[TM] 278 - What are you wearing?
The kids at work call it his uniform. His wife calls it his shmatte, a private joke that still makes them both smile…his good Catholic girl tossing Yiddish in his face just to get a rise out of him. Either way, it’s what he knows and what he feels comfortable in.
He only remembers that he started wearing dark colors because someone suggested that it would make him look impressive. Too tall, too thin, he needed something working in his favor so he chose a dark wool suit one winter and liked what he saw in the mirror.
It’s become a thing over the years: the classic image of the cop in dark suits and crisp white shirtsleeves, the fedora riding low on the brow and the trenchcoat with the collar turned up. It’s not a look he assumed, merely a look he’s always had. He was slick before slick was cool, as his granddaughter likes to say.
Somewhere along the way, the archetype became his own when the dark glasses came into the picture, or the flash of glittering amber from his exposed gaze. Another classic look was his to own when his smiles stopped being simply dazzling and became frightening with the addition of delicate and deadly fangs.
Cops and vampires, dark suits and shielded eyes. The civil liberties crusader as a walking stereotype…more than once, the papers have had a field day with it.
Like most things, however, he doesn’t really care…because Artie knows, with the single shred of true vanity he allows himself, that nobody on the planet pulls it off better than him.
Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 268
He only remembers that he started wearing dark colors because someone suggested that it would make him look impressive. Too tall, too thin, he needed something working in his favor so he chose a dark wool suit one winter and liked what he saw in the mirror.
It’s become a thing over the years: the classic image of the cop in dark suits and crisp white shirtsleeves, the fedora riding low on the brow and the trenchcoat with the collar turned up. It’s not a look he assumed, merely a look he’s always had. He was slick before slick was cool, as his granddaughter likes to say.
Somewhere along the way, the archetype became his own when the dark glasses came into the picture, or the flash of glittering amber from his exposed gaze. Another classic look was his to own when his smiles stopped being simply dazzling and became frightening with the addition of delicate and deadly fangs.
Cops and vampires, dark suits and shielded eyes. The civil liberties crusader as a walking stereotype…more than once, the papers have had a field day with it.
Like most things, however, he doesn’t really care…because Artie knows, with the single shred of true vanity he allows himself, that nobody on the planet pulls it off better than him.
Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 268