Envy-green eyes opened as the first light of day poured in through the window. Their owner rose from the mattress without an ounce of hesitation. There was no whining or whinging to be heard. No pathetic laments about how he wished he could sleep in for just a little while longer, as he let the more industrious people of society lead the way into the day, putting their best foot forward. For Simon Hart was one of those industrious people and a firm believer in a very old saying; only the early bird got the worm.
He straightened his silk bow tie, before turning to take stock of himself in the mirror. They say the suit made the man. But, in this case, the man made the suit; literally. Every stitch of Simon's attire was carefully crafted by the tailor, himself. Even his top hat with its golden, baroque band and its generous collection of jeweled hat pins had been carefully curated to pull the look together.
With a quick adjustment of his coat, he nodded in satisfaction. Every outfit told a story. That's the phrase Simon championed to sell his wares to his customers, after all. And what did his own say about him? That he was a well put together businessman with a flair for fashion. A talented artisan who had paved the way to his station in life, not through the lottery of birth, but through hard work and determination. He was a shining example to all who were born in the lower class that they, too, could make something of themselves.
Which was why The Ode to Maria was practically bursting at the seams the moment Mr. Hart came downstairs to open for business. Poorer men who had lucked into a little bit of money were browsing his selection feverishly, clawing at his creations with calloused, well worked hands, as if hoping that one of the suits had the magic to change their fates. Hope. Wishes. Yes, that's what he was really in the business of selling, wasn't it?
Simon was never a very sentimental man, but in his heart of hearts, he hoped that they chose the right one. That the suits would, indeed, change the lives of those who wore them for the better. Because everyone deserved a chance at a better life; that was the one thing he could honestly say that he believed in.
The early morning passed by like clockwork. He made suggestions, alterations and gave tips on how to keep newly purchased suits looking as beautiful as the day they were bought. When he wasn't pushing product, he was in the little side room where all of the 'magic' happened; something his guests could watch in real time through the glass windows that he had installed to allow them the privilege of peering into his world.
At first, he was adverse to the idea of being stared at by a crowd when he was doing something so undeniably intimate. But, when his long time friend Mira told him about the bakery on the richer side of town that seemed to be lush with customers, the major attraction being the chance to see the pastry chefs at work, Simon supposed it was worth a shot. Every Aster counted, after all, whether it be bronze, silver or gold. Every last coin got him closer to the life he wanted. A life of comfort, privilege and prestige beyond his imagination. He would do anything that aided him on his climb to the top; anything!
However, the gods had a funny way of challenging those who said 'anything'. They were even harder on those who said, 'never'. It didn't take a genius to see that the cynical, young man was on a crash course with the consequences that came with those forbidden, little words. Today, Simon Hart's resolve would be tested and no matter which decision he made, his life would change forever.
Blissfully unaware of his upcoming trial, the tailor behaved like it was business as usual. First, he attended to the morning crowd. Typically, they were loiterers made up of the lower class who eyed a piece for weeks, before coming in on their day off to make that single, precious, life-affirming purchase, counting their bronze and silver Asters with the attention of a banker.
Next was the lunch crowd, who were much the same, but more serious in their shopping pursuits. It took much less time to get them to decide on a purchase, that much was for sure. A thing Simon couldn't have been more grateful for. After all, watching the morning crowd and making sure that none of them spirited away any of the smaller accessories, usually ate through most of his patience.
Next was brunch. He closed the shop down for an hour and enjoyed a modest meal. Usually a sandwich with fresh, artisan bread and a hot cup of black tea. It was also a good opportunity to catch up on the latest news in the paper. And what was the flavor of the day?
King Bennett to receive members of the Stone Royal Family to discuss peace negotiations.
The bridge of Simon's nose crinkled as he scoffed and crumpled the offending piece of literature in a fit of temper.
"Peace? Since when was peace ever an option?! I knew our King was a fool, but this is too much!"
Into the bin it was tossed, before the tailor took solace in a few, deep draws of his tea in hopes of calming himself. It would do no good to get so worked up. Especially not with how he still had one more shift to do that day. He painted himself as a gentleman, after all. He needed to keep it together, no matter the circumstance. So, he contented himself with reaffirming what he already knew.
'Vampires are devils. They can't be negotiated with. You would think twenty years of war with those blood suckers would have taught our highness that.'
After brunch his favorite clientele wandered in, brightening up his sour mood. They were the wealthiest patrons of The Ode to Maria. Usually they came out at dusk when all of the unwashed masses went home. And who did his little shop pay tribute to tonight? A man who needed no introduction and had no shortage of Asters to spare; Lord Pattimond of Elderstock.
