She chuckled softly, aiming a poke for his middle before urging him to face her once more, "Isn' tha' 'posed ta be excitin'? Look a' all th' work ya've done!." She offered him a beaming smile, "Ain' no need ta be all anxious."

"Except that I have to ask Gerard for money and support," Locke said as he spun around, trying out his best ballet dancer imitation for her. "Really, that is the only option I have."

"Nah, tha' th' more simple par'." She giggled a little as he spun around, "Ya go' great thin's ta offer 'im an' his store, an' he knows th' quality o' yer work. 'n top o' all tha', yer a fantastic charmer." Her smile was a bit cheeky.

"I don't quite know that he fully appreciates my charms." He was cheeky right back, as the nervousness seemed to slide right off of his face. "Am I just being silly about this?"

"I dunno 'bout silly. Bu' jist be confiden', shiny? Know wha' you'll do if he says yes, an' wha' you'll do if he says no. An' no one kin truly 'preciate yer charm otha 'n me, an' I like it tha' way." She tapped the tip of his nose gently, "I think I know pretty well wha' you'll do if he says yes. So, wha' happens if he says no?"

Locke shrugged his shoulders. "Keep doing what I am doing. Work for Gerard and keep saving my dosh. It would be a delay, but it would not be the death of the dream, savvy?"

"Wha' 'bout approachin' a differen' clothin' line ta support ya? Is tha' 'n option, too?" Seeing that she wasn't going to be completing anymore of the windows, she took steps around Locke so that she could return the cleaning supplies back beneath the kitchen sink.

While Katarina went into the kitchen to put the cleaning supplies into storage, Locke sat on the couch and removed his tie, draping it casually over the coffee table. "One of the other houses on Benson Boulevard, you mean? I suppose it is, but I owe Gerard the world, Katarina."

"I know, an' 'm nah tryin' ta sugges' ya doin' somethin' tha's gonna make ya feel disloyal. I jist wan' ta make sure ya've measured all o' yer options. Ya know I like Gerard, too." Once completing her task, she moved to the living room again and sat next to Locke, "I thin' ya'll kin reach some sor' o' agreement. I really do."

"I think so." He paused, smiled at Katarina, and nodded his head for confirmation. "I think so. He may not know what to do, though, when he hears I'm expanding into women's clothing as well."

"Maybe he'll... be impressed?" She responded to his smile with a hopeful one of his own, "Tell 'em ya go' th' bes' model 'round an' ya go' a good eye fer wha' looks good er nah." Now she offered a teasing wink.

"I suspect he will be surprised, given my history to date and exclusive work with men's lines." He leaned over to rest his head on her shoulder, dark blue eyes flicking up at her. "With my looks and your brains, how can I possibly go wrong?"

She gave him a sidelong glance, then chuckled, "When it comes ta this particular subject, doesn' it go th' otha way 'round?"

"I was trying not to insult your intelligence. With your looks and your brains?" His eyes grew wider, as a hopeful expression crossed his face.

Laughing, she turned her head slightly to press a kiss to his forehead, "Aren't ya sweet? Makes me feel like yer gonna be askin' fer somethin' nex'."

"Nah," he drawled out in imitation of her accent. "You already gave me what I needed. Love and support. Anything else is a pleasant and unexpected bonus."

"Wellll," she drawled out her first word with her accent as he did, "love an' suppor' I go' in endless supply. Th' res', well, depends 'n how ya play yer cards, shiny?" She rested her head on top of his, enjoying the tease.

He reached a hand up to pat her affectionately on the head, before idly running his fingers through her hair. "I always play my cards well, mate. Always."

She rolled her eyes. Even though he couldn't see it, he could probably sense the gesture. "An' dun I know it, fer here I am, an' all tha'." She waited a moment, before reaching up and grabbing his hand that was playing with her hair so that she could kiss the back of it, "Feelin' betta, now?"

"Quite. As always, diola lle*, Katarina. Shall I pay you back for your advice and tender loving care by fixing dinner?" He removed his head from her shoulder so that he could look at her more directly.

"While 'm nah gonna say tha' ya gotta pay me back..." Two fingers "walked" up his nearest arm, "the gesture wun go by unnoticed." She offered him her sweetest smile.

Locke grinned at the gesture, before clapping his hands together, though not so loud as to startle or deafen her. "Well, that settles it. What would you like for dinner? I may even brave the stove tonight."

"Nah need for tha'. I think we go' plenty ta work wit', though... yer definitely th' brains an' 'm definitely th' beauty fer this operation." She offered him a wink before placing her arms behind her head in the universal symbol of relaxing.

*thank you

West Marketplace

The neighborhood west of the Marketplace had seen better days many years ago. Back when the market was located further west than its current location, it had been the busy, bustling heart of RhyDin commerce, but time had taken its toll on the district. The new Marketplace, located closer to where the heart of the city had shifted, forced many businesses to move east with it, or close their doors permanently. The buildings couldn?t move, though, and so many of them sat there empty, dusty, and unused. It was too commercial, too brash and bruising and gritty, and a large stone wall sat between it and Seaside. For the developers and realtors of Seaside, this was the kiss of death. They wanted nothing to do with redeveloping it, and so much of it sat unused. It was only because the residents of Seaside didn?t want riff-raff climbing over the walls and ruining their reputation that the West Marketplace didn?t go the way of the Docks or the WestEnd and become riddled with crime.

