Completed Fic - The Tailor and the Beautiful Men of Somewhat Normal Stature - Pop
The Tailor and the Elves Beautiful Men of Somewhat Normal Stature
a Pop tale by SnarkyLlama
(2,300 words)
There was once a young tailor, who worked very hard and had a... truly unique sense of fashion, but still could not earn enough to live upon while dressing himself in style. He tried to make a name for himself on Project Runway, but that fell through for him. For even though Tim Gunn liked to buy him drinks and Michael Kors always had a glint in his eyes whenever he glanced the poor tailor's way, he was too inarticulate to defend his unusual fashion vision and it was "auf Wiedersehen" by the end of the fourth episode.
All he had in the world was gone, save for a single Laura Ashley sheet that he thought he could perhaps turn into one last shirt. So he laid the sheet out on his cutting table and sketched patterns until it was too dark to continue, for electricity was expensive and only his sewing machine and coffee maker were ever plugged in anymore. Then he set his pattern aside, all ready to begin cutting and sewing the next day. He would rise early in the morning, finish his final shirt, and then bid farewell to fashion and walk down the street to Starbucks to fill out an application.
His conscience was clear and there was a song in his heart despite all his troubles, so he went peaceably to bed, leaving all his cares behind, and soon fell asleep, as comfortable on his bare mattress as a king would be on the finest silk sheets.
In the morning, he rose at his usual hour, for how could he pull himself away from dreamland early, when his dreams were full of hot mamis and men with gorgeous smiles, and silver urns which never ran out of coffee and silver platters heaped with mountains of scrambled eggs, while his waking life was gray and sparse and missing all of those things?
He went down to his workroom, and to his great wonder, there lay the flowered shirt, already made, upon the table. The tailor knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening, and he examined the workmanship with increasing awe. There was not one false stitch in the entire shirt. Every stitch was so neat and true, that it was quite a masterpiece.
As he was admiring it, a customer came in, a handsome man with golden-tipped hair and expressive green eyes. The man exclaimed over the flowery shirt's beauty and asked to try it on. The tailor retrieved his chalk and pins and helped the man into the shirt, and then blinked in utter surprise. The shirt required no alterations and suited the handsome man so well that he willingly paid a price higher than usual for it. Before he left, the man gave the tailor a card with his phone number and told him that should he ever make a similar shirt, or perhaps one that sparkled, he would return and pay an even better price for it.
The young tailor took the money to Bed, Bath & Beyond, where he bought two sets of sheets, one for fabric and one for his lonely bed. Then, with his last remaining pennies and a dime he had picked up off the street, he bought a Bedazzler from the clearance section of Michael's Crafts. In the evening, he cut up one of the sheets and then went to bed early, that he might get up and begin bedazzling the next day.
He dreamed that night of men with flashing eyes and jeweled tureens of hot, filling stew, and when he awoke, he found two dazzling and finely-stitched shirts already waiting for him, and a bedazzled bandanna made from the last of the fabric. He could hardly believe his eyes.
He touched the shirts and marveled at them. One was larger than the other, and it wouldn't fit the green-eyed man without alterations, but the first looked like a perfect fit for the body he remembered quite well. He began to search for the handsome man's card, but before he could find it, the bell on his shop door jingled and in walked the handsome, green-eyed man. With him was another man, beautiful and tall and crowned with golden curls. The tailor could barely speak as the first man immediately doffed his jacket and shirt in order to try on the smaller of the two dazzling shirts and the second man grinned and nearly danced in place as he exclaimed over the bandanna.
"You were right," he told his companion. "This is exactly what I was looking for!"
They paid him generously for his goods, and the man with the golden curls left his card as well. As they departed, the second man turned to his friend and said, "Now if only I could find some shoes to match this bandanna, wouldn't that be sweet?"
Now, the young tailor had enough money to venture into the fabric district where he spent the day surrounded by colors that swirled around like complex harmonies in his head, and he knew there was so much more he could do than just shirts. He bought a subtly glistening fabric that reminded him of the handsome man's eyes, and denim that flickered with a touch of glitter, and from the remnant section, he rescued a glorious length of fabric painted with the torsos of naked women.
