A/N: HEY GUYS!
It's been a while, hasn't it? At one point I wanted to post another chapter, but I got busy. It happens. Today, I'll probably post more then one chapter, at least, just to get rid of some chapters saved up on my computer, but I may get busy this week, again. I've been feeling a bit sick. In fact, I was terribly sick on Sunday. Hopefully it was some 24hr bug or something short. I don't know, but since I'm not working today or doing anything really productive, I'll be posting more chapters to this story.
Also, for those of you who HAVE been reading this story and aren't newcomers, I changed my dates, a bit. So, in chapter 3 I changed the main date from 1880 to 1881. And 1879 to 1880. It's just a year jump forward. I didn't change the months or days, though I was thinking about doing that, but it'll pertain later to an aspect in the story further down the line. I also wanted to say, if I accidently have 1880 instead of 1881 in my chapters, up to about chapter 20, then it was a mistake and I missed it when I was reviewing the chapters.
Lastly, this upcoming chapters are kind of like tiny little fun scenes that I wanted to write about. It was a bit fun, but there is a bit of development.
But yeah. I have nothing against corsets. Just Clara~ has a problem with corsets. Why? Who knows~? But my past experience with wearing a corset was at a renaissance festival, when I tried one on. I certainly wasn't ready for the lady to tighten the laces. ^.^ But honestly, if I could, I'd buy one. The thing is, corsets are SUPER expensive. I'd need a damn good reason to wear one, and these days I'd rather wear comfortable clothes then stylish clothes… Oh. And I have done some research about corsets, or at least tried to. Not for this story, exactly, but corsets have interested me since my high school days.
Okay. That's about it. BYE! I'll probably post another chapter later today, but don't expect it right away.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
"Then… there's no way around this," you groaned deeply, earning you a light snicker from not only Undertaker, but the lady who was talking to you, as well.
"Corsets are the height of fashion for any respectable lady! –"
"And the devil's hilarious~ invention. Seriously, how can you stand wearing this?" you scoffed, holding up the horrible contraption in question as your growl became a bit more aggressively. "It's like being crushed in the ribs by two giant hands! I don't think I'll ever get the point to these… things," you growled, but your snarling stopped abruptly when you felt Undertaker's hand upon your head, only causing a lowly scoff to leave your breath.
"Now, now~. Why don't you give corsets a chance –"
"I did, once. Worst decision in my life!" you huffed, before you pointed to your side, "And besides, I still have stitches that'll become a nasty scar. Wouldn't a corset deter my recovery?" you decided to say, trying desperately to get out of wearing one of those… things, but he simply sighed and turned to the woman, who was staring at the two of you mildly amused by the situation.
"Perhaps nothing too tight," the Undertaker suggested, the two of you watching the woman write down his 'recommendation', before she turned to you and gave you a light smile.
"Don't worry so much, Ms. Clara. In fact, even working women can wear corsets. There are corsets designed so you can fit them on yourself, without the help of an extra pair of hands! But, considering the earl himself sent me, I'll provide you with both options," she decided to say, writing something down on her small notepad, but you quickly shook your head.
"No need to fuss over me. Besides, he only promised me two outfits. I don't –"
"But you're so beautiful!" she giggled, suddenly reaching for your loose strands of black hair, running her gloved fingers through the silky gleam. "And so young! It's not very day I get to have a new young customer. Besides, if you don't like it, you don't have to wear it," she smiled, but you could tell it would be rude to refuse this… kindness?
You didn't want to regret this, having to pay the earl back or something like that.
So you let out a reluctant, tired, but defeated sigh. "Make only two, but you can design more," you agreed, bluntly, before holding up a finger, "but also, if you could, I'd like to make a request."
"Oh?" she responded curiously, the Undertaker's eyes glancing over at you curiously as well, while you continued.
"If you could, I do have some favorite colors, and some colors I would hate to wear. I don't mind cool colors, and my favorite color is violet," you began, waiting as she wrote down your request before you continued. "Blacks and blues, as well. I don't mind green. But do not make anything orange. That's all I ask," you scoffed in disgust, before continuing, "but I don't mind red or even yellow. Just no orange. But, I believe the color purple is rarely used, so I understand if you can't make some purple dresses. That's fine," you decided to say, "but if you could, at least make one of the outfits easy to wear around a mortuary. I need clothes I can work in, and if I get… gunk on them I don't want to feel bad about ruining an expensive outfit… That's it," you finished, waiting for her to finish scribbling something down before she looked at you with a grin. "Just… have fun, but not too much. Nothing too wild and outrageous."
"Of course, ma'am," she giggled, before she began to shift through her bag, pulling out a long spooled tape measure. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to take your proportions. Where shall we go? –"
"My room is fine," you stated, quickly excusing yourself from the parlor room as you both made your way down the hallway and up the stairs. The moment you stepped into your bedroom you began to strip, not bothering to care if the woman had followed you inside or not.
