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Klaus Schmidt felt a sense of satisfaction from the soles of his patent leather shoes to the tips of his handlebar mustache. While he did not have the best company in Stark's office; a silent, angry Butler; he, personally, would have a hand in the downfall of the KKK. Those bastards, slinking into this city, polluting it with their disgusting ideas. Nothing would please him more than to shred them from the inside out.
With a soft sigh, he swung his briefcase against his leg, letting the impact distract him momentarily. Jarvis gave him a look, but turned his head back towards the office door. According to said man, Cage and Daredevil would be bringing the Mole for him to outfit. To speak of the devil, Stark opened the door, and Schmidt caught his first look at who he would be measuring today.
His briefcase hit the floor with a thud, along with his measuring tape. A Cursed. Schmidt can't help the noise he lets out. The faint scent of rain hit his nose, and long-forgotten prey instincts warned him to run, run like hell.
“Relax, Schmidt,” Stark bared his teeth in a rich man's smirk. “He’s alright, he won’t bite. He doesn’t have the teeth for it.”
Jarvis straightened up from his lean against the wall. "Blazes, Tony, why are you bringing that here?” Schmidt sees his muscles tense and flex.
“Because he, my good friend, is our Mole. And a good one, I’d assume, given the amount of time he’s been able to keep both off the grid and away from the Hunters. He’s the Spider. I’m sure you’ve both heard of him, right? The one that’s been going around saving people and not eating them whole?” Stark was still grinning, and using his showman's charm to present the Cursed, dressed head to toe in black, with a black mask and goggles.
The name hit Schmidt and he can feel his fear easing. Edith had been saved by the Spider only a bit ago. She'd been at shul, and came home shaking. No danger then, and he grabbed his tape measure.
"Ah, yes. Yes, I am aware of the Spider." Schmidt turned to said person, making sure that his posture was as open and friendly as he could make it. No need to spook him. "You saved my sister recently. She told me about you but… forgive me, I was not able to stop my initial reaction upon the sight of you… You…you are Cursed.” He swallowed.
The Spider twitched and Schmidt held back a flinch. "I am. How is your sister?"
“Fine, very good. She…well, she told me about you, but I’m afraid, I…forgot her description of you initially." Time to change the subject, and get this started. "Are you the one that we will be fitting today?”
The Spider gave a tiny, jerky nod and a quiet yes in his rough voice.
Schmidt pursed his lips, and gave his own nod in reply. "Very good, we’ll see you’re adequately dressed, it’ll be worth it to see those Schweinhunde running back to where they came, and back under their rocks." The venom that tinges his words sees a tiny drop in the Spider' shoulders, and Cage and Daredevil look at each other. A nasty smile, full of anger and grim determination spread across his face at that. "I'm a recent immigrant from Germany, my family is Jewish."
Cage lets out a quiet "Ah, shit…." And Daredevil winces.
"Sorry for the insinuation."
His fingers clenched around the measuring tape that still held in his hand. "Quite alright." Schmidt's voice was as tight as his grip, which he forcibly relaxed. “Now, if that is taken care of, please, remove your overcoat and come here. We will get you fitted properly.”
Watching the Spider shrug off his coat was awkward for everyone involved. In the back of his mind he knew that being Cursed would have affected him, but well… The pants were far too long, and most everything was worn in a way that speaks of age and use. Schmidt speaks the language of clothes, and he does not like what he hears. With a flick of his tape measure, practiced movements, he watched him walk over.
"And... the vest and shoes."
This only exacerbated the issues, showing how baggy the shirt hangs around his midsection, and the loose fabric around his ankles. Schmidt remembers something from his childhood, with his younger cousin wearing their fathers' clothing, and how small he had looked. The Spider reminded him of that in a way that feels like needles jabbing at him.
"Arms up, bitte." When he followed as asked, Schmidt wrapped the measuring tape around a slim chest. He bit his tongue and called out a number that was far too low. Jarvis grumbled something out, and Schmidt turned, piercing him with a look. "Write them down."
A thought crossed his mind and he wonders. "Arms down, please, and don't be so tense." The measuring tape tightened, and tightened further, and further. Schmidt cursed under his breath.
"Death's head on a mop stick."
Schmidt can't help but agree with Jarvis, at least in one respect. A mop stick had more meat on it than the Spider. But the Spider doesn't agree, and he felt tension grip the frame under his expert hands. He's had years of experience as a tailor, and recognized it as anger.
Jarvis continues though, and Schmidt almost wants to smack him. "What’s the story, morning glory? You can’t satiate yourself with human flesh and thus you can’t eat?”
“It’s the Great Depression, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed given where you live, but the vast majority of people don’t exactly have much to make ends meet.” Kreuzschlüssel sounded calm, but only sounds. There's a vibration in his muscles, a quake, and Schmidt would have growled if he didn't think it would have set him off more.
A frown crossed Stark's face. “True enough, don’t be like that Jarvis, he’s our Mole and we ought to do our best to make him comfortable. That said, there’s no help for it now, I don’t think." He turned to Schmidt. "Can extra padding be used?”
He would prefer to not use padding, but, "I can introduce it, yes, should it be truly needed." Schmidt took a breath, and let the Spider take his own, before moving up to the neck. The Spider froze, still enough that he might've turned to ice, if not for the pulse, like a rabbit. He pulled away the tape, which was just as skinny as the rest of him. “It would likely be needed. The shoulders hide the ill health quite well."
