Wrought iron had a tendency to catch on fibers, and each snag liked to make Kenny freeze in panic. Only a handful of minor tears throughout his time at the cloth had been more than enough to instill a paranoia, especially when working on a customer trying, but failing, to keep themselves stock-still. Last thing he needed was to put a rip in silk and subject himself to a haughty look and a claim that now they were owed a discount.

His lips pursed tighter around a line of pins, ignoring the metallic flavor leaking off the heads as a steady hand pressed the needle through its interference. He allowed himself to exhale as it slipped under and through without a marring, glancing to the patient woman in front of him with her right arm extended.

Baby weight, she'd told him sheepishly, just needing the waistline let out a tad. Kenny was no moron, knowing he was looking at the work of pastries and heavily buttered bread for only one. He didn't care either way, but he could never understand why people, the women in particular, had to make excuses as to why they needed alterations. Levick had loved messing with customers pulling the same harmless wool. He'd ask for due dates, told them he would mark them down right away for needing swaddling clothes. He would keep them wrapped in conversation regarding names and preferred genders and just what they planned to do about the extra money they would need.

Kenny would always watch from the sidelines with his own work, grinning as women awkwardly stumbled their way through half-thought answers and Levick stayed nothing but personable. Kenny knew he could never pull off the same level of mischief, not so seamlessly. He knew himself far too well, knew that he would bust into a giggling fit as soon as a stuttering reply would worm its way into the discussion. And so, tragically, he found himself having to remain professional, just on the off-chance of hurting feelings and losing income. There was a time and place, Kevin had reminded him after a particularly snarky day had lost them an order. After all, Kenny was always a jackass to his friends on a nightly basis, why would he need to exude that side of his charming personality where the money was made?

Kevin may have been right, but that didn't mean Kenny had to like it.

But that's what his pins were for as they left soft indentations along his lips. Kept him from having to suffer through small talk. No customer wanted to wax philosophies, wanted to talk about things grander than themselves. No, they wanted to talk about merchant pricing and the bad eggs they'd made that morning. They wanted to whine about their husbands and wives, groan about their jobs. They wanted to ask him if he was excited for the hotter season and how his business was going and his theories on why incomes just weren't keeping steady with inflation.

He didn't know. He didn't care.

They were a village where they would greet one another with friendly faces, but the façade fell flat in the aftermath. They all knew it wasn't so much spite or annoyance, it was just focuses falling all over the map. So, they split into cliques where actual conversations could be had. Mothers would band to chatter about child-rearing techniques alongside their work, men would gripe to one another about the hardships of marriage and not killing their bosses. And Kenny? Kenny and his friends, they didn't know exactly what clique they'd be classified as. The drunks? The loud-mouthed hooligans? The kids in way over their heads trying to get the hell out of Canirem?

Kenny had always wondered if it was the same dynamics everywhere, if even in bustling cities people were divided into personal groups alone and never said more than dictated pleasantries to those outside their standing. Seemed like that would be just strange when there were so many people and so many levels of activities one could find oneself intertwined in.

He sighed through his nose, leaning a bit closer towards the woman's waist and diligently feeling along her seam for his line of give, marking in place as he went along. He hated working on people, knew that a single tremor of his wrist could lead to a pore being impaled and a very angry patron. But, it was part of the job. Just as reviled as concocting his fabric marker and just as common as pants needing hemmed.

"Can it be maybe just a tad looser around the hips, too?" the woman requested, a soft wince as she glanced under her arm at him. Kenny met her stare, offering her a nod and barbed smile and reaching up along her side. Feeling along her hip, he could make out the distinctive rise of the band of her tights, and his brow furrowed at the interference. His middle finger crept up to meet a resting pin already in place, running it straight down along the side to find his marking. Taking another pin from his mouth, he freed up the side of his lips, letting a noisy breath whisk its way through.

Eyeing the taut cotton stretched along her belly and the way it distinguished each extra pound, he hummed to himself. "Want it out a good deal? Or just an inch 'er so t' make it form-fittin'?" he asked clumsily through his lopsided mouth.

