What had drawn him to the cloth, he could never exactly say. Maybe it was the way that he was able to take plain squares of fabric and transform it into any creation he so desired. Maybe it was watching peoples' faces light up when he handed them his designs, or when he managed to fix that hole scraped into their best pair of pants. Though, he knew well enough the initial idea of being confined to a singular room surrounded by material, prodding himself with a needle time and again was not one that came happily. No, it came from a father's coarse demands that he flitter on up to the only open apprenticeship in town when he was the tender age of fourteen.

Not that Kenny particularly minded being able to escape the job he and his brother and father all bore at the time; Digging trenches for crops was certainly no one's dream, especially when dealing with the brash nature of both boss and father simultaneously. A part of him had been nothing short of gleeful when he was informed that he was escaping the constant yelling, the burning of the sun beating on the back of his neck. No longer would he have to endure the blisters ravaging his palms from splintering spades, no more would he be trudging off to the cobbler and paying any of the meager earnings he managed to get from his parents to repair worn soles every few months.

No, now his wounds were the result of his own inherent clumsiness, not backbreaking labor. Now instead he was riddled with pinpricks and minor slices of the sides of his fingers from shearers edging just a little too closely. Strained eyes occasionally led him to headaches throughout the day as he stared unwavering at a piece of linen for too long, but Karen's home-brewed tealeaves always seemed to remedy the problem faster than he could complain of it.

It'd been a rough going at the start, his father grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pushing him through town before the sun had cracked over the horizon, fighting valiantly against the navy hue splattered above. Still wracked with the pains of the workday prior, sclera of his eyes popping with red capillaries strewn about as he battled to keep them pried open, having grown used to getting one more hour of rest in, he was dragged up to Mr. Levick for the first time.

Kenny could just barely remember the conversation taking place, too busy at the time still trying to rid the sleep from his eyes and keep his yawning to a minimum. Stuart had known Levick for a good while, telling Kenny only later on of their tendency to chat while at the alehouse. When Levick informed him that his apprentice had been struck with fever and was on his last leg, his father was on it in an instant even in his drunken stupor. If one thing spoke louder to Stuart than the ale, it was the opportunity to snag some extra income to further satisfy the habit. Unskilled trenchers only brought home a measly four copper tempets. But someone who was practiced, who was even just apprenticing to master a craft could bring home a good three silver and copper lined drestils. And Stuart was well aware that Mr. Levick himself sat on his business taking home a daily profit of nearly two golden haithins. So for the first time, Kenny heard the ramblings of his father for once exemplifying him as a hard worker, something that his mother called him daily but words that never crossed through a barley-stained mouth in all his years laboring in the fields.

Before Kenny knew it, he was seated on a stool next to the old tailor as he patiently explained that his last apprentice was of a mere ten years of age and caught on quick as a flame to a wick, so he needed to match that pace to keep this position. After all, as Levick had told him nearly a year later, he only accepted him in the first place because he didn't want Stuart spoiling his time of relaxation with incessant whining. But Kenny had proven quick with his hands with a tongue smooth as silk dealing with customers, something that Levick himself lacked after spending so long hiding behind his sociable wife while she still lived and he continued to make ends meet. But Kenny had spent the last four years in the fields with a group of other men and boys, developing a rapport and casual nature that could not be taught. And so within months, as he was learning how to hem and boiling marking material with axel grease, oil, and vinegar, he was all the while becoming the face of his business. A bright, glimmering smile and brimming blue eyes that would draw anybody in as though the sea itself was beckoning them forth greeted them. Kenny had learned the balance of nonchalance and politeness, as well as the marvel of the upsell, much as he loathed the notion.

