It was early evening at the Diamond Pony, a little before the first clients normally arrived. Sure, Chéri wasn’t entirely sure that that was actually “normally” and not a mere coincidence relevant to the very few nights they had spent there, but they had to start somewhere. Also, maybe they could get the very first one, reach an agreement in no time and be in bed before any actual debauchery could take place. They needed to work and make money, but they figured they were allowed to cut corners everywhere they could, as long at those two main goals were reached. So they were now sitting in the biggest room of the diamond pony, in the center of a large sofa, arms leisurely placed on the back, legs crossed. Chéri was wearing a pastel blue three-piece suit with a lavender vest and a slightly darker blue cravat. It was a day suit, but so refined and so perfectly cut that it looked more elegant than most evening attire they had seen so far in Whitby.
That was the second reason why they were wearing that.

The first one was that they had only another suit, an orange one, that was equally unsuited for the place. Sure, they could ask the house to lend them *some* items of clothing, but they weren’t going to look like a pretty little thing someone might be interested in buying, they thought. And they needed the money.

So there they were, inappropriately dressed, patiently waiting for the customers to arrive.