Logs-Dressed the Best

Sewing Shoppe
Lining all the walls of the shop are wonderful garments of differing styles,
sizes, colors, and prices. Some are delicately embroidered with all manner of
intricate designs for special occasions, and others are obviously made for
the wear and tear of daily life. In the middle of the back wall is a long
counter covered in scissors, fabrics, needles, and a myriad of colorful
threads. To its right, there is a loom and a large area filled with hoops and
works in progress.
Obvious exits:
Out

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Fri Dec 19 01:25:05 2003
Bree time: Early Afternoon <about 1 PM (after lunch)> on Highday of Winter -
December 24,1430
Moon Phase: Full Moon

Breelands Weather
The early afternoon winter air is cold and dry around you. The sky above is a
glorious pale blue/
===============================================================================

It is early afternoon- just after lunchtime, and the sky has finally cleared
up, bringing a few hopeful folk outside to do their shopping before the foul
weather comes over again. Children are out playing in the snow- their laugher
and excited shrieks drifting from the market place and into the eerily busy
Sewing Shoppe. That's right- there appears to be quite a crowd there this
afternoon.

Megan Tasselberry.. or, Tasselberry-Thatcher (as she has come to correct
/everyone/ who makes the mistake of calling her the former) is busy browsing
through the various articles of clothing- occasionally taking something up
and holding against herself- looking down at her body as if it would give her
some indication of how it would look, should she chose to puchase it, though
of course she'd be misled, were she to go on such judgements, as a dress held
up next to one's body is completely different to how it would look, were she
wearing it.

"Aaagh! Will ye watch where yer throwing them things, ye little ..." The words
from outside the window trail off ominously, and a moment later the bell
jingle-jangles as the door is thrust rudely open to admit a newcomer. Old
Hugh in his ancient fleece and dirty homespun seems distinctly out of place
in this feminine paradise, as he stands there dripping snow - yes, looks as
though a poorly (or well?) aimed snowball caught him right on the shoulder,
and the results are now splattered across his chest. "Hrrm," he grunts,
looking surreptitiously round the shop then shuffling over to the nearest
rack to inspect the garments hung there - those same dresses that Megan is
looking at? Odd, that.

Megan turns- perhaps looking for a store assistant, holding a long blue dress
against herself- too absorbed with looking down at herself to notice it's
actually Hugh who she's about to talk to.. "Do you think this is my colour?
It's a bit long, I think.." she says- scrunching up her nose and coughing
quietly, letting out a somewhat defeated sigh. It's only then that she looks
up and lets out a tiny shriek of surprise- almost dropping the dress (Hugh
wasn't /that/ frightening, was he?). "Oh! Mr. Bramble.. feather.. thistle..
fleece.. wool.. berry... Oh dear.. Oh, I don't even know it was you.. I feel
so silly.." Indeed, the girl has gone bright red as she clutches the blue
dress in her hands- apparently torn between putting it away and keeping it now

"I don't ... uh, that is ... eh, sure it's very nice," Hugh splutters, eyeing
the blue dress as though it were about to bite him. Then he bursts out
incredulously, "Do women really wear some o' them things? That one" - he
points to a filmy garment in spring yellow with a tracery of delicate green
embroidery - "wouldn't last a day on someone with a farm to run. Hrrm ..."
His head ducks down, away from Megan, and he brushes absently at the snow on
his fleece. Flakes drift off here and there, a few landing on the rack of
dresses ... but the old man doesn't seem to notice that, either.

Megan holds up the dress for further inspection, and, within a moment, she's
made the decision to put it back, though not before letting out a
disheartened sigh; "You don't like it.. Hm. Maybe blue isn't my colour
then..." (Though the shade she's picked is actually quite flattering, perhaps
she doesn't realise that maybe Hugh doesn't have a heightened sense of such
things.. oh well, she can always drag Andrick down later..) Now, she looks to
the dress he's pointing to, one eyebrow raised. "That's why you wouldn't wear
it out on a farm.. You'd wear it to a dance, or a festival, or
something...Them prettier ones aint for every day wear and tear, and see-
they're more expensive, too..."

