#threadofheart

Kaden ran his hands along the leather jacket as he watched the signs of the stores along the street. He didn’t want to miss the repair shop. Clothing wasn’t usually precious to him. It couldn’t be, not as a hunter. Sure, he had to scrounge and save for new clothing back in the day, but any shirt or pants could get destroyed in the wrong monster fight. The best thing to do was usually patch it best as he could for as long as he could before tossing it aside for something else decent. But the leather jacket in his grip was different. This was a gift. Kaden had precious few gifts in his life that he held onto, at least not prior to coming to White Crest. Either way, if anything was worth taking care of, it was the jacket Blanche had given him. To the point he was careful not to wear it on hunts, at least not often. Sometimes it was hard to avoid. Still, he couldn't figure out where some of the holes in the piece were coming from. It didn’t make sense. Definitely beyond his skills to repair. Time to try a professional for once. He gulped before swinging the door open. He had to remember whatever the price, he was fine, he could afford it. Old habits were hard to break. “Hello?” he called out. “Uh, got a jacket that needs fixing. This is the place, right?”

After the online interaction with the owner of the leather shop, Irene was quick to research some tips on how to better mend leatherwork. Since it wasn’t her typical area of expertise, she wanted to improve on it in the event she had customers seeking that specific service. Scattered across her table were scrap pieces of leather she had practiced her stitching. Several of her poor needles already set aside and bent at odd angles. Just then, the jingle of the door chimes caused her to look up at the customer entering her shop. With a warm smile, she got up from her table and walked over to the counter. “Welcome, I’m Irene, and you’re in the right place. What sort of fixing does this jacket need?” she asked, her hands gently patting on the counter indicating for him to set down the piece. Upon brief examination, it certainly appeared to be well-worn, well-appreciated.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Kaden said, awkwardly and a little stilted as he walked towards the counter. He had no idea what the protocol was in this whole exchange, it wasn’t like he’d ever done it before. Thankfully she took the lead and indicated where to place the jacket so after giving her a slightly startled look, he did just that. Right. Made sense, she had to look at it after all. “Uh, there are some holes in it. Weird spots. I don’t think I made them.” Then again, he got so many injuries and brushed up against so many various fangs, claws, and pincers it was hard to keep track of the damage after a while. “Not that I-- I mean, I work in animal control. With the WCPD. Uh, Officer Langley.” Which probably didn't matter. Why the fuck was he introducing himself? And why was he nervous about a damn jacket repair? “You probably didn’t need to know that or care. Just, yeah. Weird holes. Does it… You think you can fix this? Not to-- I just don’t know what can and can’t be saved. Usually don’t try.”

Irene’s expert hands were quick to search typical areas where jackets typically formed holes. The seams didn’t seem to be split but with some of the holes, she likely would have to reline a couple of spots so that any fixing wouldn’t look like a patch job. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to study the jacket. “Overall, this looks like it’s in good condition, but the holes are… a little strange,” she noted aloud. “Like you said, definitely in some strange places. If this were a weather or cotton piece, I’d say maybe moths or something, but I’m a bit at a loss as to the cause.” Straightening up, she let out a small sigh and another smile. After all, her job wasn’t to determine what caused this but rather how she would fix it. “Well, Officer Langley, this probably will take me about a week. I think I have similar thread and fabric to fix this up, though once I’m done, it’ll look brand new.” It was clear this jacket meant a lot to him; the stress emanating from him was hitting Irene like a wall of bricks, so she hoped her words could offer some relief. “And I could offer you a rough estimate as well if you’re interested.”