He risked plugging in a lamp that night and stayed up for as long as he could keep his eyes open, drawing patterns and cutting out pieces to fashion into several pairs of pants. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that there was perhaps not quite enough naked-lady fabric, but he would find out for sure in the morning. He dreamed of golden, laughing-and-dancing men in cowboy hats and chaps, and big barbecue grills offering up sizzling, juicy, melt-in-your-mouth steaks, and woke up quite late.
He was alarmed at the hour because he couldn't afford to waste daylight, and he rushed down the stairs as quickly as his feet could carry him, then stopped at the door to his workroom, shocked into stillness by the sight that met his eyes, for he was a thoughtful, appreciative man who would never take seemingly-magical happenings for granted. Then he caught his breath and reverently entered the room to touch the beautiful pants waiting there for him. The green pants were soft and lovely, and almost certainly a perfect fit for the handsome man should he ever return. The jeans were larger than the tailor had envisioned, but they looked very smart and dashing.
And the naked-lady pants were as gorgeous as anything he'd ever seen, though their cut was so slim, he thought that he was probably the only one who could ever wear them. At least being poor and hungry had given him a model's body, he thought, as he slipped into them. He twirled around, enjoying how splendid they felt, so perfectly made as if just for him, and then noticed the photograph sitting on the table where the pants had been.
It was a Polaroid picture of a gleaming pair of gold-and-white sneakers. He thought instantly of the golden man from the day before, and then noticed the writing on the bottom of picture. There was an address and a cryptic message: Tell them the Manolo sent you. There was no way he could purchase such a fine pair of shoes, but he remembered the golden man's smile and began to dig up a city map and some old bus schedules just for curiosity's sake.
He was bent over, hunting through a stack of papers on one of the lower shelves, when the door to his shop jingled, and then the room was filled with peals of bright laughter. "Oh, my god," a warm voice exclaimed. "Those pants are priceless!"
The tailor looked up and saw a big, dark and grinning man, and standing behind that man was the handsome, green-eyed man who was, at this point, his most favorite customer ever. He greeted the men and was pleased to assist them in trying on the pants. Somehow, he was only a little surprised when the glittering jeans fit the big man perfectly.
The two men chuckled together and admired each other's new pants, focusing especially on the excellent fit over their backsides. They paid the young tailor exceedingly well, and the big man borrowed a pen and wrote his number on the tailor's hand, then nodded at the tailor's own pants and asked him to please call if he ever made anything so stylish and wickedly rude in a larger size.
"You and your naked women," the green-eyed man said to his friend as they left.
The poor tailor looked at the large sum of money and danced around the room with joy, singing a happy, nonsensical song full of praises for magical pants and beautiful men and spaceships, just because he liked spaceships. As he danced, the Polaroid again caught his eye, and he scooped it up impulsively, grabbed a bus schedule and the money, and charged out into the day feeling like a brand new man.
It took him a while to find the right place. It was a small, but exclusive-looking shop on the far side of town. The man behind the counter raised his eyebrows at him and looked a bit menacing, but the young tailor persevered. He handed him the Polaroid and said, "The Manolo sent me."
The man's attitude changed at once. He winked at the tailor and pulled an embossed shoe box out from under the counter. "Show me the green, man," he said, and at the tailor's confused look, he elaborated further. "I'll give you the special discount, but they're still a hundred bucks. You got it?"
That was all of the money the tailor had, he wouldn't even have bus fare left over, but he only had to think of the curly-haired man for a moment, before handing it all over and taking the golden shoe box in return.
His heart was light as he walked the long way home. The voice of reason tried to whisper in his ear, but he ignored it. All was not lost, for he had the shoes and also, waiting at home, were a Bedazzler and the nearly-new sheets on his bed.
It was so late when he got home that he could do nothing more than crawl into bed.
A few hours later, he was startled awake by a loud crashing noise and a voice, which may have sounded sweet if it weren't so panicked, crying, "Ow! What the--!?"
The tailor fumbled desperately with his lamp, trying to turn it on, but it wasn't plugged in and he was alone... in the darkness... with a strange voice.
"Ow," the voice said again. "Geezus, what did I trip over?"
The overhead light suddenly flicked on, and the tailor blinked his eyes against it until he could see. And standing in his bedroom was a shortish, bearded man who was busy looking at the floor and the shoe box that he had tripped over.
"Oh!" the man said. "Great, you got the shoes."
