#((also also: i chose the name 'abigail' for female!dave; since that was the name of david's wife in the bible!))

[theheadlessgroom]

"Oh, here comes the wicked witch," Abigail snickered, nudging one of her neighbors at the table, completely unfazed by Mick's outburst. Not when their favorite object of ridicule was coming out of the stock room.

Short, spindly, frizzy-haired, with a pointy nose and a pale face, made all the paler by inky-black hair and olive-green eyes, under which hung heavy bags brought on by many a sleepless night. With all of this compounded by her long black dress (a hand-me-down from her mother, a pair of emerald green shamrocks embroidered on the sleeves that she often tried to hide), Susannah Pace somehow looked wrong not being mounted on a broomstick, with a pointy hat on her head.

"Now there's the eternal bachelorette," Abigail smirked, as Susannah resumed her place at her table, focusing firmly on the bonnet she was working on in a bid to ignore her coworker's catty conversation, which was well within earshot. "Though unlike with Mr. de Clair, fellas ain't exactly lining up 'round the block for Susy's hand..."

Susannah bristled at little at the nickname, but otherwise said nothing-she never went by Susy, not even when she was a child...to be frank, she hated the nickname, but the people she worked for at a young age often insisted on calling her as such, and she just had to get used to it. She supposed that was one of the few pluses of working for Mickey-he never called her "Susy", just...Pace.

"Pace! Is that damned bonnet ready yet? Mr. Hatchaway will be here any minute to pick it up for his new wife, and I want it perfect when he does!"

"Yes, sir, it's almost done," she sighed defeatedly, as she put the final touches on it-namely, a pretty lavender bow and a fake daisy. Wealthy clients were the worst; she'd yet to meet a truly pleasant one. Most were merely dismissive, didn't give her the time of day outside of listing off their demands for their hats, and that was better than the sort who enjoyed making her run in circles for their own amusement, jumping through hoops to make them happy. Mr. Hatchaway, unfortunately, fell into the latter category, and she could only hope he'd be satisfied with her work.

RP: Genderbent

@theheadlessgroom

It was a blazing hot summer day like any other throughout the city of New Orleans. As always, Mickey's Haberdashery was bustling with potential customers looking to commission garments, and employees working away at garments that had been commissioned in the not-so-distant past.

But not to say it was completely professional: as the employees chipped away at their current projects (admittedly at a somewhat leisurely pace), they passed the time gossiping back and fourth about all of the city's most attention-catching news, especially news concerning the city's elite.

"...did you hear he turned someone down again?" one seamstress asked another, sounding impeccably like a schoolgirl gossiping over lunch.

"That eternal bachelor, Philippe de Claire?" inquired another, to which the first one nodded.

"The one and only! This time he turned down Nicola Pennyworth, the daughter of a banker. I swear, he must've gone through every well-to-do broad in Louisiana by now! No one is good enough for him: he sounds like an insufferable fop, if you ask me."

"I don't know," a third seamstress spoke up, flashing the others a coy grin. "Maybe he just hasn't met the right girl: I'll bet I could have him wrapped around my finger in no time."

Finally, out came Mickey, his face stern as he marched over to the trio of seamstresses who had gathered around one of the haberdashery's work tables.

"I don't give a damn about that de Claire boy and his love life," Mickey huffed, his palm meeting the wooden table with a dull thud. "And I don't pay you to run your mouths! Stop yapping, and get back to work!"