Post by Deleted on May 21, 2023 9:41:52 GMT -5
Elliot Moore
Io adjusted the dress that sat in the window of his shop, smoothing out the sleeves. It was nearly the arrival of Ver, and that meant changing out the model pieces to something more appropriate to the brighter season. Thinner material, airier as the heat began to set in and wicking to avoid ruination from the many refreshing rains that would soon be upon Lorendale.
He carefully folded the old Heims model dress into its box, where it would likely stay until next year. It was merely an example piece after all: Io never sold pre-made or re-fitted attire to patrons. No, each customer was a unique canvas deserving of a precise fit, color, and style to complement their best features. Mass produced styles were for the birds...or Oriana, as it were, Io thought smugly.
Picking up the box, Io paused to see his store sign swinging in the gust of wind. Demeter & Son's. His father had been dead and buried for years now, but he still could not bring himself to change the sign. Io planned no children of his own soon, he had not so much found a woman, but to swap the store name felt...wrong, somehow. After all, it was his father's hard work that founded the store and its reputation. It was Rolt Demeter who built himself up from a Nevermere immigrant to tailor of the Queen and her royal family. Io hoped he was doing the family name justice...that somewhere, his father was proud of Io's continuation of the business.
Even as Io's wanderlust and existential dread pulled at his heart to travel, to find new purpose and meaning, to start a family...he still frequently worried of his late father's opinion of him.
The jingle of the bell above the door pulled him out of his reverie, Io straightening up and hobbling to welcome the newcomer. The man was sharply dressed, befitting one of higher nobility. Io racked his brain to place the man, but did not believe he had ever served this particular client.
"Welcome to Demeter and Son's, sir," Io offered a bow, so much as his prosthetic leg would allow without falling over. "Allow me to take your coat, please. How can I be of service today?"
Io adjusted the dress that sat in the window of his shop, smoothing out the sleeves. It was nearly the arrival of Ver, and that meant changing out the model pieces to something more appropriate to the brighter season. Thinner material, airier as the heat began to set in and wicking to avoid ruination from the many refreshing rains that would soon be upon Lorendale.
He carefully folded the old Heims model dress into its box, where it would likely stay until next year. It was merely an example piece after all: Io never sold pre-made or re-fitted attire to patrons. No, each customer was a unique canvas deserving of a precise fit, color, and style to complement their best features. Mass produced styles were for the birds...or Oriana, as it were, Io thought smugly.
Picking up the box, Io paused to see his store sign swinging in the gust of wind. Demeter & Son's. His father had been dead and buried for years now, but he still could not bring himself to change the sign. Io planned no children of his own soon, he had not so much found a woman, but to swap the store name felt...wrong, somehow. After all, it was his father's hard work that founded the store and its reputation. It was Rolt Demeter who built himself up from a Nevermere immigrant to tailor of the Queen and her royal family. Io hoped he was doing the family name justice...that somewhere, his father was proud of Io's continuation of the business.
Even as Io's wanderlust and existential dread pulled at his heart to travel, to find new purpose and meaning, to start a family...he still frequently worried of his late father's opinion of him.
The jingle of the bell above the door pulled him out of his reverie, Io straightening up and hobbling to welcome the newcomer. The man was sharply dressed, befitting one of higher nobility. Io racked his brain to place the man, but did not believe he had ever served this particular client.
"Welcome to Demeter and Son's, sir," Io offered a bow, so much as his prosthetic leg would allow without falling over. "Allow me to take your coat, please. How can I be of service today?"
