fic: How Richard Mayhew Got His Coat
Jan. 20th, 2010 04:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: How Richard Mayhew Got His Coat
Day/Theme: 1/23) a pretty traffic with known correspondents
Series: Neverwhere
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard, OMC. At this point it's preslash.
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Word count 1278
Author's note: Part of the Good Enough ficverse (masterpost here)
The next Market date was in Warwickshire, and three days hence from the last one in London. During that time, he noted that his companion lacked something quite important.. Richard was in his usual dull sweater, now made ratty from their travels, and of an indeterminate color which was only a bit more brownish-grey than it was when he started out. It hadn't even been that long, but London Below was ever so hard on clothes. And the nights were growing colder now, the days soon would join them.
No, that wouldn't do at all.
So it was that when the day of the Warwickshire floating market came about, the Marquis pushed through the crowd until he was right where he was looking for. Mr. Dunwick Taylor was a man who seemed to have nothing excessive, which was also how he did his craft. There wasn't one extra stitch in his work, and it was built to last, and last it did. Even with assorted beast hunting, angelic plans being thwarted and Croup and Vandemar (who were a category of their own).
Being part of Below (not merely limited to London Below, mind) he was used to stitching back together ripped rags, adding more rags, and making something usable out of the sundry of materials that came to him. He was also used to being paid in marbles, pens, half of sandwiches and handkerchiefs for his work.
He had a shanty built for him by Hammersmith as a large trade. In there was a rusted sewing machine, which seemed more for decor as Dunwick stitched his things by hand. He was a little man with rough, unkempt brows of the same shade as his balding, mousy hair. Of course, most didn't know that, as because of said hair loss, he always wore a hat pulled down low, which gave him even more of a suspicious air.
Richard looked about, but asked nothing. He was getting good at merely watching what de Carabas did, and putting it away. If he really had to know, he'd ask later.
He learned well, the Marquis could say that about him for sure.
"Your favorite customer has returned," the Marquis said with flourish.
Taylor looked apprasing, but guarded. As if perhaps he'd been thrown over a few too many times.
He looked Richard's way and nodded meaningfully. "I'm looking for a coat. A well made one, of course, but not quite with the flourish of mine. Something more utilitarian."
Taylor looked over to Richard, whose back was to them, and then back to the Marquis.
"What's yer payment?"
"You're working on the slayer of the beast of London below. Isn't that payment enough?"
"No," Taylor said mirthlessly. "S'not."
The Marquis sighed theatrically. "It was worth a try. It seems to only work on young impressionable and dreamy young girls."
"Well, bring 'em over 'ere," Taylor said.
Richard looked up from his avid watching of the other stalls. Apparently he'd been so engrossed that he missed the whole conversation. All the better.
"You're talking to me?"
"course, yer bein' fitted."
"Fitted?" Richard repeated. He looked to the Marquis, but his expression revealed nothing. "The trip wasn't for you?"
The Marquis shook his head, his smile was a faint slip of amusement.
And then Richard was being prodded and poked and tied in old, browned measuring tape. Taylor worked fast when he mad, and he was always mad in some way or another.
When it was over, Richard still looked a bit dazed as they walked away from the stall. "And what now then?"
"We bide our time. Coats, like Rome, are not built in a day," the Marquis replied.
"How long do you think it will take, then?"
"Oh, we'll know when it's finished. We'll know."
He left it at that, and Richard didn't ask more.
*
It was three market days past until he came to the stall again. Just in time for the cold snap to come, incidentally – though it'd come a bit early. Richard had been rubbing at the sleeves of his sweater and breathing on his hands.
Richard tried on the coat. It was similar to the Marquis in its many pockets, but of a brown shade of varying colors, with several different types of cloth stitched together in a patchwork manner. It lacked the the lace cuffs and other frippery of the Marquis', which was just fine as it fit Richard quite well in both personality and size.
He stretched out his shoulders and arms on command, as the Marquis watched. This in itself was galling to Taylor, that anyone should dare to suggest that his works weren't perfect the first time around. Still, no matter what his reputation was, or even experience De Carabas didn't take chances when it came to such things.
