[Feldspar Tailoring] A Stitch in Time... (Juniper)

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Brunnhold's college town, located inside the university grounds.

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Drezda Ecks
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Sun Dec 16, 2018 7:41 pm

Dentis 33, 2718 | 14th Hour
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It was the greatest misfortune although at least she had something else to wear. The tear in the fabric was... horrible. It was unfortunately placed, near the hip on the left side of the dress, the opposite side from the garment's buttons. Maybe it wouldn't have been as bad on the other side - still as revealing certainly - as it would have cut through the patterned fabric rather than the smooth and pristine purple cloth. She imagined that someone could repair it with greater ease, better able to hide the marks of sewing in the pattern but surely any stitching would be clear to see here. It was aggravating on multiple levels. The stupid servant had managed to put it away in the stupid armoire and, as it turned out, there had been a thick, jagged splinter in the furniture's side and the dress had been hung right against it. Drezda hadn't known until she moved things, feeling the momentary resistance and the rending sound. And thus, she was left with this mess.

If she'd had Rosmilda with her then she probably would have trusted the girl to fix it, her sewing skill exceptional, one of the best passives she'd come across who was so proficient in that area. Unfortunately, she hadn't brought the servant with her, deeming it pointless when she had intended to spend her time in the library during the day and socialise with galdori in the evening. She had two dresses with her for her two evenings and she had already worn her red, Hoxian-style dress so she'd intended to wear the purple, Hoxian-style one tonight. She couldn't afford to wear the same dress twice. She might encounter the same people and they would talk. The woman had been meaning to pick up some new dresses but not right now. Her options weren't plentiful. She could choose to buy new dresses or have it expertly repaired because she wouldn't let some sloppy passive near it.

Regardless of her decision, she would have to go to a tailor.

She donned a simple outfit, white blouse and blue skirt, wrapping her black cloak tightly around her before she bundled up her dress and stepped out of her room.

The young woman wasn't too familiar with the Stacks these days - it was quite a few years past time in Brunnhold - and despite making intermittent visits to the institution, she hadn't become reacquainted with it. As such, it was necessary for her to source a possible tailor and a good one. The Stacks was full of wicks and humans, as well as some passives, and so she wasn't keen to wander around it aimlessly, encountering all sorts of riffraff in the process. Her manner of dress wouldn't make her stick out as a well-off galdori but her attitude would, her field marking her as quite a capable sorceress. No one should bother her, no one should be that stupid but it only took one.

Based on the recommendations that she received, she discovered that there was a new tailor around in the Stacks, very new, the last week or so apparently. The novelty didn't make her feel particularly confident about the man's abilities but the claim that he made 'really nice stuff' and that he seemed to be doing all right with galdori clientele did make her feel a little better. It wasn't too far away from where she was at present and while she received a few other names, she didn't see the harm in going to check the shop out. If she had to visit more than one shop today then so be it.

When she stepped out into the warren of streets, it was late morning, mid-day fast approaching and she found herself sighing, gazing wistfully towards the campus proper. Sure, she would have been starting out this late in the day anyway - could she be blamed for getting her beauty rest when she could? - but she wasn't heading straight to the library and she had no idea how many hours might pass before she got there, had a chance to settle. Depending on how this little errand went, she might not be very interested in studying at all, an irritating notion given the effort she'd taken to make use of the Grand Library.

She wove through various bodies in the maze-like streets, flexing her field when people grew too close and watching them move away from her, leaving her with a bubble of space as if she was a soap droplet in oil. She trotted along, grey-black-shift field broadcasting her ill-humour to those around her who could read it. There was a slight pulse to it in any case, people wisely giving her a wide berth as she headed to her destination, following the directions she'd been given.

The shop she found was an old one, the building at least but the panes were sparkling, the sign shining and not yet weather-beaten. Her head tilted up, eyes taking in the name - 'Feldspar Tailoring' - and the design on the signs surface: tape measure, thimble, needle and thread and - perhaps the only odd thing - a silvery miraan. She considered its exterior, reading the neat little notice in the window, brows raising at the mention of discretion. What sort of work was the tailor expecting to receive?

She could tell little about the interior from this side, the windows muddling the view so that she could only gain a sense of colour as the shapes within were greatly distorted. It looked colourful inside, she could tell that much but the best way of assessing it would presumably be to cross the threshold. Doing just that, she was greeted with the soft tinkle of a bell, a subtle sound that wasn't too grating on the eardrums, something that she appreciated. The interior was warm, bearing the barest scent of something chemical, vanishing after a few moments although it was presumably something that had not yet evaporated from the staining of the counters. It was a worn little space but someone had gone to great effort to spruce it up, the juxtaposition of old and new surprisingly pleasant.

Rich fabrics in vibrant colours drew her eye, drifting towards the bolts before she could stop herself. The diplomat resisted the urge to reach out and paw the materials, allowing herself to experience them through her eyes alone, drinking in the visual textures and imagining how it would feel beneath her fingers. The pulsing of her field ceased, the grey-black-shift changing to something brighter and lighter to reflect her change in mood. The woman could never resist pretty things.

