|
|
Post by cecelia foster on Jan 9, 2012 17:05:57 GMT -5
It was a gray, snowy day in January, and despite the merry fire that flickered in the fireplace of Foster's Tailoring and Alterations, Cecelia was freezing. Perhaps the chill was from the cold, or perhaps it was from loneliness. She couldn't decipher which. Her dear papa, Henry Foster, had come down with a dreadful cold in the past few days, and she had to mind the shop alone (which wasn't a problem, as she had done it many times before). She was beginning to consider running to an apothecary, or perhaps fetch a doctor, if his condition didn't improve soon.
As she worked on repairing the hem of a woman's dress, she sighed, wishing she were anywhere else but this dreary little room. Oh, it wasn't always this way. When her father was down here with her, or she could have a conversation with one of their regular customers, she would love being there. But today was a rather depressing day outside, and it was beginning to affect her mood. Her father had encouraged her to go out many times, but her poor father worked so hard (and was probably the cause of his current illness), she couldn't help but stay behind. Her father had raised him by herself, and she owed it to him to take care of him as he had her.
Finishing the hem, she tied off the black thread she was working with, stabbed the needle into a pin cushion, and stood up to fold up the dress neatly, placing it on a shelf with the rest of the orders waiting to be picked up. She heard the little bell at the shops entrance ringing, indicating that she was no longer alone. She finished her task, and turned around to see who it was.
|
|
|
|
Post by albert ramsay on Jan 12, 2012 15:38:36 GMT -5
 We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Albert stepped from the cab onto the street and hit a wall of bustling people, people who only stopped, stooped and scurried away when they took in his his formidable stature, his expensive clothes and his sharp, striking features. He still found it uncomfortable, the way the people in the street reacted to him, the false kind of reverence they afforded him because of his dress, his stance, the way he'd begun to talk; he still felt if he slipped off his coat and his hat he could disappear into the crowd and be unremarkable, become assimilated the uncomplicated lives of the average person. But he was no longer and average person, he was very much and above average person; that why was he was here today, approaching the doorway of the tailor's shop, on the account of some dinner to which his uncle had been invited and, by inference, himself. He was to get himself a new dress coat, that was the reason why he was here, although on the few brief occasions he had been to the shop already he'd spotted a woman that he knew he shouldn't-- but would have liked-- to talk to, and so it was on the pretext of the dress coat, and the subtext of the conversation, that he strode into the shop.
Clutching his hat between his hands he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darker interior, blinking for a moment or two until he spotted the figure he'd been hoping to see and approached her with a warm smile.
"Good day, Madam," he said, approaching the counter, "I do hope I am not inconveniencing you, only-- I had it arranged with Mr. Foster that I would call today on the matter of having myself made a dress coat. He has my measurements, it should all be rather brief, however...I note perhaps he is not here..."
(TAG ?!)reba&caecelia(WORDS ?!)quite a few(WEARING ?!) probs his usual, a nice cravat and a decent coat (STATUS ?!) finished (NOTES ?!) hope this works for ya!(CREDIT ?!) joey of CAUTION 2.0[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by cecelia foster on Jan 12, 2012 15:59:01 GMT -5
She turned around to find a rather handsome young man, about her age, standing at the counter. This man was a complete stranger, although she could tell by his fine dress that he was of a far higher station in society than herself. What she noticed most about him, however, were his kind smile and his deep blue eyes that seemed totally focused on her...unlike the other high-society clients her and her father waited on, his kindness seemed genuine. Flustered, blinked, trying to regain her composure. She had never seen such intense eyes...
"Oh, not at all...yes, my father is not here..." she explained with a kind, but shy smile. It was indeed the truth, but not the whole truth. Her father was certainly not in the shop, but rather in their flat upstairs, trying to sleep off a fever. Perhaps after this customer she would go check on him. "But I am certainly able to help you." She pulled out a ledger that her father kept under the counter, finding the name "Albert Ramsay" under today's date. "One moment, please." she said quietly as she walked briskly into the back, trying to find the coat. When she did find the coat in question, she frowned, finding it nearly complete, but not quite. However...she could perhaps finish it today....she didn't know if her father's client was the patient sort, but he did greet her kindly...perhaps he was.
