forrestertailor | Blue Man Coalescence for @Makingmyway

Forrester Tailor is a three storey turn of the century townhome made of red sandstone. There is a hexagonal tower on the front corner, with bay windows looking out onto the street and in onto the shop that makes up the first floor. The front door in etch glass and dark, polish wood, set back in a shaded porch that opens through a circular marble archway that grows down into a set of low steps onto the street. The porch is shaded by a second floor balcony built of the same white marble, with the posts of its railing carved to read 'Forrester Tailor.' Dorian has never been upstairs, the ground floor itself offers plenty of fascinations all its own, but he's come and gone from the shop enough times to find the ostentatiousness of the façade pleasant and familiar now.

Luka Forrester himself has become one of those familiar fascinations, too. Dorian usually finds him in the racks of the tall, red curtained main room of the shop. Here there are Persian rugs covering the hardwood floor, gently gold globe lights hanging from the tin tiled ceiling, long curtains covering the tall windows that face the neighboring buildings and a pair of covered mirrors. Everything else is shelves and racks and stacks of clothing of every cut, shape, material and purpose imaginable. There is a fitting room off the main room and a pair of pocket doors that close on a tomb of bolts of fabric and the rattling sewing machine Luka can be found at from time to time.

The man himself is tall, a full seven feet, and built as broad and brawny as any experienced adventurer. He's got pointed ears, dark blue skin, and yellow eyes like a cat's. Dorian has to wonder what combination of Drow he might be, though Luka has ducked the question if it's ever asked of him. With his good looks and implacable accent, a non answer is just as good as a real one.

He finds Luka at the large desk at the back of the main room, just in front of the tomb of fabric, reading the newspaper and nursing a cup of tea. The cup is a tiny, elegant porcelain thing with gilded lip and handle. It looks silly pinched in Luka's big hand, in a way that reflects the oddness Dorian feels in this building. The ornateness of the place is one thing, but it's also been built on a total different scale than Dorian is used to, all the doors, press-buttons for the lights, coat hooks and any other fixture built for someone Luka's size. The feeling of being a foot too short is now also familiar to him, though perhaps not altogether pleasant.

Luka sets his cup down, looking up over the corner of the newspaper.

"Dorian, right on time as usual I see."

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From:

forrestertailor

Luka folds the paper, stands up and comes around the desk. He's wearing a black shirt and collar, white sleeve garters and a waistcoat of pearl grey silk with azure panels at the pocket, ribs and back. He smiles and inclines his head at Dorian, thumbing towards the fitting room to the right.

"We can start the fitting now, unless there's some element of this latest design you wanted to go over." Dorian has champagne tastes, thus they're continuing partnership, but the boy's enthusiasm for clothing is one that keeps Luka wary. There's more important things than money, of course, but there's also a considerable amount of work to be done for the young adventurer. And more, Luka has to remember what orders he's already made, he's promised to make, and what has been paid for. He can quote price, material and fit with exactitude but remembering what he's finished and what the boy's only dreamed of is an entirely different challenge.

From:

makingmyway

Dorian at least has the decency to look a bit sheepish. It had been pointed out by one of his traveling companions that, in his excitement for finding such high style of clothing, he might be going a bit overboard with what he's commissioning. It was difficult to completely leave behind the fanciful tastes of his noble upbringing, but usually he's much better about remembering what means he has available.

So he shakes his head, answering, "Ah, no...I'm sure it's fine. We can do the fitting, thank you."

From:

forrestertailor

Luka shows him into the fitting room, where a step in the middle of the room is positioned directly under another hanging globe light. Luka thumbs the button in its copper dais on the wall and the globe fills with light. There are bolts of fabric leaned against the walls, measuring tapes and yard sticks, and enough room around the step for Luka to move easily around it in ever direction. He takes one of the long, yellow tapes and loops it around his neck, gesturing for Dorian to take his place on the step.

The mirrors, which would be a necessity for every other tailor, are conspicuously absent. The effect is one that says Luka decides how his clients will be dressed, not the wearers themselves.

"Now, remind me dear, was today's fitting for the new coat, the cape, the leggings or all three?" He takes one end of the tape and waggles it at Dorian, brushing its metal end across his nose. "I suppose we could do all three, and tie you up with this thing in the meantime."

From:

makingmyway

Following Luka into the fitting room, Dorian takes his place on the platform. While the absence of mirrors had been a bit strange at first, Dorian found that he didn’t mind it too much, always feeling a bit awkward staring at himself while someone was working on his clothes. And seeing it all come together at the end was a nice surprise, one of the many reasons he kept coming back to Luka.

Wrinkling his nose a bit at the touch of metal, he can’t help blushing at the sudden mental image that the tailor unintentionally provided him. “Ah…could we maybe do all three without the tying up part?”

From:

forrestertailor

"Ah, but that's the best part," Luka quips, snaking the tape from around his neck into both hands. He nods and smiles jovially. "But oh well, I suppose we could do it the other way. Arms up."

