[Marchesi's] A room in the past

"Yes, this should be the final fitting," Marisa confirmed in her soft, calm voice, a smile about her lips, as she moved about the room with grace and efficiency. It had been a busy morning at Marchesi London, but then again, it was always busy. Not that she, or anyone in the shop gave even the slightest notion of that. Each customer was treated like royalty as they entered, got fitted, or browsed the latest fashions and the finest fabrics they had to offer including offers of beverages, alcoholic or otherwise, a cart of fresh, handmade pastries for their perusal, and an opportunity to relax in the cigar bar after their appointment. Every amenity was offered. After all, there was a reason why Marchesi dressed the wizarding elite and it wasn't only because of their impeccable work, it was also how they treated their clients.

With a pair of golden dainty framed glasses on her nose, Marisa Marchesi waved her wand and her latest work of art floated gently from the back room and hung itself on the stand near where the quidditch captain stood. She knew his manager at least would be happy to know it was the final fitting. That woman... was a whirlwind, to say the least. But she paid handsomely and the captain himself had always been pleasant to work with. With her riot of chestnut curls tucked neatly into a bun at her nape and wearing of of the elegant crushed velvet dresses she had made herself, she held open the set of robes for him to put his arms through, gently lifting the garment to span his broad shoulders, careful not to touch him too closely, a hesitation she had with everyone due to her gift.

She took a step back as she motioned for him to stand on the raised dais in front of the three sided mirror so he could get a good look at himself. Marisa smiled as she looked at him in it, quietly pleased, but met his blue eyes in the mirror as she tilted her head every so slightly. "What do you think?"

@Harlan Bellamy

Harlan was, at his very core, torn when it came to shopping. On the one hand, he might have preferred to have it all done for him, to be entirely hands-off, but on the other, he was painfully particular and would never allow it. He knew what he liked, almost to a fault, and was uncompromising in his endeavors to get just that. The same could be said for almost every facet of his life.

Marchesi was a staple for him as he had come into his own, as it had been for his father and his brother, and likely generations before them. The Bellamy's had been going there for as long as Harlan could remember at least.

"Mmm," The wizard shrugged the robes carefully over his shoulders and hummed a thought. The dark fabric was dynamic, yet still impossibly classic, and it moved across the set of mirrors he found himself painfully trapped between. He thought for a moment. Marisa knew not to read into that— in fact, he was almost certain that Madeline had provided a color-coded binder of the nuances of Harlan Bellamy before he stepped foot inside without the guise of her watchful eye.

It was as much of his dictation as it was her own.   

"I like it," He decided, focusing on her in the mirror instead of himself. "How've you come up with this?" He carefully pulled open the cloak to reveal the subtle gold intricacies of the interior of the fabric. It had the exact level of tasteful that he was after, as per usual. "Mads briefed you fully, I'm sure?" His eyes narrowed on her before a grin pulled at his mouth. His manager was notorious for micromanaging. And for the English team event on the horizon, she was surely on her best form. 

Marisa watched him in the mirror as he settled into the new suit, her hands clasped gently in front of her, the very picture of patience. She didn't mind in the least, she was used to dealing with all sorts of clients and how they reacted and while the quiet, the deliberation might have put her junior assistant's into a state of panic, Marisa had worked with Harlan long enough to know better. Well, mostly. She couldn't deny the tiny sliver of doubt that hovered around the edges of her mind. She batted it away as he met her gaze in the mirror and she smiled back at him at his words.

"Good," she simply said, quietly confident as she took the golden framed glasses from the bridge of her nose and tapped them against her lips. "Just one of the many ideas I've sketched for you," Marisa said as he checked the suit out, wondering if he'd notice the monogrammed pocket she had hand-stitched for him or the faint zip of the insultation charms she had weaved into the fabric to keep him cool when it was hot and warm when it was cold. It was just one of the many useful charms she had enchanted the suit with. It had not been a quick project either so even his three words of approval were like gold to her.

Her lips pulled together and she fought a smile, her caramel colored eyes glittering, as she thought of how.. thorough her manager had been. "She might have mentioned a few things..." Marisa admitted as she met his gaze, seeing his mirroring expression. She stepped closer, her vine wood wand like an extension of herself as she looked him over with a critical eye. "The shoulder and sleeve fit is good, but I still think we could come in a little at the waist. It shouldn't be a problem to do that by this Friday," she told him as she accioed her pins.

