The Stoat Insists

[themorbidsocialite]

 For once, a guest did not have to find Tularemia. Instead, Tularemia found the guest, scampering up to the Tailor and immediately ramming into their ankle. She hissed as she grabbed the edge of their sock, tugging with all her might in the direction she came. There was nothing that could halt this courier from her self-appointed rounds; not rain nor sleet nor heat of day. If Tularemia decided that the Tailor was needed, then she would stop at nothing to retrieve the Tailor.

She was, though, wearing her new ribbon, so she may have had to pause to let that be applied, but her every pause ended eventually!

Tularemia had sprinted through hoards of hungry bats (perhaps snatching one as a snack in return), across puddles of moonish water with care, behind allies and away from cats, over rooftops and even across hats and heads. All to get to the Tailor.

Comments

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori looked up from the cast iron pan containing the back bacon with a wide-eyed expression, only a fraction like an animal caught causing a ruckus in the dark. Instead of absconding, however, Mori smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Just black pudding for breakfast? When we only had tea last night? I may be injured, but I'm certainly not going to turn down both showing off and treating you to something special."

Some of the showmanship had returned, but it was somehow more honest, like a man showing who he wanted to be rather than who he needed to be, with a touch of self-aware comedy, over enunciating the claim of showing off, as if mimicking a character seen in a play. It was Mementomori and Socialite blended into a strange characterization of himself.

For the sake of comedy.

It wasn't a side often seen in them in class or even in hosting. Playful, kidding, a joke at one's own mask. Of course, the Socialite would wish to show off, but the true purpose of it was spelled outright just seconds later: treating the Tailor to a nice breakfast.

Mori turned back to the pan. "And it's no bother. It keeps me upright, avoiding folding the stitches. The only issue is the leg and, as you can see," they leaned back in a gesture at the chair they had their knee propped up on, "I've found a solution to that. It's almost ready, if you wanted to finish up the tea. Your choice this time."

[theanachronistictailor]

It was nice, to see the fellow so very themself in every feasible way. The Tailor didn't know how he managed it.

Mori was treated, for their part, to a bright grin. "Careful now, or the treatment will go to my head," they said. "Give us a mo' to finish up and I'll pop right in."

And indeed it was only the work of a minute or two before they reappeared, mostly dressed and presentable, to sort out the kettle and the pot. "I took the liberty of pressing your things as well, habit from work. I'm a simple sort, I think, I like a hearty breakfast tea when I can manage it. Point me in the direction of your selection."

They'd grabbed a fresh pot and cups from the curio already, and it occurred to them that the sensation from yesterday, the feeling of being out of place in a well-loved space, had lessened a little.

They... had no idea what to do with that.

"Thank you," is what they eventually said. "For being so welcoming to me."

[themorbidsocialite]

"Thank you for ironing my clothes. I truly appreciate it." Mori gestured back and to the opposite of them from the door. "Those tins, their contents labeled on the paper sleeves. The black and red teas are on the left, if you prefer a heartier, stronger tea. However, you're welcome to any that catch your fancy. There is still some little of what I can only assume is a 'blue' tea in the far rightmost tin."

At the Tailor's last words, Mori turned back, brow furrowing softly as he searched for the right words. "Always. I do hope I could make this a comfortable stay. I know we don't live in extravagance, however..." He paused, finding a new path in his sentence, that wasn't well worn by the steps of proper society. "I hope... you may have found the comfort of home in our little flat... You're always welcome to return, invitation or no. I hope you will return, always at least once more, so that the possibility of the final visit may not be reality. Our door is open to you."

It was a difficult truth to find gentle, unpressuring words for, a soft desire simply to see someone again, to have them feel like this place could be home, but not so forward as to scare them off. Mori pushed the slices of black pudding in the same pan as the back bacon, preventing them from searing too quickly. "You're right," he said, offering a change of subject, if the Tailor so wanted it, "a black breakfast tea would likely be lovely for this."

[theanachronistictailor]

What to say?