And then the man looked up, and the tailor's heart leaped in his chest. The man was obviously magical, because he was somehow bright and dark and sharp and beautiful all at once, and he nearly took the tailor's breath away.
"You got the shoes, but you didn't leave me anything to do, man. And I'm bored. B-O-R-E-D, bored. Ya know?"
The tailor could only stare at him.
"Oh, hey," the man said. "Nice sheets. Can I?" And before the tailor could say anything, the strange man hopped onto the bed beside him and rolled around a bit. "Oh... seriously nice sheets," he crooned.
The man's voice sent heat shimmering down the tailor's spine.
"Are you... the Manolo?" the tailor finally managed to ask.
"Oh, no," the man said. "Just a guy who reads a lot of fashion blogs, ya know? Mmm, yeah, I really like this bed."
"Um..." the tailor said.
"Mmm," the man said. "Do you mind if I stay here?"
"Uh..." the tailor said.
"Though if I'm staying, you're going to have to make some changes around here. Like, seriously, would it kill you to lock your doors? Anyone can just walk right in."
"Oh," the tailor said. "My doors aren't locked?"
"How did you think I was getting in?"
"Magic?"
The man laughed.
"Yeah, right." He made little finger quotes. "Magic."
"Well... luck, then," the tailor said and reached out to touch the soft spikes of the strange man's hair.
"Lucky you weren't killed," the man said.
"No, lucky because the only people who have walked right in have been beautiful men... and you're by far the best of them all."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," the tailor said and ran a finger over one of the man's slightly-pointed ears. "Can you maybe stay... and teach me how to sew as well as you do?"
"Well," the man said. "I've been thinking about getting out of the fashion business. Maybe starting a band or something with some of my friends, but I guess I could stay a little while and teach you a thing or two."
He winked at the tailor and rolled enticingly close to him. Then he winked again and the overhead light flicked off.
"Hey!" the tailor exclaimed. "You are magic, aren't you?"
"Baby, you ain't seen nothing yet!"
And from that day forward, the tailor and the strange man spent their lives dancing and singing and wearing fabulous clothes together, and they were surrounded by beautiful men each and every day, because the tailor's three favorite customers just happened to be the three very best friends of the tailor's very own beautiful, magical man.
The end.
(This little fic was inspired by a comment from phaballa and my own long-held wish for a Project Runway AU.)
a Pop tale by SnarkyLlama
(2,300 words)
There was once a young tailor, who worked very hard and had a... truly unique sense of fashion, but still could not earn enough to live upon while dressing himself in style. He tried to make a name for himself on Project Runway, but that fell through for him. For even though Tim Gunn liked to buy him drinks and Michael Kors always had a glint in his eyes whenever he glanced the poor tailor's way, he was too inarticulate to defend his unusual fashion vision and it was "auf Wiedersehen" by the end of the fourth episode.
All he had in the world was gone, save for a single Laura Ashley sheet that he thought he could perhaps turn into one last shirt. So he laid the sheet out on his cutting table and sketched patterns until it was too dark to continue, for electricity was expensive and only his sewing machine and coffee maker were ever plugged in anymore. Then he set his pattern aside, all ready to begin cutting and sewing the next day. He would rise early in the morning, finish his final shirt, and then bid farewell to fashion and walk down the street to Starbucks to fill out an application.
His conscience was clear and there was a song in his heart despite all his troubles, so he went peaceably to bed, leaving all his cares behind, and soon fell asleep, as comfortable on his bare mattress as a king would be on the finest silk sheets.
In the morning, he rose at his usual hour, for how could he pull himself away from dreamland early, when his dreams were full of hot mamis and men with gorgeous smiles, and silver urns which never ran out of coffee and silver platters heaped with mountains of scrambled eggs, while his waking life was gray and sparse and missing all of those things?
He went down to his workroom, and to his great wonder, there lay the flowered shirt, already made, upon the table. The tailor knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening, and he examined the workmanship with increasing awe. There was not one false stitch in the entire shirt. Every stitch was so neat and true, that it was quite a masterpiece.
As he was admiring it, a customer came in, a handsome man with golden-tipped hair and expressive green eyes. The man exclaimed over the flowery shirt's beauty and asked to try it on. The tailor retrieved his chalk and pins and helped the man into the shirt, and then blinked in utter surprise. The shirt required no alterations and suited the handsome man so well that he willingly paid a price higher than usual for it. Before he left, the man gave the tailor a card with his phone number and told him that should he ever make a similar shirt, or perhaps one that sparkled, he would return and pay an even better price for it.
