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Moments after you are finished undressing, the seamstress comes back in again, bearing the first of your three domestic dresses. She looks at you just as she did last time, and even though you know she means you discourtesy by it, it makes you want to shrivel up all the same. You find yourself awkwardly explaining that your new underwear did not fit particularly well under this dress, which was already too small on you. It is probably the truth, though the real reason you did not wear the chemise is that you are worried about what condition it was in after your escapades in the paddocks and on Oiler’s Wharf. You hope that you will be able to clean it up. It was such a kind gesture; you would hate to have ruined it already.
Blessedly, besides the awkwardness at the start, the rest of the fitting goes well. The wool of the dress feels so soft compared to the canvas that you are used to wearing, but it still feels pretty durable. It is a little more constricting than your usual dresses, so you doubt that you would be able to climb or run as well in this – and admittedly, you are a little dismayed when you realize that there is not a single pocket on the entire dress, and the sleeves are fitted to your wrists so tight and crisply you will never be able to hide anything down there, at least not comfortably.
You are only able to calm down when you remind yourself that the whole point of buying a dress like this is so that you can blend in. If you had ordered a loose dress with wide, open sleeves and pockets haphazardly strewn all over, then the dress would simply be a better made version of the ones you own right now, which are fairly … uh, unique? If you want to look unassuming, then you are going to have to learn to make do with an unassuming dress. And without pockets.
At least, that is what you thought until she handed you the apron. It is full length, and canvas, thicker than the dress, which you suppose means that you can get down on your knees somewhat comfortably, and without fear of getting the dress itself dirty. But most importantly, the apron has pockets. Fewer than you are used to, but nice large pockets. And just like that, you like the outfit a whole lot more.
Once you have everything on, the seamstress leads you out of the room, down a few doors into another. The only difference between this room and the last is that this one has a mirror in it. All things considered, it is a pretty nice one too, with a wrought iron frame, only a touch of ‘cloudiness’, and very few imperfections … though once you catch sight of yourself, you stop looking for them.
Wearing a mask almost all of the time outside of the Belfry means that you have very few opportunities to see yourself, and when you do, you are almost always focused on making sure Hide-Eyes is working properly. Looking at yourself like this … you are surprised at just how normal you look, even accounting for your height and your spidery long fingers.