"Oh! Ah… I wasn't expecting you to simply strip," she responded lightly, quickly closing the door behind herself as she set her bag down on a nearby table. "Most people are a bit nervous, for their first fitting."
"I've been measured and fitted into clothes before," you told her, though when wasn't exactly important. "Just, don't mind the scars," you continued, throwing your shirt onto your bed before letting your trousers fall, your feet stepping out of them as you waited patiently for the woman to be ready. "… You can try to hide my scars, if you'd like, but I don't mind them."
"Good to know," she responded, notepad and measuring tape in hand as she approached you, and you stood tall, letting her measure your height, before you lifted your arms as she moved one of your arms to your side. "… I see why you believe you don't need a corset, my dear, but even with your figure, when you get older a corset helps to… even everything out."
"I'm sure," you scoffed in disgust, earning you a light snicker in response.
"I apologize. Though, I suppose American women do not care about their appearances?" she stated, or perhaps asked, and while it was a jab at your old nationality and pride, you were unphased by her comment.
"Not exactly. Corsets are constraining. It makes it hard to breath, and when you're out working in the hot sun all day, a corset complicates matters. It tightens around your ribcage, compressing your lungs, and all of your inner organs in your chest, for that matter. Even your heart is affected," you attempted to explain, pausing for a moment before continuing, "I once say a corpse of a woman who had the corset on so tightly around her body, her organs had completely shifted and were compressed. It looked interesting, but I doubt that was a fun life. She died young, with a lot of complications at the end of her life. So, there's a reason why I dislike corsets," you finished, hoping that was enough to convince her that you weren't amused by the idea of wearing a corset.
You honestly don't see why it's a big deal. Heck, when Americans were conquering the wild west, you doubted most of the women wore a corset, at all. So, surely at this time there are people who don't. It shouldn't be this weird… right?
"… But it was a severe case. The woman was very fat. A glutton, probably, and kept tightening her corset strings the bigger she got."
"Very interesting," she decided to say, though you wondered if she said that because she was listening to you, or wasn't really paying attention to the conversation, anymore.
"Though, don't ask the Undertaker if he saw such a thing. I don't know if he has, but I did at my old home."
"Oh?" she asked in a curious tone, and you continued with a light smile, knowing you had to explain a bit more about your past.
"Yes. A reason why I accepted a job like this. I grew up… maybe ten years of my life in a funeral home," you told her, pausing for a moment before continuing solemnly. "I spent a lot of time with very interesting people, and honestly I've been deciding if I wanted to pursue a career with the dead or the living. A medical profession."
"Well, if you want to be a doctor, I'm sure you can find a way to do so," she responded, but you shrugged your shoulders in reply.
"I don't know. The dead don't talk. One reason why I don't mind mortuaries and funeral homes. Plus, I don't want to worry about accidently killing anyone… the dead are already dead. The living can die. And there was this one time…" you paused, though you couldn't stop the smirk growing on your face, and she gave you a curious look, as if expecting you to continue.
"… What?"
"It's a bit gross," you continued, but she shook her head and gave you a smile, beginning to spool her measuring tape back into a condensed ball.
"I won't mind. Besides, I'm done with the measuring," she told you, causing you to nod as you quickly put your clothes back on, feeling the deep chill in the air. "… So? What happened? You have to tell me; I'm curious," she continued, causing you to grin as you tightened the belt around your trousers, before reaching for the shirt you threw onto the bed.
"Well, it's two stories, actually," you began, deciding to continue as she gave you an excited look in return. "Firstly, I was talking to a friend of mine. Her father is a doctor, and he had been complaining about how the nurses sometimes write the wrong doses for patients, which is a very bad thing. Too little and a patient doesn't get the medication they need, but too much and you could kill them," you began, pausing to fix your attire before putting your coat and shoes back on your feet. "So, I told her, that's why I enjoy the dead. When you mess up, they don't die. They're already dead.
"So, I told her what I did, which landed me in a lot of trouble," you continued, making your way out of your bedroom door, the woman behind you as you continued your way through the mortuary. "I made the same mistake myself, on a corpse. Getting the measurements wrong. I wasn't paying attention, and when I was left alone to do the work myself, I accidently pumped too much cleaning fluids through the corpse," you smirked, remembering your mishap in grim detail, but now that you look back on it, it was a hilarious mistake. But, considering she's a seamstress and not a doctor, she probably wouldn't even understand the types of chemicals you were using… and that some of them aren't even used, in this day and age. "What was worse, I was preparing this guy for a viewing, so damaging the corpse wasn't a good idea."
