themorbidsocialite | A Helping Hand

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themorbidsocialite

Persephone Malodrema took her hand from her muff to knock on the door of A King's Timeless Couture. As she waited, she turned and waved at some of the people passing through the Bazaar. She watched the way the lacre fell outside the Glass Door, gentle and drifting and reminding her of the silence of Durham in the snow. London wasn't nearly so quiet, but the energy was still there.

After five minutes of waiting, Percy knocked again, harder. Maybe the Anachronistic Tailor just hadn't heard? She'd feel bad trying to just walk in, if they were in the middle of a consultation or focused on a design, but...

Another five minutes and Percy huffed, air coming out in a fog. She finally checked for signage around the entryway and found one that said they were closed. This did not, however, explain the Tailor's absence from their own home. She could wait, see if they were coming back soon, but it was tea time across the city, which meant they would either be gone for an hour or two - until which time they would return from Beatrice's - or they were, in fact, home and having tea and simply ignoring her. And ignoring her was not an option she could abide by.

Besides, Persephone had been practicing with her lockpicks and it would be a prime opportunity to show the Tailor just how much she'd learned. Surely, after all this time and effort, they'd be proud, right?

Persephone took off her shawl, laid it on the ground under her knees, removed the secret lockpicks from her dress' pocket, and set to work on the lock within the door, tongue held between her teeth as she focused.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

theanachronistictailor

Persephone had improved in lockpicking by quite a bit, what with the number of adults around her that practiced the skill and despite her father's own concerns over it. He'd been busy, after all! So it wasn't really a matter of lack of skill that kept her from entry, as much as it was her first pick, er...

Melting and then snapping in the lock. The snapped remains fell out of the thing with a tiny clink onto the stone doorstep.

It was unfortunate, to say the least, ans somewhat inexplicable to someone who had never had any experience with a Correspondence lock before, but there you had it. Yet, despite what seemed to be an obvious failure, there was a delayed click she might have heard, seconds after the pick fell free.

Testing the handle of the door now would reveal it to be... unlocked?

Perhaps she had done it after all.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone had stood the moment the melted remains of her raking tool fell to the ground, bearing both shock at the inexplicable results and grief at her favorite tool lost. She scooted the unsalvageable remains to the side with her foot and wrapped her shawl over her shoulders again. Well, that was a bust.

Or was it? The lock clicked and Percy tentatively tried the handle with her glass hand - fearful of the door somehow still burning, she'd much rather lose her glass more than her flesh. Remarkably, however, the door was suddenly unlocked.

... Yeah, she could believe that she had done that. Nobody needed to know about the fate of her rake.

Percy pushed the door in, head low and eyes peering. "Hello? Tailor? Are you home?" She kicked the lacre off her boots before stepping inside, listening to how the bell rung in the silent, still air. Something in her told her this wasn't safe, that she needed to leave. Consciously, however, she refused to back down. "If you want something... grab it with both hands... Really, no- no reason to be afraid. It's just an empty shop."

From:

theanachronistictailor

It was indeed, an empty shop. What was more, it seemed that it had been empty for a couple of days. A very, very fine layer of dust had begun to gather in the main room Persephone stepped into.

The door closed behind her without her assistance, the bell ringing one more time. No one responded to her calls into the empty air, the empty room-

But quite from out of nowhere, she found her shoulder in the leather grip from a glove.

A glove without a hand.

It was distinctly Paisley patterned.

(Hey, hello, where've you been? When was the last time anyone had seen the Tailor wearing Paisley?)

From:

themorbidsocialite

The glove barely needed to touch her shoulder before Persephone was jumping with a shriek. A shriek that quickly devolved into breathless laughter, sharp and barking and with the occasional snort.

"Paisley, you scared the dust off me! Bet you wish you could scare the dust off this building, too, huh?" She gently took the glove from her shoulder and held it in her outstretched palms with a greeting smile, still beckoning the occasional giggle. "Been some time since I saw you! How are you? Where's the Tailor? How long've they left the shop closed without tellin' no one? Not that they needed to, was just curious."

Edited Date: 23 Dec 2025 23:34 (UTC)

From:

theanachronistictailor

The glove in question nearly jumped at the sound of the girl's shriek before it found itself in her grasp, and it squeezed her fingers in greeting. Well, maybe a touch too tightly for it to be an appropriate one. It stood itself up on the fingers atop her palms, the index finger tapping in a way that could be perceived as anxious.

After a moment of what must have been consideration, it changed gestures, and pointed to the back of the shop, and then pointed up. Apparently, it was telling her something was upstairs. The Tailor? It would make sense, as their spire was many floors above. But then the glove could have meant for many things. One thing became readily apparent as it wrapped the fingers around her wrist and tugged- it wanted her to go. She wasn't going to get many more answers out of it otherwise.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone tilted her head and nodded towards the stairs. "Up in the spire? Alright. Probably not permanently dead, 'else you would've come and gotten someone..." She mused as to the reasoning as she set the glove back on her shoulder and started climbing the steps.

If there was any consolation for the glove, the shawl she wore around her shoulders was quite soft and warm. It might've been a pleasant feeling, if the glove could feel. It had gotten a little gritty with her using it as a knee mat outside, but it was nonetheless good winter wear.