She took a long breath, staring in consideration. "What's the price difference?"

He held out his palm, spitting out his pins and smacking numb lips. "Well… ya don't need it out much t' fit snug-like. So, I can just work with the seam ya got. Otherwise I gotta make panels. We gotta decide 'fore we do the other side."

"Panels?" She repeated.

Kenny nodded, wincing as aching knees brought him back up and standing next to her. "Pretty much I'll take yer dress here apart, put in some spare fabric," he pointed to the dwindling rolls on his wall, "and piece it all back t'gether. That'll be a lil' pricier, but it'll keep ya able to wear it a lot longer. Seam'll be stronger, too."

Gnawing on her lip, she stared at the line of cloth before turning to meet his patient stare. "Well… what do you suggest?"

He crossed his arms, shrugging. "I think ya should do the panels. If yer gainin'… baby weight, then, longer you can stay in 'em, the better, yeah?"

The woman nodded slowly, weighing his theory. "Yeah… makes sense. Do you have something to match?" she gestured to her dress.

Kenny stared at the olive shade before him, glancing between her and the wall and letting out a long breath. "Ain't got much green, honestly. Kinda short on my leaves for that. We can getcha somethin' that coordinates, though," he shrugged again with a wince. "Less chance it'll clash or somethin' that way anyway." She gave him another nod and he glanced off to the side, smirking at Karen trying to sneakily steal glances towards them but failing and missing steps with her embroidery. "Kare, wanna help her pick somethin'?"

"Yes!" she jumped up, stabbing her needle through the skirt edge stretched through her hoop and hurrying towards them. Kenny stepped aside and let Karen lead her towards the walls down towards their neutral cottons. He shook his head in amusement, walking towards his work table and snatching the waiting order book, dropping his spare pins onto the surface. He sighed, flipping through and shaking his head at the number of recent requests that had yet to be scratched off.

Just too damn much to do. Good for the business or not, he hated this part of the warmer seasons coming back around. Cloth just got worn and torn too damn fast to keep up with, people would complain that their clothes weren't impenetrable to the forces of nature, that he had to be doing something wrong. It couldn't possibly be their own fault for misunderstanding the concept of not getting their sleeves caught on farming equipment. But the workload was beginning to become next to meaningless, stuck in a repetition of nothing but minor repair work and keeping up with growth spurts that would take him an hour or so to mend and grant him no more than pocket change.

He uncorked his inkwell and snatched his molting quill, finding the next blank space and groaning under his breath. A full dress would take him a good day or so to finish, and he still had a line of pants he had to goddamn hem. He stole a glance at Karen chatting away with the woman, looking more than relieved to get off the decorating committee. Maybe he could sneak her the resources to do the hemming, she could pull that off well enough. They'd just have to make it look like she was doing her typical duties to appease their dad…

He rolled his eyes. Shouldn't have to sneak jobs around his own shop, but that was just where they were, he supposed.

Jotting down a quick notation, he scripted 'olive dress, let out for panels'. He read along through his due dates, counting down along the page, mentally spacing out each order, trying to figure out if unexpected customers had shoved him back too far to keep on time. Probably not, having figured out even as an apprentice to always tell them at least a day or two further than the optimal time to be finished. Kenny's teeth clicked, looking at the next-to-last order. Nothing more than a shirt needing some minor repair, a two-hour job at most. 'So, probably just day after that for this'n,' he thought, noting his decided timeframe.

The loud thunk of their door swept through the shop, Kenny glancing up and breaking into a small grin at their visitor. "Hey, Token," he greeted.

Token gave him a return smile, spritzed with an air of guilt. "Think you know why I'm here."

"Yeah, yeah," he snorted, waving away towards their front counter. "Go get the damn book." Token nodded, moving to do as told and Kenny's smile fell flat. He forgot the month had just started, which meant Token's goddamn monthly tax rounds. A sigh came and went, his hand moving to fan over his ink to speed its drying. No avoiding it, unfortunately. Even being close pals did nothing for any of them when it came to his collection speed. Kenny had always been caught in the middle of proud of his friend for doing his job and cursing him out for being so damn efficient at it.