As such, it took a moment for Drezda to remember why she was here and what had been the source of great annoyance only moments ago. The Hoxian pulled herself together, turning, dress held carefully as she approached the counter to talk to... well, she assumed the owner but who knew for sure?

"Pardon me, I'd heard that you might be able to help me with something. I have a problem with a dress and I don't know if it's reparable. I actually need it to be reparable because I need it. Hoxian-style dresses aren't that easy to come by in Anaxas." Not decent ones, she added silently.

"Either you can help me or I can look elsewhere but I need something done about that!" she explained briskly, placing the dress down on the counter top, smoothing it out so she could point out that offending gape.

"Well?"

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Juniper Feldspar
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Mon Dec 17, 2018 5:36 pm

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Feldspar Tailoring| 14th Hour
33rd DENTIS 2718
Juniper was settling in beautifully. The shop had been open for nearly a scornight, and he was feeling his metaphorical cart settle into its groove. The wick had fallen into a comfortable schedule for his days, up around six o'clock (and if he was late rising, Miranda soon let him know), morning ablutions, breakfast with fresh ground coffee, and down to his workroom for seventh hour.

The little room took up one third of the ground floor footprint of the house, behind the shop, and was much less attractive than the shop floor- though just as impeccably clean. The majority of the space was taken up by a large table that stood about hip height on the tailor, and was built with the space below it cleverly utilised for cupboards and fabric racks. Drawers lined one of the walls, floor-to ceiling, barely half of them full at present- as could be seen by the neat hand-written labels slid into brass brackets affixed to the front of each one. The smallish window at the back did not provide much daylight, but quite honestly any daylight at all was a blessing in the cramped and crowded Stacks.

Here the tailor sat for the first few hours of each working day, up on that broad tabletop, his boots neatly placed by the door out to the shop, stockinged legs folded under him and his latest commission draped over his lap.

Come ninth hour he would slip through the shop to unlock the door in case of early customers, and keep an ear out for the bell while he worked. Few customers came in the morning, he had found, but it was easy enough to down tools, slip on his boots and be out to tend to their needs. Usually he would have brought out some small piecework to the counter by mid-morning, but today he was so engrossed in his work that he was only just fastening his boots to make the move out to the shop floor when the bell chimed gently.

He gave a short whistle, and his miraan launched herself gracefully into the air from where she lay in a knot by his folded work, and draped her coils over his outstretched left hand. With his right, he opened the door, and stepped out into the shop proper.

...golly...best foot forwards…

He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the striking Hoxian’s field was somewhat content, her attention grabbed by the rich fabrics he had displayed, giving him a brief moment to settle Miranda on her cushion (now situated some way behind the counter, after a little unpleasantness with a belligerent Seventen) before turning to greet the woman, a welcoming smile on his face, sea blue eyes warm.

“Good morning Ma’am, how can I help?”

As she spoke, her distress and irritation clear, field harshing, his gaze fell to the vibrant gown in her arms as she laid it out on the polished countertop. Silk velvet in a beautiful fuschia, one side acid etched into a floral design, the rich expanse of the other marred by an ugly tear, the edges already disintegrating and shedding plush fibres.

Juniper drew in a sharp, inadvertant breath at the sight.

“That is nasty,” he admitted, “But not outside of my skillset to remedy. The tear will be easy enough to stitch, I can have that done in maybe fifteen minutes, but disguising the new seam will be trickier.” He chewed his lip, drumming his fingertips on the counter as he spoke, thinking out loud.

“The fabric being so delicate means I’ll have to… hmmm… the fit is quite close, I take it? Nothing spare to work with.”

He leaned closer, sliding a hand under the dress to see just how the tear gaped, where it crossed the weave of the fabric and where it ran with it.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, brightening. “I may have just the thing. Excuse me for one moment, Ma’am...”

The redhead lay the dress down again, as gently as he had lifted it, and all but ran to the back room, leaving the adjoining door open in his wake. A clatter and a thump, and the slide of wood on wood, and he was returning with a multicoloured bundle in his hands.

“Some of these will be too small, and some are entirely the wrong colours,” he explained as he untied the bundle, which was revealed to contain shaped pieces of embroidery and beadwork. “But one of these,” and the tailor gently laid three pieces atop the skirt of the dress to compare the colours, “One of these may be what we need.”

One piece was formed of black and silver flowers, jet beads and sparkling sequins, one an embroidered design reminiscent of an abstract fleur-des-lis in delicate shades of lilac and mauve, and one in the form of a peacock with its tail curling down below it, stitched on shimmering teal dupion with glass beads in a myriad shades of green, blue and purple.

“Alternatively,” he added, stepping back to let his client peruse his suggestions, “I can work some embroidery directly over the tear in a matching shade, but it will put more strain on the already weak fabric, whereas the applique would not only be faster but also prevent the tear re-occurring.”

He looked at her hopefully, his field all but pulsing with his need to please.

