Long brown curls of hair fell into her eyes as she shoved  the last remaining pieces of blue silk under the sewing machine. Her tiny foot patted away at the pedal, moving the needle up and down as fast as she could. A smile passed over the face of Viscen Merryweather, as she heard the familiar, ‘rat-a-tat-tat-tat’ of the sewing machine’s needle, clicking back and forth across the fabric.
“It’s like music.” She said aloud. A soft hum began to trail out of her mouth in response to the beat of the sewing machine.
“Viscen.” A deep, British male voice called from behind her. “Viiiisceeen.”
“I’m sorry?” Viscen said aloud, closing her eyes and pursing her lips in a mocking manner. “I’m quite sure, I do not know who you are talking to.”
“Merrryyyweaaatherrr.” The voice said, an edge of annoyance not missing from his voice.
“Ye-esss!” Merryweather sang, throwing her arms up into the air.
At that moment, she spun around in the creaky, wooden chair to gaze adoringly at the gangly, scarecrow figure that was her business partner, Yules Pitchblack. Oh, how she loved that name. Pitchblack. Pitchblack. Pitchblack. It had a way of rolling off the tongue, and fit the tall boy’s moody persona perfectly.
“You rang?” She asked sweetly.
“Where are my clothes?” Yules snapped.
It had just occurred to Merryweather, that the tall, thin boy was dripping wet, and clad in only a towel. The long strands of normally bushy black hair had fallen across his sunken in, near-skeletal eyes. She blinked repeatedly taking in his near-nude appearance with shock. Merryweather felt an itching in her nose as a trickle of blood dripped down from her nostrils and onto her upper lip.
“I-uh…took them?”
“Why???” Yules glowered. He shoved his narrow nose into her face. His thick black eyebrows stared at her inquisitively.
“Well, the stripes on your clothes are very unique.” Merryweather explained, squinting her eyes shut, while trying to clean up her brief nosebleed. Yules was standing uncomfortably close to her face, and this was not helping her nosebleed very much. “I haven’t been able to find any and I just had to make this dress before I lost the idear!”
Yule’s frown vanished, and was instead placed by a look of wide-eyed horror, as Merryweather exploded out of her chair and raced across the  dusty room, where a great many dresses had been sewn upon a great many mannequins.  She gestured proudly to a fashionably patch-worked dress. The dress’s main features were the ruffles at the skirt, the light puffy sleeves, and a set of very familiar stripes.
“MERRYWEATHER!!” Yules nearly shrieked. His long thin fingers clutched against the edges of his towel as he stared at the dress in utter mortification. “THAT WAS MY ONLY SUIT!! MY ONE STITCH OF CLOTHING!!”
Merryweather tilted her head, staring at the boy oddly. Only one scrap of clothing? The idea was so foreign to her. She was so used to having millions of dresses at her disposal. Why only one? What a silly notion, she thought. But boys had a tendency to be silly.
“Only one?” She asked aloud, her lips trembling with shock. She simply could not wrap her mind about that fact. “You just washed it every day…and then wore it…only one???”
“Viscen.” Yules began but was interrupted by a quick sharp,
“Who?”
“Merryweather-”
“See? Doesn’t that sound better?”
Yule’s shoulder hunched forwards as they normally did. His dark lips pouted together and he gave her another exasperated gaze. Merryweather found it difficult not to fall into giggles whenever he did this. He was just so cute when he got angry.
“I…need…clothes…now.”  He said matter-of-factly. Yules was always OH-SO-SERIOUS.
“But I’m out of fabric.” Merryweather stammered. Her large eyes stared at the floor, helplessly.
This was indeed quite the predicament for the girl in frilly black clothes. She couldn’t very well leave Yules in naught but his skin, and there was simply no way he could open up shop like this. It would be positively indecent. She’d indeed placed him in the most unflattering of positions. How could he get more fabric if he didn’t open up shop today?
Suddenly, an idear like no other popped its way into Merryweather’s sugarcoated brain. It was a brilliant, logical idea  Probably the best she’d ever received in a while.
“I’ve got it.” She whispered hurriedly. “I’ll go out and do what you do in here.”
Yule’s eyes widened.
“Merryweather,” He panted. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re not exactly-”
“Oh! So just because I’m a girl means that I can’t slit a throat or two!” Merryweather objected raising her finger in obvious distaste at his words. “I’ll have you know that I am responsible for the deaths of three old ladies, two pompous priests, and a fat baker who didn’t know how to repay a girl for her service. That girl, being of course, myself, had to teach him a lesson about payment, but that’s a dreadfully long story in it of itself.”
“I just meant to say-” Yules tried to begin again, his dark eyebrows furrowing together.
“Say no more, Yules!” Merryweather cried out, dramatically. “I promise thee that I, Viscen Merry weather (though that is a positively horrid name), will go out and bring enough material to cloth you for every day of the goddamn year!”
With that, Merryweather boldly marched out of the dusty upstairs room to Pitchblack’s Music Emporium. Her shoulder brushed up against Yule’s causing him to stumble forwards, losing a gain on his white towel. Merryweather caught a brief glimpse of the boy in ‘all his glory’. She lifted a hand to her nose, feeling fresh blood come out of her nostril, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Keep moving, V.” She told herself. “Act like that never happened.”
She could hear Yules upstairs muttering something unintelligible to himself as she marched down the stairs, sending dust raining down from the rafters. Merryweather shook her head, hearing the discontent grumblings of her angst roommate.
But if it wasn’t for his gloom, would she be as attached to him?
This thought plagued her far more than the task at hand.