"I'm sure you're looking forward it. Is the whole team attending?" the tailoress asked, as if she didn't know, even though she had received a few orders for the same event. It might have been mostly to distract herself as she mentally prepared to pin the suit where she needed to, a task that was so mundane for tailors but caused her apprehension because of her Sight. But it was in the notes that he not deal with any of her assistants and she didn't want to cross Madeline.

Harlan ran his fingers over the fabric in quiet appreciation, watching in the mirror as it moved under the weight, keeping his touch delicate. There was certainly an art to it all, he thought. His deep blue eyes that were brighter than usual under the pristine lighting flicked back up to Marisa who seemed to be just as deep in her own thoughts. It was a strange concept to have something made for you and even after all the years Harlan still found himself feeling unworthy.

"More than a few, I'm sure," He let out a chuckle, watching as the witch stepped closer to inspect her work. If he knew Madeline— and Merlin, did he ever?— she had more than a few, most of the time. Perhaps that was how their partnership had lasted so long. There was a balance between their two extremes.

Harlan half-lifted his arms as he knew to do when the pins came flying over so that Marisa could bring in the fabric as mentioned. "Right," He studied where she had indicated toward. It took a keen eye to spot the minor alterations because he assumed it couldn't have fit any better.

"They are," He nodded, watching her in the mirror as she worked her own particular kind of magic. It was always interesting to see people doing the things that they loved, the things that inherently came easily to them because of it. "I'm—" Was he looking forward to it? For a brief moment, he paused before remembering that Madeline wasn't there in the corner to shoot him that look as if to say, keep it nice. "If I'm honest, not," He glanced over at her with a grin, not through the reflection.

"I've dealt with worse," Marisa mused, truth in her tone, but also some levity as he had to know as well as she did how.. interesting it was working with his manager. Dealing with particular clients was a skillset she had honed while working at Marchesi headquarters in Neroli and she wouldn't have survived the stress of working here in London that first year if she hadn't been thrown into the fire back in Italy.

"No?" she asked, intrigued as she glanced up at him, her eyes meeting his directly instead of in the mirror and he gave her that grin. She couldn't stop the replying smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. Marisa moved around to his side as her favorite cat-shaped pin cushion floated behind her hand. She took a steadying breath, praying, hoping that her gift was tamped down. She didn't feel the precursors to her visions: shaky hands, slight headache in her temples, a race of adrenaline that had no cause, but still she was cautious.

"And why is that? Don't want to rub elbows and shake hands with the whole team?" she asked, again mostly to distract herself, the faintest hint of sarcasm on her tone. She wasn't exactly a party person either, she'd rather be home cuddling with her cats and a cuppa, but she was a little proud of her ability to adapt to any situation her job called for, especially when she needed to attend business functions or entertain clients at family parties.

She still wasn't, however, good at managing her fear of her gift. So instead she focused on his response instead of her own fears, as she pinched the fabric at his waist and pulled it gently so she could pin it with quick, efficient movements. There was enough fabric so that she could pull it away from his body and avoid touching him directly, it made her feel more at ease. She glanced at him in the mirror as she took a half step back to look at the silhouette with the one side pinned. "Better?" she phrased as a question even though it was more rhetorical. She could see the line of it was already better and she moved to his other side, her cat pin cushion floating closer.

Marisa gazed at him in the mirror instead of glancing up to look directly at him as she felt her lips quirk up. "Don't worry, I won't tell Madeline," her caramel colored eyes glittering with amusement as she knew his honest take probably wasn't what Madeline was expecting him to toke around. "Secret's safe with me."

"You've no idea how pleased she'll be to hear that..." Harlan teased, a smirk pulling at his mouth. In truth, it couldn't be any further from the truth. Madeline was nothing if not relentless in her endeavor to be anything short of extreme. To be considered anything less than the worst would be a grave insult. He could almost hear the sing-song of her voice, the twang of her Irish accent as she said something along the lines of preferring the term dedicated.

Harlan held himself still at the careful touch at his side from Marisa, subtle enough to have been missed if he hadn't been thinking it about so much. It wasn't that he didn't trust her— he wouldn't still be there if he didn't— it was more the build-up of anticipation.

"Something like that," He finally let out a careful breath as she made the move and pinned the slightest bit of fabric between her fingers. "I'm just not much for the—" Harlan corrected himself from moving too openly while she continued to work. "—fucking pomp and circumstance," He landed on succinctly. It was no secret, even earlier in his career, that the formalities of the career were lost on him.