And The Marquis pulled out his payment, an assortment of hats found, not limited to a straw hat with a wide brim to keep out the sun, a winter cap, and a purple elegant hat with a large feather that would look utterly ridiculous on him. The Marquis waited to see if this would be enough, or if more would be demanded on account of some tacked on duty.
The little man looked for a long time, his thick brows furrowed, and finally he gave a quick, curt nod. De Carabas crooked his finger in a come hither motion, and Richard, who had actually been paying attention this time, obeyed.
He took no time in admiring it, but put it on immediately and pulled it close. His hands were balled under the sleeves. Apparently gloves were the next thing to get him.
"And thank you for this fine transaction as always," The Marquis said.
Taylor didn't say anything. He merely turned back to his sewing machine with a series of unintelligible grumbles, ones most likely aimed at themselves.
"I somehow feel you've got an angle here," Richard said as they ambled away from the stall.
"Why yes. Richard Mayhew, I do have an angle. I always have an angle. You're walking storage space. That, is the return for the favor of a coat – a very expensive coat, mind you."
Richard turned up the hem of his sleeve and admired the handiwork for the first time. "I think it's a fair enough trade."
"Mind that you pay in extra favors if you lose anything. I'll even let you store things of your own in there. I'm very kind, I know. And that's not the entirety of the favor, but we won't get into such extraneous details now."
Richard seemed about to say something in protest, but stopped, as if accepting the inevitability of the eternal fine print involved with working under his stead. He mentally clicked off what to buy in his mind. Food, warmth, and of course whatever might be useful in the end.
"And you won't be cold," the Marquis said, as a final touch, almost an afterthought. He straightened Richard's collar, and didn't immediately pull his hand away. Richard didn't shrink away.
"Now to get you some gloves. And possibly a hat and scarf," De Carabas said.
"I suppose I'll have to pay for that too?" Richard said.
"No doubt," Marquis said cheerily.
"You're a pretty expensive companion. At this rate I'm going to be in debt for the rest of my life," Richard said.
The Marquis smiled. Oh yes. That was entirely the point.
Day/Theme: 1/23) a pretty traffic with known correspondents
Series: Neverwhere
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard, OMC. At this point it's preslash.
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Word count 1278
Author's note: Part of the Good Enough ficverse (masterpost here)
The next Market date was in Warwickshire, and three days hence from the last one in London. During that time, he noted that his companion lacked something quite important.. Richard was in his usual dull sweater, now made ratty from their travels, and of an indeterminate color which was only a bit more brownish-grey than it was when he started out. It hadn't even been that long, but London Below was ever so hard on clothes. And the nights were growing colder now, the days soon would join them.
No, that wouldn't do at all.
So it was that when the day of the Warwickshire floating market came about, the Marquis pushed through the crowd until he was right where he was looking for. Mr. Dunwick Taylor was a man who seemed to have nothing excessive, which was also how he did his craft. There wasn't one extra stitch in his work, and it was built to last, and last it did. Even with assorted beast hunting, angelic plans being thwarted and Croup and Vandemar (who were a category of their own).
Being part of Below (not merely limited to London Below, mind) he was used to stitching back together ripped rags, adding more rags, and making something usable out of the sundry of materials that came to him. He was also used to being paid in marbles, pens, half of sandwiches and handkerchiefs for his work.
He had a shanty built for him by Hammersmith as a large trade. In there was a rusted sewing machine, which seemed more for decor as Dunwick stitched his things by hand. He was a little man with rough, unkempt brows of the same shade as his balding, mousy hair. Of course, most didn't know that, as because of said hair loss, he always wore a hat pulled down low, which gave him even more of a suspicious air.
Richard looked about, but asked nothing. He was getting good at merely watching what de Carabas did, and putting it away. If he really had to know, he'd ask later.
He learned well, the Marquis could say that about him for sure.
"Your favorite customer has returned," the Marquis said with flourish.
Taylor looked apprasing, but guarded. As if perhaps he'd been thrown over a few too many times.