Token snatched Kenny's ledger from the top shelf under the countertop, flipping through to the previous month's totals and blinking, forcing himself through a long breath as he began walking back towards him. His eye fell to Kenny's credit column, shaking his head at the prices from Cartman's shop running at such outrageous rates. "Ken," he spoke as he stepped up beside him, eyes never leaving the book as Kenny turned his attention towards him. "You're barely equaling out."

He pouted but shrugged, "Well… are you surprised? Fatboy ain't givin' me no slack. I gotta buy my stuff, dude."

Token frowned, finally tearing his attention back off the paper and meeting bright blue eyes. "Kenny, eventually you're not going to be able to afford your stuff. You need to keep up with his prices."

Kenny stood up straight and crossed his arms. "Hard t' do that when he's increasin' every goddamn time I step in his damn store. If I go too high, people are gonna mend their clothes themselves or some shit. I gotta keep it low."

He rolled his eyes, "That's not how it works. Ken, Levick's prices are done. You have to keep building or you're going to lose your shop!" He glanced back at the workload notes and his face twisted. "Looks like production is dropping a bit, too."

"Not my fault I'm good at my job," he drawled. "I'm just fixin' their clothes too damn well, they don't need 'em altered all that much. 'Sides, busy season is just kickin' in. This is when I start makin' the money t' get me through the winter, Token."

Dark eyes met his again and he shook his head, "You're way overpaying for fabric."

His brow furrowed, "I know. You willin' t' pay t' get me someone cheaper to do runs for me? No? Because that's the only way I'd get 'em for their actual worth. Listen, he's fuckin' me over, but I don't have any choice. I just gotta deal with it and hope that we have some damn newborns poppin' out or the kids all hit some growth spurts…" he glanced to his mother looking at him under her lashes and gulped, lowering his voice. "We just may hafta eat a lil lighter this year, okay? We get a few travelers buyin' stuff most every year, right? Maybe we'll get a shit-ton of 'em this time 'round."

Token's face fell sympathetically, immediately straightening back out at a flash of irritation swooping across Kenny's profile. "Ken. The prices are your choice."

"Yeah, but damn if every one ain't the right one," he scoffed. "Token, ya know who can afford me t' jack up my prices? You. Your parents. End of list," he emphasized. "I ain't gonna sell shit that even I can't afford. Cartman and the damn farmers and the baker get all the damn leeway they want, they have the most t' play around with. All I got is clothes, Dude. And people don't need new pants much as they need bread n' whatnot. Gotta deal with what we got."

He heaved a heavy sigh, watching the misery of the truth ringing through pitiful eyes and shaking his head. "This isn't fair."

"Most things ain't," he laughed bitterly. Incoming footsteps brought his attention back around, forcing another smile for the girls approaching him, a bundle of walnut cotton in Karen's arms.

She held them out, a proud smile over her face. "This'n."

"All right, looks good," he nodded, motioning for her to set it on the table. "Kay, doing it this way is gonna run ya 'bout…" he looked up, running through simplified price adjustments, his fingers tapping on the table and lips moving as he thought, "Three livatts n' five. We'll take it out 'bout an inch or more further than the seam, whatever you want."

The woman nodded, making a quiet sound of surprise as Karen softly pushed her arm aside to begin unpinning Kenny's marks. "Maybe two inches," she shrugged, "I can always tie it off if it's too loose."

"That works. I'll throw ya in a tie t' match yer panels," he smiled, ignoring the peripheral view of Token shaking his head in disapproval. "Just bring it back in in the next day or so. Should be done by next Wednesday."

She looked down at Karen taking the last barb from her hip and met eyes with him again, oiled blonde curls bouncing as she nodded with a grin. "Thanks, I'll drop it off tonight." She reached into her pocket and pulled out four dulled silver coins, Kenny shaking his head with a grin.

"Don't gotta pay 'til it's done."

A thin brow cocked, "Not payin', preemptive tip," she declared, grabbing his wrist and forcing it into his hand.

