Akiko
He had frequent competition for the best window spots now, but he didn't mind sharing at all. Miss Calhoun's presence was a most welcome one. It was good to have someone in the house who wasn't a Barca. ~~Not yet anyways.~~ And Valerian could use all the support he could get. Freddie swung by nearly every day to spend time with Florian, but only in the evenings, which left the days themselves empty of distractions in the form of people. Hazel had started to be around more and more. Each time she'd have some kind of work with her, her hands kept ever-busy. It was something he was very familiar with as well, he couldn't keep still, he needed to always be doing _something._ The two sat in the living room, both working on their own projects. Florian enjoyed the quiet company, as well as the conversations that did pop up from time to time. 

The current project he was working on was a pencil sketch, but he just couldn't get the proportions quite right. He'd wiped away parts a few times already, a sign that it was time to move on to something else. He sighed, he knew when it was time to take a break from working. If he continued now he would just end up making it worse, creating unfixable mistakes in his work. He turned to look at Hazel, who was embroidering something. How she had the patience to do work so small, precise, and above all **Slow**, he'd never understand. He was continuously impressed by it. He'd been wanting to ask her something. Now was as good a time as any. Valerian had fallen asleep about a quarter of an hour ago, meaning he wouldn't need to be asked to stop getting up and trying to do things that would slow his recovery, at least for a little bit. Florian knew better by now, everyone in the estate did. At one point they'd inevitably have to gently remind him (again) of the meaning of 'taking things slow'. 
_ _

He understood it though, he'd wanted nothing more than to get up out of bed when he'd been recovering. Not that he could, paralysis of the lower body makes that quite hard, but the drive to get moving again had been very present. He didn't blame Valerian for being impatient. Florian placed his pencil and the sketchbook in the pouch hanging from one of his armrests and wheeled over to Hazel.

"I hope I'm not interruptin' something mighty important here Hazel, do tell me if I am." He smiled. "I had a question I've been meanin' to ask you. You see, I was wonderin' if you might be able to help tailor some pants that would properly fit me? Of course I'd pay you for your work." He wouldn't dare ask her to work for free. "Currently I, uh, struggle even gettin' them on on my own." It was something he felt shame for, the fact that he shared that with Hazel was a sign that he trusted her.
Bonnie
There was comfort in repetition, in the ritualistic nature of piercing fabric and pulling through the needle, leaving a train of thread in its wake. To call her work something of a *Coping mechanism* Might have been an understatement in that this art form seemed to be an intrinsic part of Hazel's personality. In the face of her greatest tribulations, and even simply in moments clouded by emotional torment, there was always the needle and thread, always a pattern to be followed. A mathematical sort of beauty guaranteed the outcome of a given project before she even began, to say nothing of the way her projects seemed to take on lives of their own.

It was no surprise, then, that Hazel had wound up here at the bay window. A large wooden frame was spread across her lap, holding taut a panel of fabric. At her side in her chair lay her opened tin of sewing supplies. It appeared at first glance that the panel had been haphazardly divided into quadrants. Hazel never did anything haphazardly when it counted; to a familiar but uneducated face, it could be assumed that she was, effectively, 'doodling'. 

The sound of Florian's voice was a welcome reminder that she was not in an isolated chamber. When too absorbed into the flow of her work, Hazel sometimes felt as though she were sitting cross-legged at the bottom of a pond while she stitched. The lurch back into the world of the living prompted her to shake her head, just once, and she looked up with a genuine smile, if a weary one.

"Not botherin' me a whit, Flor," She answered, setting her panel down onto the carpet. "I'm just tryin' out a few designs before I pick one to put on a dress." It appeared that the Hazel who existed on the grounds of the Barca estate was a decidedly softer Hazel than the one who'd been fending for herself up in her little shop. When she wasn't so worried about her physical needs, she was a genuinely pleasant person. Even Hazel had grown surprised at her own capacity for socialization. 
_ _

As Florian spoke, she could feel her face fall a little. She was nodding in silence before he even finished speaking. If generosity weren't enough of a motivator – and in all honesty, she wasn't sure she trusted her personal growth enough for that – then surely the presentation of a challenge was more than enough to whet her appetite. Admittedly, she was surprised that he'd shared this with her at all. Florian was more than polite, and always warm, but he had not yet extended this kind of trust to her. Her stomach fluttered at the idea that he could view her as being worthy of that closeness, and before she knew it her heart was reaching out to meet him in the middle. 

"Oh, shoot," She said, initially a little guilty that she'd never considered this issue but all the more motivated to be the one to remedy it. "Oh, of course I can do that! Well, I can try! Gonna have to do some experimentin', but the answer's yes. We can get you right. You let me know when you want me to take your measurements. Reckon we have about forty-five minutes 'fore we have to rustle up some lunch for you-know-who." 

She referenced Valerian with such fondness that it was almost embarrassing. Hazel, never before seen in such a state, looked happily across at Florian from her own chair. Generosity was easier, it seemed, when one had less to be bitter about.
Akiko
The artist was very familiar with the kind of flow-state Hazel had seemingly been in. Getting so absorbed into one's work that the outside world all but vanishes from your perception, it was something he did too. There had been quite a few times where the waving hand of Olivia, placed between his face and the canvas, had been required to pull him out of his focus. It was followed by his sister telling him that she'd been trying to talk to him, and he'd been ignoring her. At this point she knew he didn't do it on purpose, but continued to jokingly insist that he did.