Kaden rubbed the back of his neck as he watched the woman work through what was going on with his jacket. Putain, he wasn’t normally this nervous about simple human interactions. Something about it being new, unknown, it left him unsure. “Yeah I didn’t think moths would go for leather, but a brow--” Merde. He caught himself before he started talking about fae and monsters. Barely. “I mean, yeah probably not moths.” He felt his stupid heart pounding in his chest over a stupid conversation with a seamstress. The fuck was wrong with him? Maybe he shouldn’t quit hunting. He clearly couldn’t handle normalcy. “A week? Is that-- I mean, sounds good. I’m not sure how long this would normally take. I’ve never had anything repaired before. I normally just throw away things once they get damaged but I guess if I did that you wouldn’t have any business so anyway this is, uh, new. For me.” He was certain she could tell without him saying shit. Her next assurance had him even more wide eyed. Shit, was he really that obvious? He didn’t think he looked poor. He didn’t right? Fuck, maybe he did. “A rough estimate? Oh. Yeah. That’d be good. To know. If you--” His brow furrowed as he cut his sentence short once more. This time it wasn’t just him not knowing how to speak like a normal person. Something was moving. His brows knit together as he looked closer at the jacket. “You’re not…” His eyes darted back up to her. Her hands were in fact not underneath the jacket. And yet it was wiggling. “That’s not you moving it, is it?”

Irene could feel the intensity of his emotions grow despite her telling him that the jacket could be fixed. Was something else worrying him? In the past, she had worked with clients who held incredible sentimental value to their clothing articles. Perhaps this was one of those instances. With a warm smile, she looked across the counter at the man. “This jacket must mean a lot to you if you’re bringing this in for extra care. I assure you that your jacket is in great hands with me, officer. You’re doing great,” she added lightly with a small chuckle. Grabbing a notepad and a pen, she scribbled a few quick notes about the current condition of the leather jacket and the exact fixes the officer was requesting. That helped her approximate the cost. Just as she was about to write out an estimate, his question caught her by surprise. “Hm? N-no, what do you mean?” she asked, her eyes instantly darting to the jacket to see brief movement. Shoot, did her shop have mice or rodents? “Oh goodness!” Without thinking, she lifted the jacket up, expecting to find some sort of critter there only to spot something… not quite exactly that or anything she had seen before. “What--” she jumped back in surprise, her eyes wide after she immediately dropped the jacket back down.

Kaden nodded a little along with her words. “I mean, sure it, uh, I like it and all. But it’s not that important.” Putain, why did he say that? What if that meant she was less careful with it now that she thought he didn’t care? “Not that-- I mean. Yes. Thank you.” Fuck, what if she was fae? And he just thanked her. And why did she have to reassure him that he was doing fine with a basic social interaction. Sadly, his ineptitude wasn’t the biggest disaster in the room. When she moved the jacket, out hopped a small rodent looking creature. Only it wasn’t a mouse or rat, no no. That was a snicker-snacker. No missing it. “Putain,” he grumbled to himself. “No wonder there were holes.” Out of instinct, Kaden reached for his knife in his back pocket, but his hand hovered and hesitated. Just long enough for the supernatural rodent to scutter off. Shit. But he couldn’t just stab the snicker-snacker right in front of her in her shop. He wasn’t the most experienced with social norms, but he was pretty fucking sure destroying shops with knives was frowned upon. He twisted and turned looking to see if he could find the creature. “Must have been in the jacket. Not sure how I missed that.” Had to have crawled in one night when he was hunting. At least he hoped that was the case. If he had an infestation in his apartment, well, he didn’t want to think about the destruction waiting for him at home. “Did you see where it-- there!” he shouted as he leapt towards a corner of the store, diving onto the floor, trying to clasp the rodent with his bare hands. It skittered just out of reach, running to the other side. Shit. He had to get it or else it could be bad news for her shop. It had definitely gone to the left. Only, when he glanced to the right, he saw it there, too. No, not the original one. There were two. “Uh. Think you’ve got a problem here,” he told her, trying to pick himself up off the floor.

If the rodent-looking creature scared Irene, the man pulling out a knife immediately caused the seamstress to shriek out of surprise and fear. But her attention was quickly drawn back to the thing that jumped off her counter and was not running around her shop. With wide eyes, she pulled her gaze back to the man as she tried to process just what had happened. Irene wasn’t normally one for any sort of judgment, but yes, how had this man conveniently not realize that something like that was burrowing his jacket? Before she could even respond, Irene toward the floor as the creature skittered across her feet to the man’s left. Another yelp escaped her lips as she jumped back in surprise. It was one thing for rodents to be scampering around, but she will not have them messing up her shop. Trying to think quickly, Irene grabbed a broom from the corner and glanced to the right and saw… another one. Confusion etched across her face. “Oh no…” she muttered quietly as she slowly raised her broom. Was this her weapon now or a poor decision of a shield? Who knew. “What are those?” she asked in a soft voice, hoping not to startle these creatures with any sudden noise.

