Response from here


Two Sons & Silk was a smaller parlour that screamed the tailor only attended one patron at a time, with a bill that sustained quiet and intimate appointments for the palette of the rich.

Fawkes was immediately uncomfortable, squinting at the wall of colours and not enjoying the sickly yellow hue his skin took on in the soft lighting. A fire roared in a grand stone-carved hearth, which undoubtedly meant the air conditioning was running to allow for the aesthetic to not actually cause discomfort. Mr. Nancy smirked knowingly at the Lost, the darker man in the rich teal and indigo patterned suit repeating the question,

"What style and colour were you looking for?"

The mannequin looked at his phone for a lifeline. Richard had given him nothing.

"Uh. Green? It's for a spring themed party." Nancy gestured at several different options, teeth flashing as his eyes darted to something bordering on acid lime that hurt Fawkes' eyes.

"Just kidding," the tailor chuckled, having a bit of a drawl to the singsong cadence of his voice.

Fawkes knew the man wasn't kidding.

He points to something dark, almost black, and jumps when Mr. Nancy produces a tape measure. "Chest first," he says, signalling for Fawkes to raise his arms. The tailor rattles off a measurement for the jacket. He hands the Elemental something generic and sniping at his posture while he checked the room of clothing before correcting it to something better fitting.

"Do you hear something?" Mr. Nancy asked, quirking a brow as he looked around, "Like a high pitched whine?" Fawkes shakes his head as he gets his anxiety under control. Shattering the Sovereign's tailor's mirrors wouldn't leave a good impression. "It ain't a date," the tailor snapped. "Relax your goddamn shoulders or you're gonna look like a clown. I'm sure that won't please your bossman with the dime he's dropping on your poor ass." Fawkes actually laughed, covering his mouth to reduce the uncanny of his dead expression.

Mr. Nancy pinches the shoulder to make sure only a quarter of an inch was flared, smoothing the lapels and instructing Fawkes to hold his hands properly to check the length of the jacket. The man was surprisingly halfway decent and warning him when he was about to do something or touch him despite the quips.

The whole endeavor takes several minutes as every piece of the suit is checked and measured. The dolls watches closely, forgetting his discomfort as he takes on some interest at the amount of thought that went into this sort of thing and cataloging what a shitty fit looked like. Never knew when a Fairest needed to be taken down a peg.

Mr. Nancy pushes for a lighter shade that showed off the thread pattern, and gave Fawkes a simmering glare that would have rivaled any Summer Courtier when he picked generic black for the shirt and tie. "Fuck that." The tailor snaps his fingers at a gold tie which the pattern echoed scales, and light brown shoes with a matching kerchief. Fawkes ends up accepting a passive roll as he's basically dressed like a doll. He had a feeling the two had discussed what he was going to end up with before he had even got there. A gold enameled pin with a rose is swapped out to replace the button on the lapel.

"There. Now you won't look like someone forced a donkey into a dress."

Yumyumcrow , Richard Price will be adding a Resources 5 suit to Fawkes' inventory for the Coronation