The young tailor took the money to Bed, Bath & Beyond, where he bought two sets of sheets, one for fabric and one for his lonely bed. Then, with his last remaining pennies and a dime he had picked up off the street, he bought a Bedazzler from the clearance section of Michael's Crafts. In the evening, he cut up one of the sheets and then went to bed early, that he might get up and begin bedazzling the next day.
He dreamed that night of men with flashing eyes and jeweled tureens of hot, filling stew, and when he awoke, he found two dazzling and finely-stitched shirts already waiting for him, and a bedazzled bandanna made from the last of the fabric. He could hardly believe his eyes.
He touched the shirts and marveled at them. One was larger than the other, and it wouldn't fit the green-eyed man without alterations, but the first looked like a perfect fit for the body he remembered quite well. He began to search for the handsome man's card, but before he could find it, the bell on his shop door jingled and in walked the handsome, green-eyed man. With him was another man, beautiful and tall and crowned with golden curls. The tailor could barely speak as the first man immediately doffed his jacket and shirt in order to try on the smaller of the two dazzling shirts and the second man grinned and nearly danced in place as he exclaimed over the bandanna.
"You were right," he told his companion. "This is exactly what I was looking for!"
They paid him generously for his goods, and the man with the golden curls left his card as well. As they departed, the second man turned to his friend and said, "Now if only I could find some shoes to match this bandanna, wouldn't that be sweet?"
Now, the young tailor had enough money to venture into the fabric district where he spent the day surrounded by colors that swirled around like complex harmonies in his head, and he knew there was so much more he could do than just shirts. He bought a subtly glistening fabric that reminded him of the handsome man's eyes, and denim that flickered with a touch of glitter, and from the remnant section, he rescued a glorious length of fabric painted with the torsos of naked women.
He risked plugging in a lamp that night and stayed up for as long as he could keep his eyes open, drawing patterns and cutting out pieces to fashion into several pairs of pants. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that there was perhaps not quite enough naked-lady fabric, but he would find out for sure in the morning. He dreamed of golden, laughing-and-dancing men in cowboy hats and chaps, and big barbecue grills offering up sizzling, juicy, melt-in-your-mouth steaks, and woke up quite late.
He was alarmed at the hour because he couldn't afford to waste daylight, and he rushed down the stairs as quickly as his feet could carry him, then stopped at the door to his workroom, shocked into stillness by the sight that met his eyes, for he was a thoughtful, appreciative man who would never take seemingly-magical happenings for granted. Then he caught his breath and reverently entered the room to touch the beautiful pants waiting there for him. The green pants were soft and lovely, and almost certainly a perfect fit for the handsome man should he ever return. The jeans were larger than the tailor had envisioned, but they looked very smart and dashing.
And the naked-lady pants were as gorgeous as anything he'd ever seen, though their cut was so slim, he thought that he was probably the only one who could ever wear them. At least being poor and hungry had given him a model's body, he thought, as he slipped into them. He twirled around, enjoying how splendid they felt, so perfectly made as if just for him, and then noticed the photograph sitting on the table where the pants had been.
It was a Polaroid picture of a gleaming pair of gold-and-white sneakers. He thought instantly of the golden man from the day before, and then noticed the writing on the bottom of picture. There was an address and a cryptic message: Tell them the Manolo sent you. There was no way he could purchase such a fine pair of shoes, but he remembered the golden man's smile and began to dig up a city map and some old bus schedules just for curiosity's sake.
He was bent over, hunting through a stack of papers on one of the lower shelves, when the door to his shop jingled, and then the room was filled with peals of bright laughter. "Oh, my god," a warm voice exclaimed. "Those pants are priceless!"
The tailor looked up and saw a big, dark and grinning man, and standing behind that man was the handsome, green-eyed man who was, at this point, his most favorite customer ever. He greeted the men and was pleased to assist them in trying on the pants. Somehow, he was only a little surprised when the glittering jeans fit the big man perfectly.
The two men chuckled together and admired each other's new pants, focusing especially on the excellent fit over their backsides. They paid the young tailor exceedingly well, and the big man borrowed a pen and wrote his number on the tailor's hand, then nodded at the tailor's own pants and asked him to please call if he ever made anything so stylish and wickedly rude in a larger size.