Kenny winced, "This is more than yer total bill, ya don't need t'-"

She held up her hand and stopped him. "I can afford it. Not many can. So, thank you," she smiled, giving Token a slight narrowing of her eyes before whirling on her heel and heading out the door.

The three of them watched after her blankly, Kenny looking down at the money in his hand before looking up at Token and smirking. "Well damn. Can ya come back in with every customer I get 'n we just run through the script again 'n again?"

Token snorted lightly, "You lucked out with it being her and you know it. The ranchers like her definitely aren't suffering, but not many can slip you forty so easily."

Kenny scratched up through his hair, dropping his coins into his apron pocket. "I know, I know. And I ain't expectin' 'em to. Just… really bites, ya know? Betcha city people ain't got no problems like that."

He shrugged, "You'd be surprised. Not everyone in a city is loaded. A lot of people live on the outskirts in towns like ours. And they have to stare at all the things they can't afford every day."

"Rough," Karen piped in, rolling her eyes. "Must be real hard t' see more than trees. What an awful life."

Token's mouth twisted a bit, "Probably have people there who're just as bored with their lives as we are with ours. Maybe even people living in the city who'd rather be out here where it's quiet."

"I'll trade," Ken said immediately. "Find me these people and we'll happily relieve them of their 'misery'." He jerked his head towards the ledger in Token's hands. "All right, how much?"

He muttered under his breath and shook his head. "Give me a second, I'll figure it out." He turned, pulling his own accounting book and quill out of a side satchel. Opening to a fresh sheet, straight-lined penmanship began to fill the blank space with numbers that Kenny couldn't keep up with if he tried.

Ken chewed on his tongue, grabbing his pen and hurriedly jotting down the woman's determined price and the give needed, not bothering with waiting for the ink to dry before slapping the journal shut. Not that it mattered, it wasn't exactly a complex order to keep in mind. 'Sides, Karen had a memory like a crow, she was always on the ball in combatting Kenny's pathetic retention skills.

Token looked up at him and fought to keep that sympathetic expression well and away. "Cartman's your only merchant, huh?"

"Considering he's the only merchant in town, I ain't got much choice," he reminded him dryly. "Now. How much?"

He winced, "Uh. Nine haithins."

"What the damn hell, Token!" Karen snapped, Token flinching at the shrill fury in her tone.

Kenny closed his eyes, taking a long breath and stepping back, putting a calming hand on Karen's shaking shoulder. "How the fuck… is it that much?" he worked out evenly, forcing himself to look back at a very guilty-looking friend.

"You… brought in some pretty expensive orders," he reminded him. "Silk isn't cheap."

"It's the weddin' season, the fuck else was I s'posed to do?" he demanded.

Hands flew up in defense, "Kenny, I know," he promised. "But fact of the matter is import taxes are getting higher. Cartman's overselling his share, but you still have to pay the actual deliverer."

Kenny squinted, "I thought I did that through Fatass."

Token cocked his brow, "Uh, no. You pay the draper through him. I hire the deliverer, so I pay them."

He paused, letting it sink in as a scowl began to form on his face, "He, and his grandmother, told me that the prices kept getting raised because the 'stress' on the guy bringin' my stuff!"

"No. Draper taxes stay the same. The fabric gets more expensive but their sales tax hasn't budged in probably six or so years," he shrugged.

"Okay, what the FUCK!" Kenny snapped, a fist smashing on the table and drawing his mother's attention enough for her to get to her feet and watch with caution. "So, I'm gettin' screwed through both sides?"

Token crossed his arms, shifting along the balls of his feet. "Listen, their taxes didn't go up that much… but the stuff you ordered is dangerous for them to transport. When you order silks and linens, they have a higher risk of getting robbed and possibly killed. And, again, you ordered a lot. So they're going to price it out accordingly." He glanced down at Kenny's notes and his nose scrunched, "You ordered colored silks, too. That's even riskier."

"Well, the price of my damn dyeing supplies when they're outta season probably would've come close to 'em in price, right?"