Where time had left West Marketplace bloodied, Sanyumato had nearly knocked it out. It had been nearly three years since the storm had hit, and while the government had managed to fix up much of the storm damage that hit the apartments and shops in the neighborhood, the slow exodus from the neighborhood that had begun decades earlier became a fast flight. Townhouses abandoned in the storm stayed unoccupied. Corner markets that had temporarily closed shuttered permanently, with yellowed signs still hanging in the window promising that they would reopen soon. Half-empty blocks were now almost entirely devoid of life, save for a stubborn pizzeria owner who refused to leave, or the elderly apothecary whose customers couldn?t afford to leave ?or were physically unable to make the move. Some citizens wondered if they should just knock down the wall, knock down the buildings, and let Seaside have it instead.

Not Locke, though. As a nearly life-long resident of the city, he knew almost all of its nooks and crannies, and could remember the times when the neighborhood was struggling, but still surviving. It killed him to hear of how poorly things had gone since Sanyumato, and he wanted to do something to help. Of course, the fact that rent in West Marketplace was dirt cheap compared to the rest of the city, while still being reasonably close to the clientele he wanted to attract, was a contributing factor.

He had his pick of buildings to lease here. Some of the signs hanging in the windows had been ripped, while others had faded from months, if not years, of exposure to the sun. Some were boarded up, either partially or completely, while others were still in the process of repairing the storm damage three years past. If one took the buildings purely at face value, they might be depressed, but Locke had a vision.

It was a vision he was trying to share with the young realtor from RhyDin Realty Company. Locke?s realtor looked like he was barely out of university, clean-shaven and with a short haircut pushed into place with gel. He wore black wire-rimmed glasses, and seemed to adjust them frequently as he went with Locke through the neighborhood, clutching a clipboard with a list of addresses that RRC owned. Every now and then, when Locke rejected a building for not fitting ?his vision?, the realtor pulled nervously at his oversized red tie, the only flaw in an otherwise well-put-together business suit. A pity for him that Locke was dressed to the nines as usual: a slim-fitting black suit with a white dress shirt and a tie that alternated horizontal stripes of bright blue and burgundy. Still, Locke liked the guy. He was clearly a new hire at RRC, and had been given this neighborhood because no one else at the firm wanted it. Despite those disadvantages, he knew what he was talking about. Now if he could only find a building that would fit Locke?s store?

?That?s it!? Locke proclaimed, slapping the realtor on the shoulder lightly.

?Wh-what?s it??

?That?s it,? Locke said, pointing at a building. As the name on the top of the building suggested, The Leduc Brothers Automotive Company building had long ago housed a car dealership. At some point in the past, the dealership had closed, and attempts to convert the building for other uses had robbed it of its beauty. They replaced the showroom glass with smaller windows, tiled over the terracotta detailing, and closed off the space inside with solid walls. Still, despite its current appearance, Locke could see the space?s potential.

?That?s it?? the realtor asked, incredulous. It was one of the last places he had thought Locke would think to rent. It was way too big for one store, especially a clothing boutique like Locke wanted, and as it stood, it wasn?t a very attractive building.

?Trust me, mate. With a little spit and elbow grease and?renovations, we can make this a shining jewel in this neighborhood?s crown.?

?We??

?Why, yes. You, me, the RRC, and?well, I shall just have to be exceedingly persuasive in finding other tenants.?

?Other?tenants?? The man scratched his head.

?Well, of course, mate. I can neither afford nor need all this space. But look?you can fit a restaurant in half of this building-? Locke walked to one side of the structure and seemed to pace off the space that would be needed. ?-then space for L.D. 50, and another boutique store or two. A jewelry store, perhaps, or a parfumerie, or even a women?s clothing shop. If you break this big space-? Here, Locke spread his arms wide for emphasis. ?-into smaller, bite-sized spaces, you will not only have more flexibility in what you can put in there, but?you can increase the rate per square meter. Savvy??

?Um?yes??

?Good! Tell you what, in the meantime, you put me down on reserve for this, I?ll see who I can convince to join me in this endeavor, and then we will all meet and work on the final details. Does that sound agreeable to you??

?You?mean?? The realtor?s eyes grew wide as saucers, as the realization dawned upon him.

?It?s all provisional at this point, of course, but?? Locke paused for dramatic emphasis, before flashing his trademark bright grin. ?I?ll take it!?

May 20, 2013 R.S.C.
Highlife Haberdashery, New Haven

Gerard Smith?s office at Highlife Haberdashery never seemed to change. He had the same walnut desk, the same black desk chair, the same shelves filled with fashion magazines and catalogs, and the same filing cabinets. He still had the same computer he had purchased a year earlier, a desktop model with a flat screen monitor, but sitting next to the mousepad was a tablet and stylus. Much like his office, Gerard had changed little over the years. His gray suit was crisp and well-tailored, his hair was neatly parted with no signs of gray or white, and his face had barely wrinkled. One might look at him and swear he had found the Fountain of Youth -- or become a vampire ages ago. Then again, he did work in fashion. Facial creams and Botox were practically miracles in and of themselves these days.