Percy finally thought to ask. "They... aren't dead or unconscious, are they? I'm not sure I can drag a body downstairs, if needed."

From:

theanachronistictailor

Perched on Percy's shoulder like a bird might, the glove made a gesture in the negative. Likely not dead, or maybe it meant they weren't in the spire? It was dreadfully hard to communicate without a tongue, wasn't it?

Astonishingly, she had only gone up a single floor to the hall directly above the shop when it pat her shoulder to bid her stop outside the door of the flat that was there. It pointed at it meaningfully, and then leapt from her shoulder to land on the handle and turn it, but this door was also locked. Dropping to the floor with what seemed like a huff, the glove turned on the fingers again to beckon for Persephone. The charade it attempted was like.. turning a key in a lock? Or thrust- okay maybe that would be read wrong. It-

Ah, it wanted her to try to pick this one open, if she still had any lockpicks.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Percy got back on her knees, pulling the picks from her pocket. The rake wasn't the only tool at her disposal. With leverage on the bottom and the next pick inside, she started working on the lock, listening for the clicks of pins sticking. One... two... one... three... four... one... three... three... back to two... There! The lock turned and she was able to turn the handle.

"If Tailor finds out I did this, I'm gonna be in so much trouble... You're helping me practice my cutest, saddest, most pitiful face later. ... Eh, they probably wouldn't buy it." She pushed the door open and looked inside. "Any traps?"

From:

theanachronistictailor

In way of response, the hand strode inside quickly without any hesitation. It was clear that this space was free of any danger and indeed any occupants. The space was one that could be leased to a renter for an exorbitant amount if the leaser so chose, but for now it seemed only to contain crates and furniture, covered in sheets. Bit spooky, but nothing terribly frightening on the whole.

There was more dust here, and in it one could see the skittering disturbance across the floor that led from one room to the door the pair had come through, which showed now by way of example how the glove had crossed the flat and squirmed out the mail slot to make its way down to the shop.

Now it led Percy to the main living room space and then to the large wardrobe against one wall. One of the doors for it was slightly ajar. The Paisley glove pried at the edge of it with little in the way of luck- without a body, it just couldn't get much force.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone paused at the threshold. Something didn't feel right here, but now she didn't attribute it to immediate threat. Instead, it felt ominous, limned with the dusty glow of a mystery and one without a happy ending. The sherd she had in place of a heart thrummed softly in her chest. She took in a breath, bit her lips together, and nodded. Okay. She could bear with this.

Percy took off her boots and set them by the entrance, instead walking in her socks and on the outside of her foot to change her gait. If this was something serious, she really, really didn't want to be yelled at for it. But she trusted the Paisley and followed it to the wardrobe.

She pulled open the door, braced.

From:

theanachronistictailor

Out of the wardrobe leapt a barrage of fabric, the sleeves outstretched and practically throwing itself onto the girl. All Paisley, all a heavy drape over her shoulders in a graceless sprawl, and all... trembling very slightly.

The boots jumped out of the wardrobe and did a kind of jig on the floor, apparently unbothered at the idea of disturbing the dust. The handkerchief wrapped around and around and around Percy's throat like a cuddly serpent, leaking more than the rest a sense of relief and distress. The hat... watched, still in the wardrobe, unable to particularly move on its own.

The suit squeezed Percy with all the affection of a long-lost friend. The glove, its mission successful, hopped up to the little shelf the hat rested on, and flopped in apparent exhaustion, before it pat the rim ad tried to dust off the top. It seemed the collection of Paisley had been here a minute. Not locked up, as it were, the wardrobe wasn't locked shut, but if it could have left it certainly had made no real attempts to before now.

Now the suit clutched Persephone close like a particularly needy koala. She probably looked quite good now, if she caught a glance of herself in a mirror- alas, no mirrors in here.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone yelped with the impact and nearly fell, supporting the weight of the whole suit at once. She was overcome with worry and- Okay, the little jig of the boots was rather funny. Was that a heel click? And, oh, the poor handkerchief, her hand lifting to sort of stroke it as it went around and around her neck, feeling its distress. She readjusted the other items of clothing and reached to take up the hat, gentle with it.

"Oh, no, what's happened here? Did you get stuck? How long has the Tailor been gone? Did they know?" She offered a hand to the glove, perhaps letting herself be accessorized to better communicate what had occurred. A pity she was already fully clothed, or else she could put on the suit and look quite dashing- Hey! Persephone snorted a laugh as she recognized the Paisley's influence on her self-worth. She already felt confident in herself, so it was somewhat easier to tell her confidence from the Paisley's.

"I'd feel bad taking you from the spire without knowing what's going on, but maybe we can at least get you somewhere with less dust? I don't really know how to wash dust from you."

From:

theanachronistictailor

The glove leapt from the shelf and slipped onto the proffered hand, while the handkerchief knotted itself around her neck, the boots continuing to dance around her feet. The suit allowed itself to be adjusted in her grip, coat settling itself on her shoulders to assist, and in her hands the hat looked up at her, its rim somehow reading like a frown.

Wearing this much Paisley, it was easy enough to feel the will of the thing alongside her own- she could head downstairs, that would be nice. The Tailor, she knew now, likely wouldn't be back for a while, and even when they did they certainly wouldn't be coming up to this flat above the shop, so this space was safe, but it was rather dreary, wasn't it? Spooky, even.