Hugh listens, and heaves a sigh as heavy as Megan's own. "Don't know these
things. If 'twas a man's shirt, ye'd jist take the cheapest that didn't fall
apart. Maybe- maybe ye'd help me with summat, Miss, uh Mrs Thatcher." His
mouth purses as always at that name. "Yer not as tall as Sally ... got a bit
less up front too," he mutters, then turns beet-red as he realizes what he's
just said. "That is - what did ye say was wrong with this one?" He points to
the blue dress she's holding. "Looks all right ta me ..."

Megan nods, understandinly- fingers beginning to walk absently over each of the
dresses on the rack. "Tasselberry-Thatcher," she corrects, with hardly the
blink of an eye or a pause inbetween. Though, at his words, she seems to
straighten up her posture slightly- perhaps wanting to appear taller, and
then glances down to "up front", a somewhat shocked expression on her face so
that it takes a moment for her to gather her sense about her and pause her
fingers on the blue dress again. "Oh. Nothing wrong with it.. probably just
not my colour, and probably a bit long, too.." now she unhooks it again and
looks at it- somewhat longingly. It's a different style to her usual tunics,
this one gathering in at the waist and coming out into a rather elegant
bottom-half, despite the simplistic material used- in this, it's obvious
Megan would look much more like a woman, rather than the child that everyone
seems to still regard her as.

Hugh considers Megan's words. "What d'ye mean, 'not yer colour'?" he says at
last. "Noone's that colour o' blue, even if they've bin out in that freezing
cold we're havin'. Can't see that this" - he points now to a red velvety
dress, wide at shoulders and chest and clearly designed for the more matronly
figure - "is anyone's colour either, come ta that, 'less they've bin blushin'
like a furnace." He pauses, mumbles something under his breath as he glances
from red to blue and back, then finally just blurts out his reason for being
in the shop: "Got ta buy somethin' fer Sally, it's her birthday soon. Usually
Lucy does all this kind o' stuff, but she's bin laid up with the chill
lately."

Megan looks a little puzzled for a moment, before letting out a laugh, which is
quickly ceased as she's attacked by another bout of coughing. As it fades
into silence again and Megan has finally cought her breath, she shakes her
head slightly- "No, no you don't understand. Some people look good in some
colours and not good in others.. " hands are now holding the dress just under
her chin- hopeful that she'll recieve Hugh's approval, for the colour at
least, if not for anything else.. "Oh.. A birthday?.. Uhm.. Well I might be
able to help you- what's she going to use it for? And, Uhm, what colour is
her hair, and her eyes, and her skin? And, most importantly- what's her
favourite colour?"

Hugh peers at the blue garment again. "Seems ta me ye'd look exactly the same
whatever ya wear," he claims once more. "But that one's better than some o'
these things. Less ... frippery about it. Aye, that's the thing."
Unfortunately that's the nearest to 'approval' that poor Megan's going to get
from an old man with no dress sense.

He pauses then, to consider the other question. "What's she goin' ta use it
for? Eh, I don't know - fer wearin', I suppose. What do wimmen normally use
dresses for? As fer yer colour stuff: she's got brown hair an' brown eyes,
same as most o' the family do. Favorite colour?" He shrugs, scrunching up his
eyes as he tries to visualize the absent Sally.

Megan, at his comment, sighs lightly then gives a tiny nod- though is obviously
quite upset that.. what? That she hasn't been given permission to buy the
dress? That she hasn't been encouraged into it? Finally the dress is placed
back on the rack and hands return to their pockets to stop any further
temptation. "I suppose you're right.." She now removes a hand and gives a
somewhat self-concious tug at her green tunic, shoving the hand back into the
pocket again.

"Well, no.. maybe for wearing while gardening, or maybe for dancin' or maybe
for.. I don't know, there's different things for dresses.. Brown hair and
brown eyes? Blues, or greens, or maybe purple....But I don't know her
favourite colour, so I can't tell you exactly what she'd like.." Megan says,
though her attention has turned back to the rack- staying noticibly clear of
the blue Dress she'd had her eyes on before, now looking for possibilities to
hand Hugh...