Locke had visited Gerard?s office so many times (almost always with his mentor seated in the same position), he almost didn?t notice the unfamiliar person already sitting in one of his mentor?s black leather chairs on the other side of the desk. The ice elf smiled at Gerard, then suddenly cut his eyes back to the man in the chair. He was dressed in a black pin-striped suit with a pale yellow dress shirt and white pocket square. He stood and bowed once Locke was fully inside.

?Locke, I would like you to meet Mr. Lim. Mr. Lim, this is Locke D'Vestavio-Smith.?

?A pleasure to make your acquaintance,? Locke said, matching the bow. When Mr. Lim had finished bowing, Locke held out a gloved hand for him to shake. The man in the pin-stripe suit gripped Locke?s hand firmly at first, then loosened his grip when he felt the cold. ?Terribly sorry about the chill. I am afraid it cannot be helped.? Locke twisted his lips into an apologetic smile.

?Quite all right,? Mr. Lim assured Locke, in lightly accented Common. ?It is nice to meet you.?

?Gerard,? Locke turned his boss, that apologetic look still on his face. ?I would have dressed up had I but know you were bringing me in to meet guests.? He tugged on the sleeves of his brown and black grunge styled sweater.

?No worries, Locke. In fact, we are here today to talk about your clothes.? Prompted by Gerard?s statement, Mr. Lim began to circle around Locke. He peered closely at his sweater, then crouched to examine his black work boots, distressed jeans, and studded belt. When his examination was complete, he hopped back up, nodding.

?Very well constructed. You designed these clothes, Mr. D'Vestavio-Smith??

?I did. With some assistance from Gerard, of course.?

?You are too modest, Locke,? Gerard said, waving off the comment with a laugh. ?I absolutely trusted your instincts. My approval was merely a formality.?

?And these as well?? Mr. Lim held up a catalog for L.D. 50, showcasing some of the line?s more mainstream offerings.

?But of course!? Locke stood up straight, pretending to adjust a non-existent tie. ?Nothing is 100% original in fashion design, of course, but I would like to think that my minces can suss out what works well together, what does not, and what can be improved upon with a few detailed tweaks.?

?Minces??

?He means eyes, Mr. Lim,? Gerard chipped in. ?Minces. Mince pies. Eyes.? Mr. Lim nodded, and then continued.

?I see my sources were correct. Your project will be perfect??

?Beg pardon?? Locke interrupted Mr. Lim?s musings.

?Tell me, Mr. D'Vestavio-Smith, what are your plans for the future? Professionally, I mean.?

?Well currently, I am quite content with my roles at L.D. 50 and working with Gerard here at Highlife. The dosh is good, the benefits are excellent, and I love the people I work with.?

?But the future, Mr. D'Vestavio-Smith. Where do you see yourself in 10 years? Where do you see L.D. 50??

Locke?s fingers rested on his chin, pondering the man?s question. ?I suppose I see my future here, at Highlife Haberdashery. Taking over for Gerard Smith, if he ever decides to retire. No offense, mate.?

?None taken, Locke, though you might be waiting for quite some time.? Gerard laughed lightly, then gestured for Mr. Lim to continue.

?I hope you will not take offense to this as well, Mr. Smith, but I see his biggest potential at L.D. 50. With a few...twists and tweaks.?

?We?ll discuss the nitty-gritty details later, Locke, but the quick and dirty story is that Mr. Lim wants to buy into L.D. 50 and expand it.?

?Now, Mr. Smith has explained to me that he is the sole owner of L.D. 50, but...both of us agree that you are the soul of the store.?

?Mates, you?re going to make me blush.? Locke mock-waved at his face with an invisible fan, then busted out a wide grin. The grin subsided some as he processed Mr. Lim?s earlier comments, and he tilted his head to the side to study the man. ?Twists and tweaks??

?Yes. Where I am from originally, we have stores in a category called ?fast fashion.? ? Mr. Lim paused for a moment to adjust his pocket square, before continuing. ?They watch the fashion shows like hawks, see what goes over well on the catwalk and what does not, and find a way to translate it into clothing that hits the stores sooner, at lower price points than the couture houses.?

?And you believe L.D. 50 can shift from boutique to fast fashion.? Locke?s fingers traced their way up and down his cheek.

?I do. The question, Mr. D?Vestavio-Smith, is do you?? Mr. Lim?s eyes turned to Locke, sharp in spite of their warm brown color. Locke found himself settling into the chair beside the investor, doing his best imitation of The Thinker. Finally, the ice elf straightened up his seat, nodded his head once, and stuck out his hand.

?I still want to hear the details, of course, before I fully commit, but...I am intrigued. I?m in, mate.? Locke?s smile practically split his face in half, and Gerard couldn?t help but chuckle as the two men shook hands.