Mori's home was a kind of dream they'd never imagined even as a child. Extravagant? No, not at all. Small? Smaller than one might have expected from the 'Socialite" known in public. Warm and welcoming and more real than they knew was an option, though.

(The Garden's not for-)

The corner of their mouth twitched, and they turned their attention to the teas. The variety was impressive, but, well, by the smell of things in the kitchen as a whole, it would make sense for Mori to enjoy a selection so expansive. They looked through the selection, allowing themself the chance to sniff a few before choosing one, and returned to preparing the pot.

"Is this your space, then? I mean, are all these notes yours?" A vague gesture at the rest of the kitchen, its notes and general clutter, the pots and the stove.

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori looked around with the gesture and gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, not hardly. I enjoy cooking the most among us, but the kitchen is a shared space, like any other. I doubt I would enjoy crossing off potential sightings of the Vake," Mori gestured to a half-folded map on the table covered in scratched ink circles and crosses, "or forging... documents... Apologies, I believe that one may be a private matter; pay no attention to it." He turned away, pale, from a sheet of practiced penmanship in what looked to be a 'Mr. Edward's' hand.

Clearing their throat, Mori refocused. "However, many of the cooking utensils and ingredients are of my purchase. Free to be used by anyone, but it's a minor goal of mine to perfect the recipes my mother taught me, or at least the flavors of them to be used in different meals. She never did write the things down, so it's all guesswork and foggy memories."

[theanachronistictailor]

Oh, right, people did have parents and things passed down to them. It was easy to forget that and take a person as wholecloth, existing in a way, forgetting there were influences around them impacting the person they might grow into.

"She taught you cooking, then? She must have been very good at it, if your own guesswork smells as good as it does."

They didn't quite know how to handle the subject, so was reduced to uncertain prodding, but at least it wasn't necessarily bitter, just a little awkward. They were turned to the small table, tea steeping, when they added, "which places should I set, then? Do you have a preference at the table?"

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori laughed at the mention of his mother being a good cook. "Oh, not at all! Often over or undercooked, bland or with an odd array of flavors and textures, and served with no small amount of contempt, I've taken it upon myself to do the research and improve them, perhaps make them more as my foremothers had. Goodness knows, she was never faithful to it."

The meats were removed from the pan alongside the mushrooms. "There's no preference, take whichever place setting you wish."

[theanachronistictailor]

They flushed a little at the error, but quietly sat at the table, at one of the places more regularly used, avoiding the pristine spot and clearing the space to make room for the meal. Two sugars set into their teacup, and two set for Mori, but they didn't pour yet, giving the tea another moment to steep and their host a chance to join them.

"Was she from anywhere in particular?" they asked. "I admit, my Surface geography knowledge is lacking, but I know your accent is at least British enough, if not-" they gestured a little vaguely "-London locale."

[themorbidsocialite]

"She was from Shincliffe, same as I, but her mother was from the Carpathians, a village near Bistritz. I believe that would be... Romania? She'd married an Englishman and had my mother and her two brothers. I... didn't know much of my father, but they'd married young and he left before I was four. I was my mother's only child. Here, try this." Mori moved aside a tad, having lifted a spoon of the beans with a hand underneath. "It may be a bit strong, if you're used to London cuisine, but I think you'd enjoy it."

[theanachronistictailor]

"Romania... that's... mainland Europe, yes?" The Tailor tried not to wince at their own lack of knowledge. The spy system in London was all about these things, and they had been trying to pick up more information at the Foreign Office, but most of the time those fellows were talking about France, Prussia, and Rome. And the Americas, but those were very far away, they understood.

"Was she..." they dawdled around the thought, and took the bite instead, and their hand flew to their mouth as they processed the bright and loud flavors, and then the subtler heats. "Oh my god," they said, mouth full behind their hand, before remembering their manners and swallowing with regret. "I didn't know beans could taste like that. Jesus, Maury, what's in that?"