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Drezda Ecks
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Mon Dec 17, 2018 8:26 pm

Dentis 33, 2718 | 14th Hour
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Of course she knew the man was a wick. She could feel it in his field - a glamour really - and its less sophisticated structure, lacking the training from which galdori benefited. There were wicks in her homeland, of course - she'd heard of their existence at least - but she hadn't seen them until she'd come to Anaxas. Even after all of the years she'd spent here, in spite of the time she'd spent in the Stacks while studying at Brunnhold, she still wasn't entirely used to them. However, they were a necessary evil. There were tailors in her own society but galdor, never human or wick and certainly not passive, and she had always considered it a waste. Sure, those who fell in those lower strata of society were usually less magically proficient than their higher class brethren but it still felt wrong for someone to use their talents for such things when magic was such a wonderful gift. Even the lowest galdor was better than a wick. This arrangement was better, or rather made more sense, but it was still distasteful to her.

All the same, if he could do what she needed then who was she to complain?

But the 'ma'am', intended to be the height of politeness, was irritating to her. It was something that irritated her greatly in Anaxas, carrying certain connotations in her mind with women past a certain age. It wasn't polite or respectful in her mind but a nod to seniority. It was perhaps a silly, trivial little thing and it didn't appear to bother others but for her... there was a reason why she had her passives refer to her as 'mistress'. Still, she could weather it.

"It is nasty, yes," she deadpanned, wondering why the man had to state the obvious. She had eyes, she could see the way it gaped, edges frayed and shredded, ready to disintegrate just from the effect of the air. The fabric was delicate, each tiny fibre seamlessly woven to create the beautiful cloth and to have it pulled apart in such a violent way made it ugly.

The notion that he could repair it so quickly was certainly a relief but the question about the garment's tightness drew a sigh. Save her from Anaxi!

"It's Hoxian in style. Of course it's tight," she bit out, lips pressed together in a disapproving line. Could this man do this? Did he understand how this dress was meant to appear on her form? He'd better because she couldn't bloody well show him!

At least he appeared to have an understanding of the material, his manner certainly a positive sign as he really seemed to be paying attention, carefully considering the problem and how best to remedy it. She was obviously no seamstress but even she had thought about how the seam could be a problem. It was meant to be a smooth, unblemished spot and adding a line of stitching would not achieve that look. It was one of the reasons why she'd wanted someone decent. At least, he hadn't said that it couldn't be done and he wasn't acting as if it would be difficult either. However, she wasn't sure if his sense of it being easy was worrying or reassuring.

The diplomat leaned on the counter, gaze wandering as puzzled, dark orbs found the silver miraan on its cushion towards the back. Her brows rose, recalling the little draconian figure on the sign outside. It was seemingly no flight of fancy to include it, the representation of the animal serving as much purpose as the symbols of the tools of his trade. Her attention snapped back to him in an instant when he moved, his hasty movement leaving her staring at his fast retreating back, the galdor left with a view of the room beyond and the tidy, well-organised space that it contained. Well, that wasn't what she'd expected of a wick at all. Yes, supposedly the stationary ones were meant to be more civilised but she'd been under the impression that they... fouled their own nests.

The tailor was quick to return, bearing a bundle that was a mystery until he untied it, earning an interested 'ooh' from the woman. Even if they didn't match the dress, she couldn't help but admire the pretty patterns and colours as he sorted through them. The ones he presented her with made the Hoxian nibble at her lip, considering them.

"The black and silver is gorgeous but the dress is dark... the black will show up but maybe it's a little lost? I'm not sure. The peacock is also sublime but this one" - she touched her fingers to the mauve and lilac design - "I think this one fits best? I'm not entirely sure, I like both. I suppose I also don't want it to be too ostentatious and maybe the peacock is a bit... that. Cover the tear. I don't want it reoccurring."

Her eyes rose from the dress to the man's face, the carefully trimmed beard, feeling the thrum in his comparatively weaker field. The urge the pat him on the head and say, "Good, wick!" was suddenly strong, the woman having to fight the urge to sneer at the neediness that he was radiating. Amusement definitely oozed into her own field and he was sure to sense it but she didn't care.

"So, you can do this now, wick? How quickly and what can you offer to amuse me while I wait?"
Last edited by Drezda Ecks on Fri Jan 04, 2019 4:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Juniper Feldspar
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Wed Jan 02, 2019 10:18 am

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Feldspar Tailoring| 14th Hour
33rd DENTIS 2718
As the woman pored over his work, Juniper felt a glow of pride. Her obvious interest in his creations was both flattering and reassuring, and he found himself studying her face and colouring, thinking about shades and styles that would bring out her eyes and features.

He'd not worked with Hoxian styles before, and was eager to see how this one fell, it was clearly gorgeous.

“The lilac is an excellent choice, Ma'-” and he cut himself off, remembering her previous wince. “Forgive me, that term of address seems not to suit you, is there one you would prefer?”

He smiled, continuing. “If I may be so bold, you would be striking in whatever you wear, but if you're looking to not draw undue attention the peacock might be a little flashy. To draw the garment together I can work some small lilac beads into the button closures if you wish, it will take maybe another ten minutes. So with the repair, a fitting to check no warping has occurred, adding the applique...” he was looking up, tapping each finger against his thumb in turn, calculating in his head.

