Crimson to Show Off

		The TarRaCe, Midday

The hustle and bustle of the TarRaCe matches the business, as the summer tryouts in the Colosseum are in full swing. The front doors end up propped open with all the coming and going, the air stifled with a building heat of the summer days.

A short, heavily scarred woman shoulders past the line, a payload of something deep crimson slung over a shoulder. Several of the patrons start to complain, but such concerns shift to murmurs of surprise, and excitement, as one of the Colosseum coaches is present in the flesh. Some questions are thrown her way, but they're pointedly ignore as she moves past the host podium, on a clear mission.

As per usual, the staff is in full motion. Serving, bowing, smiling, yelling, elbowing and relaxing by the bar - wait, only one ruddy sith-makar is. Dressed in black loincloth slash apron and a waiter's shirt that desperately tries to stay buttoned, Aelwyn was speaking and flickering his tongue at the bartender of the shift.

Meanwhile, a tray with plenty of empty glasses remained on the counter near him, as he flicks his tail about. "Tch, but that heavy armor must have slowed them down." He tells them, "Now, if they only had taken it _off_ instead..." At the sound of crowd shuffling about, the draconian turns his head at the incoming pail of fury and determination. With widening orange eyes.

Amid the busy staff and many customers, Irshya moves unhurriedly. She yawns and then gives herself a shake. Her form seems unclad at first, but upon closer inspection, she wears a one-piece swimsuit which conforms to her body shape, and matches her skin tone nearly exactly.

One might guess that she'd been sleeping in one of the pools again, as she often does. But today, she moves along tiredly, pulling a mop handle. The other end of the mop drags along a wheel'd bucket. Another cleaning spree in the baths has come to an end.

The odd customer exclaims in surprise, but then moves, as the diminutive Goblin makes her way through the crowd towards the bar.. or perhaps the kitchen area.

Aryia bobs and weaves through the crowd, scanning about before locking in on a lazy server at the bar. She makes a beeline- only for a minor detour to pass by a tired pool-shark as they are briskly scooped up in an arm and carried without break in stride- before arriving directly in front of Aelwyn.

She stops with a clack of a boot against the wooden floor. Irshya is gently placed down, patted on the head, and looks up at Aelwyn with a squint. "It's done."

She pulls down her package, working on unwrapping the package clad in red paper. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn keeps staring at Aryia - then briefly narrows his eyes as Irshya is just hoisted up like that. Even he wouldn't do that! Then he slowly straightens up to his feet, slides his hand on his hips and waits with either excitement - or trepidation.

Bowing his head, the Dragoon greets Aryia with a "Fingers, this one is grateful."

Then his eyes are watching the red paper keenly. "... and there is no pink?" He asks, as if to reconfirm.

The Goblin squeaks as she's picked up, the mop-and-bucket following along behind the pair. "Excuse you...! Oh! Hello Aryia!" Her expression goes from annoyed to cheerful in an instant, and she pats at the Mul'neissa's arm. She giggles as she's set down, and pulls her feet in to sit cross-legged upon the bar, her tail curling back and forth behind her.

"Oh, did you get a package Ar... oh, something for Aelwyn, is it?" Her expression has a quizzical look on it, obviously curious to see what it inside.

Apparently Aryia has special privileges in this establishment, quite chummy with the proprietor as she gives a faint smirk to the pool shark. She nods once more to Aelwyn to answer Irshya's question.

She doesn't have a remark in terms of pink, but she lets her actions speak for itself. Red paper falls away, and what she holds up is something that perhaps was taken out of a glass showcase on display at the Colosseum. Red leather unfurls and fans out, settling as the strips on the gladiator's skirt clanks softly against one another, triangular metal tips blue and steel tipped from heat treament in an oily gossamar. Underneath is a matching red and black cloth, trimmed with golden stitching.

A seperate piece is held in the other hand. An open faced, sleevless vest that tesellates between crimson and orange patterns of flame rolling up from the bottom to top, with epualletes instead of corded rope are wreathed in red ribbons with similar metal tips as the base, fastened with gold thread and lengthening out over the back and cut to look like fire when it moves. Tying the rest of it together is a silk shear cloak of sunset red that clasps over one shoulder.