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori beamed, taking the beans off the heat. "That would be sweet and hot paprika peppers and cumin. Cumin is more found in the Mediterranean and Asia, but the varieties of paprika can be found in Eastern Mainland Europe. Hungary tends to specialize in it. The cumin was actually found here in the Neath, in a small stall with a Fourth City flare. The paprika, I had to bring in by less than legal means, but getting it straight from Buda-Pesth was well worth the risk. Has a broader flavor when it's fresh." He carefully brought the beans to the table and set out a plate with the back bacon, blood pudding, toast, and roasted mushrooms.

Unfortunately, even as they took a seat, they wouldn't let the Tailor forget the question, even if out of polite apology. "I'm sorry, I believe I interrupted your question. Did you have something to ask?"

[theanachronistictailor]

The Tailor settled back, trying not to stare with real interest at the display presented. The smell and the look of it, not to mention the remaining flavors in their mouth and the meany hours since dinner, meant this was an exercise in self-control. They glanced up, and recalled, trying not to wince around the awkward framing.

"It's not significant. I only was curious about what it was like. I mean, what she was like. But I didn't want to overstep."

Not every urchin was an orphan, in fact many weren't, it was just that their families were low class and they ran free. Some of them talked about their parents, and the results always were mixed. Some adamantly did not want to share about family. The Tailor, for their part, was prone to making up outlandish stories if ever asked. It was a game, mostly.

[themorbidsocialite]

"Please, help yourself. Breakfast is served." Mori thought over the question as he dished out servings. "I don't mind answering at all. She was... a stern, severe woman. Not the sort you would expect to be a good mother. And, well, for her, the assumption was correct. At times, I believe she saw too much of my father in me, driving the point home of usefulness and fealty and shame. At others... I was never an easy child to raise and she made that very clear. She passed while I was at university. I was chief mourner at her funeral and I believe most eyes were dry, among the guests. But, if there's one thing she's given me, it was a better pallate for seasoning and spice than most. And the determination to do better by my own children, now that I've chosen to be a father at all. Speaking of, how is the food?" It was difficult to tell whether he was referring to the spice tolerance or being a better father.

[theanachronistictailor]

They'd begun to eat as they spoke, and a finger came up over their mouth as Mori spoke. They were listening, but the Tailor was also experiencing something nearly entirely new, and it was a bit distracting, wasn't it?

Do not shovel it down, they reprimanded themself. You're not an animal. Even so, the Tailor was eager to have the next bite, and the next. They swallowed, glancing up.

"Mori, I really hope you don't think I'm exaggerating when I say this is probably the best thing I've ever tasted." It was hotter than their usual selection, but they couldn't find it in themself to hate it at all. It made their body feel warm and satiated in a way that was hard to explain.

They tried to focus on something besides the meal, which was admittedly difficult. "Is that why you...I mean." They swallowed, and this time it wasn't about the food. "Yesterday, when I came in and tried to make tea." That whole. Thing. "You caught it then. I'm still a little embarrassed about that, actually. Sorry." They glanced back at their plate, where their next bite was waiting, but they didn't take it yet.

"In any case, you came out exceptional. As did the food. Your family as a whole is lucky beyond belief."

Okay. Honesty was difficult. Back to putting food into the hole where the words come out.

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori was glad for the appreciation, taking some bites himself as the Tailor spoke. He nodded, swallowed, and smiled. "You have no cause to apologize. While I know not from whence your urgency to be useful comes, I'm intimately aware that it's a hard habit to shake. When I was your age, in that effort, I ended up swinging the other way and being practically useless in my university dormitory. My dorm mates positively hated me!" Mori chuckled at the memory, then settled, preparing the next bite. "I've found my balance in adulthood, even as I'm still learning to do better by those I care about to this day. You never really stop learning, I find. I'll always be trying to do my family, foremothers, descendants, and partners alike, proud. And if that starts with good food and good company, then I'm not sure that I mind."

He poured their teas and raised his own cup up. "Cheers, luv. To doing better."

