The town’s tailor was a pencil-shaped man who looked like he could accidentally slip right through the floorboards of his shop. He wore a white dress shirt and a black vest, complete with a pocket watch and several other tools clipped to his pockets. A pair of pinstriped pants made him look even more narrow and his slick, greasy hair was kept short and carefully controlled. He also had a habit of dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief every few seconds, like he was always nervous about something. A bit strange, he was a kind enough man, and performed his job with admirable precision and efficiency.
He was helping another customer when the pair of them arrived. Robin immediately went to marvel at the exquisite gowns and fur coats that he had on display, while Papa took a seat near a dressing mirror after tipping his hat at the tailor to let him know they were there. They didn’t have to wait terribly long, but it was long enough for Papa to droop in his chair, dozing off to sleep. His hands were folded on his cane, which was left his only support as he sank farther and farther forward, snoring rather loudly.
“Sorry about the wait! I...oh...er...Mr. Woodrow?” The tailor hesitated, before tentatively kicking at Papa’s boot. He snapped awake at once, breathing in sharply and muttering incoherently.
“Ah! About time, Pierson! I don’t have time to waste sitting around like that, old as I am.” Papa bristled, groaning a little as he pushed himself to his feet and leaned on his cane.
“Apologies, sir. Mrs. Burdeaux likes to...erm...chat.” He patted his handkerchief on his shiny forehead. “I am ready for you now though, sir! If you’ll come with me.” He took a few steps toward the back of the shop.
“Girl! It’s our turn! Come along!” Papa called out. There was a crashing sound at the front of the shop, and Robin soon appeared, sporting a ridiculous lilac hat with long peacock feathers sticking from it and a russet brown fur coat that was about four sizes too large for her. Mr. Pierson did his best not to look aghast, but his eyes were still wider than dinner plates, and she could swear one of them was twitching as she pulled off the coat. Papa laughed heartily under his breath during the entire exchange.
“S-Sorry Mr. Pierson,” Robin smiled sheepishly, handing him the expensive garment. He took a few deep breaths, reached a hand out expectantly, then snapped his fingers a couple of times. She blinked, then realized he wanted his hat as well and quickly handed it over, laughing nervously.
“Right. Well--ahem--follow me.” He folded the coat over one arm, carrying the purple hat gingerly until both items could be hung safely on a passing coat rack.
Upon reaching the back of the store, they were led past a wall of blue curtains, into a dressing area, complete with three mirrors, all facing a center pedestal. There were ribbons, ties, hats, and other miscellaneous garments hanging on hooks and draped over chairs all over the room. Clearly this was the tailor’s main creative space.
“Stay here and...er...don’t...don’t touch anything.” Mr. Pierson sent Robin a sideways glance before disappearing through the curtains on the other side of the room. Robin barely had a chance to take in the room though, before he returned, toting a large, simple, white box. He held it in his thin arms with great care, as if the object inside was very fragile.
“Robin...you have a birthday coming up, don’t you?” Papa suddenly piped up, clearing his throat, “How old are you now? Thirteen? Fourteen?”
“I’m seventeen, Papa!” Robin huffed, and the old man stifled a smile. “And I'll be eighteen tomorrow! Surely you didn't forget my birthday!”
“Ah, that’s right...well, you’re certainly not a pup anymore…” He turned to look at her. “So, this is a present,” he tipped his head at the white parcel in the Tailor’s arms, “from yer Papa.” Her eyes widened and his smile turned into a toothy grin. “Happy birthday, lass.”
After flinging the box open, Robin drew out a long, blue, meticulously crafted leather overcoat. Her breath left her several times as she marvelled at the item of clothing, and she turned, mouth agape, to look at Papa.
“Well go on! Try it on!” He said, his proud smile stretching his moustache as she squeezed him with a tight hug. He held the coat for her while she removed the one she was already wearing.
Utterly speechless, Robin stood atop the pedestal in the center of the room, watching herself in three reflections as she put on the beautiful present. The garment was made of a soft, navy blue leather with thicker, reinforced black leather trims and a light gray fleece lining for extra warmth. With reverent awe, she slipped her arms into each sleeve, noticing the black cuffs and wrist straps, as well as the trims capping each of her shoulders and blue epaulettes along the way. As she folded the double-breasted greatcoat over her chest and began to button it up, she couldn’t help but marvel at the way the wide, notched lapels left a striking, v-shaped collar silhouette across her chest. She also realized for the first time, that the polished brass buttons, each shining like gold, bore an engraving of a stylized ‘W’--for Woodrow, doubtless.