"It should fit with minimal adjusments. It's not like you're wearing much anyways," she gestures, handing it over with her chest puffed out in pride. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn leans over the cloth and then looks as each piece and layer is pulled out. With surprisingly expert fingers, he gauges each piece of cloth and starts tugging at the fabric. Testing, watching. There's a long moment of silence as he runs his hand over the piece of cloth - after all, if he was going to wear _clothing- it better be utmost quality. Or something that makes him miserable.

Finally, holding the sleeveless vest, the most important piece of the suit, surely, he flips it about. His orange eyes stare Aryia down, and with a long inhale and slow exhale, he slowly puts down the cloth. "... it is brilliant." He slowly grins in his macabre fashion. Though he then picks up the epaulettes. "This one is not certain of these. Are these not perhaps... a bit too fancy?"

The Goblin leans in to sniff at the two pieces of armor, her nose scrunching up.

Picking at something on her foot, she grins at the Mul. "Nicely done, Aryia. But I shall hold you responsible if he can no longer fit through the door on the account of his ego swelling." A little blue tongue's stuck out at Aryia, and Irshya snorts.

"But it is an excellent piece of work, the colours are on point. He may yet survive to old age with that to protect him."

Irshya squints at Aelwyn. "They are flawless and work as a part of the set as a whole. You will wear them and be happy." Thus begins the FROWNING of a lifetime.

Aryia watches Aelwyn starkly as he reviews her work. Less looking for approval, and more evaluating how he feels about the pieces. Her smirk is joined in full to a proper cocky smile. Followed by a snort at Irshya. "It's less for his protection and more to stoke that ego," she motions before resting on her back foot.

She glances to Irshya and shakes her head. "I can make something flawless but the client doesn't like it. It's not what I want, it's what he wants. I even gave him his fucking loincloth," she mentions, looking back up at Aelwyn, matching the stare with her own glowing gaze. A brow quirks up. "You said you liked the idea of them. I made them not as regal, and match the flow of the skirt. They should all flutter and snap when you spin around, sounds kind of like a crackling camp fire. Try it on." Pause. Please don't undress here, Irshya will kill you." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn twists his lips, giving the epaulettes another look over. His fingers flow over the red ribbons - the only fond look he gives the whole garment. What it would look like, indeed? "Ah, but this one has to be careful, lest he be known to be too upstuck." He says with a spread of his hands. "To be stickler for rules, and the killer of the spark of joy." He gives a look at Irshya then, flicking his forked tongue at her. The Dragoon was developing an immunity to Irshya frowns.

At the speaking of his ego, he twists his lips and crosses his arms. "Tch, it is not _only_ for the ego. There is a _purpose_." Like with his loincloth, obviously!

The Dragoon gives Irshya a stare. "... this one is tempted, but this one shall retreat to the baths." The draconian then announces, taking the garb with him and going into the dressing rooms there.

The only thing that prevents the mop from smacking Aelwyn in the face is that the mop-end remains stuck in the bucket. Which in turn gets stuck on a stool, and these are fastened to the floor. But she did /TRY/. Letting out an annoyed huff, the Goblin swats at the air in the Sith's general direction.

"Sometimes what the client wants will get them killed. One must err on the side of /staying alive/.", she opines to Aryia.

"And yes, the bath's changing room, or one of the staff rooms, are acceptable places to be unclothed. Not out here at lunch hour." There's more frowning, which will follow Aewlyn to the baths.

Aryia, still watching Aelwyn, seems to pick up on what he's focused on, and the shifting of her weight and swapping of one brow raise for another nets it for later. She pivots out of the man's way, flowing into one of the chairs next to Irshya. Wordlessly, she gives the pool-shark a side hug as her expression remains that same smirking veneer. "All clothes I make, one can fight in them. Even the dresses. His is even resistant to fire," she signs, patting Irshya on the back before leaning against the bar. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Someone tries to push through the lunch rush to approach the mute with a pad of paper and pen in hand. "Coach Aryia! Will your team accept the recent challenge?"

