“Yes! Just like that!” Cora giggled happily, finally seeing some progress in his acceptance of the prospect.  She didn’t understand why someone would come for help and then seem so reluctant to take it. 

But, she shrugged, flipping open the pad, past pictures of gowns she dared not even think of designing yet and more conservative pieces she’d started to piece together, even the robes she wore on occasion were part of this random assortment of whatever popped into her brain. 

Pulling out a chair at the little table that separated her kitchen and living room arrangement, Cora leaned the pad on the table and nibbled on the end of the quill before shaking the pen to make a male’s figure appear on the board.  She didn’t waste time with silliness like forms when they could so easily be rendered.  But, she did start to carefully construct the lines of the suit she had imagined.  “I’ll definitely tone it down for you,” she smiled up at him between lines, and shaded in the pieces that she imagined would be made of a different fabric, trying to hold herself back to not over design. 

Her hand jolted with the strength of her laugh at his declaration of ‘rabid gorilla,’ and she had to compose herself, blushing as she drew back over the line to make it disappear.  How embarrassing.  “You’re not a rabid gorilla,” she assured him, “and they should be functional – I agree,” she nodded, “there can just be the elements that aren’t – you know, like gold leaf.  Sure, the cake is edible, right? But the leaf is there just to make it fun to look at.”

She grinned unabashedly, “So let’s help you with that, yeh?” she turned the pad toward him and on it there was a generic male figure with a suit starting to fill in.  She’d only really done the trousers and the jacket-shirt combination so far, but she was liking it.  “Is something like this on the right track?” 

While Coralie busied herself with her sketchpad, Sander remained standing, looking awkwardly around himself trying to keep himself busy with something. He knew from Lala that peeking into someone sketchpad without their permission could often result in violent outbursts, or at least in that harpy's case, so he tried to look anywhere but there. Fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, he eyes the cup of sugar intently as if blaming it for everything that had gone wrong in his life and history as well.

He couldn't believe he was thinking this, but perhaps he should've just taken Lala's offer to meet with the seamstress together to - as Styles had phrased it - "translate your silent glares into actual words." He was growing rather tired of being told to use his words... Some people simply liked to not add anything to a conversation unless you actually had something relevant to say. But you try reasoning with that nutcase.

He nodded absently as she smiled up at him, still deeply lost in his reasons why Layla Styles was ruining his life list. He continued to nod, if this time his attention to her and a blush violently spreading over his face. He quickly brushed of her denial of him not being a rabid gorilla, which again, was Lala's term, of course, and continued to nod his agreement with her statement. Gold leaf was in fact flavorless, it merely had psychological and decorative purposes. He didn't really know about fun...

He got closer to the seamstress, leaning down to see the sketchpad and his lips parted a little as his eyebrows came to meet at the middle. "That—could I—I can't"he started, biting at the inside of his lips. It really was very simple, and he thought Bran would approve, so there was that. But could he really wear something like that? He felt like a peacock just looking at it. It had appeal, even for him, who didn't know jack shit about suits, but...

"Could I really pull that?"he asked more surely, yet voice still clicking as he looked at her in confusion.

It just got better and better.  He was definitely no longer scary, especially when he was so unsure of himself.  She could see in his face that he was, at the very least, intrigued by the idea she had put down on paper, but something was holding him back – this idea of pulling something off. 

For Cora, it was a lot about attitude, and the way one wanted to carry one’s self in certain things.  She preferred to dress in what she felt comfortable in, and what suited what she was – which tended to be shy and unassuming with a bit of a flare for the dramatic when it suited her.

She was sure that Lysander could pull this off.  Nodding enthusiastically she pointed to the sketch with her quill.  “It will, for the most part,” she assured him, “look like a regular suit – and the shirt and trousers will be fine enough that you could, if you wanted to, ditch the jacket at some point in the evening,” she informed him.

That was one of the more fortunate parts of male clothing: so many layers that could be added and subtracted with the setting and temperatures didn’t agree.  “You can definitely pull it,” she finally added, trying to copy his language, but sounding a bit garbled as she did, feeling awkward about saying it out loud – even if it was true. 

“This sort of thing is all about an attitude,” she told him, glancing at her handiwork in picture form for the time being, “and as long as you have one that matches, it will work for you.”  She looked him over with a bit of a smile, “From what I see, the all black look shouldn’t be too hard for you to ‘pull,’ as you said.” 

He raised his eyes to her at the mention of being able to lose the jacket, he was very much down with that. It was the jacket that really made the suit wasn't it? Or so he thought in his limited knowledge of suits. He still felt like scratching his skin even looking at it, and while he was sure it had nothing to do with the material or the suit, it was just a psychological impulse...

He turned to look back at her, eyeing her intently for any trace of uncertainty in her voice or her face. He supposed if she said so... "Okay" he nodded slowly. But then she went on about attitude. Well he had that, or that's what his mother constantly told him, and his friends, and his brothers. And even on occasion Eira. He doubted Elin and Enya even knew what attitude meant, or they'd probably accuse him of it, as well.