Harlan studied the area carefully and at every angle through the reflections before them. "Honest, I thought it was perfect before..." He confessed with an exhale, glancing down at Marisa from the stand while she moved to the other side of him. Eventually, he smiled. Of course, it was better. "Ah, she's heard worse," He declared at the mention of keeping it from Madeline. "And she finds out everything..." Harlan would have been bitter if he didn't love her for it.

Marisa tensed for a moment, but smiled back at him, realizing he was teasing but also couldn't help the frisson of fear that wen through her if Madeline had actually heard that somehow. She knew.. well, she hoped Harlan wouldn't say anything, but there always was that doubting voice in the back of her mind. Marisa pushed it away as she looked at him in the mirror, returning his teasing smirk with one of her own. "You better not breath a word of this to her," her words light, but her eyes glittering with amusement and a hint of mischief.

Her pin cushion floated closer, its presence a subtle threat, as if he might get a pin where it didn't belong... but all in jest. She steeled herself again as she looked at the fit of the waist on his other side, her sharp eyes picking out a few places where it could be improved. Mentally checking herself for signs of her gift before she carefully touched just the fabric again, careful to pull it away from his body as she pinned it, holding her breath.

Marisa understood the pomp and circumstance life all too well and while she thought herself good at adapting to the schemes and the schmoozing, it was never where she thrived so she nodded gravely as she concentrated. "It's unfortunate that that side of the job is always intertwined to the good parts," she agreed. She was sure he had much more pomp and circumstance, being much more in the public eye than she was, but she could imagine he had the same pressures she did, just on a much larger scale. "I don't envy you," she added quietly, empathy in her voice echoing with relief as she finished the last of the pins and took a step back out of habit.

She disregarded his 'perfect' remark with a practiced habit (how was it perfect, if she clearly saw flaws?), but his smile as he looked at her adjustments was high praise from the captain and she quietly reveled in it before she shook her head at him. "Oh Merlin, I hope not everything," she mused with practiced levity even though a genuine worry flickered through her mind. Everyone had their secrets, and Marisa had them in spades. It wasn't something she wanted most people to know, even though she doubted someone like Madeline would even be bothered with her.

Perhaps she was more distracted by that thought than she had realized because she took another step back and then another, understanding her mistake a moment too late. She had stepped back, but there was nothing there but air. The dais that they had both been standing on in front of the three-sided mirror was not far off the ground, but even in her sensible heels, the shock of falling made her eyes widen and a quiet gasp as her arms reached out as if that would somehow help her catch her balance.

It wasn't often that people commiserated with Harlan's grumblings. So often it was a genuine shock that the life of a famed quidditch captain might not be all that it cracked up to be— the money and the notoriety a greater peak than the deep valleys that only he would know. It wasn't that he blamed people for it, either. From the outside looking in, he might do the very same. And he had when he was younger.

"You are correct," He confirmed with a nod, watching Marisa curiously at his side. He wondered what the intricacies of her own life entailed. In many ways, he was envious of her. She seemed to have made a living out of the thing that she was good at, much like him, minus all of the turmoil.

Then again, he didn't know her at all. Not really, anyway.

"Actually, everything," Harlan quipped at the mention of Madeline and her insatiable hunger for being all-knowing. Marisa would be sorely incorrect in thinking anything less. "Oh, fuc—" He saw her take a step back, then another, and his reflexes kicked in immediately. Harlan reached out to stop the fall before it started, one hand on her shoulder, the other at her side. "You alright?" He asked before they had the chance to recuperate.

His lightning quick reflexes (no wonder he did so well on the pitch) stopped her from tumbling back and twisting an ankle, but Marisa couldn't help flinching away from his touch as he touched her shoulder, her side to keep her from falling. And it worked, she regained her footing and balance, her breath in her throat, but her hand rested on his forearm and she felt that sliding feeling before she could stop it, her fear flashing through her before her caramel colored eyes lost their usual warmth and became distanced, glazed. Her body stilled while she was gripped by her Sight.

Flashes flickered into her vision, like pages of a book, fluid as moving photographs, but so quick she could barely make out one moment to the next. A woman with skin like gold and kind, dark eyes laughing up as she looked at a man with broad shoulders. Harlan? A cottage on a cozy city street. A lotus blossom perfume bottle flickering in the morning light. An argument, voices raised, desperation in words she couldn't hear. They flickered faster and faster, melding and meshing together. Hands clasped together. A hard look from Madeline. A flash of white and gray from a mahogany wand. An invitation she recognized, the team even this Friday.