Whenever he came to call, Simon closed down the entire shop just for him and his entourage. The way they scooped up entire wardrobes of his finest wares, willing to pay top price made it worth the trouble; though knowing that the art he created would probably be worn once, before disappearing into an endless closet or before being turned into rags later for the servants to mop up with did sting quite a bit.
But, this was business, he had to keep in mind. He also had to remind himself of his position in the hierarchy. No matter how friendly the older gentleman appeared, he knew that not observing his place would only result in ruin later. So, he bowed and scraped before the noble and his companions, keeping his head down and always remembering how to use proper etiquette. How best to flatter and please them and milk them out of all their precious Asters; yes, he knew this song and dance by heart.
"Alright, I think that will be it for me tonight, boy! Whew, what a wonderful night of retail excess! And this wine isn't so bad either! Do you bring this out for all your guests?"
"Only my most esteemed, your lordship."
Most esteemed; another way of saying the richest to be sure. Something they both knew. The other man, now bearing rosy cheeks, chortled like it was the most humorous thing he heard all day. Perhaps it was. The company the noblemen kept was extremely dry, after all.
Or perhaps it was just the D'Arc Larosa working it's magic. Everything was funnier when one was drunk. Though, that thought reminded him of Mira and how many times she had invited him out for a glass of the 'good stuff', as she called it.
'You've got to loosen up! You're too stiff! How are you ever gonna find a lover with that serious scowl on your face?! A few swigs of fire water would loosen that tight ass of yours right up!'
Ah, yes, alcohol; a rare vice he never much indulged in. It may have loosened wealthier people's purses, but it also loosened poor people's tongues; only the rich could shoot their mouths off without thinking in the midst of a drunken stupor and get away with it. He had learned that lesson as a youngster the hard way. And as for finding a lover?
'Mira, there isn't enough liquor in the world to make me likeable enough for another man to want me for anything more than a one night stand. You need to stop trying to help me with my love life. I'm already twenty-four. It's practically too late.'
Of course, she had nearly fallen off her stool from her uproarious laughter, which made him roll his eyes and go back to his novel. If she was going to be that way, then he was going to ignore her completely. Something the attention hog Mira couldn't stand, if the way she shoved at his shoulder was any indication.
'Oh, come on now! Don't be that way, Si! Twenty-four isn't old! No need to be so touchy about it! I mean, jeez, compared to me, you're just a baby!'
'Easy for a one-thousand year old elf to say.'
Simon sighed at the memory. Mira had already had over a hundred lovers by now. It was something she was obviously very proud of, the beautiful men and women whom she shared her bed and her life with. Granted, she was much older than him, but for Simon to have not even had one? It was as he suspected. Something was fundamentally wrong with him. Well, besides the obvious. Maybe he couldn't love? Maybe his heart didn't work? Perhaps it was literally.. a broken heart?
"Hey, boy! Pay attention! It's time for us to settle up!"
"Oh. Forgive me my Lordship. My mind was wandering. That will be two thousand, nine hundred Aster, please."
Once the noble paid in full, leaving, of course, a more than generous tip, Simon bowed to the man whom he suspected single-handedly kept his shop running, at times.
"Thank you for your patronage, Lord Pattimond. It's always a pleasure."
"Of course, dear boy, of course! I'll be back next month! The grand gala is coming up and I shan't be shown up by the likes of Lord Kinnsington again! Wearing your works of art, I'm sure to win!"
"Of course, sir. Take care. See you then."
Off into the night they went, full of merriment. Simon smiled just long enough for Lord Pattimond and his party to pass out of sight, before letting the facade drop. He eyed all of the money in his hands before nodding. This would pay six more months rent and allow him to buy more fabric. Yes, it had all been worth it.
Hmm. Maybe I will purchase some satin this time. Or perhaps some lace. I could buy silk if I really wanted to, but that would eat into my food budget-
"Hello?"
Simon whipped his head around in the direction of the voice only to find an empty doorway. A few suspicious sweeps of his eyes around the room yielded nothing. He tucked his money away, nonetheless; one could never be too careful. Speaking of which, hadn't he already locked that door?
He eased to the entrance, looking this way and that. Nothing. No one was even on the street at this hour except a few, stray cats fighting over the fish monger's leavings.
"I must be imagining things."
With that, he locked the door, turning around to find himself face to face with a stranger. The tall man's long, snow-white locks glistened in the fading candle light as his sapphire-blue eyes froze him to the spot. The man was incredibly handsome. No, beautiful! That was the only correct word to describe the kind of aesthetic masterpiece that lay before him.
Oh, the outfits he could make for this figure! It was as if the universe had smiled upon him and sent him the perfect canvass! The perfect muse! An angel! Until he opened his mouth and proved to the pessimistic man, once again, that nothing in life was free or perfect. Those telltale fangs in that smile ruined everything. Because this was no angel. This was a devil. This was a vampire.