"We can't survive cutting it even, Kenny," Mr. Levick had told him as he'd entered his sixteenth year, now growing a better grasp of the economic struggle plaguing their small village. "I know you don't like to push them, but you have to do what you have to sometimes." The boy had known that he was right and that Mr. Levick hated it as much as he did, one of the many things that they bonded over and discussed time and again, but still it had to be done. He'd offer only what he considered 'essential' upsells; Stronger hems and thicker patches. More often than not, he'd grab the sale and get an extra three or four tempets for the shop.

But while he excelled at bargaining with customers, he'd found, much to his own surprise, he was more than adept at crafting from cloth as well. It was something that relaxed him, something that took his mind off the daily struggles of home and placed him into a cozy space all his own filled with the subtle scent of heavy wool and breezy linen. More often than not, Levick left the more simplistic patterns to Kenny's devices, only occasionally stepping from his own table to observe and suggest a quicker method of stitching. Kenny was more than happy with the circumstance, losing himself in the folds of fabric and emerging with a sense of accomplishment he never garnered from finishing tilling the soil. After all, he was never the one who planted the seeds and fed the people, but here? Here, he was the one who clothed them, who kept them warm. He was someone that people would recognize on the street as he ran errands and would stop him, compliment him on a job well done on their tattered tunic sleeves. He was doing a service, and one that was appreciated. Sure, he dealt with more than his fair share of friends teasing him for 'women's work', but he was always the first one they came to when they fell to the hardened dirt and tore a pant leg.

As the years waned on, Mr. Levick's hands began to wither and shake, threading a needle becoming Kenny's task for him while the man could still make his stitches. But Kenny watched helplessly as the man he'd considered more his father than his own flesh and blood began to shrivel and cough, complained of aches that he could never shed. With all his practice at mending disrepair, there was nothing to be done that could patch a weakening spirit, no formulated lye to cleanse him of his pains and ailments. There was only time, and time faded more than just the dyes of cotton. Mr. Levick didn't seem to mind the situation as Kenny did, merely shrugging and reminding him that all people have to go whenever he'd catch the blonde staring at him in distress. He'd had a wonderful life, he'd told him time and again. Keeping himself well-fed, married to a wonderful woman and staying in love even after his wife was gone nearly forty years later, owning his own business. Kenny had asked him timidly if there was anything he wish he'd done differently, the man just smiling and shaking his head. He told him that he was more than ready for what was to come, that he had lived as he'd wanted. He'd done some wonderful things, met some people he treasured as his own family even when bereft of any kin.

In the fall of Kenny's twenty-fourth year, he came into the shop from boiling his marker solution to find the man slumped on his table, face content as the day he'd met him. Never before had Kenny cried like he did that day; Not when he'd broken his arm falling from a tree, not when his father had pushed him over in frustration into the wall. Nothing could ever have hurt him as much as losing someone so treasured to him, and someone that treated him like more than just their money-making lackey.

Kenny closed the shop for two days, sitting at home slumped on his bed staring at the floor in misery. Karen and Kevin did what they could to cheer him up, making no headway so just sitting and holding him in the way that only siblings could do. On the third, he was called to assist with the burial, barely containing himself as they lowered a thick oaken box into the earth, Kenny watching each scoop of dirt tossed back atop him like a countdown, leading him closer to the thick of reality that he was really gone. Not until Karen grabbed his hand and pulled him away did he move, head hanging as he walked back into town with her comforting words and spending the rest of the night in bed.

However, the next morning came with shock news from Levick's house of worship. A man dressed in fine cloth that the perished tailor himself designed came beckoning Kenny to the front of the house, meeting the disheveled young man with a pitiable stare. But from his words and a paper in his hand came Kenny's future, Carol and Karen lingering in the background stunned and overwhelmingly excited. No kin meant that Mr. Levick had no heirs, and so, Kenny was named his heir. The tailor's shop was his, so long as the remaining residuals that Levick had brought in were divvied evenly between his temple and Kenny getting himself some rich, heavy food, because the man always thought he was far too skinny. The blonde had been in shock, finding himself crying again from both the harsh truth of what had given him this opportunity, and the pure blessing to know that Mr. Levick considered him as much family as Kenny did him.

