Drake looked down at his simple clothes, then at Bartholomew's immaculate suit. "You know what? Yeah. Let's do this. If I'm going to be traumatized today, I might as well look good doing it."
"Excellent attitude, sir. Right this way."
As they walked toward the men's section, Drake's inner rogue stirred. *Operation: Accidentally Get Lost And Definitely Peek At Elsa in her panties is officially underway.*
He cracked his knuckles and whispered under his breath, "Let's see just how good this place's security really is."
Bartholomew's monocle caught the light. "I should mention, Sir Lorenzo, that I have exceptional hearing. And reflexes."
Drake's scheming grin died. "...Noted."
"Splendid. Now, shall we start with something in navy blue? It would complement your roguish complexion beautifully."
*This is going to be a long day.*
---
Meanwhile, in the Lingerie Chamber ...
Elsa arrived at the Ladies' Intimates Section—a silky paradise where satin-lined walls shimmered under enchanted lighting. Racks of delicate bras sparkled in rose pinks, sky blues, and midnight blacks. Lush panties fluttered on enchanted hangers like seductive butterflies.
"Ooh!" Elsa's eyes lit up with genuine excitement.
"It's been forever since I treated myself something this fancy," she murmured, holding up a midnight blue lace bra. "No way that pervy creep gets a peek before I do my fittings."
She loosened the ribbons of her sorceress outfit. The gown whispered down in a cascade of silk, revealing smooth white undergarments and legs that could summon admirers from three kingdoms.
But then—a chill ran up her spine.
"Something's not right." Elsa paused mid-strip, her sorceress instincts prickling. "I just know that idiot's planning something perverted."
She peeked through the changing blind. Empty corridor... but her gut screamed *Danger: Drake.*
"Time for insurance."
She grabbed her staff. "FLUFFBUN—PHASE SHIFT!"
FWOOOOOM!
Light burst from her staff as her Echoform materialized, hovering like a magical security drone.
"Good boy," she cooed, patting his ethereal form. "Guard duty. If that panty-peeker shows up... ice him. Mommy needs new lingerie."
Fluffbun's ears twitched. He nodded with the solemnity of a soldier accepting a suicide mission.
"Do that, and I'll get you a nice snake snack later."
"Eeeehp!" Fluffbun flipped midair in pure joy.
Elsa returned to her fitting. Fluffbun's eyes glowed, scanning the perimeter like a very cute, very deadly sentinel.
---
"Here we have silk shore trunks—excellent for swimming or seaside romance," Bartholomew said, displaying the swimwear with professional pride.
Drake's eyes sparkled with opportunity.
*Now's my chance.*
"Time to execute... Panty Peek Alpha." He grinned like a devil. "Uncle Ben said 'with great power comes great responsibility.' Well, my responsibility is clearly reconnaissance."
He whispered: "PARALLEL!"
FWIP!
From his shadow emerged an identical Drake, equally handsome and equally stupid.
"Wow. I'd totally date me," Drake observed.
"Same," Clone-Drake replied.
"Fist bump?"
"Bump!"
"Alright, Other Me. Stall the butler. I'll sneak off and fulfill my destiny."
"You got it! But if you get caught, I'm throwing you under a carriage."
"Deal."
Back with Bartholomew...
"Hey, Bartholomew!" Clone-Drake puffed up with fake bravado. "Show me the fanciest underwear you've got! Silk boxers! Gold embroidery! Give me the premium stuff!"
Bartholomew practically sparkled. "A man of exquisite taste! Right this way, sir!"
*Perfect.* Real Drake broke away and crept toward Elsa's section.
But there, floating at the entrance like an adorable executioner, was Fluffbun.
"Damn it, Elsa. You actually posted a fluff-guard."
Drake crouched behind a shoe display, muttering, "You paranoid, gorgeous sorceress. I swear I'll peek even if it kills me."
He grabbed a nearby loafer and hurled it down the corridor.
THUD! clatter-clatter.
Fluffbun's ears perked. He zipped away to investigate the disturbance.
Meanwhile, back in menswear...