"… So what happened?" she asked in a curious tone, after your dramatic pause as you turned your head, giving her a devious smirk, before stepping on the ground floor and continuing towards the parlor room.
"The man exploded," you told her, chuckling to yourself when she stopped, looking at you with wide eyes, and you turned to give her a light hearted grin. "Guts flew everywhere. Bile that hadn't been cleaned out was all over the place. My boss was furious."
"Oh God," she responded, but you continued with a grin plastered all over your face.
"Yeah. It was terrible! But, I can look back on that experience and remember to pay attention, when I'm working," you told her, before continuing to make your way towards the parlor room. "Anyways, we managed to salvage the damage. We had to sew the guy back up, and trust me that was hard, fill his body more then usual so he wouldn't look deflated, and we finished before the viewing, which was a relief," you chuckled, pausing before you made your way into the parlor room, waiting for the woman to make her way to you. "But, I spent two weeks cleaning up that room. Had to clean every single little inch. Ugh! Never again," you shuddered at the memory of being on your hands and knees, throwing up because the increase smell of chemicals that were whiffing in the air, making you sick. Plus, the smell of the man's innards… yeah. While it's funny to look back on, you're never going to make that same mistake, again… hopefully. "That's why the dead are better. If you make a mistake and get the measurements wrong, you don't accidently kill someone. And as far as his relatives were concerned, he was fine~. Intact," you chuckled, stepping into the parlor room.
Only to notice there was a fairly old couple, a man with his nose wrinkled up, while the woman looked like she was going to gag.
And as you looked at the Undertaker, you realized maybe you were a bit too loud.
"… You didn't hear everything, did you?"
"The part about a guest's body exploding, or the part about sewing his body back together?" Undertaker stated, though you weren't quite sure if he found your conversation hilarious or disgusting, as well.
"Look, it happened when I was, like, nine. I haven't done something like that again! And," you continued, turning to the old couple, "I apologize that you overheard me. I was only –"
"It was a funny story," the seamstress stated with a smile, "but you did warn me of the… graphic nature."
"Y-yeah," you chuckled, scratching the back of your head, before you sighed to yourself, composing yourself as you gave her a light smile, "but anyways, thank you for stopping by, Mrs. Hopkins."
"Of course!" she grinned, suddenly handing you a card as she snuck her way around the couple. "The clothes should be delivered in a few days."
"Thank you," you responded once more, glancing down at her business card before you slipped the card into your back pocket, before giving Undertaker an unsure, pleading look, hoping you didn't mess up this particular appointment.
But you were confused when he didn't start laughing. Instead, he gave the couple a smile, apologizing for you, again, before he went back to business.
Deciding it was best to leave the room, you went into the small kitchenette area to make some tea, doing your best to salvage the situation before you lose a customer. Sure, everyone dies, but if word gets out you exploded a corpse… well, that won't be good. And you don't want to ruin Undertaker's business.
But, before you could walk back into the parlor room, tray of tea in hand, you heard the front door close, only to hear a loud rambunctious laughter that caused the walls to shift and rumble around you. Shocked, you quickly made your way into the room, only to see Undertaker rolling around and holding his sides on the floor. "Oh!... Oh, dear gods!" he laughed outright, causing you to pause before you sighed, placing the tray on his desk while you scoffed in response.
"I was nine. I swear, it was a mistake and it won't happen again –"
"Gah ahahahhaha~!"
"I give up," you explained with a shrug, leaving the man on the floor as you made your way back down the hallway, deciding that you should probably get back to work.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
"… UnderTAKER," you called out, pouting as you stared at the new package of outfits, and the accursed corsets lying neatly on your bed. You unwrapped the package you just received, but you weren't sure what to do with all of this.
"Yes, my dear?" you heard him calling from your closed door, and you scoffed as you made your way to the door, in your nightgown, opening the door before stepping away and walking over to the clothes.
"I know I must be stupid to ask, but… how am I supposed to wear this stuff?" you decided to ask, giving him an unsure, defeated look, and he gave you an amused smirk before chuckling and making his way to your bedside. "Not funny."
"It most certainly is. Do you not have dresses in your time?" he asked in a playful tone, and you scoffed as he began to examine the clothes you had been given, staring at them with intrigue as you huffed and crossed your arms over your chest.
"Of course, but not like this! The only time you wear something this extravagant is if you're into steampuck, going to a renaissance festival, or you're into cosplay."
"… I did not understand what you just said, but my dear, this isn't too hard to understand," he smirked, though he naturally flinched when you slapped your hand against his arm, passing him as you grabbed the corset and flailed it in front of his face.
"Then teach me, damn it! I mean, the colors are even the same!" you groaned, but he shook his head, gently grabbing the corset from your hands and pushing your hands down, away from his face, before he calmly set the corset down and began to rearrange your clothes.
