Duckworth was winded as he stepped into the sewing boutique.

His gloved hands rested shortly on his knees as he drew after breath, thinking that the client hadn’t yet been shown into the shop, and he just made it. Important clients like this one, as he had been told he was, normally was being shown the house first before the shop.

An awkward silence befell the room. Duckworth lifted his eyes, only to look straight into the skirt of the last person he ever wanted to lay eyes upon.

“Madame Michaut-“ he said hastily, straightening his back faster than horses running to pasture.

“Duckworth,” the silkily sweet interrupted him harshly, all color leaving his face.

“Glad you could make it. Mr. Batton, this is your tailor, as I told you,”

Duckworth barely had the courage to move a muscle as he felt stiff as a plank, but slowly he turned his head to Madame Michaut’s side. His expression turned from horror to an odd mixture of amazed horror.

He had never seen this man before, but somehow, he seemed familiar to him. That was perhaps because this man seemed like he had origins from roman sculptures, perfectly cut into marbles with his high cheekbones and straight jaw. Just the look of him made his heart pound a bit faster, as if he was still running up the stairs, and Duckworth wasn’t sure if it was because of fear or awe.

Mr. Batton, who was completely dressed in reds and browns, had now stepped a slight step forward, making Duckworth bend his back as the darkest eyes he had even seen pierced his. The dark eyes were surrounded by locks of smooth, black hair that had their own twist to them.

“Duckworth. That is one peculiar name you have.” a soft, soothing voice came from Mr. Batton as he glared at him. Despite how pleasant the voice was, the expression was quite frightening, as it was serious, even stoic.

“… Yes, sir.” Duckworth quaked, true to his name, as he didn’t know what to say.

An awkward silence befell the room again. Madame Michaut was the first to say something, as she cleared her throat.

“Duckworth, just to remind you what you need to make. Mr. Batton is in need of a new evening suit for the upcoming ball at the castle. I trust that you know what to do,” Madame Michaut said, giving a brief warning glare to the tailor, before smoothly smiling at Mr. Batton.

Mr. Batton barely reciprocated it, but it made him look away, so Duckworth could breathe a little easier.

At the castle? He must be quite important then, Duckworth assumed.

“I look forward to your work,” Mr. Batton said, dryly polite as he handed him his hand. Duckworth stopped in his tracks just a moment, before giving him a smile as he took his hand, shook it. A burst of lightning went through the fingertips as he squeezed Mr. Batton’s hand with his own, leather gloved one.

“Thank you, monsieur. I am pleased to be of service,” Duckworth said as he bowed, perfectly memorized after years of doing so.

As soon as their hands let go, Duckworth noted that Mr. Batton discreetly brushed his hand against his thigh, as if he had just eaten something. Duckworth frowned slightly as he couldn’t help but glare at the upper-class nobleman.

Ah. I see how it is, Duckworth noted as the frown hardly left his face.

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“Well. I will leave you to it. Duckworth needs to take your measurements so he can start working on the suit,” Madame Michaut said, awfully chipperly while sending piercing eyes to Duckworth.

Soon, they were left alone. The door closed as the last sound in the room, and a third round of awkward silence happened. This time though, Duckworth worked up the courage to break it sooner rather than later.

“Mr. Batton,” Duckworth gestured towards some coathooks. “If you would please take off your coat and waistcoat, so I can measure you more precisely,” Duckworth said while he tried to find his measurement tapes.

Mr. Batton did as he was asked, in complete silence and with the same muteness as a cat. Not a motion was to spot on his passive face as he took off the clothes too before positioning himself to be measured.

He made Duckworth uneasy with his looming presence.

Duckworth started first measuring the back, as it seemed the least threatening. The silence was pure agony though, and Duckworth just had to break it as he finished the back.

“Mr. Batton, you must be excited for the ball. All that music, food, beverages… it sounds like a good time. And then at the castle!” Duckworth said with a smile as he started measuring the arms. He could see the dancing figures in front of his eyes, along with the grandeur interior and the booming orchestra... What Duckworth wouldn't give to get a glimpse of that magic.

“Not particularly,” Mr. Batton said disinterested as his eyes sought the window.

“Why ever not?”

Now the dark eyes were facing him again. Duckworth held his breath.

“I don’t take joy in dancing,” he said, calmly.

Duckworth broke off the intense staring. Now he was standing in front of the gentleman, giving him a quick glance before measuring his torso. Mr. Batton’s eyes didn’t leave him for just a moment, and Duckworth felt the warmth coloring his cheeks.

“Most people enjoy dancing, Mr. Batton,” Duckworth said as trying to build a bridge between the two.

Mr. Batton wasn’t having it.

“Most yes, but that is because it is only the mindless kind that does – and there seems to be a connection between the senseless and the ones with the lesser fine touch,” Mr. Batton retorted resolutely.

Duckworth frowned as his eyes met the stern look of the noblemen. “Am... Am I to understand you correctly, Mr. Batton, that you are referring to the lower social classes than your own?” Duckworth asked as their eyes locked in an eye staring contest. Duckworth not revealing much of the distaste that was bubbling under the surface.

“Correct,” was all he said.

Duckworth was perplexed, and for a moment he was close to retorting in annoyance, but he bit his tongue. It wouldn’t be wise to tell off a nobleman like that.

“I see,” Duckworth said as he kneeled, taking measurements of the total length of the garment.

The compliance didn’t last for long though as Duckworth frowned with his gaze towards the measurement tape: “I suppose you are correct, sir. After all, us layfolk don’t do much of anything that requires an astute kind of mind… Besides building the roads you traverse, making the bread you eat, and making the garments for your social festivities,” Duckworth noted out calmly as he tightened the band around the leg of the nobleman, his eyes completely averting his.

One of Mr. Batton’s arched brows started to lift, but he said nothing as Duckworth finished up and soon was on his feet again.

“That was all for now. In a few days I will have a mockup ready, with the design that you requested. You should come back for a fitting,” Duckworth said as he turned his back so he could place the tape back, not noticing that the dark eyes never left him.

“Very well. I will be here in two days’ time then,” Mr. Batton said, clearing his throat a little bit.

Duckworth turned so he could bow Mr. Batton farewell. He mustered a polite smile, that was quite strained, and Mr. Batton didn’t even reciprocate it. He looked quite muddled as the dark eyes scanned the strawhaired man’s face.

“I thank you for your time, Mr. Batton. I will see you then,” Duckworth said, bowing. Mr. Batton just glared as he tipped his head gently, before walking out, without a word.