful muscles demanded less blood, leaving his head clearer and significantly less... spinny. Which was what allowed him to catch her half-muttered curse. Immediately he began to wonder what she'd meant, but he quickly decided that would come later. For now, he had clothes again, and if the mother's words were any indication, he'd been stared at quite enough. He quickly began to dress. First things first, the loincloth. A t-shaped piece of fabric, he laid it out on the grass and rolled the cross-bar into a rope-like band, which he tied around his waist, the strap hanging in the back. Reaching between his thighs, one hand grabbed the cloth strip, while the other gripped his heavy balls, pulling them up, and with them, the thick, meaty shaft. With practiced precision, the swath of pale blue fabric came up in the front, engulfing the oversized package.Despite being compressed by fabric, the bulge in the front of it was still nearly the size of a watermelon. Up, through the waistband of the garment, the fabric came, then down, hanging in front of the bulge. It did little to preserve his modesty, however. Then, the frostsilk underarmor. Nerubian silk, woven into a fine cloth and dyed a pale blue, the garments were designed to be worn as a layer of added protection and comfort underneath armor. While they certainly wouldn't stop an arrow, the fabric would remain intact, and make it possible to pull the arrow from the wound without tearing out a chunk of flesh with it. It was simply functional, and as such, the clothes weren't particularly attractive to the eye. First, a pair of trousers, which clung to his thighs tightly, to reduce friction and prevent binding. Being tailored for him meant they hosted a sizable pouch which cupped his groin, providing full support, set underneath a set of laces to tighten the garment at the waist. The last thing someone in four layers of armor mid-battle needed to worry about was suddenly having his package shift around and get crushed between his thighs during a meanuver. The cloth flap of his undergarment came up over the laces, concealing them from sight. Then, the shirt. Long sleeves provided protection all up his powerful arms, but they had to be tight, to keep them from bunching up and riding up the arm, or folding, to dig into his skin. The chest was tight, as well, and the collar went up to just the base of the neck. No buttons or metal of any sort, either, the garment simply stretched to fit. The lack of metal added a layer of protection against lightning and electrical magic. The outfit also came with a hood and gloves, to protect his head and hands from the pinching and binding of mail, but Vigoro decided that would be excessive without the rest of his armor, and simply tucked the extra garments into the back of his trousers. With his genitals and most of his scars concealed, the tauren stretched his weary muscles, working the stiffness of a week asleep out of them. There were a few times when his head swam, but the moments passed quickly, and he stopped immediately whenever his wound twinged. Feeling somewhat better, the tauren began to make his way around the tree, watching where he stepped. He may have been lucky thus far, but it didn't look like the moss and wicker lids of those hidey-holes would support his weight, and he certainly didn't want to fall into one. Now with the scent of fire and food in the air, his stomach was becoming more insistent in it's demands to be fed, grumbling loudly as he rounded the side of the tree, his eyes searching for the elven trio and the food.