madamhatter:
   Much like the assortment of colors, textures, and lengths in her workshop, a variety of customers entered and left Le Bijou de Ouvara with many things differing per body. Miss Hatterâs overdue return to daily monitoring her store had kicked her back into full-steam as she quickly danced through handling customers in the storefront and working in the sweatshop in the store back. Today hadnât been any more different than the rest as it begun with a sleepless Hatter refolding articles of clothing as careless customers undid her employeesâ work.
   As soon as the small bell rang from the entry door, her attention wavered between her palms flattening out wrinkles and over her shoulder, trying to locate the silhouette of the newly arrived. Surely, her chin hadnât need to turn much for the customerâs figure eclipsed the storefront. A bit exasperated, but, Sophie quickly turned her head. Paling was her skin as she held her breath, steeling herself.Â
   Once the woman released a deep sigh and finished with the remaining stack of iron-pressed shirts, she turned on her heel and approached the man. For while his wandering eyes marked him easily as a first-time customer, the seamstress only pondered just as to how familiar he was in the routine of looking for clothes his size. âThe answer should be very obvious,â she scolded herself in her passing thoughts.Â
   âSir, good morning. Are you needing any assistance?â Sophie warmly greeted the stranger in her store as she folded her hands in front of her. âAre you looking for anything in particular?â
  It would definitely be much more comfortable if he could go to the stores like regular people did, able to pick and choose without having to trouble a seamstress for measurements and give them additional chores from the ones they already likely had. Heâd never been keen on troubling others, and preferred to do things on his own whenever possible. And while he was learning to knit in order to improve his dexterity, sewing was an entirely different play-field. He could mend rips in his clothing, of course, but making a shirt or slacks were alien concepts to the former wrestler.
  The fact he even had to slightly duck at the door was already a sign that this wouldnât be easy for either of them, however he gave a slight start at the voice regardless. The store wouldnât be empty, of course, what was he thinking? Someone was bound to be in there, and he was surprised to see a seemingly young woman approach him. She must be a talented seamstress if she was the one people were referring to when they spoke of this storeâs quality. Age was rarely a show of how talented people could be, and the school heâd grown in was living proof of that. Heâd been involved in world-class wrestling championships since his teenage years, after all.
   âAnything that would fit me is something Iâd be happy to look at.â Or plan out, honestly, any of those were good. Gozu wasnât against having his measurements taken for the sake of making a good piece of clothing for himself either. It had become so commonplace now he wouldnât be surprised or flustered if anyone asked him to take some layers off, unlike the first time heâd gone to a tailor.
