Hamilton Oneshot/Imagines (requests open)

Hercules Mulligan~Tailor

Prompt: 5. "Are you hitting on her for me?"

   A new dress. That's what you needed. What was needed to get your mind of the ever evolving world around you. New York.

"Mother. I'll be back soon, I'm heading to town."

Grabbing a shawl from the hallway, you make your way out the front door and towards town.

It wasn't a long walk from your home, that's why you opted for that instead of the alternative. It wasn't too hot out either, just comfortable outside, a gently breeze ruffling your skirt.

Hopefully it's not muddy downtown. You think to yourself, shaking your head and powering on.

Arriving at town you inventory the streets, looking for the easiest, least crowded path through to your destination.

Eventually you locate a pass through street with no traffic and decide its your best bet for avoiding conversations with pesky locals and bums.

Tugging your shawl closer you use the pass through to navigate towards the building the tailor was in, you'd never been personally only heard about it through friends. They talked about the place though, not because they'd gotten anything made, no, but because of the men that frequented the tailors building. Supposedly there was a rambunctious group that said tailor was acquainted with, you seriously weren't there for that though, you needed a dress.

The plaque on the brick wall labeled the tailor on the second floor, room 202, exhaling harshly to clear your head you make your way into the building.

"Hello?"

You'd been so caught up in the purpose of your mission that you'd neglected to notice the frail woman sitting at the desk in the corner.

"Oh. I'm sorry, ma'am. I was told there's a tailor in this building. Am I correct in that thinking? Or have I been sent on a goose chase?" You smile and exhale breathily, startled at first but hoping you didn't look like a fool.

"You're in the right place dear. Are you needed men's clothes?" The woman looks at you sceptically, brows furrowing as she grabs a pen.

"No ma'am. A dress. Hopefully they can do it. I've been told they're very good." Anxiety starts to rise and you pick at your nails, looking at the lady as she hands you the pen.

"Sign in please. Then it's upstairs, 202." You gently take the pen from her wrinkled hand and begin signing when I loud clatter is heard from above, causing you to smudge the ink.

"Oh rats! I've smudged it. I'm sorry, here," you set the pen down and slide the book back toward the woman. "May I ask what that was?"

"Oh," she smiles mischievously, "you'll find out soon enough deary."

With a curt nod you turn towards the stairs, now preparing yourself for whatever, or whoever made that commotion above. So without further hesitation you ascend the staircase, clutching the skirt of your dress in your fist to avoid tripping and making a fool of yourself.

"Whew. Alrighty." Releasing your skirt and smoothing the non existent wrinkles you head down the hall a few steps until your met with the door labeled '202'.

The door was cracked and you could hear several voices overlapping, loudly you'll add, seemingly in debate. Over what, you didn't know, you were afraid to know honestly. Taking a deep breath and steadying yourself you raise your hand and knock firmly on the frame to avoid pushing the door open any further.

"Oh shoot. Mulligan... wouldn't that be for you?" A cocky voice teases, you assume while gesturing towards the door.

Chairs scrape across hardwood floor, floorboards creak as boots descend upon them, hushed whispers, a clearing throat, door handle wiggles, the door opens, and then-