He looked Richard's way and nodded meaningfully. "I'm looking for a coat. A well made one, of course, but not quite with the flourish of mine. Something more utilitarian."
Taylor looked over to Richard, whose back was to them, and then back to the Marquis.
"What's yer payment?"
"You're working on the slayer of the beast of London below. Isn't that payment enough?"
"No," Taylor said mirthlessly. "S'not."
The Marquis sighed theatrically. "It was worth a try. It seems to only work on young impressionable and dreamy young girls."
"Well, bring 'em over 'ere," Taylor said.
Richard looked up from his avid watching of the other stalls. Apparently he'd been so engrossed that he missed the whole conversation. All the better.
"You're talking to me?"
"course, yer bein' fitted."
"Fitted?" Richard repeated. He looked to the Marquis, but his expression revealed nothing. "The trip wasn't for you?"
The Marquis shook his head, his smile was a faint slip of amusement.
And then Richard was being prodded and poked and tied in old, browned measuring tape. Taylor worked fast when he mad, and he was always mad in some way or another.
When it was over, Richard still looked a bit dazed as they walked away from the stall. "And what now then?"
"We bide our time. Coats, like Rome, are not built in a day," the Marquis replied.
"How long do you think it will take, then?"
"Oh, we'll know when it's finished. We'll know."
He left it at that, and Richard didn't ask more.
*
It was three market days past until he came to the stall again. Just in time for the cold snap to come, incidentally – though it'd come a bit early. Richard had been rubbing at the sleeves of his sweater and breathing on his hands.
Richard tried on the coat. It was similar to the Marquis in its many pockets, but of a brown shade of varying colors, with several different types of cloth stitched together in a patchwork manner. It lacked the the lace cuffs and other frippery of the Marquis', which was just fine as it fit Richard quite well in both personality and size.
He stretched out his shoulders and arms on command, as the Marquis watched. This in itself was galling to Taylor, that anyone should dare to suggest that his works weren't perfect the first time around. Still, no matter what his reputation was, or even experience De Carabas didn't take chances when it came to such things.
And The Marquis pulled out his payment, an assortment of hats found, not limited to a straw hat with a wide brim to keep out the sun, a winter cap, and a purple elegant hat with a large feather that would look utterly ridiculous on him. The Marquis waited to see if this would be enough, or if more would be demanded on account of some tacked on duty.
The little man looked for a long time, his thick brows furrowed, and finally he gave a quick, curt nod. De Carabas crooked his finger in a come hither motion, and Richard, who had actually been paying attention this time, obeyed.
He took no time in admiring it, but put it on immediately and pulled it close. His hands were balled under the sleeves. Apparently gloves were the next thing to get him.
"And thank you for this fine transaction as always," The Marquis said.
Taylor didn't say anything. He merely turned back to his sewing machine with a series of unintelligible grumbles, ones most likely aimed at themselves.
"I somehow feel you've got an angle here," Richard said as they ambled away from the stall.
"Why yes. Richard Mayhew, I do have an angle. I always have an angle. You're walking storage space. That, is the return for the favor of a coat – a very expensive coat, mind you."
Richard turned up the hem of his sleeve and admired the handiwork for the first time. "I think it's a fair enough trade."
"Mind that you pay in extra favors if you lose anything. I'll even let you store things of your own in there. I'm very kind, I know. And that's not the entirety of the favor, but we won't get into such extraneous details now."
Richard seemed about to say something in protest, but stopped, as if accepting the inevitability of the eternal fine print involved with working under his stead. He mentally clicked off what to buy in his mind. Food, warmth, and of course whatever might be useful in the end.
"And you won't be cold," the Marquis said, as a final touch, almost an afterthought. He straightened Richard's collar, and didn't immediately pull his hand away. Richard didn't shrink away.
"Now to get you some gloves. And possibly a hat and scarf," De Carabas said.
"I suppose I'll have to pay for that too?" Richard said.
"No doubt," Marquis said cheerily.
"You're a pretty expensive companion. At this rate I'm going to be in debt for the rest of my life," Richard said.
The Marquis smiled. Oh yes. That was entirely the point.