Aryia stares dumbfounded at the reporter before scowling and waving them off. "Catch me on the street, not here, you're blocking business." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"But-"

"Fuck offffff," she drags a hand through the air, pushing them towards the door as they scurry off. The mute sighs, rubbing her temple. "Fucking Tribune harks." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Tch, this one would think it would only raise the fighting spirit." Aelwyn grins as he steps around, flicking his tail tauntingly towards Irshya, before disappearing into the baths.

It takes longer than few minutes, despite the alleged lack of cloth, for Aelwyn to reappear from the baths. Many people may have missed it at first glance - but then there's a cocky kind of confidence _oozing_ out of Aelwyn as he struts his stuff out, the silk robe fluttering behind him. It wasn't just out right march either, but the languid kind of walk that knew the busy TarRaCe had nothing on him. The flutter of all the ribbons, the silk robe and even those straps of his gladiator skirt, seemed to agree.

The jacket was just draped over his shoulders though. Some allowances. with his hands on his hips, as he walks over Irshya and Ariya with an impossible grin. "How does this one look?" He asks, with a tilt of his body and barely hidden eagerness.

The Goblin gives a bit of a start at the Aryia-hug, but happily leans into it, returning it with enthusiasm. "Well, that is an excellent service you provide as a bonus." Her eyes narrow slightly, "I'm going to start worrying about competition here..." Irshya cackles then, seeming pleased and amused.

The Tribune reporter is also nearly smacked in the face with a mop-and-bucket combo, however, the stool intervenes once more, and with the man 'helped' out the door, the impending bucketing is canceled.

"To be fair, I can't complain about the extra crowd you bring out.", she says with a giggle. Then there's Aelwyn again. Her tail narrowly misses getting him in the face, almost-revenge for his tail-flicking from earlier. "It looks like you just stole something out of a Gladiatorial shoppe window.", she says with a giggle.

The pugilist snickers at Irshya, nodding. "I tend to draw a crowd where I usually go. Hence why I'm going out the kitchen door when I leave so I don't have to talk to them. I don't know what the fuck they're talking about-"

Such conversation was interrupted as the man strides back out. Aryia too was one to wear her jacket draped over her shoulders, her attention sliding over to the confident strut and display and nodding once in approval at that. She eyes him over in a professional manner, seeing how the fabric flares and sets. A finger is held up as she reaches out, tugging a strap one way, nudging an epaullete another way. Steps back again. Cups her chin.

A prideful grin cracks across her face. "Damn I'm good. Looks fucking great. How's the fit? Tail rests well? Can you stretch fully?" she inquires, glancing to Irshya. A silent snicker escapes her. "That's the point. It's supposed to be flashy. You want to be seen all the way down there in the arena. Took inspiration from that." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Tch, this one wouldn't _steal_." The Dragoon tchs at Irshya, neatly avoiding the tail swung at her. He barely broke stride whilst speaking. He lets Aryia do her adjustments to the clothing, continuing to stand with a lazy contraposto and a thumb hooked on the waist of his kilt. "The tail fits well - this one must say, the cape might get in the way, but tch - it will survive one night."

The Dragoon nods at Aryia. "And on the circus ring - if the audience cannot see one, what is the reason one is standing there?" He says, with a tilt of his head. Then, with a casual glance around, he pulls his leg out - and then almost as if he were just stretching his arm, he takes it up all the way up and against his side, finger hooked by his toeclaw. "It stretches well." He says with a grin and a sway of his hips. "Though, perhaps this one should have something around this one's legs?"

"They do talk some nonsense sometimes, don't they?", she wonders of the Mul'neissa, watching her inspect the garments and doing adjustments. "Hmm, you know, if you wish, Aryia, I can give you and your team a little private area upstairs. That way you can eat and drink in peace. I've enough staff to keep the riff-raff out. Maybe then they'll learn to ask you outside, once they learn that some of my staff were formerly adventurers or gladiators, and no one but paying customers are getting upstairs."