As the visions faded, she exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and she blinked up at him, dazed for a moment as she came back to the present moment. Marisa still felt overwhelmed by Harlan, but not the one who was standing before her. No, she was tangled with what what she had just seen. His sense of grit and stubborn perseverance, but also this overwhelming feeling of love and an aching sense of loss she couldn't quite place. A single name ringing through her head. But then it hit her like a stunning charm: she had just been gripped by the Sight right in front of him. How was she going to play this off.

Marisa took a hasty step back, careful not to fall again, as she turned and tried to laugh it off. She wasn't sure she succeeded, it sounded brittle to her ears. "Oops, guess I need to be more careful. I'm usually not that clumsy," she tried to cover, her head buzzing with a headache that she had come to expect after visions.

Immediately, Harlan became aware of his hands on Marisa. The look on her face— something like a flinch— made him worry that he had overstepped a boundary in his attempt to keep her from falling back, and he actively tried to become less firm in his touch. Perhaps it was because he was watching her so intently that he noticed but she seemed to go somewhere else in the moments that followed. In theory, she was looking right up at him, but her gaze was somewhere else entirely.

"Marisa?" He gave a careful squeeze of her shoulder where he had initially caught her, trying to ascertain what that look meant before she returned back to the present in the blink of an eye. Harlan found himself wondering if he had imagined the whole thing. It didn't help that she had brushed it off so casually while taking a step away with a smile and a laugh.

Harlan straightened up and took a step off the dais, mild concern still evident over the hard features of his face. "You alright?" He asked tentatively. He couldn't exactly outright ask where the hell she had just gone but there was a deep-seated unsettling feeling lingering in his chest— something that made him feel vulnerable in some inexplicable way. "You just—" He tried to explain it but realized he really was overstepping that time. Whatever it had been was none of his business.

"Right, then," He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "This is great, Madeline will approve, I'm sure," For whatever reason, he was keen to speed up the process. 

Marisa had seen that look of concern on his face and had turned away from it as she tried to gather her wits about it, remember where and when she was, fighting back the fear of having to explain. "Yes, of course," she answered immediately, her voice soft, hoarse, as she swallowed, trying to find her footing.

She stilled, motionless as her heart pounded in her chest, her shoulders tensing up as she felt him trying to form an explanation for what he just saw, and a riot of feelings flooded through her. Embarrassment at being so clumsy, shame for having such a lack of control over her magic, apology for not being able to truly explain, fear of him guessing correctly, of questions that this episode might inspire. Her chest tightened and she swallowed, her hands moving over the accessories she was pretending to arrange on the elegant gilded tray before her.

Marisa exhaled the tiniest of breaths as he backed off and changed the subject and she forced herself to slide back into the role she knew she well, trying to ignore the buzzing headache at her temples, flashes of her visions still swimming in her mind of a woman with gold-kissed skin and dark eyes. But as she turned to him, pasting on her polite smile, she thought she saw a distance in him and she couldn't stop the worry that he might seek out another tailor after the mishap she had caused. She didn't want the loss of a high-profile client on her hands so she tried her best to steer back towards normal conversation.

"Well, if Madeline approves too, then that will make my day," Marisa told him, looking up at him for the first time since her episode and the memories floated to her mind again, that one name still lingering in her mind. She wasn't sure what to think of everything she had seen, and now certainly wasn't the time to sift through it, but the thought did occur to her that she was glad Harlan had someone like that woman in his life. She remembered the invitation.

"I'm sure Arya will enjoy the event," Marisa told him, speaking the name that had been ringing through her mind after the vision. "If she would ever like a new dress or set of robes, I'd love to design for her, free of charge." She clasped her hands in front of her to hide the fact that they shook, hoping this offer would smooth things over.

There was an unmistakable change in the way that the air had started to move around them. It swirled tangibly, almost as if he could touch it if he reached out. While the conversation had shifted into a normal cadence, Harlan couldn't quite shake the feeling that something more had happened. The most infuriating part: he had no idea what it was. Marisa seemed to have recognized something in him, something she hadn't seen before. And that was unsettling.

"She will," He ran a hand carefully once more over the fabric of the suit jacket and cast a distracted glance in the direction of the mirror. He wasn't truly looking. His mind was busy trying to reconcile why he all of the sudden felt so... vulnerable.

