Snip. Snip. Stitch. Thread.
Damn words were the only things cycling through Arthur's mind. Lately his work consumed him. Arthur didn't mind though; work was safe, work distracted him.
Cut. Glue. Glue. Stitch.
Sometimes when he worked Arthur would catch himself staring off into a vacant corner, looking at seemingly nothing. He wasn't always sure why or when he stopped working but each time he simply shrugged and continued to sew his hats.
As a hatter in London's poorer areas, Arthur was accustomed to expecting very little of life. He ate twice a day and that was enough. He slept above his shop and that was satisfactory. Luxury was foreign to him and often skeptically unwelcome. His schedule never varied; every morning, save Sunday, he would wake at exactly half past six. At noon he ate lunch. Past noon he worked until tea time, which was about six in the evening. Arthur was punctual, he never varied and never questioned the clock.
Thread. Stitch. Cut….wait.
Arthur looked up. He was doing it again. He caught himself staring off into blank space. Arthur sighed and continued to work on his current project. He had noticed these little "breaks" were becoming more frequent and more disturbing. Checking the clock Arthur realised he had been dozing for almost two minutes.
"Oh bollocks," Arthur huffed as he vigorously painted glue onto the brim of his latest design. "I'm sure I'm just tired or something."
Arthur was about to measure the velvet trim when the bell hanging over the door rang, signalling a customer.
"I'll be there in a minute," he stated as he carefully set the hat onto the working pedestal. He turned from his workroom and strode towards the front of the building. "Yes?" he asked as he entered the main room. Standing in front of Arthur was a slightly tall, rather well built man. Atop his head lay messy amber locks, his face decorated with perfectly contoured features. Arthur realised this sudden intimidation, his own frame being rather trim and bony as a result of the lack of food, and shifted awkwardly on his feet. "How can I help you, sir?" He managed to ask.
"Oh yes, hello there," the taller man answered, He sounds as if he's from America. "As you can see I don't have a hat. I won't go through the details, but I've run into some trouble and seemed to have lost it. Do you think you could be of service?" However he speaks as if he were English.
Arthur took his time in answering. He became distracted by the man's voice. he didn't realise the honey dipped accent of the colonies was so enticing when pollinated within the English boarders. "Indeed, you may look around the shop if you like," he finally said. "I'm sorry stock is a tad low, I've come into a few run-ins with materials." Arthur hesitated as he watched the other man's blue eyes scan the walls and show windows. "Is there something particular you had in mind?"
The man ceased his visual tour and focused on Arthur. "No, not really. I wasn't too attached to my old one, I guess that's why I lost it," the man then let out the most charismatic laugh Arthur had ever heard. "You're the expert, so please," the man gestured to Arthur. "Will you tailor a hat for me?"
Arthur shifted awkwardly again. It was getting hard for him to focus on the meaning of the words the man spoke. The bloody hell is wrong with me? Arthur thought as he looked up into sky blue eyes. "I suppose," he finally said. It had been a few months since his last commission. "Do you know what you would like? There are many styles to choose from, and the functions of hats vary, so consider that in your decision. If you plan to walk in the rain, a hat with a flatter brim will not collect water. If you plan to walk in the sun you will want a hat with a broader brim to keep the sun from your eyes."
"I didn't know so much went into making hats!" That glorious laugh again. "Please, have your way with the design and so forth. I won't need it until the end of the month.
Arthur glanced towards his back room, gauging the time it would take to complete two projects. "I shall do my best, sir-"
"Alfred," the man interrupted as he stuck out a hand. "Alfred Jones."
Arthur took the mans hand and tentatively shook it. Arthur felt the strength in Alfred's grip and tried to match the confidence. "Good afternoon, Alfred Jones." Arthur released his grip on Alfred's hand. "Do you have an idea of how much you would like to spend on this hat?"
Alfred paused and looked upwards. "Well, no. Not really." He looked back at Arthur. "Spend as much as you like. It's quality I'm looking for, really," he smiled.
"I see, well I'll certainly do my best, Alfred. Can I help you with anything else while you're here?" Arthur asked. A part of him hoped Alfred stayed, and yet almost all of him wanted Alfred to leave. It wasn't often the aristocracy wandered into the slums of London, and when they did it almost always meant trouble.
"No," Alfred responded. "I must be going, but it was a pleasure to meet you…um.."
"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland." The reply was short and factual. Arthur was too cynical to trust that anyone of that status would simply wander into his part of town without a hidden motive.
"Oh," That damn laugh. Is he bloody mocking me? "It was a pleasure to meet you, Arthur Kirkland."
Alfred left soon afterwards with the bell above the door ringing until silence swallowed the room. Arthur hadn't felt this type of silence before. This silence was cold, it laughed at his inability to keep company. It mocked the poor fire that did nothing to heat the building. Arthur shook his head and dismissed the creeping thoughts.
"I hate him," Arthur said hoping to scatter the silence. Noticing the eeriness of his own voice, Arthur sighed and walked back towards his workroom. It was getting late and the tea had run out days ago. Arthur decided there was nothing more he could do to occupy himself, besides, work distracted him. Work was safe.