“...no more than an hour, probably closer to thirty minutes.”

The wick gestured to the back half of the shop floor, set up as a fitting room- large threefold standing mirrors reflecting soft light from the oil lamps, and whatever daylight filtered through from the crooked panes of the shop window. A table and two chairs were set to one side, plush lavender velvet upholstery and polished walnut wood, and a matching sideboard along the back wall where the door led out to Juniper's workroom.

“I can make you coffee, tea, or I have wine if that suits your fancy. If my work interests you then I will stay out here while I sew and attempt to divert you with a tailor's conversation, or of course I have a small selection of novels and a couple of volumes of poetry...unless you like animals?” he added, moving out from behind the counter to the window, where he flipped the hanging sign that took up half of the one clear pane so that it bore the legend 'CLOSED' to the street outside.

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Drezda Ecks
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Fri Jan 04, 2019 6:03 pm

Dentis 33, 2718 | 14th Hour
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Referring to the tailor as wick had been intended to be at least a little demeaning. Yes, he was one but her tone had certainly suggested that little bit of inferiority. However, she actually felt a little guilty twinge for having said such a thing when he turned out to be so very keyed in to the small things. She was impressed and oddly grateful that he'd noticed her discomfort about 'ma'am', a little more warmth entering her field as she stopped being quite so cold towards him.

"I prefer mistress," she explained, the term spoken with some relish. "So good of you to ask. I just find ma'am is very... old wife," she admitted with a soft laugh, spots of pink entering her cheeks. It probably did sound a little ridiculous and she was conscious of that fact. Was it more awkward that she'd made the admittance in the first place or that she had made it to a wick? The diplomat had to admit that he wasn't what she'd come to expect of wicks at all. He was neat, seemed to have a decent sense of fashion sense - some wicks wore truly awful clothing and oft clashing colours and patterns - and had the correct level of deference. Most importantly, he also sounded as if he knew his stuff and while it remained to be seen if he was actually capable, Drezda was finding herself quite pleased with this wick. That wasn't something she'd ever thought would occur.

Flattery also went a long way. Complimenting her appearance was a positive, especially as it sounded genuine rather than a simple attempt to suck up to her. Her responding smile was minute but genuine as she leaned on the counter, listening to him as he talked about the work that needed to be done. Her brows went up at the estimate, a small smirk appearing at the corner of her mouth, head tilted slightly towards him before she inclined it.

"That sounds fair, more than fair. I certainly couldn't hope for better and the lilac beads around the buttons sound like they'd be lovely. You have an eye, I'll trust it," she murmured, fingers lightly dancing on one of the appliques to emphasise the truth of his taste. She briefly trailed a hand over her dress, giving it a light pat before she moved to one of the seats that he'd indicated. Hands smoothed the back of her skirt, the material pulled tight as she seated herself neatly. Feet crossed at the ankles, the Hoxian sitting straight with hands folded in her lap.

"Definitely not wine, not at this hour. I need my wits but tea... I don't suppose you have any Hoxian blends? I know that they aren't popular here. Anaxi seem to think that our teas are too bitter. They aren't bitter, they're bracing. Winter Haven with Snowberry syrup is perfection but... I'll settle for a les- another blend," she informed him, trying not to think of the teas that she had at home, teas that would always be made to her tastes and didn't tend to be available outside of her own home.

The matter of his company though... Drezda wasn't sure that she could sit and converse with a wick with nothing but the words between them and the movements of his fingers to keep her amused. The alternative was to simply sit there and stare at fabrics she supposed. There wasn't really much choice in the matter, was there?

"I suppose that you'd better sit with me and provide me with some diversion while I wait. What do you mean about me liking animals? You weren't referring to your miraan by any chance were you? I can't say that I've ever had the chance to examine one all that closely," she admitted, gaze shifting to the cushion behind the counter, dark orbs alight with curiosity. "I don't keep any animals myself although I grew up with them. We had dogs and my father had a huthah, a spinewolf. A tamed one of course, he had it from a pup so it wasn't entirely inclined to rip our heads off or anything."

The woman plucked a piece of lint from her skirt between manicured nails, flicking it off to drift giddily to the ground. "Was there something in particular that you wished to discuss with me, Mr uh.... Feldspar?" she questioned, unsure how this was supposed to work out and feeling odd calling him something so formal.

"I failed to introduce myself and I suppose it would be wise. I'm Drezda Ecks, Hox's diplomatic representative in Anaxas."
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Juniper Feldspar
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Sun Jan 13, 2019 7:14 pm

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Feldspar Tailoring| 14th Hour
33rd DENTIS 2718
Juniper smiled as the Hoxian relaxed a little, the gentle flush on her cheeks lending her a touch of softness that he hadn't initially seen. She really was striking, all high cheekbones, almond eyes and statuesque poise, and he looked forward to seeing how the bright gown set off her colouring.

“Mistress it is,” he confirmed, inclining his head in a half-bow. After she confirmed his suggestions, fingers trailing over the beading with a fascination that made the tailor glow with satisfaction, he set the surplus appliques back with the others and tied the bundle again.