***

Bustling cries arose from the cobbled streets of London as horses drove their black-covered carriages through its center, and those less-fortunate, lined the sidewalks, holding out their palms in hopes of generous donations. Sadly, they would receive none, others were far too busy with their own needs to take care of. Merryweather looked upon their dirtied faces, and stuck her bottom lip out, pouting.
“Well, I can’t very well have those poor souls on my conscience, she said aloud, tapping her bottom lip with a sewing needle. “Their fabric is too shabby anyway, and Yules is far too skinny to pull off the peasant look. Oh!”
Suddenly, Merryweather spotted a finely dressed couple walking briskly through the streets. The woman had her white-gloved hand upon the hem of her rather-large skirt. Merryweather eyed the fabric hungrily. She counted at least three new dresses in the silk alone. A grunt escaped her lips, and she shook her head, sending brown ringlets bouncing all over her face.
“Focus, V. Focus!” She told herself. “We’re here for Yules. You can get more fabric later.”
Honestly, shopping the rich-folk of London was a tad more difficult than she thought. Like a child lost in a candy store, Merryweather stared lustfully at the clothes of all around her. There were simply so many options, too many options. She couldn’t make up her mind!
Oh for the horrors of options!
“If only Yules were here,” She pouted once more. “He always seems to know what to do.”

***

At the moment though, Yules had positively no idea what to do. Everyday, he’d open up the doors to the music emporium, and grab his trusted violin to lure the customers into the shop. While inside, Merryweather would serve one of her delicious hot teacakes, and unveil her latest fashion designs. The whole scheme worked like a brilliant dance between the two, becoming wonderfully routine.
Routine was safe, predictable, and all the more, Yules Pitchblack liked it. He felt confident when the day held a certain predictability over it. Even though, Merryweather usually did her best to throw in whatever spontaneity she could muster, Yules had come to expect such behavior from the flighty girl, and had accepted that as part of his routine.
But today…TODAY!! No, today he was sitting  uncomfortably on a wooden bench with his fingers wrapped about the edge of a violin, clad only in a burlap towel that itched his thin bottom dreadfully. The bow swung up and down his violin, singing of his frustrations.
BANG!! BANG!! BANG!!
A sudden thudding sound upon the door of the shop caused Yules to fall backwards off the bench, startled. He shot up, quickly placing a hand on the edges of his towel. Someone was at the door of the music emporium.
“Oohhh Viiiisceeen.” A high, operatic voice rang out into the shop, barely muffled by the thin door. “Mummy’s come to call!!”
The bow slipped from Yule’s fingers as he stared at the silhouetted figure in the foggy glass of the door’s window.
Today was finding itself incredibly unpredictable, and it seemed to be growing worse by the hour.