[theanachronistictailor]

“Cheers,” they said, after a large swallow, and they took a much needed sip from the cup, relieved.

They ate in relative quiet for a few minutes, if occasionally humming in delight over the food, and then, after another long sip from the cup, spoke again.

“Now. You said you wanted to talk about next week.”

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori looked up and swallowed down his last bite. "Right, yes. After our next lesson, I intend to spend the week researching this Elder Continent and the contents of the song you presented to me last night, perhaps even speaking with some of the urchins I and Dinah know. I've worked with the Socks before, though I do fear I've wronged them recently... Not of entirely my own volition. Regardless, if you have resources, other people to rely on, or would like to join yourself, I intend to start the expedition the week following next. I have a ship and a hired crew for any tasks we cannot do ourselves. In the meantime, whatever help you can provide, I would be much grateful for."

[theanachronistictailor]

The Tailor sighed a little. "I was worried it would be something like that." They nudged around their last bit of food, thinking. "I think I need to ask some questions at the Foreign Office. I don't know if you've been at all. The Teeth--that is, some of the folks who do the work involving subterfuge, they're..." they made a face. "Regardless of what they are or are not, there's a church in the Foreign Office that displays a Garden. I think they know something of it. I just don't know that they'll trust me," they added quietly.

"I'm due to visit the Continent myself at some point, but I had been intending to do it after the semester was over. I always prefer to spend time finding out what I can before I take on a venture. All I know for sure is that the further South you go in the Neath, the stranger things tend to be."

They finally ate the final bite, then set their fork down. From how they spoke, it was clear they were committed to involving themself--they were like this in everything they did. One could call it loyalty, maybe, but it was more than that the value of seeing things through and committing oneself to their plans with all they were.

And then another thought. "And I think a visit to the Underclay should also be considered. I've heard rumor, though I've never seen them myself, that one can get mountain sherds there. Some of the Clay Men that would end up in Spite would mention them, occasionally."

They tapped their lower lip. "I'll look into what rumors I can find by next week, and let you know, so that you can explore every avenue. I've given myself a monumental task with my project," they grimaced at their own folly, "but I'm determined to make sure you're prepared."

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori nodded and took notes down on a piece of paper that had made its way to the table, already detailing a shopping list in someone else's pen. "South... Clay Men... Foreign Office Garden... I'll find out what I can and report it to you in return. If you've been needing to go anyway, regardless of preparation, this may be a golden opportunity. But do promise me you won't put yourself out for it. If you have doubts or anxieties, if you're behind on your project, do not feel afraid to back out. I would feel terrible, if I'd caused you undue strain or sacrifice. If you feel you must accompany, despite issues, at least let me know so that I may prepare the necessary supplies on my ship?"

[theanachronistictailor]

They sipped from their teacup, then wiped the corners of their mouth with their thumb. "Plan for me to come, I'll compensate you if need be, and then as we get closer to the time I'll let you know if things become impossible. In that way, it's better to be over-prepared than under. I'm still in the research phase of my work, as I learn more Correspondence and how it can be expressed, so let's consider the expedition a matter of research for class."

If there was Correspondence around the aspects of the Elder Continent, if the Continent itself had any information Mori could use, then that language could play into the final project, they thought. Language and Law, and Light. Hm.

"But I promise if things change, I'll alert you soon as I know as such."

"Mori," they added suddenly, serious tone becoming a touch less professional, "thank you for being willing to talk with me on this. I know... I know it isn't an easy thing, and just that you were willing to share it with me, let alone let me help, it's..." they shook their head, eyes on their plate. "I'm really honored."

They wanted to take their friend's hand, and offer some sort of physical indication of their gratitude, but it still was... difficult. You wouldn't think it would be, but when they weren't putting up their mask of charm for others, they rarely felt like they knew what to do with their hands. Eventually, they lightly set their fingers on the wrist with the pen.

Mori's trust was a gift. They were going to keep it safe. They just didn't know how to say that. They hoped the fellow understood.

