Alice had quickly wandered off, and there was the sound of a shower running. Then the sound off a soft jazz filled the apartment as a radio booted on somewhere in the chaos to the left and opposite of where Alice had gone. The volume increasing till it settled on a nice middle ground. Apparently the tailor had a remote for the device. A top hat and several drapes of fabric was across the stereo, partly obscuring it and the faint blue glow of it's controls. The tanned couch was well made, and maintained. Sinking in just enough to be comfortable. Pins were embedded in one arm of the seating. Thankfully it wasn't leather.

The letter, as Sasha would examine it was written on fine paper and oddly enough in this day and age... Hand written. The creases where perfectly placed and the penmanship was the highest of etiquette standards. The contents however were at odds with the prim and proper of the letter.	

"[i]Dear Alice,

While I am glad you at least took the time to show your face at Aristotle's graduation, your choice of attire remains questionable. You know very well, I aspire for perfection in this family. Something you could attain if you would let go of these childish ideal of yours.
 Of course you will never attain the abilities of your brother, you've wasted far more time than is reasonable in this little 'tailor' business. It is a waste of time and money that could better increase our influence. Set aside this foolishness and take up a proper job in the line of fashion.

Your mother could very well set you up with a meeting with several eligible men in your preferred field. However they have respective businesses and could better help you turn your little hobby into a proper line if you would just put in the work and hand the management and labor to another. But this is getting off the point of why I'm not calling you- again. If you do not answer the phone how can you hope to run your business? 

You're causing problems for this family with your hobby and eccentrics. Continue to do so and I will cut you off entirely and buy out your little business and that hovel you insist on living in. Do not test me, Alice. You laze about in a hovel, with street toughs and cons for friends, you work a failing business, and worse off you merely ruin your brother's chances at a better future. What will people say when they see he is related to a grown woman who plays with dolls in a constant refusal to move on with her life? It's a disgrace. Your mother is already facing uncomfortable questions about 'that daughter she had' and I have been as well about your foolish notion of clothing. Get yourself in order, and return back to our estate for a proper life. I will not deal with your foolish notion of a 'living', you had better opportunities yet you waste them for frivolous diversions."

Sincerely,
Alistair Lynch The Senior [/i]"

A small note at the bottom written in a quick print, obviously added after the rest. Unlike the earlier words this was choppy, quickly thought and written.

"[i]Sis, Several clients that work with Da's business dressed in your fashion one day and sang you praises. Stupid, you need to know who not to sell to. Give up before he really does buy you out. Oh, it would be fun to watch that drama. -Ari[/i]"

Alice, after a good ten minutes slipped from her more private rooms. Changed into a layered gypsy skirt, the matching blouse boasting a fair amount off needle work on the hems of the wide billowy sleeves. Giving a tiresome yawn, there was a crack as the fridge was opened. Then a surprised 'aha!'. "I've been looking for that!" Picking up the phone, looking like it was from the nineties, and set it on the counter covering up the letters. Poking her head back into the fridge there was another crack as she slipped from the fridge with a piece of cold pizza and a sticky note. If one could see the sticky note it would read "Pizza for when you finally finish that dead line. Eat before you pass out. -Sylvia" Along with a date the day prior the present. Alice sighed and reminded herself to thank her friend. It wouldn't be the first  time they had brought her food while she was on a deadline, or dragged her out of house or shop to be revitalized from the crush of work. Munching on the cold pizza, an oddity she didn't mind at the minute.