"Wrong," he winced, seeing Kenny's right eye beginning to twitch. "I know it's easier to do colored, but… as a business partner, I'd suggest sticking more with the dyeing only."

He scoffed, "You think I don't know that? The only reason I get colored fabric of any goddamn kind is if something's in low supply or the goddamn rich people won't sell to us lower-class country nothings. I know what I'm doin', Token, and I don't need yer educated ass comin' in here tellin' me how t' run my shop!"

"Kenneth," Carol warned, moving from her seat to get closer to the group, seeing Karen looking up at her big brother with wide eyes, not used to hearing that kind of attitude against anyone that wasn't Cartman or their father.

Token finally broke into a scowl, "You got the same education I did, Kenny!"

"No I didn't! 'Til we were, what, eleven or some shit, yeah. But you kept on goin' while the rest 'a us had t' get t' work!"

He dragged his hands over his face and let out a long groan. "Ken. I swear, I'm not trying to insult you! I'm trying to help you!"

"Help yerself t' my door," he gestured to the front of the store pointedly, chest clenched and teeth gritting.

Token shook his head, "What is going on with you? You've been out in the goddamn clouds all week and now you're pulling this attitude? Did something fucking happen?" He paused, looking towards the back of the shop and the steam he could see rising from their litsters' cauldron through the window. His face fell, "Was it your dad?" he asked quietly.

Kenny rolled his eyes, "No. I don't give two shits 'bout whatever the fuck he says or does."

"Then what is going on?" he demanded.

Carol cleared her throat, scratching at the back of her neck with brittle nails and drawing their attention. "He's right, Ken," she said, giving him a warning look at his mouth dropping open to retort. He quickly slammed his jaw back shut and she looked at him with concern. "You've been quiet… Not yerself. Been starin' off more than usual n' runnin' off all the time. What's goin' on?"

Kenny blinked rapidly, eyes flittering towards the outer woods and a gulp rolling down his throat that he prayed wasn't ridiculously noticeable. "All the time?" he repeated, giving her a shaky smile. "Ya mean like, just this past week."

"Still an awful lot fer someone t' just start doin'," she countered.

He frowned, looking at their waiting faces and waving his hands in front of him. "Look, I'm just lookin' fer plants 'n whatnot. I'm just…" he hesitated, forcing back a sudden urge to scream at them about the wonderful secret he'd found to put this interrogation to rest, taking a steadying breath. "Just stressed out," he finally finished. "Don't wanna take it out on no one so I walk, all right? 'Sides, I ain't even done it in a few days. Didn't realize I was committin' a damn crime."

Karen narrowed her eyes, brown gleaming with suspicion. "No one said that, Ken," she reminded him.

Kenny looked between her and their mother, shoulders slumping. This was hard. Much harder than he thought it'd be. Apparently, this was how he was when he got antsy, having spent the last two days impatiently beating his head against the wall until he would find his way back out into the mulberries. He'd considered more than once just heading out in the dead of night, but knew that Karen slept light as they came, the sounds of a scooting chair from their kitchen enough to rouse her from a deep slumber. Last thing Ken needed was her cornering him with questions, he was liable to break if she got her damn pout on.

A sheepish expression wove its way across his face as he looked back at an expectant Token. "Sorry," he mumbled, reaching towards his beltline and snatching the heavy drawstring of coins from his waist. He sighed, sifting through currency and trying to keep his foot from bouncing anxiously. He needed out of here. There was way too much going on outside of his world that required attention he actually wanted to give. Being stuck in here and knowing he was at the very least days away from his distraction was just agitating.

Token's gaze fleeted between Kenny's fumbling fingers and his family's concerned faces, his mouth twisting. He reached forward and tugged on Kenny's sleeve, getting his attention and jerking his head towards the door, grabbing his book and quill. Ken nearly protested before a stern look locked on him and he sighed, following Token's lead as the two of them headed out of the shop. Kenny cringed at the door closing just a tad too hard behind him, hearing the straining of old maple and knowing that it was bound to give way one of these days.