He brings a small notebook from his vest, drapes its cover over Dorian's shoulder so the little book sits open on Dorian's collarbone. It's another of Luka's odd mannerisms, one that Dorian is sure is probably just a way for him to screw with his customers. Luka then takes Dorian's elbow and has him lift his left arm straight from his side, then measures elbow to wrist, shoulder to elbow, and around his bicep. With each measurement he jots his findings into the little book with a pencil stub, and Dorian can feel the soft pressure of his writing and the heel of his hand against his collar. Luka does the same for the other arm.

"Now talk to me about particulars," he says as he works. "Is there any particular blue or silver that you must wear before all others?"

From:

makingmyway

Dorian awkwardly clears his throat, but decides not to say anything else and embarrass himself further. Instead he remains still, letting the other man work. It was a bit of an odd quirk, the notebook resting on the customer, but Dorian has gotten used to it by now, even if it does bring Luka a bit closer to him than he would admit is comfortable.

Ignoring the skip of his heart, he hums softly in response to the question. “I suppose the ones that I’m already wearing? They seem to work the best on me.”

From:

forrestertailor

"They do indeed," Luka jots in the little notebook and brings the measuring tape across Dorian's collarbones, then reaches under his arms to his back and loops it around his chest. He makes another note, humming as Dorian feels the ghost of the pencil scratch through the notepad, the firm weight of Luka's hand resting on the edge of the little book. He starts down his other arm.

"Now, let me tell you what I've been thinking. You're such a fan of blue and anyone with eyes can see why, dear, but I wonder if we ought to play the other side some. What about a pearly something, silver mostly with a few threads of green and grey in the weave. Something shiny and rich but a little desaturated. That way, when you turn from under your silver cape to show off your true blues they're stand in bright contrast."

Dorian has had to wonder where his enigmatic tailor gets the metric tonnes of fabric he works with, especially given the richness of color it each bolt. He can already imagine that silver cape, with turquoise and black threaded into the hole to give it as extra dimension of color.

"And for a clasp, and don't be cross with me, dear," Luka goes on as he winds the tape around Dorian's wrist. "I was thinking mother-of-pearl. A little panache, you know, and it wouldn't be any more expensive than if you got a silver clasp instead. Comparable, really, not too much more expensive."

From:

makingmyway

Dorian hums softly as he considers the other man's words. "I've no objection with a pearl color," he replies after a moment. "Grey is usually fine as well, but green has always been a bit hit and miss. But I trust your eye, and if you can make it work than I'd be all right with it."

The suggestion about the clasp has him hesitating, though, and not entirely because he he disagrees with it. "I do love pearls," he admits reluctantly. "And I know you say it's not too much more expensive, but what would something like that cost?"

From:

forrestertailor

"Oh, not much, not much at all." Luka's voice ebbs low, getting muffled between his teeth. He stretches the tape from Dorian's armpit down his side, not looking at him as he answers. "It would be custom work, of course, and you would need a fairly large piece, so, a stone, a few hours work, it could be, maybe, three fifty, four hundred gold?"

From:

makingmyway

Dorian can’t help stiffening his just a bit, something heavy settling into his stomach. “Would…that be the complete price, or would it just be in addition to the rest of it?”

From:

forrestertailor

Luka eyes him with an expression the broke never like to see: eyes bright, face drawn, with his upper lip tucked under his front teeth. He looks nervous is a way Dorian has not seen before, knowing he's going to be handing out tough news. Despite that, Dorian can see an excitement at, perhaps, the prospect of getting to make such a clasp.

"In addition." He says, his voice pinched.

From:

makingmyway

Dorian tries his very hardest not to look panicked, although he knows that he isn't entirely succeeding. He'd had an inkling that he'd maybe gone a bit overbudget with this current commission, but he hadn't expected it would be that bad.

"...I see." He thinks about the money that he has with him, feeling like a burning hole in his pocket. "And...how much would it estimate to without the pearl clasp?"

From:

forrestertailor

“That, three hundred. Not too terribly much more than usual.” It’s a third more, but not as searingly expensive as the clasp.

Luka winds the tape around Dorian’s ribs, drawing it closed neatly and smiling at him innocently. His fingers pinch the tape together, tucked against Dorian’s side. He doesn’t write in the notebook.

“There, now at least you can’t run out on me.”

From:

makingmyway

He can't help tensing a bit as the measuring tape tightens against him - it doesn't restrain him in any way, but he does still feel immobile somehow, especially with the other man so close. Despite standing on the platform, Luka still stands much taller than him, and knowing how much money he has it suddenly feels quite intimidating.

"S-So, um...a-about that..."

From:

forrestertailor

Luka, more than aware of how close they are, of the growing demands of Dorian's finances, and of the rattling heartbreak he can hear in the young man's chest, cocks his head coyly and smiles. He is the cause of the literal laundry list of expenses Dorian has incurred in town, and beyond that he's been in this situation, in this room, numerous times before. The door to the rest of the shop stay open for the moment but were it to close they would be very intimately alone.