This was a problem. One snicker-snacker was bad news. Two were exponentially worse. And for all they knew, there were more than even that. Kaden started to listen and look for any more signs of them, trying to keep his steps quiet as he ducked down to look at any and every corner. “Snicker--” He paused before finishing his answer. Saying “snicker-snackers” was going to make him sound like he was out of his mind, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t exactly keeping the supernatural a secret at that point either. Putain. “Uh, rodents. Mutated mice. I think.” That worked, right? “They’ll eat through just about anything so be careful.” This whole shop would be in bad shape if an infestation broke out. All the clothes and fabric would never last. He glanced over to see how she was holding up. Broom wasn’t a bad idea on her part. Shit, if only he had his work kit. No nets or cages on him now, unfortunately. “Got anything to trap them with? A basket. A bowl. Anything?” He saw a jar full of pins. This was a terrible idea. “Putain,” he grumbled to himself as he dumped the pins as carefully as he could manage onto the table he picked the jar up off of. “Sorry about that. I, uh, I mean looks like it’ll work.” He caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eyes and leapt towards it, jar in hand. “Sweep it towards me! Corner it”

Irene watched the man move around expertly ready to attack. She clutched the broom tighter against her chest as her heart pounded loudly in her ears. “Snicker? Like--what, like the candy?” she asked incredulously. Her brow knitted tightly as she tried to keep an eye on even just one of these creatures. “Mutated mice. Wonderful. Thank you evolution,” she muttered under her breath as she took slow, quiet steps through her shop. Rodents weren’t something she was scared of; hell, she’d seen her fair share of very brave rats in New York. This? This should be a piece of cake, though she had no idea what sort of advantages these mutations gave these rodents. Her eyes quickly scanned the room in response to his request. “Uh… how’s this? Wait!” she called out, unable to find a suitable container before the pins were spilled out. Great. But she had little time to process that before she also caught sight of a dashing blur past her. Instinctively, she swept broadly with the broom, the bristles making contact with something, and a loud squeak seemed to indicate she must have caught the rodent. “Coming your way!” she called out as she made one swift broom push toward the man. “Well, that has to be one, right? Is that it?”

“Uh, sort of,” Kaden started. With how often he ran into the supernatural in this town, it was hard to remember how few of the residents actually were in the know. Code said to keep shit secret, he needed to try a little harder. As he dove, he slammed the lar over top of where he’d seen the blur. Only to catch something just to the left of him. Shit. He reached out with the jar again as she swept the lump towards him, capturing the creature underneath. “Got it!” he shouted, keeping both hands on top of the small jar, just in case. There was a sound of something splitting behind him. Putain. He kept one hand on the jar as he twisted to try and look behind him. A table leg had snapped in two and he was certain if they didn’t hurry, there might be less than three legs there. “Shit, shit, shit.” He was making a real fucking great impression here. He had to let go of the jar to get over to the other one. “Uh, do you have a book? Or a weight? Or something? And one more--” He paused. “Maybe two more jars. Just in case.”

Irene's stress levels increased, both from wanting these creatures out of her shop and from the fact that this whole instance was creating a giant mess of her shop. Had these things always been around this entire time? A hazard of her work she never considered before? As the man dove down, Irene held her breath until she saw that he had managed to catch something. “B-book? Um, goodness, I have uh I have a couple of binders of fabric swatches,” she said, frantically reaching for these from the desk in the back. And jars. Her eyes looked for a few more of those, all filled with things like thread scraps or buttons. The priorities now though was definitely in capturing these creatures, so she poured the contents out into an empty box and quickly returned to the man. And then she saw the cracked leg on her table. Oh goodness why was this happening. “I hate to bombard a customer with orders, but please get these things out of here before the rest of my shop is destroyed,” she pleaded.

