Salon de Soie, Linan, Democratic Union of Aviye
"Enjoy your suit, sir!" the man known as Dominiq L'araignée waved goodbye to another happy customer. Or rather, a customer who had no choice but to be happy because Dominiq had made him write down his banking information. That was before wiping his memory and replacing it with a decision to purchase a remarkably overpriced suit.
Dominiq hummed to himself as he added the string of numbers and the name to a log he kept for such occasions. His own piggy bank, made up of up-and-coming government officials, the odd businessman, and military officers. The customer had been of the middle category, and his brain had been remarkably deprived of information outside the sphere of ball-bearing manufacture and a government sub-contract to support the industry of, of all things, swivel chairs.
The actual tailoring had barely warranted a thought, since Dominiq was a master of manipulating strings... be they cloth or steel or qi.
