Topic: Delivery!

Lydia Loran

Date: 2007-09-11 13:40 EST
It had taken some time, but Lydia finally finished Harold's suits. The alterations and the ones originally ordered. Six suits in all, which she hoped would be enough, and she hoped the excess would make up for the delay. Each suit was carefully hung up, and had protective plastic draped over it. Packed along with them in a small box were some accessories; Ties and handkerchiefs.

There were quite a few ties and handkerchiefs, in many colors. Though within reason. For Harold, she stayed away from bright colors, away from pastels and pinks. Though there were a couple that were a little.. odd? Understated gradients, small print patterns.. nothing too garish. Perhaps she was just feeling silly when she packed those along in there? Or maybe she was just feeling rather absentminded. It was hard to say.

And of course, accompanied with the suits and accessories, was a brief note scrawled in green ink. Her handwriting wasn't atrocious, no, but a careful eye might be able to tell she hadn't been writing *that* long.


Harold,

I hope these suits fit your tastes, as well as the accessories included. If there is a problem with them please let me know.

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to finish these. There were some unforseen circumstances that put business pretty far behind, and it's taken a little time to catch up.

Thank you for your patience.

-Lydia


The suits, accessories, and letter required two couriers for the job. Lydia paid them well and sent them on their way, giving them instructions that they were to take the items to any other address Harold indicated, should the only one she knew of be a place he didn't want his items delivered:

Harold Lowe
Prosecutor's Office
1 Courthouse Square

HGLowe

Date: 2007-09-11 15:34 EST
Once his personal tasks were complete, Harry took his new tapes and papers back to the Prosecutor's office, taking the long way and still somewhat lost in thought. He was having a harder time than he expected getting his mind off of its introspective tracks.

He had not failed to notice the subtle shifts of the seasons, and the cooler air that was creeping in now at the end of summer. It felt like September now.

He'd known the seasons as a child living in Barmouth; had not paid a great deal of attention to them because they were coded into his very life. He didn't note them consciously, all that much, just felt them and adjusted to them as a matter of course. But when he went to sea, seasons no longer had the same meanings. Summer in Wales could find him in the Godless space between fifty and sixty south; winter in Wales could find him in the tropics. Seasons meant different stars to navigate by, different weather patterns across oceans, shifts in running currents -- seasons meant different things to mariners.

And after fourteen years, he settled in one place and suddenly, they meant something like they had in his childhood. Except this time, Harold noticed them. Readjusted to them, but didn't fail to genuinely take an interest in how they felt and looked and smelled.

It felt and looked and smelled like fall; mostly cloudy, clouds dark edged, the sky between deep blue. The air had a chill; last night, it had a true bite, and he'd worn long sleeves. Still the end of summer life, but the herald to fall, then winter, making its presence known.

He drifted amongst those thoughts until he got back to the prosecutor's office, where his mind was dragged back to focus by the deliveries.

He looked the boxes over, then the suits, nodding to himself. He needed to stop interviewing witnesses and working in plain clothes; it was only a matter of time before Judge Wright became irate by his lack of court decorum. Once he was finished, he read the note Lydia had sent.

The handwriting didn't really put him off; his own was anything but beautiful. And after a moment, he went into his office and penned a reply:

Lydia:

The suits look fine. I will certainly let you know if there are any problems, but from what I can see initially, they look fine. Please send a bill so that I might pay you and your employees for your services.

I hope that things are going better for you. Take care.

-Harold

He put the mail in the post office box on the curb of the courthouse, then went back inside to get everything organized.

Outside, September continued on.

Lydia Loran

Date: 2007-10-04 18:40 EST
September continued on, and it wasn't long before it was gone.

The month dragged for the green haired elf. It certainly wasn't an easy one. Entirely too much happened all at once, timing being cruel. And just when life seemed to be getting to a state of normalcy again, Mason was murdered. Because of Alain's actions though, it helped bring a little closure, and she was looking to the future again, and looking to get back on track with life. Get back to normal.

Of course, when she was down and out, she had acquired herself quite a literal 'to-do' pile. Said pile was a mish-mash of letters and orders and commissions written down, scattered across one of the tables upstairs in The Stitch's work room. If Lydia had any sense at all, she would have taken Ivy's advice about getting another seamstress to help out, she would have let Ivy or Carley help her out a little more, but no, she was stubborn. And any time someone is that stubborn, they usually end up paying for it.

Muttering to herself, she started rummaging through the pile, trying to find some measurements she had taken of someone a couple days back. She needed them in order to work on a commission they had been oh so patient about. She was lucky really, that most of her regular customers had been so patient with her the past month - only a couple people had *really* gotten irate with her.

Sighing a bit as a couple papers fell over the edge of the table, she bent on over to scoop them up, quickly looking them over, though she had to do a second take to one of the letters, which just so happened to be the one Harold had sent her. Back in September.

"Crap..." Muttering, she slapped a palm to her forehead. Sending the bill out to him? Something that had slipped her mind completely. A mental note was made to let Ivy help her out more often before she went scampering about the room, in search of a pen and some stationary. Not finding that, she had to head to the office to rummage around Erin's desk (since Erin wasn't in there at the moment). It was easy enough to find a fountain pen and inkwell, as many as Erin kept stored in there, and the stationary was easy to find too, though it smelled faintly of tea... It'd have to do!

After a bit of contemplation over how to word things, the price and mental math done (possibly not done well either, since she hadn't had the best education in mathematics growing up) she got to work on a response:


Harold,

Apologies for taking so long once again. The past month has been a bit hectic and I've only recently managed to start catching up again. I can assure you I don't always take so long, and this isn't the way things are run at The Stitch. Timing has just been unfortunate as of late.

I'm pricing the suits, alterations, accessories, and labor at 275 silvers. I hope you find that to be a fair price, if not, we can negotiate on it.

-Lydia


Tea-scented letter was folded, stuck in the tea-scented envelope that accompanied it, an address and name was scrawled on the front, and one of Erin's drawers was left halfway open along with a mess on her desk before Lydia went scrambling out to find a courier to send the letter off.

Clerk of Courts

Date: 2007-10-04 20:32 EST
"No, sir, we didn't see him," Jack said, passing the note back to Judge Wright. "But, uh..."

"Spit it out," Wright said, as he set the note next to his dusty gavel.

Bobby chewed down a smirk. "According to one of the Watch that patrols the docks and kinda knows him, he apparently sailed off today with some good lookin' dark-haired broad for parts unknown."

Wright looked up, both of his bushy white eyebrows making north in a hurry. "Oh, did he?" He eyed the note, then, and opened it, giving it a quick read. After a moment, he asked, "Did we ever pay him?"

"No sir. We don't have a budget, remember?"

Wright nodded, then got up. "I'll pay it. Maybe if we ever need him again, the boy'll come in here properly attired."

--

The note and the 275.00 in silver was sent back to the Stitch with a brief note.

Thank you. Consider Lowe's debt taken care of.

-Judge Wright
Rhy'Din Municipal Courts