"Blues? Or greens? Ah, ye mean like that one?" Hugh points once more to the
dreaded Blue Dress, now snugly back in its place. "I don't think .. that is
.. Sally's kind o' plumper than ye are. If it fits you, it wouldn't fit her.
Besides, if yer not takin' it yerself there must be something wrong with it."
Concluding that, he stands and waits for Megan to produce another garment,
like a rabbit from a hat.

Megan hardly glances at the dress- perhaps still fearing any painful memories
of her seperation from it that may arise should she lay eyes on it- but gives
a nod. "Plumper? Well, that's no problem.. The first thing I think we should
decide on is a colour... Here's a nice green one.." and she pulls it out and
almost throws it to Hugh- it's quite simple with embroydered edges, but nice
enough. "Oh! Or this.. No, there was nothin' wrong with it- just didn't think
it was my colour.. and.. uhm.. I don't have enough money for it, anyway." A
blatent lie, though Megan has disguised it by pulling out a rather fancy
dark-blue dress and holding this up for Hugh to see- "See, this'un's good fer
dancin' and trips into town for special occasions- it's more of a birthday
dress than that'un.." she says- pointing to the dress in Green.

"Oh, it's not worth the money?" Hugh nods sagely at that, and turns away from
the much-debated blue dress, oblivious to the fact it's actually rather
flattering to Megan's petite figure. "An' thank ye fer yer help - I don't
know. That dark-blue one's a bit posh, isn't it? Not sensible fer the likes
o' a farmer's wife. But then again, maybe she'd like it. Which would /ye/
choose, Miss Tass-?" At that moment a snowball thumps against the shop
window, and Hugh turns round to glare angrily, the question unfinished.

"No, no.. it's worth the money, it's just that I don't have enough with me
right now, and uhm.. It's probably a bit much for me to spend on a dress.."
Perhaps it's just imagination at work, but did Megan emphasise the word
'me'?...Now she looks to the dark-blue dress and gives a slight nod.. "It is
a bit posh, but.. well, if she wants to use it for dancin' and goin' out for
special occasions.. hmm.. maybe it is a bit posh... How about..." and now,
she triumphantly holds up another dress- not so deeply blue but still a
deeper blue than the dress that Megan had her eyes on...She flinches slightly
as the snowball hits the window, tilting her head slightly. "Kid's
snow-fightin'?"

Hugh's not looking at the dress. Instead he shakes a fist at the window, and
growls out, "If I catch ye at it again ..." Some of the other patrons in the
shop look round disapprovingly, and he clears his throat and shuts up. Not
for long though - he turns back to look at the dress Megan's holding now.
"Aye, that'd be the sort of thing - if I can afford it, 'course. Would ye
hold it up against yerself so's I can see how it looks, maybe?"

Megan glances up at Hugh's words, looking toward the window- though she hardly
spares it all a second glance- kids will be kids, after all.. At his request,
she holds it up against herself- one hand holding the hanger up near her neck
so she has to twist her head awkwardly to avoid being skewered in the eye,
the other hand playing with the skirts, smothing out the wrinkles and what
not. "How's it look?"

Hugh tilts his head to one side, and then the other, glances from Megan to the
row of dresses on the rack, then lets out a thoughtful, "Hmmm. I think ... if
ye were twice as plump it'd fit nicely. Course, that other dress looked much
neater on ye, but yer not Sally. Aye, this one will do. My thanks fer yer
help, Miss- Mrs- Tasselberry." Old lips quirk suddenly as he manages the
other half of the name this time, and he reaches a gnarled hand out for the
hanger. "Now to see if the likes o' me can afford these prices," he murmurs
as his brown eyes search for a price-tag.

Megan takes the hanger in between her teeth and uses both hands to spread out
the skirts and perform a kind of awkward courtsey. "Oh, so you think that
other one would look alright on me? I wasn't sure.. Maybe I'll get Andy in
here to see what he thinks.." now she giggles quietly- "Maybe he'll buy it
for me, too!" Eyes shine with delight as she thinks about this, though the
shien is gone as she suddenly realise she probably /doesn't/ want to appear
like she's taking advantage of him and his money. "Oh, and you're quite
welcome Hugh, I wouldn't want to leave you here helpless and not havin' a
clue as to what to buy- I just hope she likes it..." this time, she makes no
move to correct the name, after all, there doesn't seem to be a point. Now
she hands over the dress, bright eyes looking out for a price tag.. "If
there's no price, you can take it over to the counter and they'll tell you
how much it is..." With talk like this, it seems Megan should be working in
the store herself!

