Jessica
It was not at all like Hazel to be forgetful. 

A child who was trained to maintain a strict schedule often grew into an adult who could not allow themselves to divert from that rigidity. Hazel was one such adult, and on the rare occasion that she forgot anything at all, it felt to her like an ego-shattering mistake. She was kicking herself for a mistake like this today, and as a result, Hazel was a little more off-kilter than usual. 

She was dealing with a lot more at once than she'd ever had to deal with, and felt very much as though she was on the precipice of learning about a whole new world of truths. On top of her daunting personal growth was the larger situation at hand, the full moon, the influx of newcomers to town, the pressing fear of a major deadline coinciding with a potentially destructive event. She hadn't meant to, but Hazel had gotten used to the slowness of her life in Briar Ridge. Only recently had she found herself truly busy again. It would've felt good, if there weren't so much else going on outside of her control.

How she had managed to forget to check that she had all the fabric she needed was beyond her, but Hazel had had to shell out a pretty penny once she'd realized she needed more gabardine delivered for the suit she was working on. The woolen fabric was perfect – so perfect, as it happened, that she forgot she'd used it to make a host of mittens last year, which had sold like hotcakes for their cheapness and brought her a hefty profit, just as planned. When she pulled it out, she was dismayed to find a good two-thirds of it gone, and she ended up having to pay for a telegram, of all things, then waited even longer to start her order.

It was this newly-added time crunch which had so discombobulated Hazel as to have her walk-skipping down Main Street in an attempt to get back to her workshop faster. She was doing her best to avoid anyone whose path she might've crossed, but her success came to an abrupt end when she rounded a corner a little too quickly and immediately found herself knocking harshly into someone, then feeling her own bottom hit the dusty ground. *No!* 

She'd managed to get dirt on her fresh fabric, stain her day dress, *And* Rip a small but unsightly hole in the skirt of the woman into whom she'd so carelessly bumped. Damn the little heels on these shoes. Carina had no business wearing them around. Hazel would have to clean them again before returning them so as not to tip off her friend.

"I'm so sorry," She babbled, entirely unlike herself and very taken aback. "Oh, I'm so sorry about your skirt, miss. I'm so sorry. I'm a tailor, I can fix it." All the while as she talked, there was obvious awe on her face. She'd never seen this woman before, and she'd certainly never seen anyone who looked quite like her. It was like studying a piece of fine art for the first time. Intrigued and equally embarrassed, Hazel picked herself up and did her best to dust herself off. 

"I... My shop's just at the other end of this street," She continued, breathless. "If you want to stop by, I'll gladly stitch it up, free o'charge."
Regina
Damn these skirts. Damn them all to hell. While she was at it, damn that colt who tore her best pair of britches, and her last clean set apparently. 

Little prick tore the back pocket clean off trying to get that sugar cube she had forgotten was in there. She rolled her eyes even at the thought of what had happened only mere hours ago. She huffed as she tugged at the length of deep red fabric that threatened to trip her up as she turned the corner, cussing under her breath. Her ink covered fingers tugged hard at the skirt as she attempted to dislodge herself from a stray nail on the decking. 

As she gave it one final good yank, she came to a sudden halt as another feminine frame came crashing into her own. Perfect, what a wonderful way to top off the day.

Kinsley's icy blue eyes studied the small woman as she sat on the dirt path, stuttering over words of apology, despite Kins not being the least bit upset about the new tear now adorning her skirts.

Her head tilted slightly like a beast studying its newly discovered prey. A tilted, crooked grin met her full lips as she offered the woman a hand up, shaking her head. 

"Don't fret, I hate these blasted things anyways." She said as she narrowed her gaze back to the fabric with a glare. "Always found myself more comfortable in a stout set of cotton britches anyhow. Though, if you're the tailor, I suppose I may have just been looking for you anyhow." She said as she held up her own britches that were in dire need of mending. 

"Think you could mend these up for me in the mean time?" She said as she held them up. "I'm happy to pay, and possibly discuss some other business as well."

||
Jessica
Oh, wow. Hazel was peering up at a woman she could only think to describe as striking. She couldn't have been more than an inch or so taller than Hazel, but the woman's energy made her seem closer to six feet than five. Inky tattoos blanketed whatever visible skin Hazel could see – where did she get all of those? – and long, dark eyelashes framed a pair of icy blue eyes. 

The woman's reaction was equally unexpected, but Hazel was grateful nonetheless. After a moment's hesitation she accepted her new acquaintance's hand and hoisted herself up onto her boots. She recognized the way the woman's head tilted when she scanned her. Hazel might have done the same to a new servant on the estate, a decade ago. She knew she was being given the once-over, and immediately she respected the woman for so boldly analyzing her. It was obvious that the woman cared little for decorum in favor of doing what she liked, and Hazel's eyes shone with awe. What must it be like, she wondered, to be so free in her body? Envy pricked at the tips of her toes.