Another flick of her tail is sent Aelwyn's way, to keep him on his toes. Irshya blinks at Aelwyn a moment, her eyes wide. "Maybe you shouldn't high kick while wearing a skirt."

Aryia bobs her head along, shrugging once. "The cape is on one shoulder so that it stays out of the way and can obscure movements. But you can detach it and the epaulettes if you don't want them. Everything on there is replaceable or easily mended with thread or a friend with magic," she elaborates, taking a half step back so Aelwyn can stretch his leg out. The mute watches, tilting her head to the side. Only for the ruddy scale to sway his hips. She glances up at him, expression still harboring the smirk from before, but unamused by his antics as she rolls her eyes. "That's what armor is for. There is room for leg plates and breastplate. Shit, you could wear it over a full suit of armor if you want. But I made it with your scale color in mind. Seeing as you're a cocky bastard, I figured 'less is more'."

She looks down to Irshya, shrugging once. "I'll keep that in mind. My team tends to split five different ways after training, so it's not really a problem. But perhaps I can get them over here one day if you don't mind," she accepts with a sharp nod. Though, she looks over at Aelwyn, then back Irshya over her shades. "You know full fucking well girl that the whole point with him. It's all a show." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn, unhindered by the unimpressed looks given to him, lowers his leg slowly, straightening out instead. "No, this one believes they can make the epaulettes work." He says, giving them a flick. "Need to make certain they do not exaggerate this one's shoulders like certain nobles do." He makes a click like sound. "Yet, Fingers is not wrong." He rumbles in amusement, "This one does enjoy how the colors blend with this one."

Then the Dragoon looks at Irshya with a flat expression. "... if they are that interested, then is it this one's fault?" He asks whilst crossing his arms, then gives Aryia a look. "Tch, it is not _just_ for show." He protests, with a flick of his tail. "This one can back it up."

"Yes, well, I used to walk around completely bare, because I was born in the ocean, and am thick skinned, so clothing wasn't anything but an affectation. But if I can learn better, so can he. And I honestly don't ask too much from my staff, and I think asking them to be properly covered isn't outrageous." Irshya snorts and shakes her head. "But one third of the TarRaCe's guardians is Ceinara, soooo, there is some leeway, I suppose."

The Goblin peers at Aelwyn a moment. She frowns again, a little crackle of static flowing across her hair, making some of it stand up. "Uhm, yes, I think you take some of the blame for showing off. It's one thing to wear it, and another altogether flaunting things."

Aryia seems pleased that Aelwyn finds her attire to his liking, her chuffing once as she falls back down onto the chair. A glance is thrown towards Irshya, then back to Aelwyn. "She's the boss, not me," she shrugs with hands up in an 'I-surrender' pose. "Besides- I don't want to see you back it up. I'll kick whatever back you're trying to up over into the next country if you try on me."

She looks back over the counter. Chews her lip, then turns back. "Anywho. Wear for it a bit, let me know if you want any adjustments, and then you can pay me then. I work in the Colosseum, so you can easily find me there. Not like you can run off with the damn thing- I can find you." She smiles. It's a threat. "Later. Good to see you, Shark." Irshya gets another endearing ruffle of the staticky hair before the mute near silently rolls over the bartop, and...

She's gone?

The kitchen door opens and closes. <Handspeech/Tongues>

GAME: Aryia rolls stealth: (10)+45: 55

"This one was asked if this one can stretch fully." Aelwyn points, then leans a bit closer towards Irshya, his teeth wide and sharp. "This one did just as was asked." Then he straightens before he gets electrocuted. Grinning at Aryia, he shakes his head. "Now, this one would not do such just for the challenge."

The Dragoon then bows his head at Aryia, "Fingers," He greets - and then straightens, trying to find out where the Mul'neissa disappeared. Staring blankly at the spot, he then looks towards Irshya. "She was just there, was she not?"