Bull went to his dresser drawers and held up an old blue plaid shirt. "Before we head back into town, and by the sound of it, you may be here a while longer than you had originally anticipated." He tossed the shirt to Drake. "So unless you're planning on wearing that same set of clothes for your entire stay, I suggest we find ya a change of clothes."
Drake accepted the shirt and held it up to his frame. It was immediately clear that it was substantially too big. "Uh, thanks Bull, but it might be too big…" He held the collar of the shirt to the waist of his now very dirty black slacks, and it easily could have been a belt for him.
Bull let out a hearty laugh. "Bahah! And that was one of my older shirts that don't fit anymore!" He took the shirt back from Drake to save him further embarrassment. "Very well. When we get into town, I know where we can get you a change of clothes."
—
Bull and Drake stood once again on the main dusty road that ran down the center of Paradise City. Drake examined the different facades to see exactly what store he needed to visit.
His eyes squinted, trying to make out the faded wooden signs amongst the blinding midday sun. "Where exactly do you purchase your Ether canisters?"
Bull pointed to the General Store. "There, but I need to special order 'em, and they usually come in on the next airship or train in a week or two. I have a few back at the cabin if ya really need to take one apart, but they ain't cheap, and I only use 'em when I gotta." He then looked down at his new friend. "Speakin' of expensive, you got any cash on ya?"
Drake looked up at Bull with the sudden realization that he was trapped back in a time when monetary currency was still the primary source of acquiring goods and services. The Synthesizer, the machine that basically made money obsolete overnight, would not be around for another couple hundred years. "Uh, you mean like… currency? Money?"
Bull looked forward, unamused. "Just by you callin' it 'currency,' I'm gonna take that as a no."
Drake nodded an embarrassed, silent nod.
With a huff of a sigh, Bull shrugged. "Fine, I'll front you for now," he pointed an instructional finger at Drake, "but while you stay here in this time, you gotta work for your money." Then a lightbulb went off in his head. "But, with those fancy dancy 'Tegnyks' of yours, we could take on the biggest jobs and wrangle us some major league Anim-aton bounties!"
Drake sighed, sulked, then shrugged as he accepted that he had no other useful skills that could correlate to the world he was now a part of.
Using Tegnyks came easy and naturally to him—literally, as the implant was fused with his cerebral cortex since he was five years old. However, using Tegnyks here was one thing, but opening a time portal to a specific timeline and date that was stable and safe enough to travel through was a completely different matter. Not to mention not having access to the Computer AI needed to calculate all the necessary adjustments with millisecond precision.
He suddenly remembered his wife and child. With how temporal mechanics worked, if he ever did make it back, it would be as if he never left at all. They wouldn't have aged a day, but for him, time would have passed normally. He could return in a month, a year, a dozen years, or even as an old man. He had to find a way home, but also not rush it. A single miscalculation by a thousandth of a digit could send him to the dinosaur era or
so far ahead that humans were long extinct.
Drake shook his head, pushing the negative and harmful thoughts from his mind. "No, I can't think about that," he thought to himself.
"Okay, Bull…" Drake sighed, looking up at the large man. "Let's get me a set of gear, and once I figure out how to use my Tegnyks in this timeline, I'll work for you, and we can take on those big bounties."
"That's more like it!" Bull cheered, slapping Drake on the back. "Some of those bounties pay more than this whole town is worth! Come on!" He guided Drake to the tailor shop. "Let's get you some gear so you can finally get out of those eyesores." He began to stride toward the tailor. "Just looking at you in all that black is making me sweat…"
—
Soon Bull was leaning at the counter of the tailor's shop as the town's tailor fitted Drake for a new set of gear, the large man's eyes glued to the vision in front of him.
"And legs straight, please," the tailor asked Drake as he used a measuring tape to get his measurements. "So, you're Bull's new boy, eh?"
Confused by the question, Drake looked over his shoulder and down at the older gentleman. "Um, more like a business partner?"
"Ah, partner?" The elderly gentleman looked back at Bull, who gave him a wink. "Yes. Partner. Got it." The old man winked back, then turned to his client to measure his waist. "You must be good then. Bull don't take on many 'partners'."
"Boy's got promise," Bull blurted out, eyeing the round rear of Drake as the tailor pulled his pants tight.
"I'm 25 and a doctor, you know," Drake huffed. "Not exactly a 'boy' anymore."
"Hah!" Bull belted out. "Son, I'm old enough to be your daddy!"
"And I'm old enough to be your gran-pappy," the tailor chuckled alongside Bull as he wrapped up his tape. "Well, all measured up. Give me a few days, and your gear will be ready for pick up." Then, getting a whiff of Drake's very soiled clothing that he'd worn for almost a week straight now, he added, "In the meantime, head over to that rack over yonder and pick out some casual shirts and trousers. You don't want to be wearing your new gear 24/7. And the changing room is to the left."
Drake meandered over and picked out a shirt or two, as well as some linen pants and socks.
He took his clothes into the changing room, which was more like a broom closet with a small curtain. With a relieved sigh, he took off his shirt and pants, realizing they desperately needed to be washed. As he set his dirty clothes down, he didn't notice someone leering at him behind the curtains.
Bull sat in a chair about a dozen feet from the changing room, his eyes glued to the sight before him. The curtain was open enough for Bull to get a full view, and as Drake took off his shirt, Bull softly gasped excited anticipation..
It was clear to Bull that Drake had never worked a physical day in his life, his skin was pale and soft, without a blemish on him. He was fit, but not ripped or muscular, like he took care of himself but maybe worked out three times a week or so. Drake must have been no more than 160 pounds or so. He was thin and lithe, but not so twink frail that Bull could break him without trying, but firm and fit enough that Bull could mount him and have his way with him without any trouble at all.
Bull didn't notice he was licking his lips, when the Tailor giggled, "Partner. Right. Whatever you say, Bull."
Bull looked over at the tailor. "Eh, just give him some time. Business partner for now, but he'll be calling me 'Daddy' before ya know it." Bull winked, grabbing and adjusting his crotch in his trousers.
"Okay then!" Drake said, stepping out wearing a white linen button-up and tan trousers, he stumbled slightly, "Sorry just a little dizzy headed, been feeling queasy all morning. Nevermind me." He collected himself and examined his clothes, "Not my particular style, but much better!"
"Perfect!" Bull clapped his hands as he stood up from his seat. "Alright, old man, how much do we owe ya?"
The tailor tapped away at his register, then paused, feeling the counter and looking around.
All three men paused as the room vibrated, shook, rumbled, and rattled.
"Is that an earthquake?" Drake asked, looking up and around as the clothes in the shop swung.
"No…" Bull said sternly, looking out the window. "Worse." He hoisted the gun from his back sling. "Stampede."