Of No Import

Camille was a woman of exteodinary talents when it came to needle and thread, but her true powers lay in the design of an object. She had urchins and women escaping from loveless marriages and abusive partners who worked on the bulk of her designs, threading glass beads through a bodice or boneing a corset in just the right way, many fingers turning out creations in a fraction of the time that she had been able to in the early days of her store. Back when she had been afraid every single moment that she'd be discovered and turned out into the streets, or worse, killed.

Now days, she had enjoyed enough success that even if her secret were to get out, it would shame most families in the capitol. Her secret was worth keeping, lest someone be thought of as a fool themselves. And it wasn't like her work wasn't on par, just, no one had wanted to buy the designs of a street rat. When the barrier had gone up, affecting an Orleasian accent had been easy, and a way to seem exotic.

No, darling, twenty one stitches per inch, we put in one extra to make sure that it holds, yes? She handed a bit of work back to the child that was the latest in her batch to "hold" until her contact returned to Minrathous, a tender smile on her face, before she reached over and ruffled the child's hair. The children she would say worked in her shop. As help, before a year or two from now she's wave a hand and say she turned them back out on the streets because their fingers were no longer small enough to do the work.

It made her sick, every time she thought about it. Putting a child to work, but it offered what scant protection she could offer them, until Cali showed up in her basement, ready to lead the next group off to the Forest. Her eyes watched the child run back over to the group, five of them, that were her current charges. She could teach them to sew a solid straight seam, and that would give them the foundation to fixing their clothing, and she never noticed scraps of fabric and thread missing, not even when they showed up as patches, or doll clothes, or colorful flair added to an already patchwork robe or cloak. She could keep their bellies filled, and a roof over their head while they waited.

And she could pretend she needed them, if someone were to look too close. It was why she was climbing the ladder back into the main residence in the back of her shop, setting herself back straight, and heading into the shop itself, flipping the lock on the door open, and flipping over the sign before she went back to her table, laying out bolt of expensive cloth as she scribbled designs on parchment along the table top. Now, she only needed to wait for a customer, none of her appointments were until the afternoon, so maybe today, maybe today she's get lucky with a walk in visit.