“A Hoxian blend? I think...” he paused a moment and bit his lip in concentration. “I think I may actually have one. I don't care for tea myself in general, but I heard it had a stronger flavour and picked up a bag when I happened to see it at the market.”

Noticing her interest when he alluded to his pet, the wick smiled brightly

“Then I shall let you satisfy your curiosity while I make tea.” He turned and gently lifted the cushion on which the miraan rested, and she raised a sleepy head to chirrup at him enquiringly. As Juniper set the creature down on the table by his intriguing client, he stroked Miranda's feathered crest and crouched to look her in the eye.

“Be a good girl for me, she's a client with excellent taste.” He glanced up at said client with a hint of a mischievous smile, and straightened up again as as the teacup drake turned her attention to the newcomer, snaking her long neck out in the Hoxian's direction with a curious tilt of her angular silver head.

“I'll admit to quite a curiosity for your country's culture and fashion, if you don't mind a few questions, perhaps that would be a suitable topic of conversation?”

As Drezda introduced herself properly, his eyebrows raised.

“I am in distinguished company, then! Juniper Feldspar, at your service, Ambassador. I'll be maybe five minutes, mistress.”


He flushed a little, unfamiliar with using the honorific, but determined to put his client at ease, before giving a little bow as he turned to exit through the workroom.

His boot heels clattered on the uncarpeted treads as he jogged up the one flight of stairs to his little apartment. Moving to the stove, he smiled to himself.

...she seems lovely. And so beautiful...


Juniper hummed softly to himself as he opened his dresser, setting teapot, cup and saucer, all of cool grey-blue pottery, on a small round tray, thinking of the things he'd heard about Hoxian culture. He had to fetch a stool to reach his tea, the Hoxian one had been pushed right to the back of the shelf, and the little wick was barely tall enough to reach the front of it. He managed to snag what he thought was the right packet with his fingertips, and flicked it out towards him. The movement caused him to overbalance, and the stool teetered on two legs for a moment, but he corrected and managed not to fall, breathing heavily as he stepped down.

...oh good, it is the right one...
he thought to himself as he examined the little sack. It was plain, closewoven hessian with a little stylised volcano printed on it in black ink.

...water in the pot, yes...

To save time, he muttered a little monite and eased the water to the boil in the teapot itself, though he was a little jittery from his narrowly escaped fall, and the mona must have picked up on it. It boiled faster than he expected, and before he could calm it bubbled and spat, splashing hot water onto his bare forearm.

He yelped. Loudly.

“Clocking hell...”

Gritting his teeth and ignoring it, he quickly measured out a scoop of tea into the strainer, settling the little silver sieve into the top of the teapot and replacing the lid. He was just about to lift the tray to go downstairs when-

“Syrup!”


He didn't know if it was... what had she said...snowberry? But the stall owner had recommended it as a good accompaniment. Fortunately it was on a lower shelf, so he didn't have to brave the stool again, and when both the little jar and a longhandled silver spoon were set on the tray, he made his way back downstairs, carefully taking each step as he could no longer see his feet with the tray in front of him.

“Here we are, mistress,” he announced as he entered the shop once more, setting the tray down on the long cabinet at the back of the room. “I'll let it steep.”

His gaze fell to the livid red patch raising on his forearm and he winced involuntarily.

...later. No time now...

“Back in just a moment...”

He nipped into the workroom, quickly gathering the thread, beads and needles he needed, and back out again, setting them on the sideboard. He slid the unoccupied chair next to it- no matter how lovely the lady was, sitting at the same table would surely be seen as overly familiar.

...and besides, Miranda takes up most of it...

Finally, the wick retrieved the gown and applique from the counter, and settled down to work, setting the applique aside for the moment and threading a needle with silken thread.

“So how are you finding Brunnhold? Are you here on business?”
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Drezda Ecks
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Mon Jan 14, 2019 11:09 am

Dentis 33, 2718 | 14th Hour
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The fact that he thought he had a Hoxian tea was surprising enough that her eyebrows scaled her forehead as high as they could go, eyes wide. Good Bash, he was prepared. Obviously a good business person should be but it came back down to the same thing as before: he was a wick. This wasn't what wicks were meant to be like at all. The young woman was confused and surprised, but perhaps it wasn't entirely negative. If he did indeed have a Hoxian tea then she would be quite pleasantly surprised. Chances were that he'd never had to use it before; it was an acquired taste, especially here and it was unlikely that anyone would have requested before.

A soft 'oh' escaped the woman as she was presented with the miraan on its cushion, gazing at it uncertainly as it was placed on the table, its head turning in the woman's direction. It was an odd little creature, a mix of shimmering metallic scales and soft, downy looking feathers. The diplomat stretched out a cautious hand, a finger moving to stroke the animal's head, oddly amused when it pressed against the digit, cuddling against it. Apparently this was a manner of contact that it enjoyed. She would likely examine it in greater detail when Juniper was out of sight, half afraid that the animal would attack her and make her feel foolish in front of the wick.

