Nicholas
ℙ𝕚𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕤 𝔽. 𝕋𝕠𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕕/𝔼𝕝𝕖𝕦𝕤 ℍ. ℂ𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕟

Countless shops lined the bustling streets of Scipiones, competing with each other for business with eye-catching signs intended to lure you in. One shop, in particular, didn't seem to be using the same tactic as the others, as the sign almost blended into the shop itself. The sign was simple yet elegant, with gold lettering against a white background reading two words- apparel tailor. It was one of the fancier-looking shops, with expensive decor in the windows and a few extravagent garments hanging on a rack visible from the outside. 

Inside, an equally expensive-looking man stood at a mannequin, carefully placing pins on a beautifully made vest. He wore a purple vest with gold accents on top of a white tunic, and a handmade gold brooch rested on his vest. His straight hair was dark brown, almost black, and sat at shoulder-length, causing him to need to tuck it behind his ears when working. He had an intensely focused gaze as he worked, pinning fabric in place neatly. 

His store was quaint, but it wasn't awkward or cramped. He had enough money to move to a larger location, of course, but he didn't want to go through all the effort. He was perfectly content where he was, and his business was far from suffering. 

Much too focused on his work, he didn't notice the ding of the bell above his door as someone walked in. He continued pinning things in place, muttering to himself about measurements as he did so.
David
Mesut had been searching around for a good tailor around the streets of the Capitol for about a week, and he believed he'd finally found it, walking into the composed and elegant tailor shop. He preferred shopping at establishments with less overstimulating aesthetics, and when he walked in, he took a deep breath, suddenly aware of the contrast between himself and this shop. 

He felt sort of out of place, so dark among the marble and gold of the tailor. Mesut cringed as the bell of the door rang, regretting walking in just a little. He looked around, the darker suits and ensembles catching his eye, and he stalked over, his hooves clacking against the floor. The suits and such were incredibly well made, all with different themes and styles. Some seemed to be more detailed than others at first glance, and he quickly realized none of these suits would work well with his hooved lower half. 

Mesut, however, was not discouraged. Tieflings weren't common here, so it wasn't surprising. He decided to try and find the tailor of this shop, first checking the desk at the front. Nobody in sight. 

"Hey, anyone home?" He asked, sort of leaning over the desk to look into the back.
Nicholas
ℙ𝕚𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕤 𝔽. 𝕋𝕠𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕕/𝔼𝕝𝕖𝕦𝕤 ℍ. ℂ𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕟

Startled by the voice in the other room, Piaras's steady hand jerked for a moment, almost ripping the fabric of the vest he was working on. Despite this, he composed himself, pushing the pin into its cushion and straightening himself so he was no longer leaning over his work. He muttered to himself, upset that he hadn't heard the ding of the bell. He always greeted customers first.

"Just a moment!" He called, quickly tidying his appearance before wandering into the main room. He took a seat at his desk, motioning for the other to do the same. There were two chairs in front of the desk, sturdy and comfortable-looking. Piaras politely smiled before speaking again. "Hello, what are you looking for today?"

As he waited for an answer, he subtly observed the man in front of him. There weren't many tieflings in the area, so he wondered where he was from. He had managed to hide it earlier, but he was quite shocked when he first saw the other in his shop. He wasn't afraid or disturbed by any means, just a little surprised at the sight.
David
Mesut smiled back, slightly nervous, trying to mirror the tailors expression. "Sorry for just walking in, I wasn't sure if there was an appointment system in place. I'm looking to get fitted for a suit that would work with me and um. My appendages." He states, standing up and gesturing at his hooves and tail. Mesuts tail flicks, and he looks back up and smiles at the tailor. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't even gotten your name and I've already tried to put you to work! My bad. I'm Mesut." 

Mesut leans down holding out a friendly hand for the tailor to shake.