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori paused, then smiled, turning the hand to hold the Tailor's. "I'm simply relieved. It's a burden to balance what strangers should know against what acquaintances should against what friends should and so on and so forth. I am... more than happy to count you among the inner circle, as what I can only describe as family. I am happy to be able to trust you with something so close, both the information and the execution. I know the return may take time, that truth and trust are painful things to give after so long holding them to your chest. But we have all the time in the world and simply trusting you is enough for me."

On the other side of the kitchen door, a window latch opened. Within seconds, the pittering of tiny feet came closer and scrambled as they wiggled under the door. Tularemia looked around the kitchen from the floor, her fur matted with red and black blood both, neither her own.

[theanachronistictailor]

Relief was mixed with another feeling the Tailor didn't know how to describe. It stuck in their chest in a bad way.

(The Garden's not-)

They looked up at the noise, senses sharp from experience, and caught a glance at their additional companion. "Oh, she's going to make a right mess like that," they said with a little shake of the head. Their hand hadn't left Mori's, but they set their other elbow on the table and rested their chin on their hand. "How went the hunt, beastie?" They asked her, not expecting an answer. "I see you went and earned that breakfast instead."

[themorbidsocialite]

The Tailor should hope the outfit could survive so much rumpling and staining, because Tularemia spotted them and launched herself up their leg, jumping onto the shirt, and standing herself proudly in their hair, almost beaming with what little expression a stoat could have.

Boots shuffled across the floor in the sitting room with exhausted breaths. Mori made a benignly put out face and called: "If you leave it anywhere, you're cleaning it up! I'm not healed!"

The boots moved closer and Enoch pushed open the door. "Glad to see you're not dead. Is there any more food left?" They were a mess, all torn clothes, blood stains, and very obvious injuries.

Mori smiled at first, then took in the sight, face falling, and finally settled into a frown, mixing fright with worry, realization, and annoyance. "You didn't... Tell me you didn't; you said you were hunting--"

"I did, I was, but it was right there. And you should've seen it, it was dark and I couldn't be all certain, but I could swear, I got the fucker to bleed. Probably just a scratch, but it's like I could smell it."

"I'm don't wish to discuss this at the breakfast table. We still have a guest."

The Devoted Huntsman looked between Mori and the Tailor and hummed. "Whose surname did you choose for the adoption forms?"

Mori turned bright red, flabbergasted at how forward their spouse was when they, themselves, spent all night slowly building accord and narrowly avoiding the topic of adopting a person already in their twenties, as much as they wanted to.

[theanachronistictailor]

"Th- oi!"

They'd just pressed this shirt, and now it was rumpled and bloodied! And their hair, too! Irate, the Tailor half stood, but froze when Enoch opened the door.

To say they were not very pleased was a bit of an understatement, but the hunter's appearance, while not unexpected for its timing, was in far worse state than they'd predicted.

Oh, wait- Mori had mentioned Vake-hunting, hadn't they? That would explain-

The question hit the Tailor far harder than it was probably meant to. They took a breath, and then said far too politely, to a person they did not know to the extent they now knew Mori, "I think you'll find I'm keeping mine. I like the ring of it."

In a calm manner, they stood fully and plucked Tularemia out of their hair, setting her on the kitchen table.

"Right," they said, all business, reaching for their vest and coat, "I think that's my cue. Mori, I'll see you next week, I hope, unless I find something sooner. Do you need anything before I go?"

The wall was back up. One courteous Anachronistic Tailor had returned. Well. Sans their very tidy hair and shoes (which were still under the loveseat).

[themorbidsocialite]

Mori, for a moment, looked a touch lost and mournful. He glanced between his spouse and who he hoped- nay, prayed would still be as close when they met again, or if the abrupt cut, the failure to Follow the Script, had cost them all the progress they made that night's stay. Then, just as quickly, his own walls of propriety went up.

"No, I will be fine. I'll be looking forward to seeing you again. Stay safe, luv?" One last genuine reach, subtle, ignored or acknowledged or returned in kind, just enough to give plausible deniability.