Fab Fabric and Fire

Upper Markets, Midday

It's an eerie bit of silence in the typically bustling market. Just in this corner though, as the citizens go about their normal day, a vacancy near an alley way belies some worry as near recently a mul'neissian woman dragged a ruddy scaled makari into the depths.

Finally, Aryia emerges, one hand with a scrap of paper with a long list of measurements jotted down, the other hand covered in... blood?

She wipes her hand off on her pants. Brushing crumbs away. Oh, phew. It was a snack. "Lack of clothing still is a clothing choice, and still needs measurements," her hand gestures before rubbing at her temple. "And I'm not making just a fucking loincloth. If you want that, go to Sandy. Anyways. Let's figure what kind of shit you want to wear." A broad gesture is thrown about the various shopping stalls and establishments. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn walks out after Aryia - looking more disheveled and perhaps a bit shocked - but he walks with his head straight up. To an extent. Ribbons were straightened.

"But a loincloth can be _grandiose_ and glorious!" The draconian protests - but then quickly moves to give up in case he gets punched bloody. "Yet this one is _always_ open to, to, new fashions. For Cavaliers." He adds, twisting his lips. "... though this one would still wish a loincloth."

Eztli was loitering around the entrance to the alleyway, having several empty wooden skewers in one hand and a few still with food in the other hand. The small makari blinks a few times until Aryia sgakes her hand off, and she waves. "You weren't too rough on him? Aelwyn is a sensitive individual, you know." They point out. "I really don't see what you see in loincloths so much, Aelwyn. You're missing out on all sorts of options, you know."

Aryia rolls her eyes at Aelwyn. "You want new fashions for a cavalier, get a coat with a lot of bullshit medals and cords on them, you'll look very important. Can have a loincloth under whatever we get for you."

Her attention shifts to Eztli. "Sensitive? No. He's absolutely not sensitive. His fixation is dumb as shit but he's not sensitive." She wipes at her nose, and cracks her knuckles. "I just kept him still is all." A tiny smile crests her lips as she eyes Eztli's wings idly. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn clicks his teeth. "Never was one for coats and medals. They only gather dust and are stuffy." He tilts his head in thought. His head turns towards Eztli. "And what kind of possibilities are those? This one hopes not too tight pants, this one tends to tear those." He gives his tail a bit of a swish.

As far as loincloths goes, the Dragoon says with spreading his hands. "It is this one's style! It flows when this moves; and red cloth was very important to this one's performance." He makes a gesture with his hand upwards. "Fire. Blooming fire."

"They gather dust because you're not wearing them, Aelwyn. Besides, if you aren't spending at least a half hour polishing your medals and buttons prior to a parade, you're doing something wrong." Eztli huffs loudly, finishing off one of the last skewers of food and holding the other one out in Aryia's direction, judging it as the object of the monk's gaze.

"Anyways, just ask him to pose if you need him to stay still." The small sorceress snorts. "Or maybe not, he might be flexing too much to get any proper measurements. Aren't you worried about it sometimes though, Aelwyn? Then again, I suppose miss Un'eth really doesn't care whatsoever."

Aryia shrugs. "Hate that I agree with you on that. Medals I got just get shoved on a shelf. But Eztli has a point." She looks down at (what little there is) his clothes, expression turning flat. "... they make fabric that is tear resistant. I use it for all makari clothing. And... its for performing? Shit, I can make that easily. Dancer's outfits have many free flowing strips of cloth.

The skewer enters her field of vision, the mute plucking it from the two-toned sorceress's hand with a faint yet thankful nod. "He'll stay still when I tell him to stay still," she signs with an undertone of a not-so-subtle threat.

Biting down on the skewer, she produces a journal and a pen, idly working on scribbling something down. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn leans just subtly enough away from Aryia when that threat is spoken. "Worried of which, Spelldancer?" The Dragoon asks, and then flashes his teeth. "Ah, but for a dancer it is important to show one's body for the movements to be truly appreciated." He explains, "Especially when one is on fire." And it had nothing to do with the fact he was flexing his chest just subtly under his open cloak.

"Yet, this one is open to suggestions. Shan't we then look for new fashions?" The Dragoon tilts his head, looking at Eztli. "It _is_ a rare opportunity."