Token turned and faced him, arms crossed and his lecturing stance dropping in lieu of concern. "Ken, what the hell is going on?" he asked, forcing his voice to soften from its irritation at Kenny's well-known stubborn streak.

"I dunno what you mean, I'm just overworked," Kenny shrugged, placing his eyes back towards his bag. He recoiled as it was taken from his palm, left holding five haithins as Token kept the purse clutched in his fingers.

"Dude, come on," he insisted. "Something is up."

"I've just been distracted-"

"No, not that," he shook his head, Kenny blinking at him slowly. "It's something you don't wanna talk about with them," he gestured towards the shop window. Kenny paused, brow crinkling in frustration. He didn't need this right now, he just needed to get back to work. Token stopped him before he argued, "Don't try to say there's nothing happening. I know it, Wendy knows it, Clyde knows it. Wouldn't be surprised if Fatass knows it, too, but you know how sympathetic he gets," he rolled his eyes. "Just tell me."

Ken slumped, back falling against the stone wall. Tiptoeing got him nowhere it seemed, not with the four of them. He should've known better. But Token was the last person he wanted to have this conversation with. Dark eyes pled a bit too well, however, and Kenny let out a long groan, running his hand down over his face. Bright blue became locked on the cobblestone walkway with sparse blades of grass doing their damnedest to meet the sun. "There's too many of us," he mumbled.

"What?" he squinted.

"My family. There's too fucking many of us. I'm gonna run out of money," he muttered. "I ain't got that much in my savings, and I don't know if I'm gonna make more sales this summer or not. We gotta eat, but I don't make much on damn simple repairs."

Token winced, "I'm telling you, you need to up your prices. I know it sucks, but you have to take care of you before anyone else," he gestured out into the town. "They're not sticking their necks out for you, why should you extend them courtesy?"

"Because I'm not a prick?" he scoffed. "Token, it just ain't that simple. My stuff isn't essential until it's literally falling apart. If I keep it low, I can at least get a few small orders a week. If I'm just waitin' fer their damn pants t' fall off, I'll go whole seasons with nothin' but newborn and accident shit."

Token took a long breath, nodding along with his words. Made sense. Too much sense for comfort in a way. "Well, if you're not going to up prices, then you need to expand your market."

Kenny's face fell flat, irritation spiking in his chest. "Expand to who? I s'posed t' make dresses for people's cats or what?"

He shook his head. "No, but if you can make up a few samples, we could send them out to cities and maybe work some outside attention. Whoever you send the dresses to will take a bigger cut of the profit, but you'll still be making some extra money." Kenny looked down at the ground once again, contemplating the arrangement. It sounded like a decent enough idea, but he also knew he couldn't afford to take an unfulfilled risk. "It'd sell," Token assured him, reading the self-doubt slamming into him. "Ken, I've seen city clothes. They try to churn them out too fast to keep up and they all look the same and shoddy as shit. You'd have a professional advantage that you can't get here. Everyone's used to your work in this damn town."

"How many city people are gonna wanna buy mountain people clothes?" he rolled his eyes. He'd seen travelers passing through with ornate gowns and tunics, people that looked terrified to have to be passing through such "poor" country. A part of him highly doubted they would be all-too-enthralled with the prospect of owning themselves a genuine tiretain harvestman's tunic.

Token shrugged, bouncing Kenny's change bag in his hand. "It was just a suggestion. You never know what'll be in fashion in a city. It's gonna come down to this: Either you take the chance, you up your prices, or your family goes hungry. You have to choose one of them, Ken."

Kenny let out an annoyed huff. "Well, if my dad keels over from too much ale that'd solve the problem, too."

He nodded, "I'm sure, but until that happens, you have to figure out something. I know I'm pissing you off here, but I can help."

"You don't need t' do that," Ken frowned. "They're my responsibility, not yours-"

"No, they're not," Token cut him off, scowling. "Ken, none of them are your responsibility. All of you are adults. Your only responsibility is you. If anyone should be taking care of your family, it's your parents. You shouldn't have to deal with this."