This was not the first impression Kaden had planned to make. Granted, he didn’t start off on the best foot so guess he didn’t have much to lose. He’d shifted and let his foot rest on the jar while she went to grab more supplies to trap the creatures, untrusting of what would happen if he left it unweighted. He didn’t want to find out if the snicker-snacker could topple over the glass. At least it couldn’t eat it. Well, it shouldn’t at least. It wasn’t exactly wood or fiber. He looked down. Floors should be safe, too. Right, better get them out quickly. “Thanks,” he said, taking the book and the jars from her. He dumped the book on top of the makeshift snicker-snacker trap and hoped like hell it was enough to keep it there. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the little pest run up and back towards his jacket. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, diving towards it and yanking it away off the counter. The mutant mouse went spinning and flying in the air as the rug was pulled out from under it, but landed on its feet and scurried off. Merde. He’d have to be more careful.

Jars in hand and ready to pounce, Kaden tried to move quietly around to the back of the counter to see if it had landed back there. A flash of fur and horns darted out, squealing towards the table with three legs. “Not today, you little bastard,” Kaden said as he threw himself at the table, crashing into it, causing all sorts of odds and ends to go flying and clattering to the floor as he wrestled to get the jar on top of the creature. All he got was a spool of thread. Good thing she’d handed him two jars. He reached out with his left hand and slammed the glass down, praying he didn’t break it with his hunter strength and heard a squeal as the tail wriggled out from underneath the lip. If it were a mouse or a rat, he might feel a ping of remorse. But a snicker-snacker? He dug the jar down to the floor a little harder before the tail snaked its way back under the container with another squeal. “Got it,” he said, breathing heavily as he pushed himself off the floor.

Irene watched with astonishment as the man moved so expertly. Her eyes darted back and forth between the now-occupied jar and the precarious situation of her table. “Sure…” was all she managed to respond. With her hands now empty and the man chasing after the other “mutant rodents,” Irene’s attention honed onto the jar. She could hear the skittering of the creature, sounds of tiny claws scraping against the glass in an attempt to escape. Leaning down onto her hands and knees, Irene took a peek at the rodent inside, this snicker thing, and let out a small gasp. It looked like a mouse or a hamster but with horns. What the heck was in the White Crest water that mutated the rodents into something like this? Her thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sudden slam from the man, the sound of another jar crashing onto the ground and securing another creature in its confines. “O-okay, what do we do now? I mean, are we supposed to let these go out in the wild? Is there animal control for something like this?” And how dangerous were these things? So many questions ran through her head. Then her face paled lightly at the next thought. Did these need to be exterminated? Despite the trouble they brought, the idea soured her stomach.

Kaden brushed off his pants and arms after standing and taking a look at the chaos around the room. Putain. Not how he intended this to go. Couldn’t even have a simple interaction in a store in this goddamn town. “Lucky for you, I am animal control. Obviously not on duty right this second. Or else, you know, I’d be prepared.” He sighed and pushed his hair back into place. “They’re pretty destructive, as you can see,” he said, gesturing to the poor table. Shit. “Uh, I can, pay for that, by the way. I sorta brought them here.” No clue how he was affording that but tables couldn’t cost that much, right? Shit. “Reproduce exceptionally fast, too.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. This was the worst part. People already had bad takes on animal control half the time. He’d been called an animal killer too many times for his liking. And it’s not like he could tell her these were clearly monsters and out himself. No one liked to hear about dead animals and he couldn’t blame them. But these weren’t sweet little mice, these were pests. Abominations. Capable of destroying full houses if left to their own devices. “For now, I’ll take them out of here. They’re definitely not adoptable, though. I’ll do a relocation out in the woods, though.” He hoped she would buy it. There was no way he was going to chance a snicker-snacker infestation in town.