"Yes dear? What about it?"

From:

makingmyway

Dorian swallows the lump in his throat, knowing there was no point in beating around the bush. “I, um…well, the truth is, I seem to be a bit…short in funds.”

That was putting it lightly, knowing he doesn’t even have half the amount to pay what he owes.

Nervous of the other man’s reaction, his next words come out in a rush. “Of course, I’ll be happy to give you what I do have…” Even if it had taken him a long time to earn that much, as a bard, and it’ll take him a long while to earn more. “But is there anything I can do to pay off the rest? I’d be happy to provide any kind of service you might need, or…”

From:

forrestertailor

"Hmm," Luka watches him, still holding the measuring tape around his chest. When Dorian comes clean he puts his head back and lets out a gentle noise, close to a little mew at the state of the young man's finances. At the offer of services in kind he hums and moves behind Dorian, keeping the tape in place so he feels it whispering against his ribs while Luka steps around him in a close circle. He stops just behind Dorian's shoulder, humming out a low note by his ear. "That's very kind of you, dear. But if you're really so hard up I wouldn't rob you now. Keep your money, you can pay me back another way."

From:

makingmyway

Dorian remains stock still as the other man circles him, his eyes focused on the ground and trying not to shiver as the measuring tape slides across his body. The ghost of breath that tickles his face has his heart skipping a beat, but he visibly relaxes at the words as he nods.

“A-Ah…thank you, that’s very generous,” he manages. “Of course, I’m more than happy to do whatever else you’d need to pay you back.”

From:

forrestertailor

Luka hums appreciatively at Dorian's offer, letting go of the tape. It skitters from Dorian's sides and hands at his feet with a soft 'clunk', while Luka's big hands run up his sides and over his chest. He cups one of Dorian's pecs and hangs onto his other shoulder, pulling him close so Dorian's back is pressed to Luka's front. He leans their heads together and Dorian can feel the soft wooliness of Luka's beard against his temple.

"How's this?" He asks, testing the waters.

From:

makingmyway

Dorian draws in a sharp breath as those hands gently run along his body, his heart jumping into his throat as one of those hands rests on his chest. Though he doesn’t resist as he’s pulled against the other man’s body, his shock doesn’t let him move at all.

Oh…when he’d offered anything, he somehow hadn’t expected this. But then, he quite literally wasn’t in a position to refuse.

“I-I…it’s…fine…” he eventually is able to force out, despite feeling a bit tongue-tied.

From:

forrestertailor

Luka eases more of Dorian's weight against his chest, running the fingers of his other hand in a strum down the buttons on Dorian's shirt. Buttons Luka himself put there. Cozied up like that, he leans his chin into Dorian's hair and rests it on his scalp. For the moment he doesn't get any more fresh.

"If you want to run the door's right there," Luka says warmly, half to remind himself that he'll need to close it if they stay together in this private little fitting room. "The cape can be on back order until you sing your way into a big enough purse."

From:

makingmyway

Dorian can’t help holding his breath a moment as Luka leans against him, his heart still skipping.

“H-Ha…well, I’m not sure I’d really ever be able to make that much,” he says, a weak attempt at a joke. It isn’t really a dig at his skills (even if he can be a bit self-deprecating at times) as much as it is a fact of the trade.

But he does consider for a moment simply leaving. Does he really want the cape this much that he would resort to this? He knows it would seem typical for a bard to jump at the chance, but he’d always been a bit unusual when it comes to things like that.

Edited Date: 2023-12-19 09:48 pm (UTC)

From:

forrestertailor

“Really?” Luka sounds genuinely surprised. His hand starts plucking the buttons of Dorian’s shirt open, one at a time. The other rolls down Dorian’s side, to his hip, around to his ass. Cupping it, Luka continues: “You could make quite a living, if you put your back in it. In all your days of adventuring, you really never tried it?”

From:

makingmyway

His breath hitches softly as the hand gently grips his ass, his heart pounding almost in time with each button that comes open.

“I-I mean…I play when I have the opportunity. There’s only so much I can do for others to offer coin, though, unless I’m able to earn a gig at a tavern. Not many places are willing to hire an unknown talent, though.”

He once again speaks in a nervous rush, choosing to believe Luka is talking about earning money as a bard, as opposed to any other way.

From:

forrestertailor

"Mmm, life as a freelancers," Luka says it so absently he might as well just be making a noise. He opens the buttons down to Dorian's belly, leaving the rest of the little coat closed so he'll have something to play with later. His hand brushes the notebook from Dorian's shoulder back into his own pocket and then slips his fingers inside the collar of Dorian's coat, folding it back from his neck to expose part of his throat and shoulder. As he works Luka squeezes Dorian's ass and kneads it gently. He leans his head down and kisses Dorian's neck, feeling his thumping pulse and moving his lips down to his collarbone. His lips are cold.