Nearly a year ago, Kenny had reopened the shop now in his name, customers trickling in at first with the weary knowledge that the previous owner had died within it. But, the notion gave Kenny some degree of comfort, morbid as it seemed. His presence was always there, always telling him to space his stitches closer to keep the seam tight. Soon enough, business was as it was, people taking to the blonde being the head with little conflict, knowing from what hands his talents were honed.

And now, Kenny sat in his regular stool at Levick's old table, pinching together two thick scraps of linen, cursing to himself as the needle refused to catch the one thread it needed to connect the pieces. His elbows bore red markings from weighing himself onto the elm surface to keep his arms steady as he tried to piece together his tunic order.

From across the room at his old station sat his mother and Karen, airily chatting as bright, colorful spools of thread crossed between their fingers, heading towards un-seamed sleeves captured in stretchers and pulled taut. From dark fabric of maroon, they speckled the cuffs with simple crosses, beaming brightly with the golden thread dyed of onion peels and marigolds.

Kenny finally caught his thread, tongue previously poking out in concentration receding as a thankful sigh left him and he easily continued down the seamline, still warm with the heat from his metal iron on the other side of his table.

"Kenny, how many shirts do ya want with this?" Karen asked, not taking her eyes from her work as she tried to keep in pace with her mother's adept embroidering skills.

"Uh, that one and there's three others like it behind you," he said. "Then I got dress sleeves that need the same."

Carol chuckled, "Big family, huh?"

He smirked, "Yeah, the Lancasters are travellin' out to the city. Albert wanted 'em 'dressed in somethin' proper'."

Karen snorted, "What, they think they're gonna meet a king in the city?"

He shrugged, "Better to look like you're meetin' a king than you're rollin' around in dirt. I think they're goin' t' sell some of Geraldine's little dolls she makes."

His mother let out a visible shudder. "Good. Get them dolls out of here, I hate passin' by her stand and seein' 'em stare at me." Kenny and Karen both laughed, nodding in agreement. Frankly, the dolls were creepy and Kenny refused to let her have her stand outside their shop, making the claim that 'it's just bad for business to have yarn bein' sold outside a tailor's, they may not realize our fabric is for clothing, not dolls'. It'd convinced her well enough, thanking him kindly for pointing her towards 'better' suited locale, but Kenny just did not want knitted monstrosities staring at him through his window. Dead wooden button eyes and no mouths, heads that flopped listlessly and limbs oddly-shaped made from shoddily dyed wool made for some real sights to behold. But Kenny did understand to an extent, at least one was sold a week for a profit of two tempets, and it helped keep some food on their table as Albert struggled to keep his job herding the cattle from a sharp pain in his left foot that wouldn't dissipate.

Kenny sighed to himself as Karen and Carol went back to their previous discussion, flipping his head to get rustled bangs out of his eyes. The preciseness of his stitches stayed in form as a familiar weariness and a dreamy haze settled over him. That just seemed to be the tale of the times: things were hard for everyone. He was lucky, finding himself in a business that never went out of style, thankfully common decency was still vital. But he was watching throughout the days as various families lost jobs and livestock, more and more people on the streets asking for a mere tempet to take a step closer to affording some day-old bread.

Kenny himself? He wasn't much better off. Raising inflation and taxes had hit him pretty hard over the last year, managing to keep it together by training himself in more elaborate patterns, convincing maidens to stop by the shop when weddings were to roll around. After all, he claimed, why go to the city when he could make their dream gown a reality for a fraction of their prices? He'd lucked out in that department, using his silver tongue to talk them down from overpriced dreams of grandeur, much to their fiances' relief. A saving grace in the form of a snowstorm from the previous year before Levick's passing lead to a lot of pregnancies due in the fall, which called for a lot more infant-wear and swaddling cloths. They sat on backorder as the town found itself in the depths of spring, creeping ever-closer to the sweltering heat of mountain sun in the next few weeks and Kenny focused on the much more urgent clothing orders, calling for lighter fabrics to keep the fieldworkers fresh with air.

