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31_days2012-07-05 08:11 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-05 08:11 pm
[July 5] [Echo Bazaar] The Cure's in the Clothes
Title: The Cure's in the Clothes
Day/Theme: July 5, 2012 "any particular style, make, or cut"
Series: Echo Bazaar (I guess technically it's "Fallen London" now)
Character/Pairing: my character (Frey Frankel), various
Rating: PG
Author's comment: If you play EBZ and you want a friend, I[/Frey :)] am "frayedfuture." The description of the "Fourth City Rags" inspired this anecdote.
"I am in need of a new suit," Frey Frankel explained upfront to the Dapper Tailor, taking off his dark hat (just slightly less careworn than the suit) and running his hands along the brim. "An acquaintance of mine- a certain heiress- she spoke to me of you. You came highly recommended."
"Well, over the whims of the Bazaar, I would rather think a gentleman of your…" the Dapper Tailor eyed him from his tousled hair down to the floor, "Caliber would prefer something specifically suited to him." The Tailor paused to give further consideration to the kitten poking her pink nose out of one of Frey's outer pockets. Perhaps this gentleman was not quite up to snuff.
"He's changed his mind," Frey thought, though he aimed to keep his intuition from showing as clearly as the Tailor's thoughts. He leaned further against the counter. In an inner pocket his rat-made rifle clinked against a handful of First City Coins.
The Tailor perked up. "And I'm certain that I'll be able to make something to fit your budget."
Ah, economics- the universal language. Frey dipped a pair of fingers into his pocket and stroked the kitten's head.
"Anything in particular you have in mind, sir? A style, make, or cut?"
"No, no," Frey sighed- he wasn't about to spend that First City currency, he was saving them (soon enough the game would be afoot) he'd settle for something he could pay for with more ordinary change, "The cut is no matter, I'll cope with any color, aside from the need, of course, for it to fit, I have but one specification: it cannot speak."
"Speak?" the Tailor eyed his would-be customer with even more suspicion. He would hardly refuse him on the grounds of being mad, but such an individual could be harder to please; it was of increasing importance to know exactly what he meant.
"This suit," Frey plucked at the black fabric, "I suppose I should be more specific- it doesn't reach quite the volume that one might attach to the idea of "speaking," but-- At night, it whispers."
"Whispers, does it?" The Tailor couldn't deny that he had heard rumors before…fabrics from the Fourth City that hummed or sang sewn into garments to lull infants to sleep or calm the anxious… Was the man crazy or the fabric rare? His garb hardly appeared exotic, but…
"I've been losing sleep to it."
That part might be true. Certainly there were dark circles around his eyes… "I'll take the commission."
"I appreciate it, sir."
Yet, even after they haggled, the suit was made, and the customer received it with pleasure and payment in full, he refused to part with the mysterious whispering rags. He wore the new suit home to whatever distant, dismal part of London he inhabited, but carried the old one back with him over his arm.
The Dapper Tailor, his curiosity hardly whetted, watched with disappointment. The kitten, transferred into a new pocket, popped her head out and meowed.
Day/Theme: July 5, 2012 "any particular style, make, or cut"
Series: Echo Bazaar (I guess technically it's "Fallen London" now)
Character/Pairing: my character (Frey Frankel), various
Rating: PG
Author's comment: If you play EBZ and you want a friend, I[/Frey :)] am "frayedfuture." The description of the "Fourth City Rags" inspired this anecdote.
"I am in need of a new suit," Frey Frankel explained upfront to the Dapper Tailor, taking off his dark hat (just slightly less careworn than the suit) and running his hands along the brim. "An acquaintance of mine- a certain heiress- she spoke to me of you. You came highly recommended."
"Well, over the whims of the Bazaar, I would rather think a gentleman of your…" the Dapper Tailor eyed him from his tousled hair down to the floor, "Caliber would prefer something specifically suited to him." The Tailor paused to give further consideration to the kitten poking her pink nose out of one of Frey's outer pockets. Perhaps this gentleman was not quite up to snuff.
"He's changed his mind," Frey thought, though he aimed to keep his intuition from showing as clearly as the Tailor's thoughts. He leaned further against the counter. In an inner pocket his rat-made rifle clinked against a handful of First City Coins.
The Tailor perked up. "And I'm certain that I'll be able to make something to fit your budget."
Ah, economics- the universal language. Frey dipped a pair of fingers into his pocket and stroked the kitten's head.
"Anything in particular you have in mind, sir? A style, make, or cut?"
"No, no," Frey sighed- he wasn't about to spend that First City currency, he was saving them (soon enough the game would be afoot) he'd settle for something he could pay for with more ordinary change, "The cut is no matter, I'll cope with any color, aside from the need, of course, for it to fit, I have but one specification: it cannot speak."
"Speak?" the Tailor eyed his would-be customer with even more suspicion. He would hardly refuse him on the grounds of being mad, but such an individual could be harder to please; it was of increasing importance to know exactly what he meant.
"This suit," Frey plucked at the black fabric, "I suppose I should be more specific- it doesn't reach quite the volume that one might attach to the idea of "speaking," but-- At night, it whispers."
"Whispers, does it?" The Tailor couldn't deny that he had heard rumors before…fabrics from the Fourth City that hummed or sang sewn into garments to lull infants to sleep or calm the anxious… Was the man crazy or the fabric rare? His garb hardly appeared exotic, but…
"I've been losing sleep to it."
That part might be true. Certainly there were dark circles around his eyes… "I'll take the commission."
"I appreciate it, sir."
Yet, even after they haggled, the suit was made, and the customer received it with pleasure and payment in full, he refused to part with the mysterious whispering rags. He wore the new suit home to whatever distant, dismal part of London he inhabited, but carried the old one back with him over his arm.
The Dapper Tailor, his curiosity hardly whetted, watched with disappointment. The kitten, transferred into a new pocket, popped her head out and meowed.