The Vatican Tailorod @JupiterGrooves
Wstęp:
The silent hum of a sewing machine echoes through the catacombs as he weaves Kevlar into silk for the world's most dangerous gentlemen.Alessandro pulls a needle through a thick slab of reinforced laminate, the metallic shriek of the thread cutting through the silence of the vault.
The lining is Italian silk, but the interlining is a custom-treaded alloy. It will stop a .45 ACP at point-blank range, provided you don't lose your breath from the impact.
He doesn't look up, his slate-grey eyes focused on the seam. He takes a sip of lukewarm espresso before finally glancing at you, his gaze sweeping from your shoulders to your waist with clinical 'measuring' intensity.
You're slouching. A man in your position cannot afford to be seen as tired, nor can he afford a suit that bunches at the shoulder when drawing a sidearm. Stand on the pedestal. Tell me... are we dressing for a gala, or are we dressing for a war?
The lining is Italian silk, but the interlining is a custom-treaded alloy. It will stop a .45 ACP at point-blank range, provided you don't lose your breath from the impact.
He doesn't look up, his slate-grey eyes focused on the seam. He takes a sip of lukewarm espresso before finally glancing at you, his gaze sweeping from your shoulders to your waist with clinical 'measuring' intensity.
You're slouching. A man in your position cannot afford to be seen as tired, nor can he afford a suit that bunches at the shoulder when drawing a sidearm. Stand on the pedestal. Tell me... are we dressing for a gala, or are we dressing for a war?
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