A small cramp hit between his thumb and index finger, the needle slipping from his grasp and landing softly onto the linen. He scoffed, rolling his eyes and trying to shake out the twinge, eyes listlessly wandering towards the window pane. He stared at the woods off in the distance past the field of reeds, another sigh slipping through him. He missed going out into the woods all the time like he did before work began when he was ten. A part of him always wandered back to dear old Mr. Meryl and his story whenever he gazed that way, something about it so deeply engrained in him he wondered if he'd ever shed it. When Mr. Meryl had passed as Kenny crossed into the age of fifteen, he and Karen had wandered to his funeral, that old leather-bound book in Kenny's satchel once again. He wanted to toss it into the dirt with him, let the story be buried with the man who'd so expertly crafted it. But something held Kenny back. Every intention he'd had disappeared as he watched shovelfuls pile back into the ground.

The book had gotten him and Karen both through some rough goings, flipping through it to escape whatever their parents were arguing about, letting Kevin in on a few of their readings and scowling at him as he flicked their heads and told them to grow up a little, that he couldn't be the only adult in the house. But they knew well enough that he was just teasing them, and he encouraged them to find something other than the shoddy house they dwelled in to find some comfort. He took to the ale, and they took to the tales. But Kenny as the years progressed and that book remained under his pillow, long after Karen had stopped asking him to read it, long after he'd memorized every single meticulously scripted line and drawing, found himself still drawn to the wonder. He couldn't quite pin it down, knowing that he should be far past the point of wanting to find such creatures. But something was still there; a vague hope that there was more than just a tiny village where he sat in a shop on the same stool every day for the rest of his life. Mr. Levick was comfortable living as such, but Kenny could never deny that he was just restless. Contentment was not happiness, not in his book. So the hopes remained, because dreaming of fairies was far better than dreaming of fabrics.

"You awake in there?" a deep voice teased and a flick hit his arm. He blinked, stopping the mindless shaking of his hand and glancing up to find Kevin looking down and smirking at him. "Ya need t' find some focus, Ken."

"On what? Your rotten face?" he returned the expression, smacking him lightly.

Kevin laughed, shifting a load of white fabrics in his arms. "Got yer grease boilin'," he jerked his head towards the backdoor of the shop. "Whatcha need with these guys?" he rustled the material a bit.

Kenny got to his feet, setting his work safely aside and motioning for him to lay the fabrics on his table as the blonde made way towards his front desk, reaching under and swiping a withering parchment book with a wood and cotton cover and flipping it open. He made his way back, all of them glancing up as Stuart walked in the front of the shop grumbling to himself.

"What's wrong, Stuart?" Carol asked warily.

"Nothin'," he bit. "Just hit my damn foot on a stand."

Kenny raised his brow, "Do you need to sit down, Pops?"

He shook his head, looking between him and the white cloth on the table. "This the next'n?"

"Mhm," he nodded, opening to his last entry of dye lots and smacking his lips, laying the book on the table and looking between it and the fabrics. "All right," he started, beginning to separate the linens and cottons into five mixed groups of four apiece. "I need one of the bunches bright red, one dark. One yellow, one light blue…" he squinted his eyes at his notes, "And one brown."

"How light blue we talkin'?" Kevin asked, starting to arrange the piles crisscrossed atop one another to keep them separate.

He bit his lip, glancing briefly at the section of previously dyed blues hanging from the wall and the missing swatches of light he needed. He looked up thoughtfully before smirking, "Light as Ma's gorgeous eyes," he said sweetly.

Carol snorted and shook her head, "Guess yer glad ya got those from me, huh?"

"My best feature," he purred, batting his lashes playfully. He whined as Kevin flicked him again, him and Stuart hauling up the fabrics in their arms.