"I used to have more than a few awards for various things. I might still have some even, I guess." Eztli shrugs, smiling just a bit as Aelwyn leans away. "Oh no, Aryia is great about that stuff. The dress she made me held up really well. Though I might need some adjustments done since I can't actually wear it right now. But now is the time to make Aelwyn look as pretty as can be, and put up a good showing for them."

"It's not just the movements of your body, though. I like baggy pants sometimes, they accentuate the movements real well. And well, you know. you're moving around a lot Aelwyn, and it doesn't leave that much room for accidents or imagination."

"... fire resistant cloth," Aryia gestures with a pen between her digits before scribbling that information down. A glance is taken over her shades to look at Aelwyn- and his flexing- before her deadpan stare flicks up to him and she starts to walk off in the direction of the stalls and storefronts. Speaking with actions, time to look for new fashions.

She continues the conversation, expecting them to follow. Looking a bit smug about her work holding up, she continues, "I can fix your dress. I have several ideas for it and other pieces." She stops in front of a window to a store, looking over something within before waving a hand at them and pointing to it. It's Veshyan influence, a pink dress with straps on the shoulders that falls straight down to the legs, save for two large slits. Around the legs and the arms was a shear pink fabric. "You can fake a lot of volume with shear," Aryia explains. "And it flows like smoke if you get the right color match. And you can wear your stupid loincloth under it yet still show it." See? She can compromise! <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn points towards Aryia. "Already know someone from Goblintown for fire resistant." The draconian says - he was on fire enough to not know someone by now. And then he is flashing his teeth at Eztli again. "Tch, it sounds as if Spelldancer wishes to see accidents." he teases, before he follows on after Aryia.

"... ah, this one sees." The draconian says after a moment. He was not going to mention the color - it was at least going towards the right shade. "Yet, with too much volume it shall tangle." He points out, and then clicks his teeth with a tilt of his head. "Though this one can appreciate the look of the fabric." There's another twist of his lips, and then he suggests, "What of something more straight and direct?"

"Well, I'd appreciate that, when you have the free time after making sure Aelwyn is taken care of. I'm not in a rush for any emergency date clothes for the foreseeable future, but I would like it fixed before I need any last minute alterations, this time. I've learned my lesson." The small makari laughs, only to find that Aryia was already taking off and she had to jog to get back to pace.

"Oh, that one looks real pretty, doesn't it?" Eztli grins. "No Aelwyn, I told you before, you're not my type, even if others are real lucky. I just don't want you doing something in front of nobility that might come to bite you in the ass later, you know? Better safe than sorry, if you mess things up it's real hard to backpedal at times. As for tangling? Sounds like you aren't moving the right way, it's not the fabric's fault."

Aryia nods once about fireproofing things, accepting the Goblintown fact at face value. No better place to get something resistant to combusting than from there. She quirks a brow at Aelwyn. "It will tangle only if the tailor is a fucking moron." She doesn't seem off put by another suggestion, her taking it and rolling it around in her head. After a moment, she snaps a finger, then taps the glass, pointing at the waistline of the dress. "See where the shear starts on the hips? Something gladiators wear to obscure movements and to look flashy is a sort of kilt that is cut into strips. Metal bands at the ends give them weight, and with all the twirly shit you do, it'll flare out constantly.

She taps higher on the glass, ignoring the look the owner inside is giving her. Can do the same on the arms, fake pauldrons, kind of like a Blar military coat with the epaulettes but instead just strips of leather or fabric, can make ones on the back longer so they flare out or whatever. Can do a gradient of oranges and reds to make it look like fire. And cut it to look like fire. Whatever really. I'm not a moron tailor."

She glances back to Eztli. "Good. We can do that later after I take care of him. I would lie and say I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart, but it's actually to show nobility I'm one of the best fucking seamstresses on this side of the continent." She bites down on the skewer, devouring half of it. "Her type is angst ridden ladies," she gestures bluntly. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn looks at Aryia, then towards Eztli with a click of his teeth. "This one can be grouchy, too." He says with a macabre grin. Then he gestures with his hand. "If this one cannot kick a leg above this one's glaive, how can this one move?" He says, and then gives Aryia a bit of a look. "This one's tailor was very good in the Troupe."