It seemed rather serendipitous to find that the woman's intent seemed to be to find a shop like Hazel's after all. A smile appeared on the tailor's face as she recognized the outline of an opportunity, silvery and silhouetted in an ink-stained stranger.

"Oh, I'd be happy to help," She chirped in her best and most agreeable tone of voice. "And while we're at it, I'd be happy to alter some men's trousers to fit you." The only other woman she'd seen in town wearing trousers was the librarian. Given the way with which most women in town seemed to be bucking up to fight a *Second* Monthly threat, perhaps Kinsley might inadvertently become a model for Hazel's new designs. An opportunity to make some fresh coin, yet.
_ _

That, and she found herself wanting to know more about this woman. How she'd come to be in Briar Ridge and escape Hazel's notice for this long was something about which the tailor was already coming to kick herself. What could she learn from this woman? What would she be willing to teach her?

"I'm Hazel, by the way," She added, realizing she'd yet to introduce herself. "I don't reckon I've seen you around before. I would've noticed your trousers." Hazel stopped to dust the loose earth and pebbles from the folds of her skirts and took up a pace alongside the woman so that they could walk together.
Regina
"Kinsley," She introduced herself with a crooked grin. "I'd love to see your work. As long as the stitches hold through rough riding, I'll be a happy customer." She said as she gathered the rag tag ends of her skirts and joined in the walk next to her. 

"My trousers?" She said with a questioning phrase yet she already knew a few of the answers that could come. This day and age, a woman in trousers was as unique as the fact she had inked skin. She was. . . Unique, in a very nice phrase.

"I've noticed not many women here in Briar Ridge wear the mens folks style. I never could fall in line and hassle with the dresses and skirts and frill." She spoke as she turned her head to look at Hazel with admiring eyes. "Though I do find myself envious of women who look as dashing as you while also being able to function." She offers a smile as she turned her head again to pick her way through a bit of a washout in the street. 

"I'm not from here, really. Though I'm not a far off stranger neither." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "A bit of a wanderer, if you will. I just set up a homestead a way out of town and trying to get my footing here." She said as she began to think. Should a friendship between Hazel and her strike up naturally, she wondered what she could learn from the small woman with mousy brown hair and beautiful round, hazel eyes.
Jessica
Hazel preened a little at the praise, but maintained composure. She was focusing instead on the comment on style in Briar Ridge. It was true — their town was quirky, to say the least. 

"On the one hand, we're such a small town, things don't move as fast. On the other, I think you'll find that most women around here aren't so traditional, even if we look it," She chuckled dryly, echoing Jade's statement from a few days prior. 

As they continued their walk, Kinsley expressed her envy towards women who could don trousers with style and functionality. Hazel chuckled softly, a hint of playfulness in her voice. 

"It sure did take some time for me to find the right balance 'tween fashion and practicality. But I believe there's no reason why women can't look dashing while still being able to move freely." Hazel offered a cheeky smile, small and ephemeral but personal enough that it might as well have been a reference to an inside joke between the two of them. Talking to women had always been easier than talking to men.

Listening to Kinsley's story of being a wanderer, Hazel found herself intrigued. She had always been fascinated by tales of people exploring the world and finding their place in it. Her own journey had brought her here, too, but that hadn't been wandering so much as fleeing. 

"A homestead," She echoed, nodding along. "That's real impressive." She dreamed of owning her own home someday. This woman's will must have been made of steel, for her to have accomplished so much without a single gray hair on her head. That grit – that drive, that survival instinct – that was something she recognized, something she could respect. The world was rarely so kind to women as to men; those who persevered never did so without a little roughness to them. Hazel looked at Kinsley with curiosity in her eyes. *I'm sure there's much we could learn from each other,* She thought, tilting her head. 
_ _

"Me, I just live above my shop," She continued. "The shop already existed, so I took both units. Don't know what happened to the first guy, but I'm here now." As they approached the street where Hazel's shop was located, she guided Kinsley to follow her around the last corner. In the display windows hung a few pairs of work trousers, paired with coordinating jackets – though most didn't match completely and were leftovers from previous sales. 

"What'll it take for me to persuade you to try on a pair of trousers?" Asked Hazel, deftly unlocking the door of the shop and holding it open for Kinsley. "They're mens, 'course, but I just wanna pin them on you so I can make somethin' fresh. On the house, for your trouble," She added, smiling.