"What was that noise?" Bartholomew's head turned sharply.
Clone-Drake froze. "Noise? What noise? Must be... settling. Old building, you know."
"I distinctly heard something." Bartholomew's eyes narrowed with butler-ly suspicion.
"Sir! Wait—don't go! You haven't shown me the platinum-threaded briefs yet!"
"I'll return momentarily," Bartholomew said, brushing past Clone-Drake.
"Crap!" Clone-Drake panicked internally. *If he catches Real Me peeking, we're dead. Or worse—banned from all of Sidonia!*
Elsa modeled pastel bras and matching panties in the mirror, turning this way and that.
"Ooh, I look incredible," she giggled to herself. "Drake would probably get a nosebleed and pass out."
Then she paused, frowning at her reflection. "Wait. What am I even thinking? Drake's just a friend..."
Her eyes lingered on her image. The way the lace hugged her curves, the way the silk caught the light...
"But... I kind of want to show him?" Her cheeks flushed pink. "What's wrong with me?!"
---
Real Drake crept closer to the changing area, heart hammering.
*Just behind this curtain. Elsa's right there in her bra and panties...*
His face burned red. "Please, gods of perverted justice, let me witness some celestial curves. Or even just a glimpse of a butt cheek—"
He reached for the curtain with trembling fingers.
Clone-Drake watched in mounting panic from across the store.
"NO! BARTHOLOMEW'S GONNA CATCH HIM!"
Then—
BOOOOOOOM!!!
A thunderous explosion shattered every window in the boutique. Glass erupted inward like crystalline rain. Shockwaves rippled through the air, toppling mannequins and sending fabric flying.
"GAHH!" Drake was launched backward into a rack of belts.
*CRASH!* Bartholomew slammed into a mannequin with enough force to crack its porcelain face.
Clone-Drake clung to a curtain rod for dear life. "WHAT THE HELL?!"
Elsa's intimate fitting session came to an abrupt halt. "What in the seven moons was THAT?!"
Fluffbun lay buried under a pile of designer scarves, ears twitching helplessly.
THUD! THUD!
SCRAAAASH... CLINK!
Two figures climbed through the smoking wreckage, boots crunching on shattered glass.
The first carried a wicked war axe across his back, tattoos glowing with cursed runes that seemed to writhe across his skin. The second held a compact arcane cannon that hummed with residual heat, wisps of smoke curling from its barrel.
Both wore tattered black trench coats stitched with what looked suspiciously like monster bones.
The axe wielder grinned, revealing teeth filed to sharp points. "Oops. Hope we didn't hurt anyone."
"Please," the cannon guy snorted, cracking his neck. "They're probably dead already."
His weapon released another puff of smoke with a satisfied "BA-THOOM!"
Bartholomew emerged from the rubble, monocle spider-webbed with cracks, blood trickling from his temple. "Almost... but not quite."
Drake groaned from his belt-rack grave. "What the actual hell is happening?!"
The axe wielder stepped forward, his weapon scraping against the marble floor.
"Well, well, Havoc. Looks like we still have some playthings left."
"Oh, goody," Havoc sneered, adjusting his grip on the cannon. "Just in time for the real entertainment."
The axe wielder slammed his weapon into the floor, sending cracks spider-webbing across the expensive marble.
"Kneel and grovel, you pathetic worms," he growled, green light beginning to dance around his tattoos.
"Before the FEARSCAR TWINS!"
Fire erupted behind them like the opening of hell's front door.
Their synchronized laughter echoed through the devastated boutique:
"MUWAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"HYAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Drake blinked through the smoke and debris, bruised, bleeding slightly, and still somehow half-aroused from his earlier mission.
He looked from the psychotic twins to the destroyed lingerie section to Bartholomew's cracked monocle to his own clone still clinging to the curtain rod.
"...Okay," he said finally. "Definitely not the kind of peek I was expecting."
Bronns hefted his axe with a grin that promised violence. "Hope you enjoyed your little shopping trip, pretty boy. Because it's about to get a whole lot more... educational."