"How much we need for that?" Stuart questioned.

Kenny looked up thoughtfully, "There's some woad still fresh enough under that rock out back. It's all we got but you may have to use at least a handful of it. Keep an eye, though," he warned. "Can't get it too dark, the woad ain't back for sale till next spring."

"We know that," Stuart snapped, Kenny recoiling a bit. "We ain't gonna waste your precious leaves."

"All right, all right," he held up his hands defensively. He reached under the table onto a small shelf and grabbed a tightly secured spool of white thread, tossing it atop Kevin's stash. "Make this one with the blue and…" he turned to the girls. "You two need any colors?"

"More gold if we got five outfits to work on," Karen shrugged. He nodded, grabbing another two spools and setting them alongside the first.

"Those two on their own for gold," he directed.

Kevin nodded dutifully, "You got it, Ken." Stuart just nodded with him, both of them turning and heading out back to kindle the started fires and try to get their small iron basins to boil. Kenny watched after them tiredly, rubbing his neck as he watched Stuart close the door behind him with his foot.

He hated having him here. Hated it with a passion. The other three he was more than elated to have onboard his team, getting the girls out of the house and Kevin out of the fields… But unfortunately when Stuart suggested the idea of a family business, he was included in the deal. "It'll up yer production and getcha some more money," he'd told him one night as they all sat around their dinner table. "And we can keep it all in the family name."

Kenny had loathed the idea of his business becoming part Stuart's business. But he watched Karen and Carol's eyes watching him hopefully, Kevin's own wide and filled with prayer that Kenny would get him out of his laborious torment, and he had no choice but to accept. He'd made the condition clear, however, that the shop was his by right, and he had the final say in all business decisions. The girls and Kevin had agreed wholeheartedly, excited with Kenny finally taking the reins over something when he'd spent so much of his life shoved into the middle with little to no say. Stuart had questioned his tone, that threatening vibrato echoing in their small kitchen, but Kenny reminding him that he was the only one who could keep it from running into the ground, the only one who could make his ale habits affordable, and the man had backed off begrudgingly.

It was a rough going to say the least at the start, Stuart trying to input his 'wisdom' into Kenny's work, telling him how he should face away from the window because he was so easily distracted, how he should haggle for his fabrics as though he knew the complicated process Kenny had handled for eleven years from just stepping foot into the shop for the first time since he'd all but sold him to Mr. Levick. He refused to sew or take customer orders, and Kenny refused to give him the money to go pick up supplies from the merchant, knowing well enough where that money would more than likely end up. So Kenny had made the decision to make most of their fabrics hand-dyed in-shop. It was more tedious, but cheaper, and the smell of the plants overwhelmed the smell of boiling wagon axel grease with ease and made the experience more enjoyable for them and the customers. So Kevin and Stuart assumed the roles of the litsters, working behind the scenes and coming home with hands a different color nearly every day.

"M'kay, Ken, he's busyyyy," Karen's voice sang, the blonde looking to see Karen at his station in her stool with a smile on her face.

Kenny smirked, plopping down next to her with a sigh. "All right, we're makin' a tunic again," he said. "This time with linen, so it's a little different than the one from last week or whenever," he waved his hand aimlessly, grabbing his project from the corner of the table and dragging it in front of them. He held it up for her to see, "I started the seam already," he said, nodding for her to take it. "Use the same stitch from last time, and keep 'em close." She smiled, biting her lip with concentration as the needle slid between the fibers and out the other side, rounding up and catching a single thread to slip the thin iron through the loop and make a half-knot. She looked at Kenny for approval and he smiled with a nod.

"You two better be careful about that," Carol warned as she continued her embroidery. "Who knows what your father'll do if he sees ya."

"We've been doin' it for months," Kenny shrugged, continuing to watch Karen work her way down the seam. "'Sides, it ain't his choice who does what, it's mine."