November 19, 2013
S?o Amador

After a fitful night?s sleep spent encased in a sleeping bag on top of a queen-sized bed, Locke began his preparations for the day. He filled the bathtub with ice cubes from the ice machine, turned the knob as far towards ?C? as he could, and took a bath. He had room service bring up fruit salad and a plain, un-toasted bagel with cream cheese, and mowed through the meal quickly while studying Mr. Lim?s notes on their latest recruit for L.D. 50. Apparently, his boss was willing to go to the ends of the earth to find new talent. Locke was more than a little cynical that there was anything -- or anyone -- worth mentioning in this backwater tourist town.

After a couple of hours of studying, Gon?alo stopped by Locke?s room and picked him up. The pair didn?t talk as they walked through the gilt wallpapered hallways, down to the glass elevators, and into the opulent lobby, filled with airy paintings of the sea, massive china vases, and a literal cornucopia filled with tropical fruit. Locke stopped for a second to snag a mango, before they left the building and went to Gon?alo?s car.

The drive to their destination was quick, quiet, and uneventful. They pulled up in front of one of the brick buildings they had passed on the way to the hotel yesterday. Sandwiched between a branch of a local bank and a real estate office was a boutique. A handful of dresses hung on racks outside, just to the side of the main door. Hanging above the front window was a sign, green-lettered with flowers blooming out of the top: Heliconia. Gon?alo opened the door for Locke, and the ice elf made his way into the store.

Inside, the floor plan was open and airy, the ceiling lofted high. Most of the merchandise was on the walls, carefully hung on racks attached to them. A pair of cream-colored chairs sat in one corner, next to a mannequin wearing a long black dress covered in printed daisies. The white walls were covered in vinyl flower decorations. A simple cash register and stand sat near the entrance, while a dressing room was squeezed into the back corner opposite the front door. An olive-skinned woman carrying an armful of floral-patterned dresses was the only person present on the floor. Locke stepped up to her with a bright grin on his face.

?Hello! I have a 10:30 appointment with Bailey Raptis??

?One moment,? she said, as she set the dresses down on a mirror-glassed table in the center of the store. ?I?ll go get him for you.?

Him? Locke lifted a brow, but stood and waited patiently as the worker opened a ?Staff Only? door and stuck her head inside. She began talking rapidly in a Romance dialect he couldn?t understand. An adenoidal voice, much slower and hesitant with the language, replied. Satisfied with the voice?s response, the woman leaned back out to address Locke. ?He?s ready for you.?

The office was little more than a glorified closet, with shelves bolted into the walls in a desperate attempt to make more space for his things. Bolts of fabric leaned against the banged up desk, the smudged window behind the desk, and a dented filing cabinet. Several sketching pads, fabric scissors, colored pencils, sewing needles, thimbles, and safety pins overwhelmed every inch of work space. A short, thin man sat behind the desk, his office chair creaking as he leaned back in it. He wore a white voile blouse with a v-neck, whiskered blue jeans, and brown ankle boots. His black hair was pixie cut, he?d rimmed his eyes with dark eyeliner, and his lips were a pink hue only possible with lipstick application. When Locke stepped in, he rose and held his hand out to shake. ?Bailey Raptis. Nice to meet you, Locke D?Vestavio.? After releasing his hand, Bailey glanced down at his own. Even through Locke?s gloves, he could feel the chill.

?Smith. D?Vestavio-Smith.? Locke quickly shook his head, as an apologetic look crossed his face. ?Terribly sorry, mate, don?t mean to be pedantic. D?Vestavio is perfectly fine. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mr. Lim has been gushing about you for months now.?

?Mmm.? Bailey pursed his lips together. ?I?m not really interested in Mr. Lim?s interest. Never heard of him. You, on the other hand??

Locke posed and preened in the tight room. ?Not so terribly famous as I used to be, but I am well-known in all the right circles, savvy??

?Sure, sure.?

?Aces. Wait-? The ice elf cut himself off. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward to get a closer look at Bailey. As if suddenly struck by lightning, Locke hopped back, eyes wide as dinner plates. That reaction soon gave way to another one: joyous laughter. He clapped his hands together with glee. ?I thought you looked familiar, mate! You?re Robin Pasque, are you not? The bloke who walked for both a men?s and women?s collection at Fashion Week 2010??

?...yes?? Bailey scratched his head.

?Bloody brilliant, mate! C?mon, let us get you a ploughman?s right quick.?

May 1, 2015
L.D. 50, New Haven

If Locke had ever lived out a busier today than this one, he certainly couldn?t remember when. It was one of those days he wished he could clone himself, but alas, he could only be in one place at a time. Still, he didn?t feel rushed or harried one bit. The team he had built over the past two years was more than up to the task of opening two new stores and re-launching a third. Roger and Misha had proven themselves capable employees in their time at his West Marketplace shop, and so Locke had promoted them to manage the new locations in New Haven and Old Temple, respectively. With those two gone, and with Locke taking on more of a general manager?s role, that left the store manager position in the original shop open. Fortunately, a round of interviews located the perfect candidate for that position: Davvin, a gnome who had defied his family full of airship mechanics to work as a small-size model. With the upper level management on board, Locke left the in-store associate hiring to them and returned to the larger details: design, sourcing, finance.