"Perhaps, but the fabrics are different. Mrs. Hopkins made you an everyday wear and a formal wear."
"Why would I want a formal wear?" you scoffed, but he eyed you curiously before he smirked in response.
"Because this is a gift from the earl, of course! She assumes you'll be going to a party… or at the very least, a social gathering."
"They aren't gifts. This is my payment," you pointed out with a scoff, picking up something you assumed was a coat and eyeing it curiously. "If I were to pay for this stuff myself, I wouldn't have let the woman go all out like this."
"Now, now. These clothes are pretty. Pay attention, child," he told you, noticing you were staring at a coat before glaring at him, putting it back on the pile as he continued. "This outfit, here, is the formal attire. This is a corset that you'll need an extra pair of hands to put on, and Lady Hopkins made a beautiful navy blue and violet dress for a special occasion," he grinned, but when you were staring at him, a tad confused, he held up the long skirt. "When the time comes, if you wish, I'll help you, but for now understand that you put this skirt on first, then the chest piece."
"And this?" you frowned as you pointed to two pairs of white fabrics, and he smirked, picking them up and stretching them at the ends.
"Why, these are bloomers~, of course… Undergarments," he stated, when you just stared at him confused, and it took you a moment to figure out what he meant.
"Underwear?"
"Exactly~" he snickered, giggling as you swiped the 'bloomers' from his hands, but you scoffed in response.
"What? No bra? And this is worse then boxer shorts," you huffed, throwing them out of the Undertaker's reach and further up on your bed, but you continued to pout at him. "Though, I guess that's why women wear corsets… but can't a guy see your nipples through the clothes?" you decided to say, holding up the other dress to your chest and frowning at the idea of people staring right at your chest, all the time.
"Perhaps~, but after two layers, I don't think it's very noticeable," he decided to say, but then he snickered as you hit his arm, again, and snarled before you put the dress back onto the bed.
"I see why corsets are full body, I guess, but the woman gave me two different corsets," you stated, and he picked one of them up, the one that wouldn't be covering your breasts.
"This is your everyday corset. I suppose she figured you didn't want to constrict your upper chest. Yes, your breasts will be hanging out, but you'll have more then one layer of clothing on. Now~, the formal –"
"One layer. Yeah, I'm starting to get it… but… you're going to have to help me get this corset on, aren't you?" you decided to say, tugging on the half corset as he smiled lightly.
"Sadly, yes."
"Sadly? Are you gay or something? Not into women~?" you smirked, eying him suggestively, until he stood right in front of your face, easily backing you into the edge of the bed.
"I assume it'll be uncomfortable for you~, not me~~" he grinned, though his face seemed rather dark, but you scoffed and shoved him away, and you were glad he wasn't planning on trapping you into the bed, and instead took a few, calm steps backward.
"Smartass," you huffed, but then you looked down at the outfit that had a bunch of layers, and frowned slightly. "It's not like you haven't seen me naked, anyways. The only problem I personally have is with my scars. Not modesty," you decided to say, picking up the outfit in question and looking it over.
While it had some navy blue sown into the black fabric, there was no violet or purple to be seen. It was mainly black, with grays woven throughout the overall design, and even some white, but that was just your white collared shirt. Overall, the everyday outfit didn't seem as fancy as the formal attire, but it still looked… expensive. In terms of all the cloth that must have been used into this single outfit.
"… Your scars are not terrible, my dear. In fact, they compliment you," he decided to say, but you just gave him a curious look.
"Says a guy with scars of his own, but while women swoon over your 'bad boy' style, people just see me as tainted and a freak," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away from him with a dark gleam in your eyes. "Yes, scars show that I've lived. Survived, but the more people see, the more they grow weary of me. Wondering how I got them, and from who," you frowned, but then you felt a hand on your shoulder, tugging you so you were facing the Undertaker, again.
"You would be beautiful with or without my scars, Lady Clara," he stated, with a smile, and while your harsh glare diminished for a moment, it came right back as you glared back at him, playfully hitting him in the arm.
"Don't call me lady."
"You certainly don't act like one when you hit a gentleman, such as myself~" he snickered, his laughter growing as you hit him again, this time a bit more forcefully.
"You? A gentleman? Pah! No way!" you scoffed, but he simply grinned in reply. "Either way, I still need some help here. At least till I get this damn corset on," you pouted, causing the man to snicker in response.
"I'll take a step outside. You tell me when you're ready for me to come in. And don't forget the bloomers~" he grinned, cackling when you shoved him out of your door and slammed it behind you. You scoffed, shaking your head as you heard him laughing, but then you blushed, slightly.
Geeze… yeah, he's a guy, all right.
He's probably getting a kick out of the situation… How annoying.