Teeth gritting, he let out a long, angry breath. "I'm the only one with any kinda training, Token. Someone has t' make sure we goddamn eat."

"It's not fair that you're the one running it, though."

"Well… that's life," he said, voice falling flat. "Maybe not fer yer family, maybe not for city people. But fer the rest of us, that's just how it is. Ya take care of yer own, that's all that matters."

Token sighed, fingers moving under the cotton bag, feeling small coins sifting between the webbing of his hand. "No. Most people get away from their families. Especially once they have their own shop," he gestured towards his door. "A pittance of help here and there can go to their parents or whoever, sure. But remember: I communicate with everyone in this town, I've seen how people grow and branch off, so don't lecture me on family dynamics. My situation is different, sure, but I'm not blind."

Kenny scoffed, "Ya sure? Yer eyes don't seem t' see how damn skinny my family is."

"Well if your dad would stop-"

A palm held up halted him, Kenny shaking his head. "He has an… allowance," he phrased carefully. It'd been a few months' worth of finding a method, but he and his mother had devised a system to give him just enough so that he wouldn't ask questions while hiding the rest between different stashes. It'd been taken from a budget she'd set for their home taxes, the two of them finding the best ways to stagger their payments but keep the roof over their heads. Kenny couldn't help but wonder, however, if one day they were just going to all get their beds and move them into his shop to cut the costs entirely. "We've cut every corner we can. Ma doesn't buy 'er hobby stuff no more. Me n' Kev share goddamn clothes," he gestured to the tunic hanging loosely from being stretched over Kevin's stocky frame. "Kare's been readin' the same goddamn books since she was fifteen. We're doin' what we can."

Token stared blankly, eyes drifting back to the faded fabric that seemed detrimental for someone in Kenny's line of work to be sporting. He sighed, just tired and almost depressed with sympathy. He knew better though, knew that handing Kenny a bounty of coins for "no reason" would lead to them being thrown viciously at his face. He reached forward, snatching the five golden discs from his fingers and dropping four into his bag, handing it back with a stern face. Kenny squinted, taking the pouch and awaiting explanation. "I'm bringing the cushion tonight," he informed him. "Fabric cost us eight haithins, only fair you charge that much to work with it."

"Token…" he warned.

He shrugged, shoving the coin into his pocket. "Even trade, your taxes are paid."

"Don't fuckin' pull this with me," he grimaced.

Token returned the expression, "Pull what? Exchanging service for pay? Pretty sure that's the only way we can operate at all. No one is trying to make you less of a man or whatever the fuck you seem the think anyone who offers help is doing."

"I don't need charity," he hissed. "If I did, I'd go t' the fuckin' andell."

"No," he snapped. "Charity isn't me helping you. Charity would be these other people who don't give you the time of day any other time helping you," he gestured out towards the town. "You're fucking right, I can afford a mark-up. I'd be a real piece of shit if I just fucking stood here while you're scrimping for bread, Ken. If you just… came into money, wouldn't you fucking push it off onto other people when you could?"

Kenny's lips pursed, eyes dropping to the jingling bag in his palm. It was a fool's dream, and he knew it. But never could he deny the farfetched idea of being hired by someone with wealth beyond imagination; tailoring for royalty and having more than he knew what to do with. He'd throw it into the streets, pay off others' debts. He'd get his family their own homes, get his mother her own space so she could be safe and have his brother and sister moved far from the wrath of their father. "It's different," he muttered.

"How?"

"You ain't lived like this, that's how," blue eyes flickered back up exhaustedly. "You goddamn pity us. Me n' Wends n' Clyde. All of us. You have that fuckin'… look."

Token rolled his eyes, "How do you expect me to look at you when you're all figuring out if you can afford your damn houses? Want me to sing and dance a little jig for you? Should I cry?"

He couldn't help a tiny smirk, "Nah. Leave that'n t' Clyde." Token snorted in agreement and they both settled from the tension riding their spines, looking back at each other as Kenny's face fell again. "No. There's just a difference. There's pity when ya understand, and just… obligation pity."

