05.6.20
Ochrefeldt Tailoring
It is to much confusion and a slight bit of alarm that Sav opens their eyes to find themselves in their bed at the Cog and Sprocket—only a torrent of squeaking from Aloysius and some corroborating whistles from Nurie’te relieves the alarm, as does the sight of a tray of food left by the bed. They have to sit for a moment to gather their composure, oddly touched by the gestures—and, they have to admit, they feel much better after a full—16 hours of sleep?!
They stare at their pocketwatch, horror rounding their eyes, and leap out of bed. Promptly, they get tangled up in the yards and yards of loose, now-stained white silk that they’re enshrouded in and thud to the ground. Shite! I borrowed this outfit from Karal and need to return it, he’ll ha’ been expectin’ it the day right after!
They inhale the fresh bread, butter and jams that Peach left, reviewing their notes from the workshop to refresh their memory. One of the notes about the Star-touched reminds them of a percolating idea and they dash off a quick message to Peach, unwittingly scrawled in the same cipher they use for their notes: Gazette. False flag opinion. And opposite? Don’t accidentally want to stoke. “They’re crazy and you never know what crazy folk could do.” “They’re just people and should be judged as such. Look at Kendall’s Well.” blether. Different names of course, anonymous drop. Will take care of that bit. But more convincing, you’re a writer. Fishing. Burn this after reading.
On their way out, they push the note under Peach’s door, make a quick stop at the closest bathhouse (even they can tell they’re odorous, after—three, four days?), grab a sausage roll along the way and hurry toward Ochrefeldt Tailoring. Thankfully, it’s both on the way to the workshop and just around the usual time that they visit, after the shop flips its sign to CLOSED. Karal greets them with his usual aplomb but not his usual flow of words, watching them with eyebrows raised and lips pursed. Sav eyes him, taken aback by the silence, and says, “Well?”
“Well? Well? I’m the one who ought to be saying that. Well, it’s been days! How did the dinner party go???”
Sav could hear each additional question mark present in the force of the tailor’s indignation and half-winced. She’d been trying not to think about it—or at least, that part of it. Easy enough, considering everything that had come afterward, but… “Dinner was fine. Got an invite tae a special performance of the Winged Truth play that’s been makin the talks, at the Orfanage. Fair guid, considerin’ ‘twas all children.”
Karal makes an impatient gesture, snatching the samples back before carefully smoothing them out. “Yes, yes, I saw the opening night and it was lovely, wonderful to see Vale on stage again, but! You said you wished to make an impression! Well, did you? I know for a fact you looked amazing, or at least that my clothing looked amazing, so—what happened?” He shakes out the shirt, laying it over the counter, and tsks. “Stained! And so wrinkled! Were you rolling around on the floor?” His eyebrows fly up. “Were you rolling around on the floor? You’d best have made a good impression if it came at the cost of my Mid-Year Salon Sample #8.”
“Ah… nay, Karal, beggin’ forgiveness but I think I’m no fit for your clothin’,” Sav says, shaking their head. “Nary a comment.” They pause, a stray memory pushing past the wool in their head, and add, “Nay, Bax did say he liked how it sat, but I hink he was bein’ nice ‘cause he’s a sweet sort ae lad an’ that’s mair t’ your credit anyhow.” And really, it was for the best. They’d been foolish trying to dress up and attract attention—that was the last thing they were supposed to be doing. The idea was to crush this stupid infatuation, not feed it.
Hasting past the oak-gall taste of disappointment, they add, “I saw what ye did for Peach an’ Bax, though—quite liked it, ye really found whit suited them. The way ye accented his eye was deid brilliant.”
Karal eyes her, but to her gratitude, accepts the evasion. “Yes, a charming pair there. You really ought to bring them back more, that girl has such a sparkle about her that draws the gaze like a veritable lodestone, and he’s got a simply splendid physique, not to mention that eye! I’m astonished you three are friends, honestly. I’ve been considering a new concept for my salon displays to the Houses, you know—instead of automaton mannequins, live models. It should be quite novel! You really must pass on a message to them to seek me out—I pay my assistants quite well, you know.”
Sav tries to imagine Peach and Bax spinning in fancy clothes in a salon full of rich folk, and suppresses a smile. One would take to it like a duck to water, and the other—they can’t even picture him willingly approaching within a mile of that situation.
The smile fades, brows knitting, as a piece clicks into place in her tired brain. Salon. Full of rich folk. From the Houses. Perhaps even involving invitations into the biggest ones.
“Karal,” Sav says slowly, “dae ye ever get invited t’ dae salons for House Diamante or House Saphaisle?”
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