Under the idea was a pervasive anxiety and a kind of loneliness and- worry. For the Tailor. Was it Percy's? Had she felt any of that of late? No, she wouldn't have, would she? She didn't know the danger yet.

Better she head downstairs. Or, even better, leave. Any direction that wasn't up to the spire, any direction that was away, was best. The spire, she would be able to feel, was not safe. It never had been. That's why it had been put here by the Tailor. To keep it safe, away from where it might look for it.

Why, oh why, had the Paisley agreed? Oh, please, let's not be in this place for too much longer, yes?

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone nodded, not understanding why she should feel worry for the Tailor, but now knowing that there existed a reason to. She let the boots slip on her feet so they could work together (and to maybe cover up her own footprints, this whole situation starting to unnerve her and making her not want to be found - and not in the playful, harmless disobedience sense). She picked up her other boots on the way out and took the stairs two at a time.

She didn't know why whatever was in the spire was dangerous, but she shared the sentiment of leaving as soon as possible. Percy did pause in the main shop, though. She bit her lip and stole a blank page from one of the desks, writing down a note with her glass, non-dominant hand.

'Paisley safe. All parts together. Will return'...

"Um... Any predictions for when it might be okay to come back? I may not want to be caught, but I also don't want the Tailor to worry when you're okay and safe. They don't have to know where, just that it'll be okay."

From:

theanachronistictailor

On her fingers, the glove (slightly too big for her) drummed on the table, thoughts overlapping with her own. She was filled, briefly, with the urge to crumple up the note altogether, to pocket it- the Tailor wouldn't notice its disappearance, had left it in the unused rental flat for what must have been a month now (there was a stinging hurt to the thought), and it was better they didn't know and no trace that anything was amiss-

But suppose they did come looking and it wasn't there? Would they think the worst? Would they worry that the M- that it had found the Paisley?

Reluctance, not Percy's own, filled her as she considered the options, before a decision was made. When there was confirmation the danger was past.

In any case, she was filled with doubt that the Tailor would mind the Paisley was with her in particular, so long as it didn't overtake her- and so long as she didn't put on the entire ensemble, there would be no worry of that. Speaking of, they might catch some attention like this. There were- this was thought was some disdain- garment boxes and hat boxes and the like in the first back room, if she wanted to hide the majority of the stuff, unless she felt like sneaking the fabric out under her own outer layers. Might feel a bit funny. Such is the life of a wanted revolutionary fabric.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone finished the note and ran it back upstairs, into the wardrobe. If the Tailor went looking, they'd have an answer. If they didn't, they wouldn't need one and she can just crumple it when she returns it. A compromise.

As she ran the steps, she spoke to the Paisley. "I reckon I can wear and hide the glove in a pocket, the kerchief under the shawl, and the boots under the dress. The coat and hat is much harder. Thought about puttin' a ribbon around the hat band, but I've already broken and entered, I don't need to go thieving... This time. I do feel sorry to consider the bag an' box. Maybe, if I leave 'em open and just find a way to hide the openings, they'll feel less cramped and you can still get away, if you prefer."

She finally landed in the shop. "Thoughts?"

From:

theanachronistictailor

She considered her options, and it became clear the issue was a matter of pride and little else- to have to not be seen at all? London would be all the lesser for it!

(Good to see that some things remained the same, hm?)

But no, it was fine- she'd get the Paisley someplace safe and it would trust all would be well. Percy was a reliable girl, after all. Better to, ugh, be cautious. Once she was in a safe place with her cargo, it might feel more at ease to answer her questions properly.

Still, the coat hanging on her shoulders for now gave her a little bit of a squeeze, the handkerchief settling against her and the boots fidgeting a little in place. They were big for her, of course, but they weren't going anywhere despite it, and they'd even let her lead the way. Just remember to lock the door on the way out!

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone laughed to herself as she understood the apprehension now. She could think of a compromise, but she kept it tucked away in a corner of her mind for now, very gently tucking the coat into a bag and the hat into a box. She locked the door as she opened it and let it close behind her, testing the handle to make sure it latched.

With that out of the way, she strode out the Glass Door and into the streets surrounding the Bazaar. Here, at least, they couldn't take any risks. Hand in the pocket, collar brought up, skirt not too lifted in her steps. She walked with casual confidence, even greeting a couple people as she passed, as she usually did. She had a great amount of self-awareness and, while she was not a subtle person, she was a consistent person. Greeting people and taking seconds to kick lacre drifts and pausing to look at the shop displays were all a part of her usual patterns, so she kept them up in her walking, even if she was in the mindset of hurrying.

Percy made it to the outer edges of Veilgarden before she untucked her hand from her pocket, letting it dangle as she walked. It wasn't much, the glove one of the more subtle iterations of the pattern, but it was exposure. There weren't many that saw her, even less that saw her hand, but those that did looked on in minor awe. What a beautiful glove! It matches her dress wonderfully! How tasteful and yet daring!

They were far enough from the inner city that nobody went to the constables with suspicious activity. They just made sure it wouldn't affect them before moving along. Macaria and Derek made sure she knew where those boundaries were.

Persephone hoped the Paisley was enjoying this.