"You and your naked women," the green-eyed man said to his friend as they left.
The poor tailor looked at the large sum of money and danced around the room with joy, singing a happy, nonsensical song full of praises for magical pants and beautiful men and spaceships, just because he liked spaceships. As he danced, the Polaroid again caught his eye, and he scooped it up impulsively, grabbed a bus schedule and the money, and charged out into the day feeling like a brand new man.
It took him a while to find the right place. It was a small, but exclusive-looking shop on the far side of town. The man behind the counter raised his eyebrows at him and looked a bit menacing, but the young tailor persevered. He handed him the Polaroid and said, "The Manolo sent me."
The man's attitude changed at once. He winked at the tailor and pulled an embossed shoe box out from under the counter. "Show me the green, man," he said, and at the tailor's confused look, he elaborated further. "I'll give you the special discount, but they're still a hundred bucks. You got it?"
That was all of the money the tailor had, he wouldn't even have bus fare left over, but he only had to think of the curly-haired man for a moment, before handing it all over and taking the golden shoe box in return.
His heart was light as he walked the long way home. The voice of reason tried to whisper in his ear, but he ignored it. All was not lost, for he had the shoes and also, waiting at home, were a Bedazzler and the nearly-new sheets on his bed.
It was so late when he got home that he could do nothing more than crawl into bed.
A few hours later, he was startled awake by a loud crashing noise and a voice, which may have sounded sweet if it weren't so panicked, crying, "Ow! What the--!?"
The tailor fumbled desperately with his lamp, trying to turn it on, but it wasn't plugged in and he was alone... in the darkness... with a strange voice.
"Ow," the voice said again. "Geezus, what did I trip over?"
The overhead light suddenly flicked on, and the tailor blinked his eyes against it until he could see. And standing in his bedroom was a shortish, bearded man who was busy looking at the floor and the shoe box that he had tripped over.
"Oh!" the man said. "Great, you got the shoes."
And then the man looked up, and the tailor's heart leaped in his chest. The man was obviously magical, because he was somehow bright and dark and sharp and beautiful all at once, and he nearly took the tailor's breath away.
"You got the shoes, but you didn't leave me anything to do, man. And I'm bored. B-O-R-E-D, bored. Ya know?"
The tailor could only stare at him.
"Oh, hey," the man said. "Nice sheets. Can I?" And before the tailor could say anything, the strange man hopped onto the bed beside him and rolled around a bit. "Oh... seriously nice sheets," he crooned.
The man's voice sent heat shimmering down the tailor's spine.
"Are you... the Manolo?" the tailor finally managed to ask.
"Oh, no," the man said. "Just a guy who reads a lot of fashion blogs, ya know? Mmm, yeah, I really like this bed."
"Um..." the tailor said.
"Mmm," the man said. "Do you mind if I stay here?"
"Uh..." the tailor said.
"Though if I'm staying, you're going to have to make some changes around here. Like, seriously, would it kill you to lock your doors? Anyone can just walk right in."
"Oh," the tailor said. "My doors aren't locked?"
"How did you think I was getting in?"
"Magic?"
The man laughed.
"Yeah, right." He made little finger quotes. "Magic."
"Well... luck, then," the tailor said and reached out to touch the soft spikes of the strange man's hair.
"Lucky you weren't killed," the man said.
"No, lucky because the only people who have walked right in have been beautiful men... and you're by far the best of them all."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," the tailor said and ran a finger over one of the man's slightly-pointed ears. "Can you maybe stay... and teach me how to sew as well as you do?"
"Well," the man said. "I've been thinking about getting out of the fashion business. Maybe starting a band or something with some of my friends, but I guess I could stay a little while and teach you a thing or two."
He winked at the tailor and rolled enticingly close to him. Then he winked again and the overhead light flicked off.
"Hey!" the tailor exclaimed. "You are magic, aren't you?"
"Baby, you ain't seen nothing yet!"
And from that day forward, the tailor and the strange man spent their lives dancing and singing and wearing fabulous clothes together, and they were surrounded by beautiful men each and every day, because the tailor's three favorite customers just happened to be the three very best friends of the tailor's very own beautiful, magical man.
The end.
(This little fic was inspired by a comment from phaballa and my own long-held wish for a Project Runway AU.)