Hugh lets out a grunt at Megan's first words. A sort of 'oh, so you married him
for the money?' grunt. But he doesn't say a word on that subject, simply
taking the hanger and holding the dress at arms length, as though he were
embarrassed to be seen with it. "Ye seem ta know a lot about clothes an'
stuff," he remarks now. "Ever thought o' goin' inta the drapery business
yerself? Ye've been more help than that idle shop-assistant." Which could be
because 'that idle shop-assistant' is busy attending to a stressed, rather
pregnant-looking young woman right now, trying frantically to find something
large enough to fit. "Ah, here's the tag - how much?! They think I'm made o'
money?" The question is rhetorical, for old Hugh is already rummaging in his
purse; he does add, however, "Hope yer man has a few pennies stashed away.
This place ain't cheap."

As much as she's been trying to resist it happening- Megan's eyes have already
begun to be sucked back to the blue dress, hanging innocently on its hanger
amongst fifty other dresses of different cuts and styles and colours- and yet
it is onto this one dress that Megan's eyes hone in on, thus she misses
hearing Hugh's snort, though again she manages to drag her eyes away from the
dress and back to Hugh, giving a shake of her head. "Nah, I don't reckon I'd
be all too good at it in the end," and now she flashes the man a bright and
dazzling smile- one that could make anyone buy anything even if they had some
doubts.. "And anyway, Andrick and I are goin' into the wine buisness..." she
explains- dropping his pet name that she had used just before. "Is it dear
then? Maybe they'd give us a bit of a discount.. say there's a bit of
threadin' coming loose, or.. or something.. and Andrick has enough money for
it, and if I put some in.. " eyes drift back to -that-blue-dress- again,
though only momentarily.

"The wine business? What on earth- eh, I hope ye do well at it," Hugh amends
hastily. "Don't hold with wine much, meself, prefer a good ale, but I suppose
there's lots o' furrin trade. With them Shirefolk an' all. Good ta see a
young person with a spot o' initiative." Clearly he's impressed that Megan is
setting herself up in business (or was he just impressed by that dazzling
smile?). The comments about the dress and the loose thread go right over his
head, which is probably just as well, or he'd not have that grandfatherly
smile on his weathered features as he gazes down at Megan. "Anyway, I'd best
be gettin' back. I'll go an' pay fer this, and get them ta pack it up, and
then it's out inta that snow again. Hope ye have a good day, Mrs Tass- eh,
Thatcher, an' I thank ye again fer yer help." With that he's hobbling off,
back turned to Megan's desired blue dress, which doesn't /yet/ have a thread
loose ...

Megan nods enthusiastically- "Yes, we st..uhm, we purchased an amount of grapes
from the Shire and we're goin' to plant them after the cold weather's passed.
And there's no local Bree-wines, so we're hopin' that it'll become popular
here, too.." she informs, with a few more nods. The grandfatherly smile is
returned with one of Megan's own- sweet, innocent and like that of a much
younger child. "Tasselberry-Thatcher, actually.. And you have a good day
yourself.. Tell Besty Hello for me, and you're perfectly welcome- always glad
to help out..." It seems as though she's half-expecting to have all these
good deeds paid off one day- perhaps she's just thinking of something
sufficient, and a sneaky enough way to ask for them to be payed off first.
Megan watches a moment more as Hugh leaves, then turns back to her blue dress
with a sigh- fingers running longingly over the material.

"Tasselberry-Thatcher," Hugh mumbles to himself as he heads off in search of
the assistant. And a little later, when he wanders past with the dress now
wrapped in brown paper (behind him the shop-assistant is now busy offering a
handkerchief to the woman she was serving, and murmuring comforting things
like 'Don't worry, I'm sure this one can be extended at the seams ...) he
calls out to Megan again, "Much obliged ta ye. Good day." With that he's
opened the door and headed out onto the street. The thudding sound of a
snowball a little later hints that his passage through the Market won't be an
easy one ... ah well, such is life for a grumpy old man.