From:

theanachronistictailor

All components of the suit were tucked away and folded themselves neatly underneath the hat, and it was certainly easy enough to pass off the box as one more bit of holiday shopping. In Veilgarden, fashions as outré as the Paisley pattern were certainly less likely to capture the wrong eyes- Bohemia loved the stuff and when it had begun its spread through London, it had started there. To be appreciated was a joy, and there was an extra strut in Percy's step as she walked. The handkerchief threatened to peek up under the edge her shawl at her neck, eager for attention.

She must have looked very cute to any passersby, certainly. She was certainly a very good hand at controlling how she was perceived, just like her sibling.

The passing thought of them filled her with a forlorn sensation. She- no, the Paisley- missed them terribly. The corners of the handkerchief curled in on itself in despondency, the boots lost their pep, the glove curled and uncurled her fingers. The emotion was rather distracting, a sorry contrast to the pomp and ego that had shone through mere minutes ago.

From:

themorbidsocialite

A small frown crossed her lips at the loss of ego. Persephone missed them terribly, a feeling found in both the Paisley and herself. But she shook her head, raised her chin and chest, and strode with all her own ego. If the Paisley couldn't muster confidence itself, she could muster confidence for it.

As they walked, the streets became narrower, older, turning from occupied avenues to alleys and passages. London's throng was about two turns ago, and yet it seemed like ages away in these lost, twisting streets.

It took a bit, though, before Percy gave a thoughtful hum. "I'm thinking too much about it. Can't find it, if I'm paying too much attention. Would you mind if I distracted myself while we walked?" She kept her voice low, air just barely dispersing into mist. Even if they were alone, talking to her clothing might be a step too suspicious. "I can tell you where we're going and why. Could even put it into a Story! Yeah, that could be plenty distracting! What do you say?"

From:

theanachronistictailor

Her strategy was successful; curiosity was piqued in her mind. The Paisley couldn't exactly say much, but that didn't keep it from expressing emotion and opinion as loudly as its pattern.

It liked stories. Might've been a knockoff effect from spending so much time with its usual wearer, but it liked them very much. What kind of a story?

From:

themorbidsocialite

"The sort that starts with 'Once upon a time.'" Persephone looked at the buildings and picked the left path.

"Once upon a time, there was... a prince. A lovely prince with a large coterie of suitors, lovers, and paramours, coming and going day and night." She numbered the alleys and turned down the fifth, then doubled back to the fourth.

"One day, the prince met a knight with dark armour, perplexing and terrifying and gentle as they held him. They shared hearts and fears and goals and the prince fell deeply in love with the knight. He came to realize he didn't want a throng of lovers. He wanted love, real love, the sort that doesn't come and go, stay for a night and leave the next morning. He wanted a home with someone. But the suitors didn't like that very much, y'see." Percy climbed up over a fence without question, barely thinking as she walked.

"So, to avoid their arguments and pleas, he found a new townhou- er, tower. One with magic in it. It might've been the language that made the laws of the world, it might've been a special color in the bricks, or maybe it was the work of the rats. But you can't find the tower unless you've already been or you're led by someone who's been." She passed flats and houses along an unnamed, unfamiliar street.

"There are some people who know where it is now who might be threats, like... like the Lords of Literature and Smoke! But they don't have reason to come around anymore. Too busy with games and kidnapping and such. Like dragons. But they're tempting. And the prince has been out of the tower a lot, doing games and work and such, especially since the knight's not been by in a while either." Persephone climbed to the roof of one building, jumped to the next, and slid down the slant, knocking a few tiles down before landing again.

"So, the only one in the tower often anymore is the young lady, the prince's daughter. She knows she'll be alone there, that she won't be found there, so she feels okay taking her roguish, secret friend there." She walked up to the steps of the townhouse and smiled. "And here we are! Sorry, kinda improvised the story, so it might not make much sense, but it helped me stop thinking too much! C'mon, we'll be safe in here. We live on the upper floors. No neighbors downstairs, though."

Percy took the steps two at a time.

From:

theanachronistictailor

Whatever the pattern and fabric thought of the story as it unfolded, it kept its thoughts uncharacteristically to itself. It was present; it was listening. The glove curled in on itself into a tight fist at the mention of Lords and dragons. The Paisley had learned, somewhere and how, how to exert the smallest measure of moderation. One could guess who had taught it.

Around Percy's neck, the handkerchief twisted and untwisted itself. It was going to wrinkle at this rate, never a good look for the fabric, it didn't particularly feel up for the iron of late.

It liked the prince of the story, it seemed to decide. It was nice to have someone to come back to, as much as it enjoyed being seen and felt it was important to spread itself and ideals. It was strange and warming to have someone who would want to protect it, would give it its freedom but prioritize its safety from those that would do it harm.

But that wasn't the same thing, was it? The Paisley didn't know. It communicated all this openly, willing to hear its wearer's feedback, though it supposed it didn't really matter- it was just a story, after all.

A very interesting story.

In any case, it was good to be back to the townhouse- the whole of the outfit had never been here, only bits and pieces. Once it was inside, and Percy was certain no one was in, the Paisley would be secure and safe. Maybe someone would even wear it from time to time. That would be nice!

From:

themorbidsocialite

Percy climbed the stairs all the way, unsure how to answer the Paisley's thoughts. She felt she was missing context somewhere, some detail that would offer insight into what it meant in full. Wasn't the same thing... as?

