Measuring

It started with a phone call. In between pressing a collar and passing a pleased Mouse his stack of dress shirts, an unknown number buzzed through, and the voice beyond it sounded tired. Tired, but relieved.

“I can’t believe you agreed to meet us so late. Are you sure we’re not bothering you?”

“Not at all. It’s my usual business hours,” Dawn pressed the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could iron down a crisp corner, “You’d be surprised how many people need late-night alterations.”

The manager, Thomas, released a heavy sigh at that, “That makes me feel a bit better. He’s gone completely nocturnal- it’s been hard working around his schedule. Thank you.”

“See you soon.”

Dawn had plenty of “big” clients before- her biggest being Tammy and her entourage - but Vincent Moon was outside of her usual scope. She wasn’t sure how to prepare the shop for him. In between bouts of cutting and sewing, she moved around her armchairs, gave the shelves another wipe down, and made sure she had enough tea and coffee stocked in her cabinet. Did vampires drink tea? Did vampires care about feng shui at all?

The more she fretted, the more the name Vincent Moon faded into obscurity. Dawn could understand the craze about him, to a certain extent. Never mind Vincent- she was about to meet a vampire. She was excited to see what kind of person would walk through her door.

Finally, shortly after midnight, a black van pulled up to the curb below her shop. Dawn wasn’t sure where to sit herself- the desk or the door would make it seem like she was waiting, and she couldn’t seem too eager. She settled on looking busy in the workroom, plopping down into her sewing corner and pulling a waistcoat into her lap.

…There was a loose thread.

By the time the bell chimed at the front door, Dawn was hunched over in her chair, ripping a crooked seam out with an almost obsessive focus so as not to pucker the fabric. She didn’t look up until a tentative hello pulled her attention away.

Two men waited in the doorway. Thomas matched his voice- put-together, sincere, dressed in a modern-fit gray suit, but all of that diminished under the stoop of his tired shoulders and the heaviness of his eyebags.

Which meant that the shadow looming behind him had to be Vincent.

He was covered head to toe in black, wrapped particularly around his face. Despite this, his silhouette was extremely recognizable. He stood a head above his manager, broad-shouldered, straight-backed. He was very intimidating- was this the actor, or the vampire?

Dawn came out to greet them, and Thomas stepped in to shake her hand. The shadow outside didn’t move.

“You need to invite him in,” Thomas grinned sheepishly.

“Right,” she turned to Vincent, “Come on in.”

Thomas stepped forward, “Sire.”

“Sire?”

“He’s a count. Not too far up the ranks, but enough that he’ll throw a fit,” Thomas’s smile wavered, as if he was struggling to keep it, “Sorry. There’s a lot of little things with him.”

The shadow crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Dawn tried again, “Welcome into my shop… sire.”

He stepped in.

His movements were very fluid, silent, almost cat-like- there was a balance to him that didn’t fit his huge frame. As soon as the door shut behind him, he began to peel his clothes off by layers, the hat and the scarf, thick gloves meant for winter, the giant trench coat, each item falling into Thomas’s waiting arms, until all that was left was a simple black dress shirt and trousers.

There were many versions of Vincent Moon, and this one was dark-haired, with his curls swept away from his forehead. His eyebrows were sharp and perfectly manicured.

His glare was hiding behind a pair of round black sunglasses he kept on, more modern than expected of the regency era he was supposed to belong to, but they fit him rather well. Actually, he’d suit anything. He could wear a garbage bag, and it’d look lovely on him.

“You are?” he asked. His voice was deep, tinged with something noble, something better-than-thou. Conceit.

Dawn spotted Thomas sneering at him behind the tower of clothes in his arms. It seemed he wasn’t a fan of this character.

“Dawn Clarke,” she raised her hand for him to shake, but realized that maybe he was the type of nobility to not bother with the lower class, or perhaps touching him was out of bounds in general. Should she nod her head? Bow?

Vincent seemed to notice her hesitation. His lip tilted into an arrogant smirk.

“No matter,” he held out his hand, and Thomas dug into his pockets for another pair of black formal dress gloves. He slipped them on with an experienced finesse and nodded for Dawn to lead the way.

She guided him to the mirror, where she had set up a pedestal she used to measure. Vincent wasn’t a stranger to a raised stage- he stepped up and stilled himself, ready for instruction. There was little to prepare him for. Dawn unraveled her tape measure and began to circle, a nervous breath stuck in her throat.

She wanted to ask him so many questions, but they were all fighting to be said first. The silence between them charged into something electric, and thoughts jumbled to the numbers she had to remember, the centimeters between his wrist and shoulder, the polite nudge she gave his ankle to measure his inseam. By the time she remembered to say something- anything- she was almost done.

She caught a glimpse of the armchairs tucked away near the front door and noticed that Thomas wasn’t in either of them. Just a bundle of dark clothes he couldn’t be bothered to carry anymore.

“He’s in the carriage,” Vincent half-whispered, “If I let my manservant collapse on your doorstep from exhaustion, I wouldn’t be a good guest, would I? I can handle my own affairs without his hovering.”

“As long as he’s okay,” Dawn said, then lightly tapped his elbow up, “Pardon me… sire.”

He hummed and lifted his arms up obediently, and she wrapped the tape measure around his middle. She didn’t think about the fact that her arms were nearly embracing the most gorgeous actor she’d ever met, or how he didn’t seem to mind. Not at all. It took a few tries to read the numbers on her tape before she released him, and he relaxed underneath her hands.

There were a few more sensitive measurements- the chest, the back, just close enough to feel his stare behind those dark glasses. When she got to his neck his breath stuttered, sharp enough that she paused to make sure she wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“A little sensitive, there,” he mumbled, and she thought she caught a glimpse of a sharp canine that way. No. It was a regular tooth, but he had arched his lip enough to make the sneer look vampiric. He was thorough.

“Sorry. Would it be easier for you to hold it instead?”

He shook his head.

“I need high collars. Hides the bite that way.”

Riiight.

She held the tape loosely at the base of his throat and measured with her eyes. When she was done, he straightened his collar and transformed back into the elegant, mysterious count. Any hint of nervousness simply dripped away.

Dawn took a moment to write down her numbers, collecting herself, and when she was done, he arched an eyebrow, expecting. Waiting.

“Shall we get started?” she asked, then, “What kind of suit can Cielo make for you, sire?”