The three primary partners each went to one of the three stores opening: Mister Lim to Old Temple, Gerard to New Haven, and Locke to West Marketplace. They each cut a ribbon at their respective locations, and Locke spent an hour or so afterwards hob-nobbing with the first customers, most of them the owners of the other businesses in the old Leduc Brothers building. He then took a carriage over to New Haven, where L.D. 50?s new flagship store would be located.

225 Rue Chanel was just off of Benson Boulevard, in a neighborhood that was an architectural mish-mash. On one side, a small coffee house with a sidewalk patio was tucked in between the new shop and a parking lot. On the other side, a three-story building designed to look like a miniature castle in brownstone stood watch. Law offices and accounting firms occupied the top two floors, and an Indian-Mexican fusion restaurant took up the first floor. L.D. 50 sat between them, trying its best to stand out. Nearly all of the front was brass and glass, with large full plate windows framed by metal. The edges of the front were painted white bricks, with geometric patterns in relief above the second-story windows. A look at either side of the building revealed that the white bricks were the dominant construction material used in the building, though on the side of the building facing the coffee shop?s patio, someone had painted a mural map of the New Haven neighborhood.

Inside the shop, it felt like a reclaimed warehouse. Ductwork was visible in the ceilings, and exposed red brick stood out in spots against the dark wood paneling that covered much of the walls. The floors were stained oak that had been deliberately worn in so that there was no shine, in order to make it feel more homey. The bottom floor was dedicated to clothes, with women?s on one side and men?s on the other. Dressing rooms sat in the back, along with the offices. In the center of the floor was the staircase up to the second floor, which had a few articles of clothing but was mostly dominated by men?s and women?s accessories. Shoes, purses, ties, hats, gloves, belts, and jewelry were located here. The open floor plan allowed customers on the second floor to look at those on the first, and vice versa.

Locke stood by the doorway to the staff office, looking towards the front of the store. It had been hectic for much of the time he had been there, but Roger and his staff had kept things under control, getting customers through the checkout lines as quickly as possible and with a minimum of fuss. A few minutes before lunchtime, a slight lull hit the shop, and Roger took the opportunity to step away from the cash register. He approached Locke with a wave, a smile banishing the harried expression that had been on his face.

?Morning, boss.?

?Good morning, mate.? Locke?s voice was bright and cheerful, as was his grin. ?You blokes and birds seem to have things well under control here.?

?That we do.? Roger?s eyes drifted toward the front, then snapped back to Locke?s.

?Looking for James, mate??

?I am,? Roger rubbed his neck, laughing. ?Lunch is the only time that works for both of us today to celebrate our-?

?Anniversary,? Locke said, finishing the sentence. Guilt twisted up his features. Beltane was the ideal time for L.D. 50?s re-launch, but it was also Roger and James? first wedding anniversary. Like so many in RhyDin, they had fallen under the spell of the springtime holiday and been handfasted in front of the fires.

?Yep.? The rubbing stopped, and Roger?s hand fell back to his side. The dark-skinned elf stared down at the floor.

?Listen. Take the rest of the afternoon off.?

?...What??

?Take the rest of the afternoon off, mate. Go to lunch. Then go celebrate your anniversary however you want to. Don?t spend it in here working. I?ll take care of things here. Your first wedding anniversary should be more than ?Oh, we ate lunch together and then I went back to work and didn?t see him for the rest of the bloody day because he burns the midnight oil spinning records at the clubs.? I want you to have a better first anniversary than mine.? Locke?s eyes softened.

?Aren?t you supposed to stop by Old Temple later and check on Misha??

Locke waved off the question. ?Misha will be fine. I will call over there and let them know what?s what, and that I will be stopping by tomorrow. Go.? Locke punctuated his final word by shooing Roger with his hands.

?...Thanks, boss.? He patted Locke on the shoulder, before half-walking, half-running towards the front door. The ice elf watched and chuckled under his breath.

?Nessa mela*,? he sang to himself under his breath, before the reverie was broken by a shout from the checkout line.

?Sir?? Locke turned his attention to the voice, immediately spotting the fast-growing queue. A young teenaged elf with flowers braided into her hair looked overwhelmed by the line. Her partner on the other register had apparently left for lunch. He swiftly crossed the floor of the shop and twisted through the merchandise and past customers to stand beside his clerk. She turned to him and mouthed a ?thank you?, then addressed the next patron in line.

Running his own business was busy, chaotic, complicated, unpredictable, and perhaps the most exhausting thing he had ever done. Yet Locke knew there was absolutely nothing else in the world that he would rather be doing.

* Young love.

July 13, 2015
New Haven

?BAILEY!? Locke?s shout carried through the hallway, where both L.D. 50 and Highlife Haberdashery?s workers shared office space. In the years that the ice elf had worked under and then with Gerard Smith, he had never raised his voice to anyone there. Time had filed off his rough edges, his former need to mix it up when things got tough in his life. Today, however, something had clearly happened to set him off, and yelling wasn?t a skill that just vanished.