Regardless, she gave it thoughts, raw and unfiltered. It was a complicated matter. To have someone love you like that was freeing, but it also meant leaving them behind. And she saw how that sort of detached attachment hurt her fa- er, the prince. In the story. But she wasn't sure whether it was the prince's fault for not talking or the knight's fault for not staying. And when it came to the thief that later joined them...

There was a pain in not knowing where your family was, when you'd spent your life alone. There was a torture in forcing yourself to let go. But, as one of the people who left again and again... she didn't want to feel guilty for someone else's clinging attachment and loneliness. She wanted her freedom. She wanted to live. But was it different in romance? She didn't know... She didn't want a love like her father's, bleeding and staining and slick and easy to slip free of, but not without causing more wounds. She didn't want to be wounded.

But she didn't want the guarded, lying, protective and helpful to the point of apathy sort of love that the Tailor held true. That just made her feel sick, not even knowing the full extent of it, just knowing how they seemed the last time they were over.

She... didn't know how to love. She apologized to the Paisley, that she couldn't give a strong answer, that she felt such sour things about a type of love it seemed to find appealing.

Persephone came back from her zoning out in front of the door. She slipped her key in, turned, and slipped inside. "Papa!? Mama!? Rentie!? ... Anybody else? ... I think we're clear."

Captain, who'd curled up with Taph and Nyx and Poppies to escape the cold, flew to Persephone and, disregarding the Paisley, immediately curled up in her glass arm, eliciting a ticklish giggle. "Okay, okay, you can warm up there, Cap. If there were anyone here, the animals'd be more worked up. We're safe."

From:

theanachronistictailor

The Paisley didn't clarify, didn't take the time to explain the idea of being loved by many versus being loved by one, having one person be home. It didn't argue her perception of the Tailor, though something complex swirled through her in the moment. Like a locked door with light leaking out under it, but the door was anger and the light was hurt and fear. Like loneliness that pushed people away without meaning to for its own protection. Things that had leaked into the Paisley through its favored wearer, that it didn't have any right to share and didn't truly understand.

Traces of a memory. "Stay." A tremor in the Tailor's voice. "With me. Stay here in London. Work with me. I can help you spread further, we can help each other.” It had touched their cheek, and it had left, escaping into London despite their plea. The rejection to such a simple request, another tally mark of in the long list of those who would not stay-

The handkerchief unwound itself from Persephone's neck quickly and the memory faded as she made her way into the flat proper. It hung loosely, while the glove feigned impatience by way of tapping Percy's fingers against the side of the box still held. In truth there was a trace of guilt to it that leaked over, a little less potent than before when the handkerchief had been a proper accessory. Its memories were not so precious as to be secret, but no warning could overwhelm for one, and for another it took issue with showing someone dear to it be so vulnerable. Not to mention the Paisley's own action in the memory.

None of that was particularly of significance right now. Well, maybe a little, but first: to get settled. It was good nobody was present, as much as it would still like to be appreciated. Good to know they were in a safe space. Now...

She had questions. They had answers. The boots encouraged Percy to find a seat somewhere, and the glove patted the side of the box again. She'd be wanting the hat, when she was ready.

From:

themorbidsocialite

"Was that-?" Persephone didn't finish the sentence, knowing the answer, even as she swayed with the relative force of the memory.

She understood. In a way. She still didn't want a bleeding heart. Not one she had to protect, nor one she let stain every relationship she had. She didn't want to hurt like that, hurt until she was angry and scared and desperate, so maybe she could just run and avoid it completely...

Right! Focus! Her fingers tapped on their own and she first undid the bag before opening the box. They were finally safe, it'd be rude to not take her guest's "coat." Following the boots, she carried the box to the loveseat, sinking into it like a cloud. Percy lifted the hat from the box and placed it in her lap. "Are you ready?"

She... didn't want to think on something so complex anymore.

From:

theanachronistictailor

There was no real chin with which to nod, but the pattern on the band of the hat that looked most like eyes met Percy's, while the glove on her hand traced the brim again. Yes, it was ready. It was going to tell her a little of what it knew, but perhaps the better question was if she was ready.

When she felt braced for it, she'd want to put the hat on, and hold onto it. Perhaps it was better to say that it would show her a little, than tell.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone breathed, then nodded. "I'm ready."

She lifted the hat, turning it in her grip so the "eyes" faced out, and pulled it down, onto her head. She'd keep a tight grip on it, careful not to dent or wrinkle, but ready to take it off, should things go too far. She'd been practicing meditation to help in talking with Stone. She hoped that level of calm and focus could help her here.

From:

theanachronistictailor

The hat was slightly too big, of course, and when Percy put it on it encouraged she lower it completely, until her eyes were in the dark, her nose barely peeking out from the rim. Even so, she still could see, because the Paisley could see. She was not quite Paisley, personalities and goals still distinct, but the line between the two blurred when her eyes were its eyes, when its memories were hers, when the view she found was not the flat she had brought it to but-

Your host, across the tiny bedroom, looking out the window as they dress in hunting attire and strapping the sandalwood bat to their back. They clutch a tiny bottle in their hand, hard to make out in the candlelight. "Not risking you for whatever comes next," they say, dropping the bottle into their pocket before they turn to you again to run a hand over your crown. "I'll be back, luv. Have faith, yeah?"