He let out a small huff of air through his nose, shaking his head. "This isn't obligation. If it was, you'd have a lot more customers. And it's not pity. Pity is for people who can't or won't help themselves out of their situation. You can, you're just refusing to do so. Tavin teaches sympathy. Completely different."

"Tavin also teaches t' let yer enemies be trampled t' death by cattle so I think there's some leeway," he drawled.

He shrugged, "Would it really be so bad to watch Cartman get stomped by a cow?"

"Taken down by his own kind. How fitting," Kenny smirked.

Token laughed, nodding along. He met his stare again, offering him a sad smile. "Will you at least consider making some outfits to be sent out? I'll cover the cost of the first few if you think it's such a risk." He held up his hand as Kenny began to frown, "We'll work out a system where you can pay me back over time if that'll make you feel better. But you aren't going to be saving your family's situation just treading water here, Ken. Your damn charisma can only take you so far with the same people. Isn't it at least worth a try?"

His hand came up, sheepishly rubbing along his arm. "Maybe. I don't know. I'll hafta think about it."

He nodded, stepping back. "Do so. I gotta keep moving, but just keep in mind, there's way more out there than just this place."

Kenny's eyes flickered to the distant trees and he nodded slowly. "Trust me, I know. Rest of the world is just really fucking… different."

"That's what makes it better than Canirem. Makes it a great opportunity," he assured him. "Don't get stuck here just hemming the same pants over and over. That's a waste of a life. You said you wanted to get out. Expanding your market is a great first step," he advised, turning on his heel and making way towards the line of shops beyond Kenny's property.

Kenny watched after him with a sigh, leaning back against the wall and tilting his head to rest on the door frame. A part of him knew he should be leaping for such a chance, regardless of the risks it entailed. He wanted more than anything to branch out, find new things, be involved in more than clothes and alehouses. But…

He had a family. One that needed his help. One that couldn't exactly afford for him to use their nicest cloth for outfits that might just sit in a city marketplace for years on end and leave them short for a local who needed the same material. It was worrying, it was stressful. It was business. Risks were better left where he could see them, something close to home that he could rectify should it go awry. Something somewhat within his control.

Blue eyes were drawn back towards the woods, and a shaking breath rattled his chest. Maybe. But even risks taken just beyond his doorstep were in entirely different worlds, exceeded his comprehension and imagination as to what they could possibly hold. Maybe it didn't matter whether the chance was just attempting a new design for a local or throwing his all into another town's merchandise. Maybe he had the same level of control no matter what he did. And that was terrifying. Here in his walls, he had control, shaky as it was at times. His dictation was law, his methods were everyone's methods aside from the few side-stepping situations he had to endure. But that was life in a nutshell as far as he could tell. Everyone had to make those sacrifices to maintain order.

But then again, some people could go farther, they could completely disregard proper methodology and risk everything they had just so they could get a taste of something different. His eyes softened, lingering on swaying maple trees in the distance.

The benefit could be substantial, he could get exactly what he was hoping for. But, he could also do nothing but waste time and resources…

Kenny paused, frowning. Was that really so terrible a consequence? A few things to make up the difference for in the future? This wasn't putting his life on the line, maybe just his reputation in a city he'd probably never go near.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, shaking his head. Just too much at once. Too much work for not enough pay off. Too much financial worry for so simple a life. Too much thought for a profession where more than half his shift was spent daydreaming through mindless repetition. But, he had to do something. This bare minimum shit wasn't going to cut it this time around, he couldn't count on another weather phenomenon to up his order intake. He couldn't damn himself against the town, they'd go under for sure. He supposed that only left him with one option.

Token was right. Pity was for the people who refused to help themselves. Kenny took a long breath, standing back up off the doorframe and lingering on the woods for one more moment before moving to head back into his shop. His head was whirling, mentally locating his shoddy design books and coordinating fabrics, the timeframe he had between his current orders to finagle an extra project or two. It was a longshot, but it was a grasp for something. After all, pity was for people like Stuart and Carol McCormick.

Not for Kenny. Not anymore.