She walked briskly back in to find him waiting patiently. "I'm terribly sorry, Mister Ramsay, but it's not quite complete yet...however, if you're willing to wait, I can have it finished for you in no time. It's just about done, except for a few small details." she said, hoping he would be receptive.
|
|
|
|
Post by albert ramsay on Jan 12, 2012 17:57:40 GMT -5
We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When the young woman spoke the concern that clouded Albert's face was genuine, and his lips formed a gentle 'o', a few creases appeared across his brow, and lowered his gaze a little, blue eyes dripping sapphires as he said earnestly,
"That's unfortunate. I do hope he's not unwell, for I hear from my Uncle that Mr. Foster is a most skilful tailor, and I should think it would put you at a great disadvantage were he to be indisposed, and..." He fell silent, suddenly concious of the sound of his own voice and that he was talking, talking, but he knew that a gentleman was not supposed to treat people in her position as an equal, that he was supposed to be polite but short, brusque, even, he'd heard his Uncle's friends speaking to their valets and and they were the same almost cruel...But he supposed this girl was at least giving him a service, and at best he would spend a few minutes here and be gone. The cab was waiting outside, after all.
She went on, "But I am certainly able to help you," He lifted his gaze as she added, "One moment, please." In a flourish she left the room and he stole the moment to have a quick look around the room, to admire the finer details, and then to look out of the window at the carriage, the horses who were snorted white plumes in the cool air.
Suddenly the woman returned and told him, "I'm terribly sorry, Mister Ramsay, but it's not quite complete yet...however, if you're willing to wait, I can have it finished for you in no time. It's just about done, except for a few small details." Albert's face brightened perceptibly, he shook his head briskly, lifting a hand a little as if in forgiveness as he said,
"No, no, I'm perfectly at liberty for the next hour." He paused, studying her almost cattish features which he admired with a small smile. "If you prefer, I can return another day to collect it. Only, I'd rather hoped it would afford us an oppurtunity to..." He faltered and reminded himself who he was. "I'm dreadfully sorry, that was rather too bold. Please forgive me." He looked towards the door. "I shall-- I shall return tomorrow, if you so wish."
(TAG ?!)reba&caecelia(WORDS ?!)quite a few(WEARING ?!) probs his usual, a nice cravat and a decent coat (STATUS ?!) finished (NOTES ?!) hope this works for ya!(CREDIT ?!) joey of CAUTION 2.0[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by cecelia foster on Jan 12, 2012 22:43:37 GMT -5
"If you prefer, I can return another day to collect it. Only, I'd rather hoped it would afford us an oppurtunity to..." He faltered and reminded himself who he was. "I'm dreadfully sorry, that was rather too bold. Please forgive me." He looked towards the door. "I shall-- I shall return tomorrow, if you so wish."
She smiled shyly. "No, no...it's quite alright...it won't take me even an hour...and I wouldn't mind the company...it's a rather dreary day..." she said shyly, sitting down to complete the dress coat, sewing the last few details on what was a rather exquisite jacket...something she'd never seen her father wear, that was for sure. But her client was obviously going to pay well for it...perhaps she could buy a new book with it... "Unfortunately, yes, Papa is currently unwell, but it will surely brighten his day to know that his clients speak so highly of him." she said with a smile, hoping to make conversation. She worked quickly, but with a sure hand, for she had stitched together several similar garments, and this was nothing new to her. All it needed was a few buttons and a finished hem along the collar, and it'd be spic and span and ready to wear to whatever occasion Mr. Ramsay had in mind.
Sewing was something that she could do in her sleep, so most of her attention was devoted to studying Mr. Ramsay, for he was a stranger to her (although she feigned studying on her task quite well). He was quite a bit taller than she, though not imposing. His hair was a dark blonde, and although it was slicked back, it did have a few lose, playful wisps. He seemed kind, although he also made it clear that she was beneath him (which she was used to from her clients), although not cruel...as if he had an inkling of what it was like to be in her position. He was finely dressed, although he seemed rather self-conscious. But the feature that drew her the most was his eyes...the color of sapphires...she wondered what secrets they held.
She also couldn't help but notice that he was studying her too, as if he were somehow fascinated with her. He even smiled slightly. From even just that hint, she could tell the man must have a beautiful smile. She did feel slightly self-conscious, and it wasn't because he was staring at her lustfully, which he wasn't, like some of Papa's other male clients. It was because, with his being so patient and understanding, she wondered if it was too good to be true, and at any moment he would change and make it clear that he believed her inferior, like much of the upper class did.