***

Merryweather drummed her calloused, seamstress fingers across the tip of her jaw. She stared through narrow, thoughtful slits, eyeing the individual clothes of the bustling inhabitants of the city. It was such a tricky process.
She’d have to find material suitable-that was worn by a man-who wouldn’t be noticed if he went missing. Merryweather sighed. The criteria for just ONE of her victims would be a monstrous headache for her to get through.
“Hmm.” She mused. “Eeny, meeny, miney, mo.”
At each of these, she’d point at a gentleman in turn, before finally resting upon her choice in the always helpful, ‘mo’. Today’s assistant/victim, was a rather old gentleman of snowy white hair, who was dressed in of all things, a pinstriped suit! The stripes would be perfectly accustomed to Vincent’s taste, and with a little help from Merryweather’s stitching talents, she could use but one outfit to craft the finest suit of clothes Yules had ever worn.
Besides, she could always come back later to make him other outfits. She smiled with her selection, feeling quite proud of herself. Her small boots clacked against the cobbled stone streets as she began to swiftly approach the wizened gentleman. He was propped up against a cane, and had a scowling look upon his face, as if the whole world were some sort of mosquito against his arm.
Hopefully, he’d be a caring enough chap to attend a damsel in distress.
Merryweather found a dark corner that was ideal for the darkness of her deed, but visible enough to the street to where the rich old gent could see her. She threw a hand up to her forehead dramatically, and gave a loud shriek. Suddenly, Merryweather threw her body to the ground in a false swoon. Her skirts swooshed out against the stones, creating a marvelous, near-angelic image.
“By jove!” She heard a whispy voice call out to her.
Viscen nearly smiled, hearing the clacking sound of the old man’s cane coming closer to her. It was everything she could do not to burst into spasms of sporadic giggles, thus ruining the brilliance of her plan. She waited for the old man’s footsteps to stop, and his shadow to block the sun from her face.
“Madam!” She heard called to her. “Are you all right?”
“I am now.” V whispered.
With that, she swooped up her skirts, and stood straight up. Her long fingers plucked a sharp pin from the edge of her feathered hat, and she swiftly plunged it into the man’s eye, sending sprays of his blood flying all over her face and dress. Merryweather smiled, thinking on how crafty she’d been in selecting a black dress for this deed.
Blood against a white dress was so much more noticeable.

***

Bad-a-ding-a-ling! Sang the bell over Pitchblack’s Music Emporium. It clanged behind Merryweather with a bit of a clatter. She looked down proudly at the humble of clothes she’d collected during her ‘shopping day’. Some of these would make some marvelous outfits for Yules.
“Hello?” She called out, her voice ringing across the shop.
Well, where was he?
“Hello?” Merryweather repeated.
Suddenly, a large figure swooped the thin girl off her tiny feet and into the air, squishing her against two very large breasts. Merryweather felt squished against the great balloons, as a particularly fat woman of large curly hair squeezed her tightly in a large embrace. Merryweather felt soaked with the amount of kisses this woman was placing on top of her.
“OH VISCEN!!” The woman shrieked. “Mummy has missed you so! Where have you been! Oh, and what a lovely husband you’ve picked up! But what happened to his clothes? Oh well that doesn’t matter, your own shop?! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!”
Merryweather pushed her frazzled body away from the large woman in huge skirts. Her mother was elegantly dressed in fluffy skirts that draped against the floor. A large necklace of pearls and rubies ordained what could be seen of the woman’s fat, fat neck.
“Mu-mum?!?” Merryweather stammered in shock.
“I can see where you get some of your…qualities.” Merryweather heard called to her from the corner.
She turned around to see Yules propped up on the stairwell with an elbow leaned against the side of the wall. An almost knowing smirk was written over his face that caused Merryweather to nearly swoon. He was smirking at her!
“Oh, Yules!” Merryweather exclaimed. She bent down and scooped up the heapings of clothes. “I’ve got some stitches for you!”
Well, Merryweather’s mother stayed for about an hour while her daughter insisted on ‘tailoring’ the outfit for Yules. She wanted to make sure that the clothes fit him exactly. Yules merely stood patiently, grumbling silently to himself. The scowl on his face perfectly fit any words he might have said, though as always, Merryweather seemed not to notice.
Meanwhile, both mother and daughter chatted words that went by faster than the wheels of a speeding steam train. There were a great many wet kisses for them just as the rather fat woman squeezed herself out of the door. Yules had a difficult time holding onto his towel the entire time.
“So that’s your mother.” He noted, watching the woman struggle to fit inside a carriage outside.
“That’s her. Wealthiest woman in London.” Merryweather sighed, almost unhappily.
“Why did you leave?” Yules asked, staring at her curiously.
“Why didn’t I leave sooner!” Merryweather huffed. “Can you imagine living with all that chatter, nonstop, all around the clock?!”
Yules shook his head sarcastically.
“No, I couldn’t Merryweather.” He murmured. “No, I couldn’t.”
“And I can’t believe she thought you were my husband!”