Work Text:
“You tore this same coat, again?”
It’s a quiet afternoon in the sidestreets of Veilgarden. Mrs. Pembroke’s store is empty, save for Cordelia herself and a regular, one Mr Silverstein. He merely shrugs as he hands her the suit jacket, her handiwork already patching up a plethora of previous grievances.
She sighs as she takes it, holding it up to inspect the damage. One of the sleeves is almost cut in two, multiple pierced holes along the torso, and a missing button. A glance at Silverstein shows that he patched his other layers himself, the needle work much broader and messier than Pembroke’s - though, she is somewhat surprised he managed to sew at all, with how slow his hands tend to be.
“Do I even want to hear how you managed this?” Folding the garment into her arms, she looks up at him with a moderately stern look. “Surely by now it would be better to just get a new jacket, dear.”
Silverstein looks away from her, seeming sheepish despite otherwise showing no real emotion. “Hard to find. Too small.” His words are slow and measured, as always.
Cordelia pauses for a moment, reconsidering just how much the man towers over her. “Ah… That is a fair point, indeed.” She hums in thought, “I don’t suppose it would be all too hard to find a suitable pattern that would fit, though likely needing a good amount of adjustments...”
He makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt with a small shake of his head, pulling her out of her imminent rambling. “Too much work. I have little to give. You are worth more. Prefer to fix, anyway.”
She smiles and laughs, “Darling, if it meant you stopped wearing this old thing, I’d happily dock my prices for you - have you accompany my husband for a hunt, if you simply must do something. But... I am a tad too busy for such a project right now, so perhaps another day, hm?” She turns, moving to put the coat on a desk at the other end of the room that’s already covered in other things she’s working on.
Silverstein waits as she organises her collection of ongoing orders, busying himself with the various items on display. A row of colourful bonnets and bowlers, a small shelf covered in flowery brooches, racks of practical - yet still quite charming - work outfits, even a section dedicated to potential custom orders with rolls of fabric. In the window front is a series of extravagant dresses and suits in glim... blue? purple? with plenty of detail work in said false-gems. Thankfully, they’re not anywhere near his tastes, he doesn’t want to guess how much those cost.
Pembroke comes back as he’s looking through a rack of suits that wouldn’t flatter him, she stops to watch for just a moment. Really, she should just get his payment and send him away now, like any other customer, but it would be a pity to waste an opportunity for a chat. She does want to get to know him better and, with how withdrawn he tends to be, the usual energetic bustle of the store makes it impossible to get more than a bare few words out of him. Oh, and she has been meaning to ask about...
“Flint, may I offer you a question?”
He looks up from his half-hearted perusal, slightly startled by the use of his first name. He quickly puts the display back in order and steps towards her, making an inquisitive noise as he waits for her actual query.
She smiles, posture casual and light. “So... You know my dear Theodore ends up in the same areas as you on occasion, correct? Well, just the other day, he said to have seen you with this revolutionary lady-” Flint immediately stiffens at that, Cordelia interrupts herself with her hands raised, “Relax, darling, you know I don’t care for that sort of politics. I’m merely curious, is all. I didn’t take that group to be your type of company.”
He replies with an annoyed huff, “Usually are not. Hard to keep up with. But...” Trailing off, he looks away from her, distractedly surveying a far shelf. “Good people. Good intentions.” He finishes cautiously.
She nods thoughtfully, “I suppose so, though they do seem a bit... disjointed in their motives. I can’t help but wonder what you’re looking for with them.” She starts to wander idly as she talks, futzing with her displays.
Flint is quiet for a moment, watching her as he considers his words. He starts with a low rumble of a hum, “Many are too dramatic. I do not want a total remake of society. Nor anarchy. Lawlessness is a brave desire. But I can not see myself in it.” He shifts, gazing at his hands and picking at lint on his gloves. “This city is complex. There is much that must change. There is much that must not. For everything we hate, there is something we praise. I wish to build on what we have. Make the systems better, not replace them. Reshape what we can into something better.”
Delia stalls from where she’s reorganising a shelf, looking at him with a kind smile. “I can see your point, darling, there is so much here that I would hate to give up. However... That still doesn’t quite answer my question.” He looks at her with a hint of confusion to his flat expression. “That is the how of things, not the what . Surely you have something in particular?” There’s a glint of curiosity in her eyes as she regards him, before turning back to her pile of clothing.
“Ah...” He hesitates, glancing around the room. It’s another long moment before he answers. "The little people. The workers and servants. Store owners and costermongers. The urchins. Criminals of necessity. Tomb colonists. Rubery men. The... Dock workers, their unions and riots." He seems uncomfortable for a moment, she raises an eyebrow, yet he continues.
"They deserve all better. Forgotten by many. Shunned by others. The city would collapse without them. It would do people good to remember that."
She nods with a bright grin, "Now that I can get behind. I can name a good few people that need that reminder... Or a smack up the head, whichever works." She chuckles and stretches her arms over her head, checking a clock on the back wall, “Oh, I forgot about the time! I’m afraid I must send you off, dear, I have a meeting near Ladybones’ that I simply can’t miss, do forgive.”
He nods, stepping out of her way and towards the door. She quickly ushers him out but, right as he’s about to go out, she puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re a good man, Flint, and I do appreciate our conversations. Do come again soon, alright, darling?”
He stiffens slightly, offering a curt nod before ducking under the frame and into the street.
They both forget to arrange an actual payment, an honest conversation is more than enough.