Arming Coat Novels & Stories

From Brian, a gift could mean anything, but at least this wasn't an animal. I unraveled the package and it was a furry coat. It was lush and warm, and a golden shade of brown. The coat’s sleeves were long, with a collared neck, and it stopped at my hips. It also had huge pockets! I loved pockets. It would perfectly fit over most of my clothes. I darted a look at the door nervously, before letting go of my towel. I needed to feel the unreal softness on my skin. And I was right. It felt amazing on my skin, and I knew I'd hold on to this one for a while.

She asks as we turn around and slowly start making our way to Eaglewatch. I give a nervous laugh, "The coat I was wearing. You know, the one with the royal symbol in gold silk on it." I scratch the back of my neck anxiously. She nods, purses her lips, and takes a deep breath through her teeth. "So, they'll be hot on our feet?" I agree with her.

But something was missing, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I rummaged through the bag, and there it was - a stunning red leather coat. I grinned, feeling giddy with excitement as I swirled the coat around my body. The coat was a work of art, and I couldn't wait to show it off. It was long, reaching my ankles, and the slick, modern design made me feel powerful and alluring. I examined the collar, standing upright and bold, and I traced my fingers along the zipper running from my bust to my thigh. The coat was worth a whopping thirty thousand dollars, and I reflected on the extravagance as I sprayed on my favorite perfume.

It was still too high to permit the turning of his head more than an inch or two to either sides, but this he assured Elizabeth was nothing at all out of the way. The next business was to get him into his new coat, an elegant blue creation made of the prescribed Bath coating, with long tails, and silver buttons. It fitted him so exactly that the services of the footman had to be engaged to assist in inserting him into it. It seemed at one time as though not even the united efforts of two able bodied men could succeed in doing this, but after a grim struggle it was done, and Patrick, panting slightly from his exertions, turned to his sister and proudly asked her how he looked.

she whispered to the empty, 3 AM studio, her pencil snapping from the pressure. She took the "armor" of her first, hand-sewn coat, and she weaponized it. She found a black, Japanese wool so dense it was like a solid object. She bonded it with horsehair canvas, a technique from medieval tailoring. She built a coat. The shoulders were not just sharp; they were a threat. They were wings, blades, a statement of pure, unadulterated defiance. The collar didn't just stand; it encased the neck, a fortress of its own.

“Shit. Where are you?” “Hiding in a closet.” “What can you see?” I roll my eyes. “Amara I’m literally in the tiniest hallway closet in a basement.” “Tell me anyway.” I look around. “Coats.” “What colors are they?” “Just tell me.” “Uh. Dark green and black. Bright orange. One that looks like it will come down to the feet of whoever’s wearing it.” “Okay. What else?” I look down. “Boots.” “Is there mud on them?”

"When I told him you didn't even have a coat to your name, he left this behind for you. He knows how brutal the winter is for someone without a wolf's blood-warmth." I approached the table slowly, my fingers brushing against the thick, tightly woven wool. It was a high-grade military-style winter coat, insulated with dense fur along the collar and reinforced with heavy leather straps across the chest. It was built for an enforcer, maybe even a commander, impeccably tailored, heavy enough to shield someone from a blizzard, and completely solid. "He just... gave this to me?" I asked, a bit skeptical. In the Crimsonridge Pack, nothing was ever given for free. Every scrap of food, every tunic, e

She'd be coming to the damned party. I almost let out a low cry of frustration. "Great, now let's go." She said, grabbing my arm. "But first, we're wearing these coats. This is the pack's mansion—no one should see us dressed like this until we get there." Christy replied, draping a luxurious fur coat over me that covered my body completely but still gave off the feeling that I wore something scandalous beneath it. I felt much better with the coat providing coverage. "Great, now let's move."

That is exactly what I meant. She left her seat on the island and went back to the studio. She stopped in front of the dress form that had a garment on it the charcoal and gold coat, the tenth piece, the anchor of the collection and she gazed at it. Addressing the coat, she said: "They named you, Mum. It took four years and a ton of patience from both of us, but they named you." The coat was draped over the mannequin. Outside the window, the city was going about its December routine. The light was that of a December day in New York cold, bright and showing the true colors of everything.

As the client peeled back the packaging and beheld the gentle hue and meticulous craftsmanship, her eyes widened with delight. “I love this color! What do you call it?” “Oatmeal,” Isabella replied. “Would you like to try it on?” The client eagerly extracted the gown, revealing an accompanying undershirt. “What’s this?” “This is a specially designed undershirt to complement the oatmeal - colored cashmere coat,” Isabella explained. “If you don’t mind, it’s my token of appreciation. However, as a complimentary item, it may not match the exact quality of the coat, but it still holds a touch of the style that’s become my signature, influenced by the beauty and mystery of the werewolf world.”