She already felt a tad foolish in front of the wick, possibly because she just didn't know how to deal with a man like this. Typically, she dealt with men in her line of work who were politicos, a certain amount of cautious flirting and intense attention an important part of any interaction with them. It was something that she hated doing but it felt necessary. At least she knew what to do in that situation because they weren't exactly people but rather slavering beasts. Honestly, to call them such was an insult to beasts. Being polite to a man who wasn't politically relevant in some way was odd but so was being polite towards a man that she didn't inherently hate. And he wasn't even a galdor.

It was oddly embarrassing to hear him talk to the miraan about her in a complimentary fashion, the remark causing the return of spots of colour in her cheeks, colour that simply deepened and spread as he called her 'ambassador'. The woman made a sound between a sigh and a groan before she could stop herself, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands as this mistake was made yet again. She was glad of Juniper's departure as it allowed her to regain her composure.

Ambassador was a title that by rights belonged to the most senior diplomat in charge of relations with another country. They had the greatest power and responsibility and while they were a type of diplomat, they were classed more highly. Drezda was the highest representative of Hox that dealt with Anaxas that was within the Kingdom but she wasn't the highest. The true ambassador of Hox was actually a man who remained in their home kingdom. Not only did Drezda receive instructions from the Clan Speaker, Hox's ruler, as was only to be expected but also from the true ambassador from time to time as well. Sometimes the ambassador's letters were conveniently lost. In a fire. It was a shame.

Drezda was the de facto ambassador and it irked her that she could not be named as such. To be quite honest, she couldn't understand the why of it. Would it be so bad to call a woman ambassador? If a woman could lead a family then why not political endeavours? It was infuriating but at the same time, if she went around allowing people to think that she was a true ambassador, ratified by her kingdom and she wasn't then she could be in a world of shit. All it took was for someone to refer to her as the Hoxian ambassador to the wrong person and she could be finished. It wasn't as if she was madly attached to the political position in any case but she didn't particularly wish to be sent home in disgrace either.

It was about the look of the thing and in Hox, appearances were very, very important. Although maybe if she was politically embarrassed she could run away to Bastia or somewhere, maybe Gior, and go into hiding. That wasn't worth thinking about now though, even though she was left alone to dwell on it while Juniper went off to make tea.

The Hoxian was entertained with the miraan, oohing as she let her fingers slide from scales to the soft feathers and back again. It was simple pleasure and she only recalled where she was and that she could be disturbed and witnessed engaged in her silliness at any moment when she heard the loud yelp. Even from downstairs, she heard the cry of pain, both Miranda and Drezda tilting their heads back to look up at the ceiling.

"What has your father done?" she questioned the miraan, gaze dropping back down, brows pulled close as she realised what she'd just said. It wasn't a child, it was a teacup drake, Juniper obviously hadn't produced it but... she had heard girls coo over their animals before. If they could be an animal's "mother" as female owners then why not something similar for men? Gods, she'd clearly lost her mind in a rock slide today.

When the tailor returned, the woman assessed him subtly, looking for any sign that the yelp had been associated with physical harm. She continued to stroke Miranda, her attention temporarily diverted to the miraan as she rose and stretched her wings, giving them a lazy flap before she settled herself down again, making herself comfortable anew. By the time she turned her attention back towards Juniper, he seemed to be bouncing around the place getting this thing and that rather than simply settling himself down.

He set up his workstation a short distance from her, choosing not to sit at the same table in what she assumed was a gesture of respect; they weren't equals after all, he was effectively the help. The young woman allowed her gaze to settle on his work, watching fingers deftly threading a needle and not failing to notice the livid red on his skin where it had been raised. Was that a scald or a burn? The skin was angry so it certainly must hurt. The diplomat was a Perceptive first but she had had Living Conversation training, as a secondary focus in fact, and as such, she understood about burns and scalds, had learned enough basic information about common injuries and ailments to be able to heal them with magic. As such, she could imagine how much it must be hurting right now, even if he'd had a chance to put cold water on it, especially as he obviously intended to work with the injury.

Obviously if the pain bothered him then he might slip up. She didn't want her gown damaged, that was clearly the only reason why she stood, the miraan watching her move to her master with a hangdog expression.

"I attended Brunnhold for 5 years but yes, I'm here on business. In a way. A lot of political matters crop up here as do political events. Mingling is important, hence the dress," she told him, moving to his side, apparently gazing down at his work when in truth, she was gazing down at his arm.

"What made you decide to set up business here? Give me your arm please," she added with an accompanying snap of her fingers. It was not a request but an order that she evidently expected him to obey. She gathered her field in expectation, the man certain to feel the mona shift around him. If he did as he was told then the Monite that was poised on her tongue would slip out, politely formal and precise, reducing the swelling in his skin, numbing the pain in the inflamed tissue but not healing it all the way. It was good to let the body heal on its own where possible and her magic only took the edge off but it would suffice.