|
|
|
|
Post by albert ramsay on Jan 16, 2012 18:25:54 GMT -5
We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"No, no...it's quite alright...it won't take me even an hour...and I wouldn't mind the company...it's a rather dreary day..." The woman said to him and almost without thinking he exclaimed, "I thank you most graciously, Miss Foster," and then mentally scolded himself for being so overeager when he knew he should have controlled himself, kept his tone sincere but firm but he was genuinely delighted by the gladness with which she offered to finish the jacket for him and the ease with which his new station allowed him to do such things. So many feelings, and so little time to realise what they were all and what they all meant before he saw that the silence he was creating between them could soon become the awkward sort. The need to fill it with conversation was a desire ingrained in him, part of his very nature, and recently he'd been made to feel so ashamed of it, so guilty, but whilst he was here, allowed to be out and on his own business, he saw no reason not to conduct himself as he saw fit, and to take a moment to study this woman who was somewhat of a fascination for him, the sort of woman he would have married- might even have been engaged too- had he stayed back in home and never come to London. It felt odd, standing there and admiring her, her innocent kind of beauty that permeated the plainness of her clothes and shone through like a divine gift bestowed upon her. Albert felt a slight blush forming on his cheeks and diverted attention from it with a bright smile.
"So how is it you come to work in your father's shop, Miss Foster?" A no-brainer, but she seemed to have too much about her, she seemed like she would have been more at home amongst books and cultured company that stuffed up in this little shop. He smiled again, warmly. "It seems you are not married, of course, perhaps betrothed?" There it was again, a flash of that rash boldness cutting through his warm exterior, the direct influence of his uncle; he'd heard from the sons of his uncle's friends about this girl, the quiet, lonely-looking thing that lurked in the shop, and if his interest had not piqued long ago at the mere mention of her the talk of her serene beauty certainly had.
He leaned a little closer to watch how her fingers seemed to be flying over the fabric and nodded, impressed; it reminded him of his sisters and how they would so often sit at their needlework. "It must tire you," he said, without thinking, watching her hands, and then her face, "To work without rest on such garments, to know you will rarely see them again once they are completed, to let something so beautiful slip away for a bank-note or two...If it were me, I could hardly stand it. But it shall never be me, of course, for in that respect I am unfortunately fortunate."
(TAG ?!)reba&caecelia(WORDS ?!)quite a few(WEARING ?!) probs his usual, a nice cravat and a decent coat (STATUS ?!) finished (NOTES ?!) hope this works for ya!(CREDIT ?!) joey of CAUTION 2.0[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by cecelia foster on Jan 16, 2012 22:30:57 GMT -5
She listened as he asked her of herself...how she came to work for Papa...if she was betrothed...all sorts of rather personal questions. While she normally wouldn't answer those sorts of questions for just anyone, he seemed genuinely interested in her, as a person. His kind smile was nothing like the lustful grins of older gentleman who patronized their shop, nor like the drunkards she encountered when walking the streets by herself. This was something else entirely. The only polite thing to do would be to answer his questions.
She chuckled quietly. "No sir, I'm afraid I am very much unattached. As for my employment here...father can't seem to find an apprentice who is both honest and a hard worker...so for the time being, I suppose I am his employee as well as the lady of the house." She then smiled sadly. She might as well be honest...perhaps she may even get a friend out of this conversation, she thought. "I adore Papa, and I don't mind helping him at all, but I'd also give anything to settle down somewhere and build a life of my own...but for now, this will do", she said, almost as if she was trying to convince herself that she was satisfied with her hum-drum life in the shop. She loved her father dearly, but....she dreamed of something more."I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's a bit monotonous here...I'd like something exciting to happen."
While she continued her work, she listened as he lamented about how she had to trade everything she made for a few bank notes. She nodded sadly in agreement. "It does get a tad depressing to give up something you made...but I'm comforted by the fact that it will be put to good use. Besides, I can make things for myself." she added with a smile.
"What of you, Mister Ramsay? What brought you to this little corner of the world?" she inquired.
|
|
|
|
Post by albert ramsay on Jan 19, 2012 7:31:54 GMT -5
We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Albert had of course never asked a young woman the questions he had just asked before, and so he equally didn't know what to expect as an answer. A true enough response or an evasion of the question altogether? A lie twisted with a truth? Just a hint of an untruth? He was surprised to find he recieved a more or less direct answer, and one that seemed honest, and it took him aback so much he found himself unable to find anything in response, because what did a man of his status say to a woman like her? He was hardly going to throw his hands in the air and make an immediately proposal, but was he supposed to congratulate her on her kindness and goodwill, her decision to help her father as any well brought-up woman should do? That would have been patronising. And he did feel a little sorry for her when she hinted at the monotony of her existence, something he knew only to well, and he ached to say that he understood, that he really, he genuinely understood-- but he could not. There were so many things stopping him.
"What of you, Mister Ramsay? What brought you to this little corner of the world?