With a familiar efficiency, he collected more of the necessary measurements. No need to bring up anything in front of the others, or put him on the spot. Schmidt moved to the legs, and the flinch told him all he needed to know.
"Arme kreuzschlüssel." He said, calling out the number. "Last measurement,” Schmidt straightened up a hair, choreographing his movements. “The U, between the legs.”
Another flinch and moment of ice had Schmidt backing off as soon as he could. Something, or someone had hurt the Spider, and he was not going to step on old wounds. When the momentary panic, though he would never call it that anywhere but his head, passed, he took his last three measurements. As he held one of those skinny arms in his hand, he pushed down the thought of how fragile, how easily breakable those wrists looked.
With a snap of his tape measure and packing up of his supplies he spoke. "All done. I will have an acceptable wardrobe created shortly. It will be padded slightly in certain areas like the waist, but otherwise he is in decent enough shape." A stretch of the truth. Schmidt had seen refugees with less evidence of malnourishment. "As stated, the shoulders certainly help create the illusion of health. Now, gentlemen, I must be on my way.”
Stark clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. " “Thank you so much, Schmidt, I’ll have your payment sorted quickly."
A frown tugged at his lips "If you were not a billionaire I would do it for free, These Klan bastards need to be run out. It goes to a good cause.” That cause just so happened to include the increase in the wardrobe of the Spider.
"In that case, I'll pay you extra." Stark laughed and Schmidt exited the room, heading down to ground level, already brainstorming ideas for the clothing.
He reached the ground floor and walked out, only to have his heart nearly stopped by a black figure landing in front of him like a vengeful ghost.
"Scheiße!"
His hand pressed against his chest, feeling his pulse hammer in his chest. “Are you attempting to give me a heart attack, Spider? Because should you do so you will get no new clothes.” He tilted his chin up, looking into the shadows that hid the little spider from view.
“Sorry, your exit was in line with mine," he said.
Schmidt could hear the cadence that indicated a smile, and concealed one of his own.
“This is fine, this is fine,” He waved off. “To be quite honest I was going to wait for you." He paused to catch his breath. "I wished to see if you would be willing to visit my sister and myself for dinner. You would be welcome in our house, so you do not have to worry about…ah, gazes.”
A tensing of the shoulders, curling in, and the twitching of fingers showed him that the Spider was considering his idea. Good, he needed more home-cooked meals. With that vest and coat on, he cut an intimidating figure, but Schmidt could not forget the press of bones against skin that easily.
Cage’s voice called out, a bit breathless as well, “I’m afraid I’m going to be borrowing him." This drew the attention of the both of them, who turned towards him. “I’ve got a few things I need to be discussing with him.” The evidence of his rush to reach them was evident, and the amusement he could see in the Spider was a gift in its own. Cage halted, and turned to Schmidt, a look on his face. “You and your sister are always welcome in Harlem. I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but our circles keep very close. If you need better rates, that’s the place to go.”
Surprise hits him, and he makes a soft noise of surprise. He wasn't expecting that from Cage. “I had heard, yes, but we were given our place by Stark. He was…impressed by our work in fashion. We have a studio that we are working out of already. But we will definitely keep your offer in mind.” Schmidt paused, taking a breath, before looking at the other man in the area. He let out a sigh. If he could drag him home with him tonight he would, but that would just scare him off more. “The offer, Spider, still stands. Merely look for the Schmidt Tailor’s in Manhattan. It is impossible to miss.”
“Got it, but before you go, I have two requests for what you make…”
“Yes, Spider? What is it?” he said patiently
“Lots of pockets, please. Even if you have to hide them inside the jacket lining, I need pockets.”
A grin spread on his face. That he could do, and he always appreciated a challenge to his skills. There would be so many pockets “Certainly,” he said as he gave a nod of agreement, “What was the other thing?”
The Spider was hesitant, wary in his movements, but he slid the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing, well, holes in his wrist.
He can't help the disgust that rips itself out of him. Those were definitely not natural. But he doesn't stop the apologetic look that welled up. “I’m sorry, it…I was not expecting. Is that on both wrists?” What was it?
“Yes, they’re spinnerets, it’s where I produce my webbing.”
Schmidt had heard of the webbing that the Spider used, and frowned. Whatever he had expected was not this. "I see. Do you mind if I touch them?"
Hesitantly, there was a nod. "Don’t touch the center, my webbing will stick to you.” That was quite interesting.
As he pressed around the…. spinnerets, he couldn't help but feel the unique muscle structure. Schmidt had never seen anything like this. He wondered if it hurt to form. The muscles did provide some good for covering them. “It is stable around the holes, this…may provide the opportunity for a light prosthetic to be used. Something that could hide the holes themselves. I may talk directly to Stark for ideas, but I will come up with something.”
"Thank you," said the Spider as he pulled his arm back, shaking it slightly, and gave him a nod.
He returned the nod, and gave a slight smile. "You're welcome Spider." This was an interesting day for sure. Edith would definitely be mad she hadn't been there to thank him herself. As he got into his taxi, he knew that there was much more to learn about New York's little arachnid.