You hurt, as you walk to the cottage, your host's body in pain they fight to conceal. You assist, boots taking a step after a step after a step. Glancing around- there is Percy, by the little pond. Your host does not lift their hand to wave, so she does not see. She must not see, little eyes too knowing for their own good. Nobody must yet know of the hunt that your Tailor will not abandon despite the damage it has already done. Stubborn.

You, running through the dark University halls, your tails drifting out behind you at your pace. You are short on time before the performance and so you must hurry to the museum, where your associate awaits you eagerly. As your steps echo in the empty space, your thoughts spin on themselves in complex shapes What would a Master want from the nightmares of writers? What compels it to stop their writings? The Third City, what does it know of it? You must find out- must unravel every loose thread and unmake the tapestry that is your (not your, your host's, but oh, that line, it blurs) monster to know its key components.

Hands clutch you carefully, run gloves fingers down your lapels, checking for damage. No, the Tailor ascertains, you are whole, whole as you can be. "I keep putting you at risk," they say solemnly, holding your glove to their chest, "even without meaning to. You being here of all places is a risk. What if it finds you?" Your leather curls in their hand, your coat sleeve draping over their forearm where the both of you know the mark hides under their cuff. You are not the one at risk here, you think.
Their brows furrow at the answer before they sigh. "You can't come with me to the convent- I won't get zee air in you," your host tries to joke. "But I would rather you not be up here, in this spire- not when-"
They cut themself off, but you understand anyway- twice at least has the Master come without warning. This place is not at all safe, not for either of you, but you are not the one it keeps to toy with. Yet to place you in someone else's trust means to reveal the hunt- and they still cannot yet bring themself to do that.
You allow yourself to be gathered up in your Tailor's arms, like an embrace, as they take you to the flat on the first floor. The air here is dusty, unused for more than storage. Under the sheet there is the couch they dragged down after the first night, after the Master came to them and- no. Put it out of your mind. Which of you thinks that? No matter.
The wardrobe opens, and you are placed into the dark with reluctance on both your parts. The Tailor looks up at you as they set you, the hat, onto the shelf, apology in their eyes. You are supposed to be a team.
You wait in the dark, and you wait an eternity. Time passes. The Tailor does not return. Fear takes hold, fear for your person, and when you can bear it no longer your glove slips free of the wardrobe and out the mail slot. From a high vantage point hidden in the shop it-you- find them, changed. A weight on their shoulders. Clothing dark, gloves black. You creep back to the wardrobe. You wait.

Rinse, repeat.

Here is a story, not dissimilar to the one she told the Paisley: There was a hunter who knew the truth. The Lords were not like dragons, they were dragons, and the hunter aimed to bring down the worst one. No matter the injury or the price, they'd seek out the secrets to its end. They shared its dreams and it saw their face, it sought them out as they entered its lair. Who was the hunter and who was the hunted, anymore?

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone pulled the hat off her head with haste, her eyes misty with worry, fear, hurt, reluctance. She breathed out in meaningful sighs, sorting through what thoughts were hers and which were the Paisley's. She held the hat close, next to her heart, still careful not to mar the fabric, but holding it firmly. The breathing eventually slowed and she was able to blink away the tears.

"Woah... Didn't know you could do that..." She was gentle in petting the top of the hat. "But August... Do you know which Master it is? Why they're so obsessed? What's the Convent? They haven't told anyone else? Why not? What is this thing and why do they insist on huntin' it alone? And there's a mark? There's too many questions and... And... And I know that bat."

Percy tucked the hat under her arm and wobbled into standing, still a bit unsteady after the memory flood. But she pushed through and walked to the armchair by the fireplace. "Papa thinks I don't know where Rent's stuff is. He thinks I don't know where his stuff is either, but that's not revelant-... relevant. I know where the secrets are. And this one..." She pried open the back panel of the armchair and there, within, was a similar bat, still in the process of being refined, carved down, suitable for an embedded tooth. "It's just like Gus'. Just not finished yet. Same texture, pro'lly the same wood. Is it the same monster? Jesus marryin' Joseph, there's too much t' think about. But it seems bad. It seems like it's killin' 'em inside and out. Is it? Are they gonna die?"

It, strangely, wasn't panic that drove her. Unlike her father, she didn't let herself spiral with fear. What motivated the onslaught of questions was partially concern, partially curiosity, but mostly indignance. She was missing pieces and she hated that. She hated being left in the dark and especially hated when it was done intentionally. The Tailor knew. The Tailor didn't wave to her because they knew she would want answers. They were intentionally leaving her out of something, something that could steal her sibling from her, and she was quite put out about it. Even just holding it, the Paisley could feel Persephone's grievances with this whole charade.

"How do we stop them from dying?"

From:

theanachronistictailor

The handkerchief was looping around her neck again, glove curling and uncurling. She could feel worry at the sight of the bat- yes, it was the same. It was a bat made to try to bring down a Vake. When the handkerchief knotted itself properly, the knowledge came a bit more naturally, like it was her own idea.

The Paisley had been made in London, custom order, by a Master- a Master of silks and velvets, dressed in black. When it had found the Tailor, the Tailor had gathered all of it together from across London, and in doing so they had together faced the Master in question. It had left... a impression. One she did not need to know the extent, wouldn't be given without more Paisley directly on her person.