The shame he'd felt for the question melted like snow upon hearing Hazel's answer. Seeing her face fall had made him think ever so briefly that it had been a mistake, but the words quickly removed that doubt. "I am all for experimentin'. I'll be the first to admit I don't have much knowledge on garment construction, but I had some ideas if you'd want to hear?" One being the removal of pockets on the backside, he couldn't use those anyway, why have them there? 

The act of getting his measurements taken was fairly new to him. He had no need for custom suits, he had no place to wear them. Sure, Florian owned nicer clothing, reserved for celebratory events and church on the occasion that he went, which had been a while, but outside that his clothing was seemingly unassuming. It remained well made and of high quality, but nothing you'd describe as fancy. A hidden part of him didn't think he deserved clothes that could be described that way. Tailored suits were for men who stood straight-backed and demanded attention just by entering a room, and that wasn't him. Tailored suits were for men with actual jobs, who provided for their families, not artists who barely made sales. But pants? Pants he could justify. Maybe one day he could justify owning a suit too. Maybe one day he'd be able to afford it.
_ _

He smiled when Hazel mentioned his brother, avoiding his name, as if the mere act of speaking it would rouse him from his slumber. "Oh, yes, sure, I uh, well I'm free now if you are?" He didn't want to fully interrupt her work unless she agreed to it. Florian could wait if Hazel couldn't. "If you have what you need, that is."
Charles
"Oh, I'll wanna hear all your ideas," Replied Hazel, yanking out her notepad and an old, well-worn pencil she was too stubborn to replace. As genuine and kind as her intentions were, the tone with which she spoke was reminiscent of the one a surgeon might use when speaking to a diagnostic team. 

"I'm not the one with any expertise sittin' in that thing all day. Clothes are the way they are 'cause people *Live* In 'em, so it's important that you can *Live* In your clothes. S'why I don't really wear tight sleeves. I'm always movin' my arms, so I make my shirts with more room. Things like that only come from experience, so if I'm gonna make you some damned good trousers, I'm gonna need to hear about your experience." As she finished speaking, she was writing *Florian's Cut* At the top of the page and underlining it. 

"And..." Hazel paused, huffing out a little sigh. "Thanks for comin' to me about it. Everybody ought to have somethin' custom made at least once, I think. And all you Barcas ought to have somethin' of mine." (One thing to start with, anyway.) "Val has his cardigan, and Olivia has that blue blouse – actually, Val bought that from my shop the first day I met him." 

She was still so surprised at her newfound capacity for such open tenderness – vulnerability? – and Hazel looked a little embarrassed as she rummaged around in her bag, then after a moment, pulled out her brand new measuring tape – so painfully obviously a gift from their aforementioned mutual loved one.

"I always have what I need," She answered, grinning at him. "Can't help myself, unfortunately. You wanna do it now, or should we wait 'til later on?"
||
Akiko
Images of a reporter were conjured to his mind when Hazel whipped out a notepad and very beaten-up looking pencil. He smiled, he recognized the need for moving one's arms freely. "I do the same, in a way. Sleeves get in the way when pushin' my wheels, so I always wear them rolled up. Doin' so helps with not gettin' charcoal or paint on them too." He'd never thought about clothing in the way Hazel described, but now he could see just how right she was. He had always looked at them as purely functional, as a necessity, but they truly were a part of one's life.

"Liv loves that blouse, I didn't know you made that." It didn't surprise him that it was one of Hazel's, nor did it surprise him when Hazel pulled out a brand new measuring tape. He smiled, having a sneaking suspicion as to its origin. Valerian's wealth was a hard-earned one, the fruits of which he seemed to enjoy sharing with those closest to him in the form of gifts. Florian remembered the furs his brother had gotten Hazel earlier, luxurious-looking things they had been. He remembered the paints he'd received, he knew those had to have been expensive as well. They were some of his favorite paints. "Thank you for wantin' to help me with this, Hazel. I'm very glad it's you and not some stranger." He wouldn't trust someone he didn't know with the current request. He wondered where Hazel had learned such skills, he'd ask her later.
_ _

"Nothin' unfortunate about bein' prepared for emergency garment production." He said jokingly. "Let's do it now." He had created a mental list of things he'd noticed in his pants that didn't work well for him. "The main thing I've noticed is that the fabric in the front gets all bunched up, goes up too high, and then it doesn't reach high enough in the back. I don't know if this is even possible but maybe havin' it be lower in the front but higher in the back could counter that?" He didn't know how patterning worked, but he imagined if you made pants with a sloping angle that would fix that problem. His second issue concerned the act of getting into his clothes, he knew it was never going to be as easy as it used to be before paralysis, but there ought to be ways to make it better than it was now. "Maybe they could have somewhat wider pant legs?" He often found himself struggling to push his legs through the more narrow-fitting garments. "To make it easier to get them on."