Once done, she would simply resume her seat as if it hadn't happened. It was just to make the sewing easier. She couldn't afford for Juniper to make mistakes. Obviously.
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Juniper Feldspar
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Sat May 25, 2019 12:45 pm

Feldspar Tailoring
☙ 33rd of Dentis, 2718; 14th hour ❧
Juniper began to work as she spoke, setting close, neat stitches around the frayed edges of the ugly tear to strengthen the shedding velvet. No need for a thimble with this fabric, the tailor's sharp needle slid through it like a hot knife through butter, with barely any pressure from his calloused fingertip.

"...well, it'll soon be better than new. I...what? Oh…"

The Hoxian's tone of voice brooked no argument, and the wick realised he was holding out his injured arm for the woman to inspect.

"No that's...um...don't trouble yours…" but the mona was already flowing, enveloping the scald in blessedly cool healing tingles, and the little tailor let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Thank...thank you," he murmured, looking up at the stern galdor, pink spots of embarrassment rising to his cheeks from both the unexpected kindness, and shame at the clumsiness that led to the injury in the first place.

Mistress Ecks was already back in her seat, however, and as he bent to his work once more the man answered her previous question.

"I grew up not far away, my parents run the coachouse in Harbrooke and...well, fashion goes where young people are. Students are always in need of new clothes, it seemed the most sensible place to set up shop. I'm finding it to have been a sound decision so far."

In, out, in, out. The thread rippled behind Juniper's needle as he finished a second ring of stitches around the tear. He fixed the needle in the fabric and carefully turned the garment inside-out, placing one palm behind the opening to keep it stable as he drew long threads across it, first side to side, then top to bottom, weaving the second set of strands through the first, to form a new fabric to sit behind the shedding edges.

"There we are- that's the first step done."

Thread clipped with little silver scissors, Juniper set the needle aside. Turning the dress right-side-out once more, he reached for the embroidery, laying it over the frayed velvet and sliding in a few glass-headed pins to hold it in place.

"I don't like to put a garment on someone with pins in if I can help it," he explained as he worked, threading his needle once more with a white thread this time, "so I'm going to tack this temporarily into place, and then if you don't mind Mistress, trying it on so I can check the fabric hasn't warped?"

In another moment he was holding the dress out to her as he moved to free the curtain that was neatly looped beside the chair on which his client sat. Once she had taken it from him, the tailor would draw the curtain across the width of the shop, separating the fitting room from the rest of the space- but not before holding out a wrist for Miranda to curl around, which she did with a lazy stretch and a tiny chirp.

"Unless you need assistance, Mistress, I'll be on the other side until you call me back."

☙❧
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Drezda Ecks
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Tue Jun 04, 2019 5:42 pm

Dentis 33, 2718 | 14th Hour
Feldspar Tailoring
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The man had such a clear confidence in his own work, every movement deft and self-assured, his own master in that moment although he otherwise seemed to timid to be a true master of himself. In fact, given how swiftly he presented his arm when bidden, possibly without even thinking about it, he was the sort more comfortable following a master - or a mistress. His words had carried protest - a stutter of it, a mere pretence really - but his muscles had moved almost on automatic.

How interesting.

She approved of submissiveness in general but it was a positive thing to see when dealing with the lower races, especially when their obedience was reflexive. This one understood his place. Good. She liked to think that the feelings she felt from his field were born of his own inferiority in the face of his clear better but was certainly disappointed that there was no awe there at her display of magic. It was an easy thing in truth, especially compared with the other things she could do with her gifts but to a wick... The crude Monite they hammered together was comparative to someone putting together a rickety cart while her flowing words in the magic tongue with all the correct syntax was like a gleaming carriage.

Still, her magic was a success - something she should be glad of and of course, should never take for granted - and that was all that mattered, the man likely to be able to carry out his work without issue. She wasn't sure if her healing had made a huge difference or if he was just now getting into his stride but she could have sworn that he was stitching more swiftly now, seeming to have a very good flow indeed. He was a wick, it was... well, it wasn't the sort of role you aspired to in life but she had to admit that he had some skill. He had the sort of skill that those over-the-top tailors and seamstresses in Vienda were supposed to have but with them there was really more pomp and ceremony than anything else. They weren't all exceptional talents but they did have a penchant for setting trends, which were frankly ridiculous at times. Being popular wasn't the same as being good and the Hoxian didn't like to have anything less than excellent.

Juniper could quite possibly give the Viendan sorts a run for their money, even though many of them were galdori. At the same time, she had to admit that in a lot of cases that wasn't really that difficult to do.

She nodded as he talked, onyx eyes transfixed by the hypnotic movements of the needle. There was a miraan to give attention to and tea to be drinking but the woman hardly noticed, her focus was already fully occupied between his stitching and his somewhat flawed logic.

"Fashion certainly follows the young but I think that's largely because they're so... changeable. They're adventurous and rebellious, they don't want what their parents have and they want to try new things. But students... they're tricky. Many of them spend pretty much all of their time in uniform and those that wear clothing outside of the campus... well, if they're in the Stacks, it's often nighttime excursions and uh... high fashion isn't at the forefront of their minds," she pointed out with a quiet, hard-edged laugh.