The Paisley had left shortly after, but when the Tailor had found it again, the drive to hunt the Master was already in place. It didn't know why for certain- something had happened in those few weeks of summer that had driven their wearer's drive to beat it at its own game.

The Devil knew of the hunt, and the Piper as well, because the Piper was after the same prey. Yet whatever was happening to the Tailor hadn't happened to them- something was different but the Paisley didn't know what. All it could ascertain was that the Tailor had not been looking forward to going to the Convent, whatever it was.

The mark... The Tailor had told the Socialite it was their paymentfor living in the Spire. But Masters lived in the Spires, could come and go as pleased. The Tailor had not lied but they had not been truthful either. The monster had come in and taken payment and more besides.

Something was drawing their person deeper into the mess, and the Paisley didn't know if it was just the Vake- the Master- or if there was more to it. It had been in the wardrobe too long, hadn't been able to witness how things had gotten or if they had gotten much worse. It only had so many answers for Persephone. The handkerchief was twisting itself up about the whole thing, while the gloved hand curled itself into a fist. It seemed she was not the only one who didn't enjoy being kept in the dark.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone replaced the board of the armchair with a mental note to look up things about sandalwood. She straightened up and rose, catching her reflection in the mirror. Even just glancing, she was filled with the natural confidence of the Paisley, the surety that, regardless of other emotions, she looked amazing. It was weak with the worry it exuded, so Percy smiled, rose a hand to stroke the handkerchief, and pushed all of her confidence and surety into the connection, founded on ability more than appearance.

"We'll find out the truth, together. Our Tailor may think we need to be in dark wardrobes to be safe, but we deserve to know what's happening. We need to know what's happening to be safe and to keep our Gus safe, right? Much more dangerous to walk into a situation without knowing heads an' tails. If you want something, you gotta grab it with both hands, they said, so that's what we'll do."

Percy went to the bookshelf and started grabbing out books and skimming through them. "Papa and I are goin' to the Maven's cottage on Christmas Eve. I know you n' I will need a break after today, but we can probably do small things over the holidays. I'm allowed to read just about every book here besides the 'intimate fantasies' on the top shelf, so if I can find the word 'convent', I can ask what it means without seeming suspicious and maybe we can get a lead there? You said the Piper and Devil both know? I'll need to come up with ways to ask them for information without seeming suspicious. The adults around keep forgetting I'm nearly an adolescent, acting like I'm still little, not just young. I can use that, though, make them think I know less than I do. Would you wanna stay here or come with to the Cottage a little? In one or two pieces to keep from being spotted."

From:

theanachronistictailor

The little girl sounded so much like them, it told her with wonder. There probably wasn't anyone better suited to the pattern than the Tailor, but Persephone made for an extremely good second. And she did look damn good in it too. The gloved hand lifted to squeeze the opposite shoulder, something resembling a hug.

It wanted to go, wanted to be present- and if it could get the chance to see the Tailor soon, it would like that too. It would gather up everything they knew and strategize with its current wearer, to the best of its ability- it was a revolutionary fabric, dammit, it knew a thing or two about being bold and taking action.

It could offer what it knew, little as it was, in piecemeal as not to overwhelm. (By the by, the convent had something to do with nuns? It had seen one or two of those. Didn't know much else besides.) They could figure something out, for its person. For their Gus.

...Just so long as Percy stayed away from the Masters, okay?

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone beamed at the comparison and approval and returned the hug with a pleasant, cheerful warmth before returning to her search. "Nuns, huh? I think this book has nuns. Ask the right person and they'll go on a tangent about what the Convent is in the Neath, too. Should be before New Year's. I think Tailor will be there for the party and they'll know something's up. Another good reason for you to come with, then: Tailor's coming to the New Year's Day party!"

Percy paused at the mention of the Masters. Her hand raised to the handkerchief again, less about soothing the Paisley and more about soothing herself. "You... don't have to worry about that, unless by accident. Met one of 'em the other day. Fire or Fires or somethin'. Had to lie, say I didn't know where Mama was, but... something about it. I don't know what it was, but something made me feel more fear than anything else has in the Neath. I don't think I'll be seeking 'em out anytime soon."

She finally stopped on a page in the book and hummed. "There. Convent. With relation to nuns. Just gotta bookmark it and pack it with my travel bag, pretend I just came across it in reading. Anything else around Papa - the Morbid Socialite - Maven, Devil, or the Marshes we can look into while we're there?"

From:

theanachronistictailor

The handkerchief clenched a little at the mention of Fires, but the glove attempted to soothe with a little rub to Persephone's other wrist. The thing was glass, but you know, it was the thought that counted. It considered the question. What else had it learned...?

There'd been something about the Royal Beth? The Maven went there frequently, didn't she? Perhaps she knew something about the writers in the Veils wing, that the Tailor had pursued at Hallowmas. They'd been trying to find more about their quarry- they, like Percy, liked to know as much as possible to get the best odds. And while some of their early research into the Vake had been in the marshes, the Paisley didn't know if there were still leads out there- it hadn't seemed like it after the Tailor had been injured.

And there had been something about the Third City... but what, it didn't quite know. That one would be rather difficult to bring up in casual conversation.

It was good to have someone to plan with- the Paisley was very big on the forward thinking, liked that a lot about its wearers. Yes, this would be good. Percy was an excellent host.