It was the sudden calmness that stressed Irene out even more. Was this it? Were all of them caught in her jars? “You? You’re animal control?” Had he said that earlier before all of this happened? She couldn’t recall. A hand ran through her hair, the other hand almost resting against her damaged table before she spotted the broken leg. She quickly pulled back and sighed. At least that table was a hand-me-down from the previous tenant of the shop, and Irene had been hoping to upgrade to a more customized work surface. “Um, yea, th-thanks, I think,” she said mindlessly, unable to fully assess the severity of these creatures. “Like rabbits. Or rats. And I thought New York rats were damaging,” she muttered to herself. How did those things even scurry onto him and into her shop? “Right, your jacket though. If uh if you still wanted that mended, I can still take that on but I might need more time now because…” her voice trailed as she gestured to her mess of a space.

Deirdre never considered herself to be a sentimental person. Yet, with her dress torn up the side, she found herself more willing to find the nearest tailor than to get a new one. She’d had the thing since moving to White Crest, and was certain at that moment that no other dress could make her look as good. More than that, though, she had things to do. Places to be. As much as she liked being nude, a torn up dress simply wasn’t acceptable. If she could just get the thing stitched up, however crude, she’d be on her way. “Hello?” The banshee called out, poking her head around the shop, trying to find someone to assist her. “I need–“ and at that moment, as someone emerged, Deirdre waved them down. “Do you work here? I need some help,” Deirdre pointed to the tear in her dress. “Just something to make it presentable enough. Can you do that?” 

Irene sat at her computer, finishing up some paperwork for a few of her orders, when she heard the front door of her shop open. Quickly getting up, she walked out to greet whoever it was and spotted a new face. “Hello, yes, how can I help you?” she responded as she made her way to the front counter. It would be one thing to assume that this person was looking to get something fixed, but Irene had encountered a fair number of strange asks (like “Where’s the closest Pizza Hut?” and Irene had to bite her tongue to not inform them that she was not a map). At the question, Irene leaned forward and noticed the tear on the dress. Her brow furrowed as she studied it before she stood back up. “I can definitely get that properly sewn back together for you. Uh when would you need this by and, perchance, are you… um are you dropping off the dress right now?”

“Right now.” Deirdre said, twisting around to reach the zipper. “And I’ll wait; I can wait. I just need this done immediately.” Getting the dress half off, dangling from her bare shoulders, Deirdre considered that maybe stripping inside a store was not acceptable conduct in human society. It was fortunate then, that she didn’t care about human society. “Here,” she handed the dress off, standing about in her underwear. “Do you mind if I watch you work? I’d be bored otherwise.” Deirdre’s smile was wide, her best attempt at being friendly. The last tailor she had gone to, she murdered. Of course, because he was going to die anyway, but murdered all the same. This tailor was, however, much prettier than the last. And she wasn’t a murderer anymore. For now, anyway. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” She beamed, “I’ll pay double. Triple, even. And I am very pleasant to look at.” 

“Wait!” Irene immediately held her hands up before the customer fully stripped right in her shop. She blushed slightly when half of it was already off as the seamstress walked to her desk and grabbed her long coat. “I-I don’t have any spare clothing in the shop right now other than this.” Her arm stretched out, offering it over as she averted her own gaze while her other hand reached for the dress. The moment her fingers found purchase with it, Irene noted that the material was quite nice and thankfully was something she had worked with before. “Oh, um, of course that’s no problem.” Normally, she would have politely informed her customers that she would need at least a day to complete something like this but this didn’t seem too difficult. And the prospect of being paid extra for this wasn’t unalluring… “Feel free to take a seat,” she finally decided with a small smile. Setting the dress down on her counter, Irene quickly began looking for the tear. “As much as that may be true, I’m afraid I can’t look back at you while I fix up your dress,” she indicated with a light tone as she began to pull out some tools from her cabinets. And she had been so caught up in this sudden exchange that only when Irene began to get to work did she realize that she was picking up some strange emotions from the woman. Not strange in the sense that it wasn’t reflective of the scenario but… dulled? Her brow knitted and she tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed was to mess up the dress in front of an audience.

