APPLICATIONS | 2012; 01

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[treschic]

First Person (entry type):

Entry 27~

The trials and tribulations of being a hat shop proprietor.

One would never think that the life of a tradesman would be riddled with so many struggles, that is the trick is it not, to make it look easy? But I tell you, I have an easier time selling my new line of gentleman’s hats than hats for ladies. It is hard to go wrong with a good top hat or bowler, more to the point it is difficult to make such head gear look ridiculous.

To some degree I envy the versatility of women’s clothing, but when it comes to hats I am glad to say that a nice wool felt top hat is a very practical choice for most any man…and Madame Lefoux of course. That is probably why I sell so many, I am proud of any sensible hat that walks out of here. It is my name and stylish sensibilities that are in these hats after all.

I shudder to think that anyone should take to the streets with a hat that looks like a trussed up fowl trailing with so much ribbon and lace. Even if it means losing a customer I do put my good name on the line to make sure every Sir and every Madame leaves this shop with a hat most suited to them.

Why just this morning an ornery biddy came into the shop with her dear granddaughter—an beautiful young lady with a neat fall of auburn hair and the most amazing blue eyes, the precise shade of turquoise. I had the this turquoise riding hat on display with little feathers in varying shades of green and blue held in place by a cream colored flower and cream netted veil and trimming.

It would have suited her coloring and complexion flawlessly and I think the young miss thought so too, but her grandmother was set on a wide brim number that had all the comeliness of a fruit basket. The poor lamb was looking at me, afraid, dead fear in her eyes more like!

What could I do?

I simply had to refuse her grandmother!...Well, someone had to be the hero in this scenario...the suffering of that poor girl, the social stigma! Ostracized because of a hat, can you imagine it?

Another customer lost to the world of fashion faux pas…but on the up tick I am sure that I made a lifelong ally. I hope so, she was stunning and I am determined to see her in that riding hat.

Third Person:

Reconciliation.

In some respects, it is an easy thing to do…for example, Biffy could easily reconcile with the fact that some men wore pants of yellow and violet plaid, or that some women had the most outrageous tastes in hats, or that his onetime fellow Drone, Boots, elected to keep his muttonchops. It was an assault to the eyes, but as long as the young dandy did not have to gaze upon such travesties overly long then he could reconcile with the fact that some people just had no taste. He did not have to wear yellow and violet plaid…thank goodness.

He did, however, have to wear his own skin, and there was nothing worse than being uncomfortable with one’s own self.

Oh, when he looked in the mirror he saw an impeccable young man staring right back at him, well…nearly impeccable, there seemed to be nothing he could do for his hair these days. Fortunately that untamable look was becoming rather trendy and he liked to think he had a hand in starting such a trend. No, it was not the man on the outside that he was uncomfortable with, but the werewolf on the inside…the other guy that he still had not completely connected to his own person. Of course Lord Maccon was always quick to remind Biffy that this dissonance would only be a hindrance, that if he did not start looking at himself and the werewolf as one and the same then he would continue having difficulties.

Sometimes advice was easier to give than to simply take.

As Biffy had no choice in the matter the best he had been able to do so far was accept the fact that it was either this or death, though sometimes the pain was worse than death. Or maybe he was dramatizing. The transformation was a most indelicate process, once you got over the fact that you had to be starkers before hand or risk tearing up all of your best clothing there was still the actual transformation. Bones breaking and reforming, hair growing and receding, it was almost like watching a building collapse except instead of the crash it was a series of snapping, popping, and crunching…and let’s not forget about the searing pain. The only thing he could be grateful for was the fact that he had the ability to heal so the pain was always quick to subside, not that it made things any less agonizing.

Well…there was that.

There was also the fact that, in spite of all of his recent responsibilities, he did not really have anything in common with the pack. A guy could only go on about certain topics for so long before his mind began to numb, Biffy had always been interested in the London buzz. The constant shift in topics, the thrill of a good rumor, the intrigue of someone’s secrets, and the stimulating conversation…it was a necessity and one he had not much time for these days. Apart from the shallow pool of topics he generally did not connect with the members of the pack. Oh, he had a friendly kind of respect for them, Rafe and Phelan in particular since they were the youngest (next to Biffy himself of course) and therefore more sympathetic. Ulric was not so bad either; his brand of humor was enjoyable. Adelphus was another story, he reminded Biffy of those life paintings of people one might fix to a wall over a mantelpiece. The eyes might be staring straight ahead, but they always seem to follow you no matter where you are in the room. Not that he minded all that much, but sometimes it felt like those eyes lingered far longer than was decent and it made his skin tingle uncomfortably. Then there was his Gamma, Channing…Major Channing Channing of the Chesterfield Channings…what a name! It screamed self-important, did it not? Biffy was right to think so, the Major was a good looking man, but as soon as he opened his mouth whatever charm his looks afforded simply melted away, it was a remarkable thing. Then there was Professor Randolph Lyall, his Beta, a fashionably sensible man with a commanding presence that was not commanding…it was bewildering…but one could relax in his company with that calm demeanor of his. Other than that he was as plain as a pikestaff. Finally there was Lord Conall Maccon, attractive, Biffy always thought so, and a gentler hand than one might expect. He had been doing his best to help the pup with his own transitions and even though he would not say it out loud Biffy had come to see him as a kind of father figure…maybe that was close to bonding, but then again they spent the most time together. Lord Maccon would sooth him with his company as much as possible before his forced transformations and they would spend full moons tearing at each other in the madness.

Then Biffy had Lord Akeldama to consider, of course there was always Lord Akeldama to consider, even though he had been advised to relieve the vampire and himself of his own affections…it just was not done. No matter how hard he tried there was just no shaking his connection to his previous master and his previous life, even though he made a good show on the outside as though he were trying.

At the end of the day the young werewolf was not sure he would ever entirely reconcile, you ca not just wash someone clean of your soul no matter how diminished that soul might be. The best he could do was learn to cope and coping was very easy to fake…he was getting better at it all the time.

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