Post by Io Demeter on Jul 4, 2023 20:53:45 GMT -5
Elliot Moore
If Io had one word to describe his thoughts as he stepped into the Mordha it would be wonder. Every inch of the place was elegant, every curtain, tablecloth, and chair so expertly complimentary that Io wondered if he had stepped into a painting. The tailor had no idea how much each of the sparkling leather couches cost, only that each separately was worth more than him. Conversation was a steady, even hum twirled and spiced with a calm ensemble of musicians on a slightly raised stage. A pleasant smoky aroma drifted in and out, bringing Io back to working long nights beside his father, who puffed a cigar as he worked a particularly difficult piece.
Io rubbed his shoes off multiple times on the front rug, terrified to track a stain in on the crimson carpets. One of the bouncers took his coat from him, (Fynn, he said his name was), and Io dipped his head in thanks. He had sold several of his suits to help cover costs and order some supplies to begin projects again, but he ensured he kept a few good ones for events as these. The tailor prided himself on dealing with a higher class of customer, and it would not do if he didn't dress the part. Tonight he went bold, a far bigger statement than he would typically. But what did he have to lose? The tailor needed to stand out and advocate for himself, now more than ever. Io had made sure to give his beard and hair an even trim and wash, even applying a healthy dose of the cinnamon cologne he had purchased for his meeting with Lady Snow.
His eyes scanned about the room, gaze flitting between some familiar customers of his shop and many unknown. He was having a difficult time finding Lord Moore amidst the many gentlemen. The place was busy this evening, but not busy as a bar might be. No hooting, hollering, or crude comments to waitresses, (as no women were in the establishment at all).
That was the one fact Io was a bit uncertain about. He imagined a lady like Baroness Snow might appreciate the atmosphere, lounging on one of the couches by a fireplace to read a particular novel. Io pushed the image out of his head, hobbling towards the gorgeously stained and polish bar.
"Whatever's sweet and strong, kind sir," Io placed some coin on the bar, making eye contact with one of the barkeepers. "And please cap me out at two. I'm here for a meeting with Lord Moore. Is he in?"
The man was able to point out the Baronet sitting at a table: Io tipped the man, thanked him, and took his drink to the nobleman's table.
"Lord Moore," Io bowed, setting his drink on the table. "I must thank you again for the invitation to meet and your loyalty to my business. You have a wonderfully beautiful establishment here, and my only regret is I have not stopped by sooner."
If Io had one word to describe his thoughts as he stepped into the Mordha it would be wonder. Every inch of the place was elegant, every curtain, tablecloth, and chair so expertly complimentary that Io wondered if he had stepped into a painting. The tailor had no idea how much each of the sparkling leather couches cost, only that each separately was worth more than him. Conversation was a steady, even hum twirled and spiced with a calm ensemble of musicians on a slightly raised stage. A pleasant smoky aroma drifted in and out, bringing Io back to working long nights beside his father, who puffed a cigar as he worked a particularly difficult piece.
Io rubbed his shoes off multiple times on the front rug, terrified to track a stain in on the crimson carpets. One of the bouncers took his coat from him, (Fynn, he said his name was), and Io dipped his head in thanks. He had sold several of his suits to help cover costs and order some supplies to begin projects again, but he ensured he kept a few good ones for events as these. The tailor prided himself on dealing with a higher class of customer, and it would not do if he didn't dress the part. Tonight he went bold, a far bigger statement than he would typically. But what did he have to lose? The tailor needed to stand out and advocate for himself, now more than ever. Io had made sure to give his beard and hair an even trim and wash, even applying a healthy dose of the cinnamon cologne he had purchased for his meeting with Lady Snow.
His eyes scanned about the room, gaze flitting between some familiar customers of his shop and many unknown. He was having a difficult time finding Lord Moore amidst the many gentlemen. The place was busy this evening, but not busy as a bar might be. No hooting, hollering, or crude comments to waitresses, (as no women were in the establishment at all).
That was the one fact Io was a bit uncertain about. He imagined a lady like Baroness Snow might appreciate the atmosphere, lounging on one of the couches by a fireplace to read a particular novel. Io pushed the image out of his head, hobbling towards the gorgeously stained and polish bar.
"Whatever's sweet and strong, kind sir," Io placed some coin on the bar, making eye contact with one of the barkeepers. "And please cap me out at two. I'm here for a meeting with Lord Moore. Is he in?"
The man was able to point out the Baronet sitting at a table: Io tipped the man, thanked him, and took his drink to the nobleman's table.
"Lord Moore," Io bowed, setting his drink on the table. "I must thank you again for the invitation to meet and your loyalty to my business. You have a wonderfully beautiful establishment here, and my only regret is I have not stopped by sooner."