(Although, maybe if the Tailor saw her with the Paisley, they would ask it to come home and they would wear it again? That would be ideal. But... alas. That whole thing about safety. Damn.)

From:

themorbidsocialite

As the Paisley provided Persephone with leads, she closed her eyes, tapped a new finger to her thumb with every new topic, and gave a note in an ascending scale. Once it was done, she followed the scale with her fingers. "Sandalwood, Convent, Beth Veils wing, Third City."

She practiced running through the scale a couple times in her head to solidify the pattern, then nodded. She checked her other scales, cued in by tapping the fingers of her other hand, though it wasn't clear to the Paisley what the contents of these other scales were. Once she was sure she'd filed away and memorized the topics, she opened her eyes. "Okay. We have our heading. Plans on plans on plans! So, for now, we relax. And pack. And I should send a letter to Macaria saying I'm at home. She'll think Papa's home and Papa will think I'm with her. Fool proof. Do... Hm. You don't drink tea, do you? Would that just stain?"

With the mention of a letter, Poppies yawned and fluttered up from her place in the warm pet pile to cling to the window frame. Percy kept her distance from the small, exuberant batling, making a mental note to build a fire after writing the letter.

From:

theanachronistictailor

Actually, the Paisley quite enjoyed tea, when it was wearing someone- ah, rather, when someone was wearing it, pardon -who partook. All that said though, Percy could do as she liked. The Paisley was here and safe and comfortable on her person. So much as she didn't feel like locking the whole thing away into a crate, it was content for now.

As for her Papa: it was also up to her, if she wanted to inform the fellow of the goings-on. The Tailor had been keeping many secrets from many people, perhaps out of pride, perhaps not to worry them. It was hard to say how wise that was, now.

So the Paisley would let Persephone make the call on that.

And... gratitude towards her filled her chest. It was really very grateful she had showed up, and taken it home.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone swelled with pride, glad to have done something right. She'd make a note later to set up a tasting spread so the Paisley could experience good things through her.

When faced with the question of whether or not to inform the Socialite, Percy paused, staring at the empty, cold armchair. "I'll tell him soon. Just, right now... I can do it. I can take care of things. He doesn't have to know just yet, but I promise he'll know soon."

The Paisley could feel the tug of a memory. 'Enoch and Dinah haven't been home in some time and I believe it may be my fault. ... I haven't even told Percy I don't know when they're returning. I don't think she knows we've been fighting. I try not to let her know.' She tried not to feel hurt, bitter, worried, afraid.

"He's just too busy and stressed right now," she reasoned, writing her note and sending it out the window with Poppies. "I'll tell him when he has less on his plate."

She distracted herself with making a fire, setting aside the Paisley temporarily so they wouldn't get burned or soot stained. Once something was started, she allowed it back on her person.

From:

theanachronistictailor

There was another sensation like a hug from the bits of the pattern on her person. The Paisley was always a very affectionate thing, huh? In any case, 'soon' was better than 'never', so that was a perfectly suitable answer. It waited patiently for her to get the fire going, and then at first opportunity all the bits of outfit made its way out the box proper to drape over her, like some kind of dismantled blanket.

It was starting to get the sense that the people they loved were kinda maybe stupid about secrets and taking on way too much for them. All it was good for was worrying others! What a bunch of nonsense. Better to be clear about things, better to be open and direct!

But then, this was the Paisley. Being bold was part of its nature. But it was a damn good example, it thought, of the best way to be. Never failed it

Ignoring that attempted assassination, mind you.

From:

themorbidsocialite

Persephone didn't know the context of everything, what had been going on with the Paisley, but she still laughed. "You're very right. People are stupid about it. They keep secrets that don't need t' be kept and take on more than they can handle without thoughts to priorities, possible emergencies, and the people directly around them. Everyone's doin' everything all of the time and nobody's talkin' about it and it's so stupid."

Percy reached over and grabbed a loveseat cushion, putting it on the ground and laying on it so she was spread out and the Paisley could more easily drape. The fire was slowly rising with the fresh logs and the warmth cast out the chill of secrecy and unspoken truths. Percy was usually warm with her Correspondence, but her home had been so cold and lonely lately, every smile sad and hiding something behind and every word leaving a thousand unsaid. She was pretty sick of it. She just wanted her family safe and together again, no more secrets, no more burdens. She was glad the Paisley was here to help her make that happen.

Her body sank into the cushion, her breathing slowing. She could really go for a nap before dinner. Too long of a nap, it might stretch into supper. She wouldn't mind that so much. "Do you mind if I sleep a little? Promise, I'll be up to make food in time. Just tired after everything."

From:

theanachronistictailor

Sleeves and lapels settled atop Persephone's body pleasantly, completely at ease. The glove stayed slipped on her hand, the handkerchief nestling itself under her chin in a way not unlike a kitten. The boots eased off her feet politely, trousers laying against her legs in a fun tangle.

Percy could sleep as much as she liked. They had a plan, and a safe place to rest. The Paisley wouldn't mind it at all, waiting for her, and it promised not to give her any funny dreams. The hat, for its part, would keep watch.

They'd sort things out later. They had time, the Paisley hoped.

They still had time.

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theanachronistictailor - A Helping Hand

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