The Anachronistic Tailor (Played by May) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theanachronistictailor) wrote2025-06-30 12:27 pm
theanachronistictailor) wrote2025-06-30 12:27 pm
In a quiet tea shop...
On Saturday, an hour before proper tea time, the Anachronistic Tailor arrives at Beatrice's Tea Shoppe to find a table that is slightly out of the way. Close to the corner of the room, just away from one of the windows that let light pour into the rest of the tearoom. They sit in the chair closer to the corner, which allows them to face the tearoom and all who enter and exit it.
The table is prepared with a tray of scones and sandwiches, but the Tailor insists quietly to the servers to wait on serving the tea itself. They are waiting for company. If that company does not arrive, they will take tea fifteen minutes after--but it would be improper to let the pot over-steep or, heaven forbid, grow cold.
For now, they take water, and they have a book with them, but one eye is on the door. They've sent an invitation to a friend, but only time will tell if that friend chooses to come.
The table is prepared with a tray of scones and sandwiches, but the Tailor insists quietly to the servers to wait on serving the tea itself. They are waiting for company. If that company does not arrive, they will take tea fifteen minutes after--but it would be improper to let the pot over-steep or, heaven forbid, grow cold.
For now, they take water, and they have a book with them, but one eye is on the door. They've sent an invitation to a friend, but only time will tell if that friend chooses to come.
Re: ... an invited guest arrives.
The Tailor loved the Neath. London itself they were at best ambivalent to, but the Neath? The Neath was everything. For all the reasons the Socialite said, yes, but beyond the things the Tailor took for granted, like Jack, like the rain and snow, like the opportunity to present and dress and identify as they liked--these were all so regular to the Tailor that it hardly even registered they were special at all. But the Neath itself; big, begging to be explored, dark and expansive and theirs. Stories and secrets to be found if they could just get off this little piece of rock and go.
They met the Socialite's bright gaze. Finally, they had found something that was mutually understood.
"...a friend who can trust you with only some of them?" they asked quietly, turning the Socialite's earlier words back. "Would that still be alright?"
Re: ... an invited guest arrives.
Their smile was warm, glowing brilliantly in the dim light outside the window, reflecting golden like the tea before them. Was this sunlight? Not the true light of the sun, but the poetic metaphor that prose enjoyed droning on about. The glow that sat on the hair of a lover or the glimmer that passed the eyes of a child. The light that causes a shimmer on the surface of water, the dappled light that danced through leaves they'd never seen, the pride of a father cast upon the sight of their joy in life. It was in a smile that reached the eyes and the laugh that rang like bells and the open, honest way of talking and the inviting look that said there would always be a place at the table. Maybe that was what the poets meant, when they said they missed the sunlight. Maybe they really missed all the people that brought it.
The Morbid Socialite- Mori- raised his cup in a toast. "To new friendships, to partial honesty, and to open windows."
Re: ... an invited guest arrives.
It was welcome. It was more welcome than they expected. They lifted their cup in turn.
"To friendship and freedom in the Neath."