Then she said it– Arya– and at once, it made sense. It was as though his instincts had warned him of what was to come, creating an unbalance before he was well and truly caught off guard. "What?" Harlan asked immediately, his head jerking to Marisa. There was no reason as to why she would even know who Arya was, let alone know her name. "What are you talking about?" He hadn't intended on coming across so callous but he couldn't stop the heat from rising.

One word. One word was all it took for Marisa to know she had made a mistake and a pretty big one, judging by the way he had whipped his gaze over to hers.

She swallowed thickly as her face paled and her heart thundered loudly. The change in the air was palpable and she felt the hair on her arms standing up as she took a step back from the harshness of his tone. "Nothing, I--" she started and stopped, unsure of what to say. She didn't even understand what she had said that had set him off. The event? No, he had been fine if a little reluctant about the event just a few moments ago. The free robes? Hmm, he didn't seem like someone who would be upset by a polite offer like that. Arya?

Oh. Arya. The name that had been ringing through her head with her visions. She tried to think back through the flashes of her sight at what she saw. It was always the past, but she never knew the when. It could have been ten years ago or yesterday and if.. if it was something from his past.. She clenched her hands in front of her and tried to give him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I thought that's who I read in the paper that you might be seeing," she told him, eyes downcast, trying to appear as the perfect picture of a slightly embarrassed gossiper. "I didn't mean to pry," she said, desperately covering her tracks, pitching it as a simple mistake rather than what it actually was.

The pit in Harlan's stomach grew. Like cancer, it coursed his limbs and took over his thoughts. It was hard to think straight let alone identify the look on Marisa's face— fear, was it? In hindsight, the pit had always been there, he knew, but for so long it had been filled with the things that made it easier to forget— work, and quidditch, and women, everything else— though somewhere deep down he knew that would all come crumbling down. His demise was inevitable.

And, Merlin had it crumbled? Harlan felt like he might topple over at the mere mention of the name. Memories long-suppressed came flooding back in, unwelcomed. Despite the turmoil raging in him, he tried to focus on Marisa and her apology, she had read it in the paper. He wracked his brain for any recollection of their relationship at that time being public— and it hadn't been, he and Arya were painfully private over their years.

Like another twist to the heart, he remembered how nice that had been.

"Right," Harlan cleared his throat and straightened up at once. He was nothing if not a professional when it came to pushing things back under the rug. He lingered a moment on Marisa's face to study her, to try and read her, but found himself more confused than before. There was a tangible guilt there, but it seemed sincere in nature. "Haven't you heard, I'm dating the Odgen's heiress?" He attempted a sarcastic smile but couldn't quite shake what had just happened.

If she really read the papers, she would have. "May I—?" Harlan started the question but moved because he already knew the answer. He poured himself a glass of something (hopefully strong) from one of the crystal decanters.

She could feel that wall he put up in an instant, the shuttering look with the straightening of his shoulders and it was so familiar because she did that all the time, but it felt distinctly worse when it came from him. Mostly because she wasn't sure how to explain her way out of this one. Or if he even believed her excuse. She swallowed nervously as their eyes met, and for the briefest of moments, she felt exposed, like he could practically read her thoughts, but then his expression changed.

Marisa's thoughts were still wrapped around the probability that he suspected something more from her little slip up, her fingers nervously twisting one of her golden rings around her thumb, so that she didn't quite catch his sarcasm at first. "Hmm?" she asked with a hum before belatedly catching on, nodding twice politely as she tried and did a bad job at returning his smile. "Oh, that's right," she said, having no idea if he was making something up to go along with her gossip excuse or if it was true and he was just joking about something that had been in the papers recently.

She followed her gaze to the line up of crystal decanters with the finest, but she examined the collection, nodding even though he didn't need the answer. "I can get the whiskey you prefer," she offered, gesturing toward the back. They kept the most popular choices on the cart, but she remembered the whiskey he had liked last time and she was almost desperate to find something to make up for her mistake. Marisa knew to some extent that whiskey wouldn't exactly fix it, but it couldn't hurt.

She moved in that direction, just a step, but something nagged at her, as if pressing just between her shoulders. And while she couldn't tell him what happened, not really, and while she certainly didn't do this normally, she couldn't help the apology that fell from her lips. "Harlan, I didn't mean t--" She stopped herself. What was she going to say? Sorry I had a vision of your past? So she settled simply for "I'm sorry," she said quietly, her gaze meeting his hesitantly.