As Locke stomped down the hall, dressed in a pastel pink suit, white dress shirt, black tie with white polka dot stripes, and cordovan oxfords, the few designers and models walking or conversing in the hall quickly ducked out of his way, into nearby offices, meeting rooms, or restrooms. He watched nervous eyes flick back and forth between him and the walls and heard the sighs of relief and whispers as he walked past them and onto his final destination: Bailey Raptis? office.

Locke didn?t bother knocking. Instead, he threw open the door to his assistant creative director?s office and folded his arms across his chest as he stood in the doorway. Unlike his old office in S?o Amador, Bailey?s new office had peach-colored paint on the walls that wasn?t chipped, beige carpet on the floor that wasn?t ripped, and a large, clean window behind him that looked out on the street below. Everything that Bailey had put in the office himself, though, was a near carbon copy of his messy old work space. The scuffed and scratched wooden desk, the dented filing cabinet, and the shelves still bolted into the walls flanking the desk were all carryovers from Bailey?s days at Heliconia. Bolts of fabric leaned against a folding chair in front of the desk, while an easel sat in the front right corner. Andressa, Bailey?s assistant and the general manager of wisp, sat in another wooden chair directly across from Bailey. She wore a gray pencil skirt and jacket with a white blouse and nickel-colored platform sandals. She had turned to face Locke with a smile when the door opened, but the stormy expression on his face drove away her grin quickly.

?Andressa, will you excuse us for a moment?? It was framed as a question, but the look on his face let her know there was only one way to answer it. She nodded, standing up and shuffling past Locke once he moved out of the doorway. Once she was out of the room, Locke slammed the door shut behind her. Locke stepped into the room, arms still crossed, as he scanned Bailey and his desktop. Bailey?s usual style was nowhere to be found this morning. Instead of his usual mish-mash of masculine and feminine, he wore a white men?s button-up, a navy tie that hung loosely around his neck, and gray trousers. He had eschewed his morning make-up routine, leaving the dark rings under his eyes untreated. Among the usual tools of the trade -- fabric scissors, thimbles, safety pins, scraps of cotton, needles and threads -- was a rusty scabbard, within arm?s reach of Bailey.

?Bailey, what the hell are you doing?? Locke?s voice was no longer the shout that carried through the building earlier, but it was loud enough that anyone within a few feet of the door could still hear him.

?...What??

?Oh, you damn well bloody know what!? Locke jabbed a gloved finger at the bladed weapon laying across Bailey?s desk. ?You cannot bring a weapon in to work!?

?Why not?? Bailey puffed out his cheeks and lips, but without make-up, much of its effect was lost.

?You...you just can?t!? Locke sputtered

?I was never told there was a rule against bringing weapons into work. You did not put anything on the contract that said I could not bring in a weapon.?

?Because I didn?t bloody well think it needed to be stated!? Locke threw up his hands, letting them slap loudly against his sides. ?Bailey, this is a fashion house, not a bank! Not a jewelry store, or some other bleeding shop that handles large amounts of dosh!?

?But-?

?No, listen to me, mate. We are located in New Haven, the safest neighborhood in the entire city of RhyDin. We have a security guard stationed at the front of the building. We have protocols in place for active attackers, be they armed with magic, firearm, or sword. None of them involve whipping out your own personal sword and attempting to lop the loaves off of the bloody intruders! Do you understand me??

?...? Bailey sat still and silent, staring at the ceiling.

?Oy! Bailey, do you understand me??

?Yes, sir.? Locke ignored the extra bite in Bailey?s tone and the flash of anger in his blue-green eyes.

?Good. Go home, put your sword away, and come back as fast as your plates can carry you, savvy??

?Yes, sir.? With a sullen expression, Bailey nodded, picking up the scabbard and slipping out from behind the desk. Locke watched Bailey exit his office, but did not leave right away. Instead, he craned his neck out into the hallway. There were a few workers who had been loitering nearby, eavesdropping on Locke and Bailey?s conversation, who quickly scurried away when his familiar blue face popped into view. Andressa attempted to fade into the background, too, but Locke shot her a look and tipped his head back towards Bailey?s office. Caught and called for, she walked back into the room with the ice elf.

?Andressa, please tell me you have been paying enough attention to what Bailey has been working on lately and can share those details at our design meeting later this afternoon.? Locke saw how she cringed, and realized he was still using his angry voice. He dropped the volume some and softened it. ?Sorry, mate. I was a bit peeved there.?

?Understandable, sir.? A small smile quickly returned to her face, as she answered the half-question that Locke had just asked. ?I have taken some notes on what Bailey has planned for the fall and winter, and if you give me some time, I could probably cover his share of the design presentation this afternoon. But...he is coming back in, right??

?Who knows?? Locke?s hand flapped in the air. ?I need to cover for all possibilities, regardless. Terribly sorry to have to run you so ragged today. Between running from Little Elfhame to here this morning, your usual duties, and setting things up for wisp #2, I have already put more than enough on your plate. If you do not think you have the time to provide cover for Bailey as well, please, let me know.?

