Lesley Toddington is in rare form today (leeleetodd) wrote in hallowed_times, @ 2012-11-22 18:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !solo, lesley toddington |
Who: Lesley Toddington, Herbert Twilfitt and Twilfitt's "High-End" Client
When: Backdated to Tuesday
Where: Twilfitt and Tattings, Diagon Alley
Summary: [SOLO] Mr. Twilfitt takes Lesley to a business meeting, where she unexpectedly saves the day
Rating: Low
"This is my portfolio for the MacMillian family," said Mr. Twilfitt.
Lesley's eyes lit up as she took a glance at the book in his hands. "Oh. Any relation to Ernie MacMillian? He's in my House."
"I'm not sure," said Twilfitt thoughtfully. "If they are, I don't think Ernie is their son. Perhaps their nephew."
Lesley nodded and took the portfolio from Twilfitt. As she paged through it, a small crease began to form on her forehead. The book was full of outrageous designs and costumes that she could only describe as "outfits intended for a burial of some sort". It felt awfully rude of her to even be having these thoughts, and she figured that perhaps the MacMillians had specifically requested these types of designs for a special (perhaps gloomy) event. She kept quiet and took a seat beside Twilfitt at his oval table in the meeting room behind the shop. Henry was tending to the shop, while Twilfitt and Lesley attended the MacMillians in the meeting.
When they arrived, Lesley and Twilfitt stood and greeted them politely. It was a man and a woman, whom Lesley had never met before, and they were clearly not Ernie's parents. Yet, Lesley still had to ask. "It's so nice to meet you both. By chance, are you related to Ernie?"
The woman smiled and nodded gently. "Yes, Ernie is our nephew. How do you know him?"
"Ernie is in my House!" Lesley announced proudly and perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "He's a year older than me, but I know him well. It's so lovely to meet some other members of his family."
The MacMillians settled into their chairs at the oval table, and Twilfitt began his presentation of the designs in his portfolio. Though Lesley was listening to Twilfitt's elaborate and enthusiastic talk, she was more interested in the MacMillian's reaction to his designs. She paid attention to their facial expressions every time Twilfitt produced a new design. When he turned the page to a particularly horrid outfit, Mrs. MacMillian looked almost physically ill. And by the end, she kept looking over at her husband who seemed equally as distraught as she was.
When Twilfitt asked them what they thought, Mrs. MacMillian said, "Oh Herbert, I'm really not quite sure if this is what we were looking for."
Mr. Twilfitt's face seemed to fall. He had been so excited the entire day, preparing and waiting and even pacing a bit that it didn't seem fair that he was on the verge of losing one of his best clients here. Lesley wasn't sure what she could do to help, but she had an idea.
"Mr. and Mrs. MacMillian," said Lesley, "if I may be so bold, could I please ask you what these designs were intended for?"
"We were looking to reinvent our clothing style," Mr. MacMillian said. "We are getting on in years, and we feel as if our style needs to be a tad more mature. These designs seem almost..." He didn't finish his sentence, but Lesley could come up with several words for what these designs seemed like. They seemed like Twilfitt was getting Mr. and Mrs. MacMillian ready for the grave.
Lesley stood from her chair and walked around the table to where the MacMillians were seated. She leaned over the portfolio and paged over it for a moment, stopping at the most horrid one that Mrs. MacMillian hated. She could feel Twilfitt's wheezing breath even from where she stood. He was likely on the verge of a heart attack. Lesley had to do something and quickly.
"Well, I think we might be able to spruce up these designs," said Lesley. She pointed to the design on the page. "You see this?" And Mrs. MacMillian audibly moaned. "Imagine this same cut, just a bit lower on the bust and with a little more color. I'm not saying flashy colors, but serious and sophisticated colors. No offense but just because you're getting on in years doesn't mean you have to do away with all the colors in the spectrum."
Mrs. MacMillian actually chuckled, and Lesley could see a smile on Mr. MacMillian's face. "What you need is a more conservative style, but not one that under-emphasizes your vitality." She turned the page again. "For instance, this is a completely workable outfit, Mrs. MacMillian. If we cut off the sleeves and make it into a nice vest that you could wear over something like..." She turned a few pages back and pointed it a nice blouse. "Like this! It'd be a great hit at the office, wouldn't it?"
Mrs. MacMillian nodded quickly. "Why, yes. I think it would."
Lesley smiled. "You see, Mr. Twilfitt was just giving a basis for a conservative style that you could easily mold into something modern and sleek. With a bit of a color modification and some tweaking of a few of the items, these designs will not only give you the maturity in style you're seeking, but they will also keep you at the top of the fashion food chain. No one out there is wearing these yet, because they're waiting for innovative trend-setters such as yourselves to bring them out into the market."
The MacMillians looked at each other with a different attitude in their eyes. They looked at Mr. Twilfitt and agreed to accept the designs. They wanted him to start producing them immediately and exactly as Lesley had said. Lesley thought that Mr. Twilfitt was going to pass out, but she was glad that he was smiling broadly and still standing by the time the MacMillians left the meeting. He turned and looked at Lesley. Then, he went over and gave her huge bear hug.
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU!"
Lesley giggled and patted him on the back. "It was nothing, Mr. Twilfitt. I was happy to help."
The man was positively beaming. "That was absolutely brilliant. I think I'm going to treat you to lunch!" And before Lesley could protest, Mr. Twilfitt had fled the meeting room and could be heard shouting throughout the store, "Amelia! Amelia, cancel all my afternoon appointments! Amelia! Oh Henry... yes, you can come to lunch as well if you'd like, my boy.... AMELIA!!! Where on earth is Amelia?"