“Oh no, I like being naked.” Deirdre tried to explain, but with a sigh, she took the coat offered and put it on. Humans could be such prudes. This human was fixing her dress though, and so she figured she might as well cover up. Though, at mention of taking a seat, despite knowing exactly what the tailor meant, she hoisted herself on the counter and took her seat there. “A tree branch got me, you know,” she said, offering an explanation for the tear. She smiled wide. A tree branch did not get her. It was, rather, the hand of a dying man, who’d managed to claw at her dress before she could leave. “I’m Deirdre,” she said, insisting on being a nuisance. “Why tailoring? It certainly can’t pay well, and it seems like such an unappreciated art…” 

Irene managed a stiff smile in response to the woman’s comment about being naked, but the seamstress really did not want to explain having a naked person in her shop should anyone pass by her windows. A sigh of relief escaped her when the woman took the coat, though tension twisted her stomach once more when she noticed the guest hoist herself up onto her worktable. “Please be careful of the pins and other uh sharp objects on the counter,” she offered tersely as her hands continued to address the garment. “A tree branch… sounds dangerous. If you need any first aid, I have a kit in the back room I can grab.” Irene wasn’t certain she believed that especially as she picked up a dull feeling of smugness that seemed to emanate from the woman. Or perhaps she was really proud to be struck by a tree; Irene was not one to judge. “Lovely to meet you, Deirdre. I’m Irene,” her response flowed automatically from her lips. It was certainly taking a bit of effort for the seamstress to hold her tongue. “It’s actually a family business so I inherited the skills when I was old enough,” she briefly explained.

Deirdre watched the seamstress work, doubtlessly skilled in her work. Her great-grandmother had taught her to sew, still enraptured by the idea that a proper lady must know how to embroider, but she’d only ever enjoyed the feeling of sticking the needle through. “Oh no, I’m okay, you should've seen the tree though, Irene,” she smiled at her own joke, leaning into the woman’s work. It looked boring to her, but there was something about the ability to mend that always caught her attention; weapons never could learn to heal. “Like a duty?” She leaned back, “like some obligation to run this shop? Do you enjoy your work?” Deirdre watched the woman some more, graceful fingers finding what they wanted with ease. “I guess I’m in something of a family business myself…” she trailed off, looking out the shop window at the people passing by, living their own obligations. “But of all the things…” She turned back to Irene, “you’re not one of those people that wish to be a fashion designer, are you?” Not that there was anything wrong with that. 

Having an audience while she worked normally wouldn’t distract her, but Irene found herself a little on edge with this woman, probably because she had initially wanted to stand around the shop naked. “Poor tree couldn’t put up much of a fight? What did it do to deserve such ire from you?” she replied with a small chuckle as she tried to imagine such a scene. Her mental image came up with something rather absurd and cartoonish, causing her to let out another quiet laugh. Irene paused, both to check on the progress of her sewing and also to consider the questions. “It was an obligation and now it’s what I know best. I enjoy it as much as one can enjoy their work I suppose. There are good days and bad ones.” Her fingers deftly finished up what she was able to hand-sew before she got up to move to her sewing machine. “Fashion designer? It’s something that’s crossed my mind a few times but it’s not a particular passion of mine. I do have a lot of respect for designers though. The pressure to constantly create something new or avant-garde that hasn’t already been created, I can’t begin to imagine it.”

“Oh, you know how it goes, it looked at me the wrong way…” Deirdre trailed off, grinning toothy and lopsided. She had started the process of trying to think of something else to say, something to make the woman uncomfortable, when she continued. Deirdre’s grin faltered, and from her position nosing into Irene’s work, she leaned back with a frown. She was not so deluded on ideas of passion that she didn’t understand practicality, but the way the woman described it sounded…sad. Or, at best, Deirdre would unknowingly insult her. “What you know best?” She repeated, hoping Irene would correct her. “What you know best and what you enjoy are two different things.” Deirdre stared at her, completely having intended to ruin her day and yet being struck with confusion instead. “Irene,” she began, “is there some other thing you imagined you’d be doing?” She sighed, she could understand duty and she could understand obligation. She could even understand knowing something too well to not make anything of it, but like this? Deirdre stared around the shop, nose wrinkled; was it really worth it? “It’s just an odd way to word your sentence—‘what I know best’ what I know best is murd—“ Deirdre froze. “Uh,” she turned to Irene, “Mur—Murder, She Wrote! The show! Love it. It’s what I know best, but, it’s not…uh, it’s not what I imagined I’d be watching. It doesn’t satisfy my life’s hunger.” 