Andressa shook her head. ?I will be fine, sir.? She fired off a salute that closely matched Locke?s familiar gesture, prompting the ice elf to chuckle. ?Leave it to me!?

?Get going, karnarashwe*,? Locke said with a chuckle, shooing her off with the back of his hand. As soon as she was gone, he stepped out of Bailey?s office as well, shutting the door behind him quietly. A wink and a grin were his only responses for those still waiting in the hallway, listening in on him.

*troublemaker

December 14, 2015

Locke sat at his desk and stared at the sales reports from the latest iteration of wisp, frowning slightly. Even with the extra week of sales, it had not done nearly as well as he had hoped it would. The unseasonably warm weather for much of the collection?s run had undoubtedly been a factor, but a niggling worm of doubt kept crawling around in his head. Have we peaked already? Will our next collection do even worse than this one? Before he could descend too far into worry, he shook his head vigorously. No, this is a challenge, an opportunity. And this is not my ruck. Andressa will not learn without some adversity to overcome. Locke pushed aside the reports and was preparing to look at a new set of dress shirt designs when a pair of knocks sounded at his door.

?Message for you, sir!? Two voices from outside his office called out in near-stereo.

?Come in, the door?s unlocked,? he replied. The door swung open, and a duo of messenger lads entered. One was tall and thin, red-haired, freckled, and acned, wearing a large brown overcoat that was at least one size too big for him. The second one was shorter, younger, and not quite as skinny as his companion, with long black hair that nearly obscured his eyes. He wore a ripped-up denim jacket and a beige newsboy cap. They glared at each other as they came in, then spoke up in unison.

?Message for you, sir!? they repeated.

?Um...who wants to go first??

?Me!? the short one raised his hand, while the tall one glowered at his partner.

?All right, all right. We shall solve this the good, old-fashioned way: a coin toss. You-? Locke pointed at the smaller courier. ?Heads or tails??

?Tails.? With a nod, Locke pulled a silver coin off of his desk, showed both sides of it to his visitors, and then flipped it up with his thumb. He caught it with his other hand, and slapped it back down on his wrist.

?Tails it is, mate. You first.?

?Tails never fails! Oh, uh, right. Here you go, Mr. D?Vestavio-Smith!? The kid handed over a water-damaged scroll with Locke?s name on it. The ice elf unwrapped the twine around it, and started to read.

Or tried to read it, at any rate. The problem did not spring from the water damage. Despite bearing clear evidence of having been rained or snowed on, the ink had not run or smeared. No, the problem was that the letter was written in a language he could not read. At first, Locke thought the letters looked like elvish, but it quickly became evident that if it was, it was no dialect he had ever read or spoken before. The only words he had been able to understand (because they had been written in Common and not this nightmarish corruption of his native tongue) were ?Tower of Water? and ?Bailey Raptis?, which was signed at the bottom. He rolled the note back up, tied it up again, and put it aside.

?Your turn, mate,? Locke said, gesturing toward the older messenger. The teen handed over the white envelope, also addressed to Locke, and took a step back, hands folded in front of him.

***

Locke,

If you are reading this, it is too late for me. For your own protection, I cannot give you more details about what has happened to me, but suffice it to say you will never see me again.

I am glad that I could call you my friend while I was here. Your support has gotten me through these past difficult months, but my destiny finally calls me, and not even the strongest bonds of friendship can keep me from fulfilling it.

I do not know what will be said about me when I am gone, or what information will be disseminated when everything has come to pass. All I ask is that you do not do this one thing when you have heard the news: seek out more information. Do not investigate what happened. Do not try to avenge me. Do not meddle. Mourn me or forget me, but leave what happened alone. There are powers at play far beyond us, and they will not hesitate to crush you as well.

Thank you for your friendship, and for doing this for me.

Farewell,

Bailey Raptis

***

?...what the bloody hell is going on here? Oy, mate!? Locke pointed at the first boy to deliver his message. ?When did you receive your message??

?Early this morning.?

?And you?? Locke pointed at the other courier.

?I was told not to answer any questions you might ask about what was in the message, or who sent the message.?

?Did Bailey-? Locke held the letter up so that the writer?s name was clearly visible ?-tell you not to tell me when he decided to send it??

?Well, no-?

?Then bloody tell me when he sent the message!? Locke felt his cheeks turn purple as his voice grew louder.

?Two days ago.?

?Thank you!? The ice elf slapped the note down on the desk, before tossing the second runner a silver coin as a tip. ?You may leave now.? He shooed the teen with a wave of a hand, which earned Locke and the younger messenger scowls before he exited the office. Locke held up a blue hand when the first kid started slinking out of the office. ?Hold on, mate. I have a message I need you to send back to Bailey at Twilight Isle.? He rolled his eyes with a sigh. ?Assuming that is where he is.? Locke dashed off a note on a piece of yellow legal paper, ripped it off of the pad, and folded it into fourths, before sticking it in the remaining runner?s hands. ?Just...try and get this to him.? He stuck a few more silver coins in the boy?s hand before sending him on his way. Soon after the courier?s departure, Locke?s fingertips began digging into his temples.