Staring at herself in the mirror while she fastened the dual black straps around her waist, Robin marveled at how the perfectly tailored coat hugged the curves of her body. The sleeves were exactly the right length, ending about halfway over her thumb, and the seams and layers of leather on the front followed her contours effortlessly.
“Papa…” She finally said, glancing at him several times. It was difficult to pry her eyes from the stunning woman in the mirrors. “This is...it’s beautiful!”
“Aye, you did a fine job, as always, Pierson.” He agreed with a nod.
“Thank you, sir,” the tailor responded, dabbing at his forehead. However, there was just the smallest hint of a prideful smile curling his lips as he spoke.
“Well, I suppose I ought to pay you the rest of what I owe for this, eh?” Harold remarked, using his cane to steady himself as he pulled open the pack Robin had been carrying for him. From it he withdrew a small bag full of coins, and placed it in Mr. Pierson’s palm. The man bowed gratefully.
“I’m glad you are satisfied with the piece.” He regarded the two of them, then disappeared into the curtains again to count and stow the payment.
“Alright, lass, I know you could stare at yourself all day, but we still have shopping to do. Let’s get goin’,” he urged, using his cane to push aside the curtains they had come in through, and left the room. Robin stepped down from the pedestal, but stopped to admire the black trim designs on the back of the jacket that she hadn’t seen before. The leather back piece ended just over her shoulder blades with a commanding, three-pronged spade design. Part of her began to wonder if she should consider becoming a tailor, if it meant she would be able to make something so astounding. She stood there in silence for far too long as she considered her potential career path.
“Come on then!” Papa’s gruff voice called out and Robin scurried from the room at last.
---
Snow had begun to drift down gently by the time Robin and Papa returned home that evening. Robin’s basket was full of food items, and Papa’s pack was stuffed with other essentials, making the ten-minute trek back home closer to twenty minutes. Papa insisted that he could carry something, but Robin would not have it. She stubbornly bore the burden of everything they had purchased, still outpacing her father by a few feet. He was ruffled by the limitations of his advanced age, but found himself more proud of the the strong young woman he had raised than anything else.
Eighteen years old. He wondered how many more birthdays they would enjoy together before he would be forced to send his little bird out of the nest. She would fight it, he knew she would, but he also knew of her thirst to see what the world had to offer. Frostwood was small, quiet, mundane, and most importantly: safe. That's why he had chosen it. However all of those same traits also made it a cage. And the last thing he wanted for his daughter was to make her feel confined.
“Have you ever seen a vampire, Papa?” The girl’s voice drew him from his thoughts, and it took him a moment to process what she had asked.
“A what?”
“A vampire!” She repeated, turning to him and drawing one of her arms up in front of her face like a cape, “You know, I vant to suck your blood! Bleh bleh bleh!” She then hissed at him, teeth bared. He couldn’t help but laugh, taken off-guard by her impersonation.
“Why on earth would you ask that?” He replied, only after catching his breath.
“Well, we saw a real-life werewolf today! So that means that other monsters are real too, right?” She reasoned eagerly. “I mean, Mr. Morris talks about that stuff all time, but I always thought he was just crazy.”
“He IS crazy.” Papa said, tugging his hat a little further onto his head, “Fella’s been through one too many...experiences, the poor lad.” He paused, giving Robin a subtle glance, then closing his eyes with a smirk, “Besides...they don’t say ‘bleh bleh bleh’.” He added, picking up his pace to pass his befuddled daughter.
“So they ARE real!” She shouted, clamoring to catch up with him, “And you’ve seen one, haven’t you?”
“Nearly married her, actually.” Papa responded casually, but didn’t say more. He rather enjoyed letting the girl’s imagination get the best of her.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me that before??” Robin was practically making circles around the older gentleman, but he kept quiet for the moment; which was fine, because she had plenty of other questions ready to burst out of her, “What about witches, and banshees, and--and I don’t know, the boogeyman?” She pestered, but Papa merely continued to walk, “Elves? Trolls? Fairies?! Are they real too?? Papa! Answer me!”
The duo had reached their home, and the old man gave his daughter a smug, infuriating smile that precursored his response, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” And with that, he entered the run-down old mansion they called home. Robin was flabbergasted.
“Older?! Papa, I turn eighteen tomorrow!!” She shouted helplessly after him.
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