He didn't know if he pulled the all black look, all he knew was that blacks, grey and dark colors were easier to deal with when you lived your life in a box with your younger irresponsible brothers, had no knack for cleaning charms and no time to  constantly make trips to and fro a launderette. "If you say so"he finally ended, a little skeptically and shrugged his shoulders slowly.

"So, what about payment and – ummm. I'll need it by the 28th. Is–is that possible?" he asked a little unsurely, looking at the sketch with furrowed eyebrows. He had no idea how long it took to create a suit... He hoped there was time.

Cora was definitely proud of herself.  She was the sort of girl who found a deep sense of pride in being able to bring about some sort of change for someone – even if they didn’t seem excited for it. 

It was only because he hadn’t experienced how great he was going to feel yet – nor had he seen the suit in fabric and waiting to be put on.  She imagined it would have to fit like a glove to make him love it – well, however he liked it to fit, but that was beside the point.  It needed to turn someone she had guessed might be a serial killer into a vaguely romantic teddy bear sort of guy.

Yes, she could certainly help do that.  “You can bring payment to the shop when you come to pick it up,” she informed him with a smile.  “I should have it done two days before, as long as I can – then you can try it on and we can make any alterations you’d like as well.” 

She smiled at him, “Will that work for you?” 

He nodded and straightened his back, hands back in his pockets, and then again nodded, more fervently at hearing he would have some time to actually get used to the clothes. And look into some tie knot spells, because he had never managed to properly tie his own. He had Ifan for that, and then after he graduated, Bran. Whom for some reason had been able to do intricate tie knots from the age of seven. That should've been a bright exclamation point, right there...

"Yeah, it works" he finally said, with a hint of a smile. He could do this. It will be awkward, obviously, but he hoped Ellie would appreciate it. She better, 'cause there wouldn't be many repeat experiences. He sighed. There would if she really wanted it. Lala was right. He was hopeless. But if she cooed at him one more time, he was going to actually hit her.

"Ummm" he started, looking into the distance. "I—I have fondant au chocolat baking upstairs... Ugh—small chocolate cakes with crunchy rind and mellow filling. Basically" he muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. He was torn between going into work mode or keeping neighborly behavior. Whatever that meant. Most of his neighbors back in Wales were family and more family, and apart from Lala and Ellie and that dipshit, Zero, and now Miss Malkin he supposed, he didn't know anybody in his building, and he had been living here for almost four years.

"You're welcome to—to join us at Lala's later" his and his brother's apartment was nowhere near adequate for receiving guests, or you know... proper humans. "Or—ugh, I could bring down some? If you'd like..." he scratched his head and muttered something unintelligible.

“Brilliant!” Cora beamed and snapped her workbook shut with satisfaction.   She placed it on the top of the table and turned on the seat to face him more fully, pressing her palms onto her knees, unsure of what else she should say.

Truth was, she was still packing and now that she’d sketched something out and had ideas, she felt restless, so her fingers itched and she grabbed the fabric of her pajama trousers, shifting in her seat. 

She liked the sound of whatever he was describing though.  Cora had a notorious sweet tooth and she tried not to salivate too much, swallowing back a little bit of spit that collected at the thought of something delicious and chocolate.  But, she had so much to do… oh, Cora bit her lip.  Choices!

Heaving a heavy sigh, she shook her head: important choices had to be made.  “I actually still have a lot to do…” she sighed sadly, kicking her feet back and forth.  But then, of course, the holy grail of offers happened and Cora’s eyes widened with excitement.  “I’d love some though,” she breathed, “if it’s not too much trouble,” she added with a shy sort of smile and hopped down off the chair.

Swinging her arms back and forth, Cora grinned and shifted her weight from one foot to another.  “Too bad you can’t just pay in sweets,” she laughed, “but I don’t think that’d fly very well with my Gramma…”

Lysander finally exhaled relieved, he thing pretty much wrapped, still a little nervous for the final result, tho. If anything went horribly wrong, however, he supposed he could ask Lala to save the day. But he didn't actually want to be indebted in any way to that demented shrew... She had enough hold over him without this added bonus.

He nodded and attempted an actual smile, he wasn't sure he quite managed it however. "I'll—umm, come down with a plate, or send Lester" he said, freezing on the last word with a rather quizzical expression. "Or not. Styles—I'll send Lala." He wouldn't wish Les on anyone, not even his enemies, much less someone that was actually doing him a favor. And she was a nice person... That basically meant happy hour for his younger brother. He doubted that sometimes, if they were actually related, he meant. Then again, he also wondered that about Bran. And on occasion Elin...

He fidgeted nervously for a second, humming at the back of his throat, not quite sure how to put into nice, polite words, the fact that some of his creations were actually about as expensive as a suit. He settled for nodding instead, knowing a thing or two about needing money and the likes. "Uh... well then" he grabbed the cup of sugar, and stood there awkwardly... in silence. "I should go. Uh... oven" he said eloquently, pointing at the door. "Thank you... for your time and—sugar."