***

Bailey,

I could only read your name and ?Tower of Water? in that bloody letter you wrote me. I have no bloody idea what is going on with you, but I am assuming something has come up to keep you out of the office today. You don?t have to come in today, but please send me a note, written in Common preferably, telling me what the bloody hell is going on with you, as soon as you get this, and we?ll go from there.

Sincerely,

Locke

January 11, 2016

Stepping into Gerard?s office was like stepping into a time machine. Sure, a few minor details changed as the years rolled on -- the gunmetal file cabinets had been dusted today and the RhyDin Wear Daily magazines on the bookshelves bore 2016 publication dates, but the most important things in the room had not been altered. The same familiar walnut desk sat central in the room, as did Gerard?s black ergonomic chair. The telephone, callbox, and lamp were the same as when Locke had first started working there, and the computer, tablet, and stylus had not been updated in at least a year. Most noticeably, Gerard had not changed. Whether it was good genes or something more magical, Highlife Haberdashery?s head seemed to have defied the years. He sat behind his desk, hands folded behind his head and leaning back, an easy smile on his face.

Locke stood and paced by the door, tugging at the fingertips of his gloves and then pulling them back down. He grabbed the door knob, testing to make sure it was locked (it was), and seemed ready to take a seat in front of Gerard, but at the last moment, he stepped back and resumed pacing.

?Locke??

?Yes, sir?? The ice elf stopped mid-stride to look at his boss.

?With all due respect, please take a seat. You are going to drive me crazy.? He flicked his wrist toward the chairs in front of his desk, and Locke finally flopped into the chair. He immediately leaned across the desk and looked at Gerard with pleading eyes. The smile disappeared, as Gerard leaned forward to meet Locke?s gaze. The younger designer pulled back, though the expression on his face stayed the same.

?I?m going to have to fire him, aren?t I??

?Fire who?? Gerard lifted one of his eyebrows.

?Bailey. He turned in a two-weeks notice on Friday.? Locke sighed, while Gerard?s brow furrowed.

?Why would you have to fire him if he resigned??

?I...might have acted a touch impulsively in the moment.? Purple touched Locke?s cheeks as he remembered pulling his assistant director into the restroom and confronting him on his resignation. ?I told him to work up until the day he wanted to leave, take a vacation until February 2, and then make a decision on whether or not he wished to return. I...made the mistake of treating him more like a friend and less like an employee. I?m sorry, mate.?

?No need to be, Locke. Now?? Gerard paused, steepling his hands together. ?Do you have any sense of whether or not he will actually come back??
?No bleeding clue. The last six months have been...difficult at times. Not in the sense of us clashing over our respective visions; we all know that is part of territory when it comes to this line of work, and we?ve done a pretty good job of meshing all that rigamorale together. No, it?s been...other things. Bailey brought a sword into work six months ago, and I had to send him home to return it. He sent me a letter that made it sound like he was about to die or disappear, and then another one that arrived at the exact same time saying that he wasn?t dead, but he?d won one of those bloody Twilight Isle towers and couldn?t make it in today. And now, of course, this resignation malarkey. I don?t know that I can rely on him on a day-to-day basis anymore.?

?This is quite poor timing for him to quit -- or for us to fire him.? Gerard stood up and walked toward the window behind his desk, turning his back to Locke. ?It sounds to me, though, that you think there are but two ways for this to be resolved -- either we fire him as soon as possible, or we don?t.?

?Well, yeah-? Gerard pivoted back around, holding a finger up to his lips. When Locke piped down, the older man smiled and continued.

?I think you are missing other options, Locke. Let?s go over our choices again. You can fire Bailey on the 22nd, which will leave us scrambling even if you already have a replacement in mind.? He paused. ?Please tell me you have a replacement in mind??

?I do.?

?Good. But you will be down a person, and a fairly significant person, in the middle of the build-up to Fashion Week, where it will be hard to find anybody useful to supplement our design team. Besides, you don?t have the money to steal people away from the other houses yet, and I have nobody to lend you, even for a month. Now, your second option is to keep him, and then react based on what happens on February 2nd. Either he doesn?t return, and you wind up with the same problems as you would upon firing him earlier, only with even less time to work with than before, or he returns, and you live in fear of him leaving. You could also fire him on the 2nd as soon as he came back, but the end result will be the same. However, there is a...third option.?

?Yeah??

?Fire him after Fashion Week is over. Assuming, of course, there are no more issues or no-shows from him. Keep him on to get through Fashion Week, milk as much out of him as you can, and then let him go once things slow down.?

Locke?s fingers rested on his chin, and his eyes shut as he considered the idea. Finally, the ice elf nodded. ?That?s good a plan as any, mate.?

?I thought you would agree with me. So...who do you have in mind to replace Bailey??

His lips curled up into a grin, and he leaned across the table toward Gerard, gesturing for him to dip closer so that he could whisper into his ear. ?I have just the person in mind, mate.?