Irene expertly adjusted her machine, her movements second nature after years of working in this profession. As she ran the dress through the machine, she chuckled again. “I have noticed that some trees do make some devious faces.” The playful banter was easy enough to maintain as the seamstress worked, a trait she picked up early on when she had to mend her sisters’ clothes while they chattered away beside her. But then the sudden shift in tone surprised her, almost causing the woman to completely stop in her work. She swallowed hard, her lips pursing into a small smile despite her facing the machine and not her customer. “In the end, it’s all semantics,” she replied quietly before clearing her voice. There were many things she had tickled in pursuing: places she’d considered visiting or even living in, career paths she might have enjoyed, goals she’d like to achieve. “What I enjoy most is making sure my family is doing well and is safe and happy, and this happens to be the way I am able to achieve that.” The fabric slid through her fingers and past the thrumming needle of the machine. Her brow furrowed once more at the way this conversation unfolded from this curious woman. “I suppose that’s a thing about life, though, isn’t it? If Murder She Wrote doesn’t satisfy you, there are so many things out there that might do the trick.” With a satisfied sigh and a more genuine smile now, Irene finished up her repairs, snipped the loose thread from the dress, and held it up to examine. “This should be all good to go and ready for another battle with any tree that gives you the wrong impression.”

Why did it bother her? Long after Irene held the dress out, signaling the end of their little tête-à-tête, Deirdre stood and stared at her. She was dissatisfied; with Irene’s answer, her amiability and her lack of disdain at Deirdre’s general demeanor. It was spiteful. How dare the woman feign happiness in her face? It was tragic. How dare she answer honestly? And then it was pointless; why did it bother her at all? Irene was being practical, smart, safe. What could she possibly find a flaw in? Perhaps it was just that, the perceived perfectionism of the whole thing. Deirdre’s expression soured quickly. “Is that so?” Deirdre got her little inside glance at the woman, watching her words bounce right off. She had no hook, no control; friendly people disgusted her. A saccharine grin greeted Irene as Deirdre yanked the dress from her grip. “I suppose your family are all grateful. Where are they? Out back or…?” Perhaps it was the whimper of feeling blooming in her stomach; sadness, or something like it. “Aren’t you the hypocrite? Deluding yourself into thinking this satisfies you. At least Murder, She Wrote has Angela Lansbury.” From her boot, she drew out wrinkled hundred dollar bills, offering no explanation for either action. One hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred dollars, slapped down in front of Irene. “I’m taking your coat.” She announced with a huff, finding it to be the apology she deserved after Irene ruined her evening with her politeness. “And you!” she jabbed a finger at the tailor, throwing her dress over her shoulder. She stepped to leave, eager to free herself from Irene’s bullying. “If I peel back those layers of lies and professional, am I going to find a woman who fights or flees?” 

Despite the muted emotions Irene picked up from Deirdre, she managed to pick up something akin to frustration. From the very beginning, this whole exchange presented to be a challenge. Why was Deidre frustrated when she had bulldozed Irene from the moment she arrived? Her gaze flickered momentarily at the questioning, each interrogatory a sharp, yet familiar, stab. Everything Deidre was saying was not incorrect. In fact, Irene was certain her sisters would likely agree. But, unlike Deidre, Irene made peace with her own reality, a reality she had resigned herself to for quite some time. “My family--my sisters are where they wish to be.” Was that so bad? That she prioritized their happiness over hers? It was her duty, always has been her duty, to take care of the family. As the money slammed onto the table, far more than was needed to pay, Irene made no move to collect it. “I suppose you and I will find out if that happens.” Each day in White Crest forced Irene to face that question: was she here fighting for something or was she actually fleeing? She lifted her head, swallowing hard and finding it harder to maintain a professional front. It was too early in the day for her regularly scheduled existential crisis. “Well, thanks for your patronage; I hope the dress is to your liking,” were the last words, auto-piloted by habit, she managed to say as she finally reached to collect the money dispensed upon her work surface.