When they got drunk and got themselves into a state, high fashion certainly didn't look that good. It also didn't matter much if you were going to quaff ale all over your garments. Not to mention that some of them were more concerned with getting out of their clothing during certain excursions but she wasn't going to say that. Her own Brunnhold days certainly hadn't been that exciting and while she had had an excellent allowance, she hadn't really needed to purchase a lot of clothing and what she had needed had come from Vienda or been ordered well in advance from Hox.

Drezda probably wasn't the best example though.

"I suppose that they still get up to quite a bit of pageantry, especially during social events but on those occasions, they probably want the best and the best is Vienda. Or rather, they say that the best is Vienda."

The woman hummed, the sound going down in pitch to a deep vibration that said without words how she thought that was in doubt. "The wealthy are good for the fashion world, I'd imagine, especially the higher class ladies. Flouncing around in fancy fabrics, needing to change their dresses regularly so that their friends don't outdo them. Vienda's very good for that sort of thing, the tailors go through a lot of business that way but they aren't very... adventurous? No, they just don't have the skill to deal with Hoxian style dresses. I suppose it's the fabrics, very fine, very delicate and so easy to- You're finished?"

The disbelief wasn't kept from her voice, a ripple of surprise going through her field as her gaze flicked up to Juniper's face, eyes blinking rapidly. But there it was, stitched up. Not the prettiest sight to be sure given that it marred the fabric but it was neat and it was repaired and once he tacked the embroidery on she could gain a sense of how lovely it would soon look.

"That... sounds sensible. I'll try it on now," she conceded softly, taking the dress with care and standing gracefully, unconsciously smoothing the fabric of her current outfit. She watched, waiting for him to finish setting up the curtain, refusing his assistance with a curt shake of the head.

"I can dress myself, thank you," Drezda remarked primly, stripping off once he was out of sight, loosely folding her overgarments and leaving them sitting on the chair, sliding the velvet over her slim form and fastening it. She smoothed it out, peering down at the point where he'd repaired it, pressing the embroidery tight to the fabric at its edges so she could gain the best sense of how it would look once properly stitched.

"You may return!" she called, raven-haired woman straightening as she twisted carefully in place to see how well it held up. The Hoxian didn't have to worry about her figure putting any strain on the repaired rip; her curves were subtle at best. "This seems quite acceptable, do you agree? Do you need me to do anything so you can see how it fares?"
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Juniper Feldspar
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Sun Aug 25, 2019 6:20 am

Feldspar Tailoring
☙ 33rd of Dentis, 2718; 14th Hour ❧
Juniper nodded at his client’s insistence that she could dress herself. It always paid to check- some galdori, especially women, habitually dressed and undressed with the aid of a servant, sometimes two.

“Very good, Mistress,” he demurred with a small smile, letting the curtain drop closed behind her. It wasn’t long before the galdor called him back, and as he saw the dress on her form the little tailor didn’t quite manage to bite back a soft noise of approval. She looked stunning, the rich velvet setting off her complexion beautifully, the Hoxian cut flattering her figure without hugging so tightly as to be indecent.

“...Do you need me to do anything so you can see how it fares?"

“Um. What? Oh, no, this is perfect. You really do have excellent taste, that colour is spectacular on you. May I?” he finished, kneeling to check the applique’s position more closely.

Where it met the fabric, everything was smooth- it lifted up, of course, he hadn't fully sewn it down yet, but the velvet under it didn't pucker or pull.

...except for one spot. The tailor tutted, more out of habit than anything else- this was an unfamiliar style in a very delicate fabric, he couldn’t have possibly hoped to get it perfect the first time.

Silver scissors flashed out briefly, snipping threads at one corner to let the applique lie flat over unbuckled fabric.

“One pin, I’m afraid, Mistress,” he explained, taking it from the little pincushion strapped to his left wrist.

"I'm sure I don't need to ask you to hold still," the tailor added, smiling up at her with a hint of humour. The now-repaired tear was fortunately close enough to the slit in the skirt's design that he could get a hand behind it, both to support the fabric as he was sliding in the pin and to make sure that if he stabbed anyone it was his own hand and not his client's thigh. He did his best not to actually touch Drezda, but it was inevitable that his knuckles brushed her leg once or twice, to which he muttered small apologies, carefully sliding in the pin so that the point wouldn’t prick her when the garment was removed.

“There.” sitting back on his heels, he regarded the repair for a moment. Satisfied that it wouldn’t warp when she removed the garment, he rose.

“That’s all it needed. Thank you. Mistress, I’ll let you change back.”

He left her to get back into her daywear, petting Miranda absently on the way past. The miraan had been watching sleepily, and gave a brief chirrup, leaning into the caress.

Once Drezda intimated that she was ready, he would draw the curtain once more, tying it closed.

Dress once more in hand, he would take his seat, threading his needle and starting to work on the permanent stitches holding the applique in place. Taking care to hide his stitches in amongst the beads and threadwork, the tailor commented,

“It’s a treat to work on a Hoxian gown. I’ve seen illustrations, but never one in the flesh, as it were. Seeing how a garment is constructed is very different to how an artist perceives it.”

And of course, silk velvet was his favourite fabric, but that seemed too personal a detail to share with a client.

...don't you ever stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome...
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