"It's finished, Mr. D'Vestavio," Stefan, the slightly stooped and grey-haired tailor said, as he and Locke made their way into the back of Highlife Haberdashery. While the front end of the store was much more subdued in activity, with salesmen genteely folding sweaters and suggesting tie patterns to suit-clad businessmen as they slowly circled display tables like hawks waiting for the kill, the back was its polar opposite. Sewing machines clattered, side-by-side with men and women hand-sewing buttons and stitches into dress shirts, their own blouses and button-ups rolled up to the elbows to keep out of the way. There were a couple of designers in there as well. Athelstan, dressed in a gray suit complete with a burgundy red fedora, was busy directing a half-elf in tacking the first fit of a jacket on a much taller and bald human (he looked, to Locke's eye, like a minor noble, though not so minor as to not have the money for a bespoke suit from Gerard). Also present was Cottar, a halfling who had to stand on a stool just to get a good look at the pair of trousers one of his charges was working on. Spotting Locke out of the corner of his eye, Cottar waved to him. The ice elf smiled back, then continued on his way through the floor, expertly ducking and dodging past the busy bees making clothing for the rich and famous.
They took a sharp left once they were close to the back, taking a few steps down a hallway whose cinder blocks were painted an near-blinding shade of white. They passed doorways that led to the offices of some of the foremen, tailors, and seamstresses who kept things humming, until they reached what appeared to be a janitor's closet. When Stefan opened the door, though, its true nature was revealed. There were black metal rods anchored on the left and right side of the closet for hanging clothes on. On the right side hung defective apparel: a white dress shirt with a hole in the left arm pit, a pair of black trousers with a rip in the crotch, a pair of khakis with one of the belt loops missing on the right front hip. On the left side, with no other articles of clothing surrounding it, hung a tuxedo jacket. At the top, near the black shawl collar, the coat was white, but soon tapered into a greyer hue further down, until it turned black at the bottom and the cuffs. The jacket's most striking feature, however, was not the gradient shift in colors, but the floral pattern that was on it, in hues of white, grey, and black that climbed up and down the front and arms, contrasting perfectly with the jacket's many shades. Locke spent a good minute staring at the garment, his jaw nearly dropping.
"It's finally dried, Mr. D'Vestavio," Stefan said, breaking the silence between the pair. His eyes narrowed just slightly, but Locke's attention was firmly upon the jacket. "Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?"
"Of course, mate," Locke replied, finally turning to beam at the older gentleman. "Whoever you brought in to paint this pattern, send them my way. I owe them a big thank you and a little extra dosh on top of what I already paid."
"Well then, I won't waste any more of your time, Mr. D'Vestavio. I will let Violetta know that you approved of her work, and you will be sending a bonus her way. Have a good time at Beltane, sir." Stefan took a pair of slow steps backwards, out of the closet, and, with the smallest of smiles and a nod, bid Locke adieu. It wasn't until well after Stefan's footsteps had faded out that Locke reached forward, to remove the wooden hanger from the rod gingerly. He clutched it close to his chest, breathing in the smell of fresh silk blended with polyester, before pulling it away from his body. Ever so slowly, he carried it back into the main tailoring area. His eyes scoured the tables and workbenches, before he finally found a pile of clear plastic dry-cleaning bags. He took one, with a murmured thanks to Athelstan and the half-elf he was still talking to, before carefully covering his jacket. Once that was done, he practically ran off the floor to the front end of the store. His grin was nearly as wide as it had ever been.
((Picture of Locke's outfit can be found here.))