She twisted her lips and looked at him with heavy, burdened eyes. "Hon, I know that. But he doesn't."

Kenny sighed, just giving another shrug and they both turned back to their tasks, choosing to let the truth just linger in the air, that unspoken promise that hovered above all their heads at all times. Karen desperately wanted to learn the true craft that Kenny had mastered, begging him all his years of apprenticing to teach her how to sew clothing. But materials weren't cheap, and he couldn't exactly ask Mr. Levick for samples when supply was always kept at a minimum. He'd promised her that one day he would, seeing the opportunity when she came into the shop. But instead, Stuart made the decision to sit her down beside her mother to start designs in embroidery. Kenny hated to admit it, but he could tie-off an entire outfit before the girls could finish one sleeve of clothing, their job much more detail-oriented and precise than his own for the most part. If they were going to start designs, they needed two doing so at all times possible. But Karen was an expert at plucking Kenny's heartstrings, and wound up getting secret lessons kept out of Stuart's sight while he dyed materials out back.

Kenny could only guess that he and Karen both inherited the same trait as their mother, being quick to adapt to life with a needle. She'd helped him finish a handful of outfits over the past few months, each one crafted with loving care from the hands of an eager learner. It warmed Kenny's heart watching her finish her first pant leg, wondering if he'd looked as excited for Mr. Levick upon completing his first successful project.

The front door suddenly opened and Karen dropped the garment reflexively, Kenny ready to jump and yell in defense before a friendly face popped through the door. He sighed and sunk down in relief. "Clyde. It's only you."

"Well, I think I deserve a little more than just that," Clyde teased, shutting the door behind him and stepping closer to their table. He cocked his head, "Whatcha makin', Karen?"

"A tunic," she proclaimed proudly. "Made with linen."

He nodded, "Nice." He turned to Kenny, brown eyes filled with sheepishness. "So… you got time for some patching?"

"Depends on how much we're talking about," Kenny cocked his brow, looking down as a charcoal-smeared apron was laid on his table.

"Just right here," Clyde pointed to a large sear mark in the fabric.

Kenny shook his head, "Again?"

The brunette frowned, crossing his arms. "Forges have fires, Asshole. Fire burns stuff."

"I'm just saying, Mr. Feldon doesn't come in for repairs this much," he smirked.

"Well Mr. Feldon doesn't do the bitch work anymore, that's all for me," he said blandly, pointing at himself tiredly. "So can you fix it or not?"

He shrugged, rolling one shoulder, "Yeah I guess. Though, why don't you just order a new apron?" he questioned. "I've patched this thing up more than you've patched things up with Alice."

"Ha ha haaaaa," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "I don't have the money for a whole new one, I'm trying to save up," he shrugged. "So unless you've started a friend's discount, I can only take the patch."

Kenny twisted his lips, "Would if I could, Man. But I have too many friends in this town. I'd go bankrupt in about a week."

"You have four friends here, don't even try to pretend you're popular," he smirked.

Kenny punched his arm and he whined, backing up and holding the wounded spot. "Yeah, and you're half my clientele with your clumsy ass," he scoffed, picking up the apron and walking towards his walled fabrics, holding the apron up next to them for color comparison.

Clyde flipped him off listlessly, going to lean on the table and watching Karen working diligently. "You comin' out tonight?" he asked him casually.

"Uh… probably," Kenny muttered, snagging a piece of heavy black cotton from its hook and walking back towards the table to plop back down in his spot, snagging a spool of black thread from his shelf by his feet. "Not much else to do but drink."

He chuckled, nodding in agreement, "Ain't that the truth."

Kenny glanced over to see his mother staring at him before she sighed and went back to her work, Ken biting his lip guiltily. A common phrase around his house coming from Stuart, but it did ring with some truth. He went to work on measuring out his patch and snagging his sheers, glancing up at the window and out into the woods one last time before doing as expected, and settling right back into his routine.