The Invitation.

Finally, there had been respite from the mushrooms that had polluted his garden, and a stop to the onslaught of rain. May had arrived, and with it came warmer weather and blossoming flowers. It was hard to believe it was already getting closer to the midpoint of the year, but time did fly when one was busy. Such was the case for Yama, especially now. He had noticed an influx of customers, all bringing extravagant clothing they needed perfectly fitted to them. From word of mouth, he had learned of the occasion: Angora was holding one of her parties again, hence the formalities of the clothes he had been helping with.

Yama wasn’t a stranger to the high society of Burrowgatory. While he was ‘just’ a tailor, he had been to many prestigious fashion shows and had the occasional house call from someone who makes more in a second than he does in a year. He knew a few people in said social ladder, but he never really found himself wanting to go to any of these events outside of the ones that strictly dealt with clothes. He wasn’t the type to socialize, and he knew he didn’t really have the patience for them. He didn’t care to be nosy with his customers and ask exactly what event they were going to; he would mind his own business and let them talk if they wanted to.

It’s time to close up the shop again, making sure his tools are put away, everything is tidy, and the doors are locked. The sun was close to setting, which always provided some beautiful scenery on the commute back home.

Getting home, before Yama can make it to the door, his mailbox catches his eye. Probably should pick that up on the way in. Fingers flit through envelopes, mind calling off each one, ‘spam, spam, spam, wait.’ Yama pauses as his fingers touch a smooth, golden envelope. Throwing away all the spam as he enters his home, Yama flips open the golden envelope and pulls out the invitation. Perhaps all those house calls had earned him enough favor among the ‘elites’ to have an invitation extended to him. He didn’t want it.

With a click of his tongue, he sets the invitation down on his kitchen counter. His first impulse was to turn it down, but the man wanted to at least give it some thought. He’d mull over the decision as he moved through his kitchen, preparing dinner. Opening the fridge, Yama notices all his beer is gone. Ugh, Pierre.

Pierre. Now that Yama thinks about it, he’d probably love going to one of these things, especially if free alcohol was involved. Not to mention the hostess was close with Hops, and if Yama was right, Hops was someone Pierre seemed to like—more or less. Maybe he’d bring it up to the otter and hear Pierre’s thoughts on the matter. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, even if the words Yama would be looking for are ‘no’.

Of course, as soon as he extends the invitation to Pierre, it’s decided that the pair are going. Yama wasn’t sure if he was allotted a plus one, but even if he wasn’t, that wasn’t something that’d stop Pierre.

“Fine,” Yama’s voice cuts the other off through the phone, the tailor letting out a heavy sigh after. “I’ll be your date.” There probably wasn’t anyone else that Pierre would even consider going with, and Yama wasn’t exactly taken either. Was it a good idea to go to a gala with an ex? Perhaps not, but it’s not like they had ended on poor terms either. “You don’t have anything fitting for the event. I’ll figure it out; I know your measurements.” Of course, he did. Yama was very familiar with Pierre’s body in more ways than one. A few more hums of acknowledgment, and the phone call ends.

Well, looks like that was settled then. Thinking about it, while Yama’s wardrobe screamed ‘fashionable,’ it didn’t have anything for a formal event like this. Why would he own something like that when he avoided most events? He’d have to figure out something for both himself and Pierre. No matter, he worked in a tailor shop—owned the damned thing. He had many items from the runway and other events he attended, all stored and collecting dust. Yama was a tailor, not a fashion designer by any means, but he was still confident that with his background, he could at least put something appropriate together. The invitation had said it was a ‘fairy’ masquerade, and the decorations on the invitation seemed to indicate butterflies, so he’d try to make something that matched.

Making something for himself would be the easy part. He knew what he liked, all his preferences in clothing. Pierre might be a bit of a struggle; Yama always saw the other as the fussy type. Oh well, Pierre was going to get what he gets.