[Marchesi's] A room in the past

Marisa seemed less inclined to go along with his little Prophet charade— that only made him question her more— but Harlan did his best to not dwell. "No, this is fine," He nodded to the decanter though his eyes flickered to the back where he knew the family kept their quality spirits. At the moment he was really looking for more of a distraction than something of substance. Whatever he could get his hands on the fastest would be enough.

Ironic, he thought, given the previous topic of conversation.

"Really," Harlan had opened his mouth to protest. He had half-reached out a free hand to stop her when Marisa paused on her own and seemingly caught by something else. Again, the unfamiliar sense of fear crept up his chest to his throat, making it hard to breathe, let alone think. There was something unnervingly definitive in the way that the witch was speaking, like she could see right through him.

After a mouthful of confirmed gin, Harlan set down the glass, unsure if he could trust his hand to keep steady. His eyes narrowed again on Marisa, begging the question as to why she was sorry if she had simply read a name in the paper (there was no way she had, he had made sure of that back then). "I should get going," He ran his hands over the fabric carefully, pulling it over his shoulders.

"I—" There was a brief moment of pause where he wanted to ask the question on his lips, but thought better of it. "Madeline will be in touch, with the—" It was the normal protocol she followed after a fitting, she would handle the payment and the transport for the event as Harlan 'simply wasn't capable of being trusted' as she said. He wasn't sure then why he was having such a hard time getting the words out given he was so used to it.

In the silence that had cropped up between them, everything else seemed disconcertingly loud. The clatter of his glass against the glass tabletop as he set it down. The chime of the ancient grandfather clock ringing from the corner. Carlotta's voice as she chatted with a client drifting back to them from the front. And yet, Marisa still wasn't sure what to say. The truth wasn't an option and she didn't want to lie again. She felt stuck from her warring instincts, like an insect with its wings pinned down. And the narrowed look he gave her made her stomach twist.

Of course an easy answer would be that she didn't want to lose such a high-profile client. But it was more than that. She hadn't asked to have a vision of whatever relationship he had had with the beautiful woman that still flitted through the forefront of her mind and yet she still felt like she had stolen something private from him. And she couldn't give it back either.

Marisa nodded as he gave his excuses for leaving, both happy and frustrated by it. She wanted to fix it, mend the wrong she had done as easily as she mended clothing. But she couldn't and there were no words she could give him to adequately explain so him deciding to leave felt like a relief despite the tension she felt between her shoulders. "Of course," she told him graciously, trying to slip back into the courteous professionalism she always wore with customers. "I'm sure you're busy. I'll have--" she stopped as he started again, pausing politely and then starting again as he mentioned his manager. "--Yes, I'll work with Madeline to make sure you have everything you need. The fit will be perfect." At least that was something she could promise.

She gestured toward one of the plush chaises near him, silently requesting him to place the set of robes there. With the headache she always had after visions pressing on her temples painfully as if punishment for her carelessness, she was not taking any other chances coming closer to retrieve the garment. And with that done, what else was there to say? She fought to think of something, some explanation, some apology that would make sense. But she couldn't. There were no words. So instead she offered one thing she could rely on: her work. "I'll finish the other garment for you early as well, free of charge," she offered, another silent apology in the words, knowing it wouldn't make up for the truth she couldn't tell him, but it was something.

Harlan was relieved that Marisa eventually followed his lead in brushing whatever the hell had happened under the rug. Naively, he figured if he could do that for long enough the nagging question— what the hell had actually happened— would eventually disappear. The bigger part of him ultimately knew better. He would be up all night thinking about Arya, and how that part of his life had bubbled to the surface despite his every effort to keep it safely tucked away.

"I know it will," He nodded appreciatively, quietly trusting in her and her family's work. The years of history were enough to maintain confidence.

"Oh, no that won't be necessary, Marisa, Harlan didn't accept handouts, particularly when he wanted nothing more than to compensate her for the craftmanship (and, coincidentally keep the line of conversation open). "Madeline will organize payment as well," He didn't need to explain that, Marisa knew the protocol as well as he did but Harlan felt the need to fill the uncomfortable silence that fell between their words.

Harlan placed the robes carefully on the chaise she had directed him to and adjusted the sleeves of his own shirt before reaching for his robes hanging in the corner of the room. "Thanks again," He said after a beat, a lack of sincerity in his tone only detectable in his own mind. He slipped out the door and apparated home, sick to his stomach.

fin
 

Harlan's quiet agreement and approval of her work felt like even more of a twisted knife in her gut. Here he was being polite and courteous even in the face of her careless mistake and gross invasion of his privacy. She had never figured out how to shake the guilt from that, especially since she herself liked to keep most things private. She knew Harlan was similar that way too and yet she couldn't rewind it all now.

"Of course," she said with a small nod at his insistence in paying. Marisa wasn't surprised and she was appreciative, but it didn't make the need go away, the need to fix it, to repay him somehow. She knew she would be thinking later on how she could possibly mend this situation. She didn't like broken things or maybe, more accurately, she had never been good at dealing with broken things. She wondered if he would find another tailoress or request someone else in the shop after this. Marisa thought about that as he placed the garment down and she drifted closer only after he went further across the room for this own cloaks.

"Have a good day," she murmured before watching him disappear, a headache pulsing at her temples that sent her back to her workroom for the potion she kept on hand for these sorts of situations. Flickers of his past still hanging in her mind mixed in with the unease of how to fix the mess that she had made.

/end