Afternoon of the twenty-ninth of the seventh month, 213.
Aloisius Treadwell shows up at the tailor shop of Channe Atrahasis and her apprentices this afternoon.
He is certainly quite the eyesore: an orange suit and floppy hat, the suit at least a couple of sizes too small for his rotund frame, with brown suspenders barely holding his trousers in place and a bright yellow shirt, again too snug, covering his body. The shirt is also hardly tucked in properly at the sides, revealing roly-poly pudginess and threatening to burst buttons. His usual brown, heavy boots clump along at his feet with his lumbering, cane-aided steps.
"Hullo!" he squeakily offers to the first person he sees, whether facing or turning away, who seems to possibly work at the store. "Madam Channe, mmph mmph, mentioned something about my coming this way, hmm hmm? I wish to see about proper measurements, hrm hrm, and either alterations to clothes or, if I must, mmph mmph, new clothes entirely!"