[/color]" She asked and, finding himself caught a little off-guard by her words again he blushed lightly, looking about himself before he replied, " I beg your pardon, for I don't know whether you refer to my being in this shop or, of course, in London. For there are reasons why I have come to both, the first being on the subject of the dress coat, with which you are, evidently, aware, and the second being the death of my father following which I came to reside with my Uncle, my guardian..." And the third reason? Why he was in the smallest corner of them all, the smallest corner of the shop in the corner of London in a corner of the world. Because of the girl sitting right in front of him who, as a perfect stranger, interested him so much, more so because he knew he could never have any woman like her, not again, not now so many things had changed. And so he omitted the final reason because it barely counted as a reason at all and fell to silence. [/center][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] (TAG ?!)reba&caecelia(WORDS ?!)quite a few(WEARING ?!) probs his usual, a nice cravat and a decent coat (STATUS ?!) finished (NOTES ?!) hope this works for ya!(CREDIT ?!) joey of CAUTION 2.0[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by cecelia foster on Jan 20, 2012 22:24:13 GMT -5
"I am sorry to hear that your father has passed." she replied with a kind, albeit sad smile. "But, at least you have an uncle who's been kind enough to take you in. I've seen many who have been condemned to the life of a street urchin or the workhouse after losing their parents. You're certainly very lucky.", she added. Yes, he certainly was lucky. He spoke to her as if he were any other person like herself...except he was not a person like herself. Even if he had once been lower on the social ladder, which she was beginning to suspect he had, it didn't matter. She was far beneath him, and it wouldn't be much use to do anything more than befriend him, if even that. After all, unlike the girls she read about in her books, she didn't expect Prince Charming to come sweeping her off her feet to carry her off to a new life. She would most likely spend the rest of her life in the poorer neighborhoods of London, as much as she wished she could be anywhere else.
She continued to work. "May I inquire as to the occasion you are wearing this too? It must be something wonderful...", she mused. "I must say I haven't been to anything one would wear this too in years. The last dance I went to was when I was sixteen...
|
|
|
|
Post by albert ramsay on Feb 1, 2012 13:49:46 GMT -5
We're soldiers, instinctive,
(We can bring change before we die.)
THROUGH TAILS OF THE DEMONS, TO FEEL WHAT LIES BENEATH OUR EYES
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Albert thought hard on the woman's comment, the one about his uncle, harder than he should have, perhaps, because it clouded his face for a moment, the emotion it stirred up within him-- the talk about his father, the reminder of his uncle's subsequent actions-- and he felt, like he always did, that he did not know how to answer her. Everyone he met, particularly acquaintances of his uncle, patronised him about his uncle's kindness, his graciousness, and Albert would smile and nod politely most of the time but would wonder how they would address him if they knew of what had happened before, what his uncle had in fact done to their family. Orchestrated its downfall, Albert sometimes felt, on those grey, grimier London days, but then he would remind himself of his uncle's goodwill and scold himself for feeling so angry.
"My uncle was indeed very kind," he said at length, tucking his gloves into his hands and entwining those hands with one another behind his back. He moved around the room a little, slow, steady, graceful steps that had no real direction, although he still ended up beside where she was working, feet away, and his eyes fell to her work, wide with fascination.
"May I inquire as to the occasion you are wearing this too? It must be something wonderful...", she said to him, and he was at once surprised by the directness of her feelings, at the dreamy tone of her voice. "I must say I haven't been to anything one would wear this too in years. The last dance I went to was when I was sixteen..."
Albert nodded a smiled a little, unsure about how to proceed, and if he should, of course, proceed. Instead he nodded and lifted his eyes for a moment, and looked about the room, moving away once more, looking up at the ceiling as he said,
"It is for a dinner that a colleague of my uncle is hosting, something political, I believe, and de facto terribly boring and predictable." He turned back towards her. "Alas," he went on, "I should not complain, and not in front of one such as yourself. It is improper of me. Although, if you permit me, I would have it be known that I would chose a dance over a dinner any day and, were you, I shall not be indelicate...In some other station, you would be the first lady in the ballroom I should ask to dance, if that makes your regret seem any less cumbersome." He smiled brightly and tapped his gloves against his lower back, doubting he should even have opened his mouth at all.
(TAG ?!)reba&caecelia(WORDS ?!)quite a few(WEARING ?!) probs his usual, a nice cravat and a decent coat (STATUS ?!) finished (NOTES ?!) hope this works for ya!(CREDIT ?!) joey of CAUTION 2.0[/size] |
|