Then he falls quiet as he listens onto Aryia's explanation. "Hmm. Tilt cut, higher up here," He points to one of his hips, "And then hanging from here?" And then he looks at his loincloth. "Strips of loincloth..." Yep, he was going there. Then he looks up and flashes his teeth. "This one likes the idea of those... pompous shoulder things. Perhaps a silk cloth hung over one shoulder?" He suggests. "Because this one's horns and shoulders shall be on fire."

"Oh I think you've proven yourself already, Aryia. Didn't think you were doing it for nothing though either, since I'm pretty sure you don't need the gold. I think you're on to something with that design, though! " Eztli chuckles.

"It's not just, well, I guess it kind of is." The small makari mumbles as Aryia puts it so bluntly. "There's more to it than that though, you know! Anyways, I think something real flowing and firey would suit Aelwyn perfectly, right?"

Aryia returns the look from Aelwyn with a raised white brow. "Okay? And where are they?" the mute rhetorically asks as she makes a show of looking around before returning back to the ruddy scaled makari. "Not here. I'm here. Now. I know what works and doesn't, I can make it work if it shouldn't. And I sure as shit know how to make something that flexible enough to let you do something as simple as kicking high." A crunch follows as the rest of the skewer is consumed, before she slips the stick into a pocket and crosses her arms.

She listens, gaze listing off to the side as she mentally constructs the attire. Even with all the frills and silken additions, as well as Eztli's suggestions of flame and flow. A pause. Then a sharp nod. "I can do it."

The pugilist glances to Eztli. Stares. Shrugs. "I don't judge, I have no room to speak on such matters. Regardless. Do these ideas suit you, Aelwyn?" she inquires of Aelwyn- and despite the fact with her being shorter- she looks down towards him, head tilted to the side. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn closes his mouth then, gritting his teeth. Of course they wouldn't be here. Inhaling instead, and with a wave of his hand, he looks at the angry tailor. "As long as one does not make it too explosive. For, as far as this one was instructed, the attention should be on this one." And his body, obviously. Which he might flex just a ligttle bit. "This one shall take few strips and little silk very far."

The Dragoon then walks over and takes light hold of Eztli's shoulders. "There is no cure for the fire in one's heart. Sometimes, the only way to tame it is an angry look in someone else's eyes." He sagely advices, with a macabre grin.

"Aryia's right you know, I'm sure if anyone knows how to make something that you can kick in, it'd probably be her. You'd be in good hands, Aelwyn, it isn't going to replace any other work you've had done. As for me, sounds like I'm pretty hopeless, right? Judging or not." The sorceress muses.

Eztli takes a bit of time to rub their chin. "You know, if you want to take some attention back on Aelwyn as he really wants, flames don't have to be red, do they? I should know, fire is my specialty." They chuckle. "yellow and blues are both parts of flames. A triad of those could look nice with the right tone of everything?"

Aryia quirks another brow at him at his reaction. Seemingly such a small tic not getting past her. She shifts her weight on her feet. "I apologize for my brashness- I am still riding a high from fighting a demon the size of a castle, being bathed in literal divine power from a fucking angel dragon to fight said castle, and then beating that demon castle with my friends and family into the goddamn Halls. I am feeling very..." she rolls a hand in the air. "... cocky."

She smiles.

"But yes. I can get it done. I have and have made many clothes with little on it. The self is the attention," she confirms, nodding along and pushing aside the previous anecdote as if it were nothing.

Her attention drops from Aelwyn, to Eztli, to Aelwyn. "Thanks, but I'm taken." Down back to Eztli. "Hopeless is a state of being. States change. You can find a broody one with enough time. We live long enough."

The additional suggestions garner her journal to come back out, with more scribbling to follow. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn twists his lips, looking at Eztli for a very long moment. A very long moment. "... yes, yellows and blues are part of flames." He finally concedes - after going through all his counter-arguments. He then holds his hands out. "This one supposes parts of these scales tend towards purple and oranges." He says with a long sigh, then grins. "This one appreciates the support."

Listening to Aryia, Aelwyn tilts his head backwards, giving the mul'niessa an appraising look. "... there is nothing wrong with cocky. It is quite preferable." A wide set of teeth. "After all, this one is joining the Order of the Cockatrice." He says that nearly as a threat, looking at Aryia with his teeth shining.

Eztli blinks a few times, pauses a few more times, and shrugs. "Yes, that sounds about on par with what would actually have Aryia be injured, I'd say. I'd feel a bit cocky after anything like that. And I know, I've got centuries to find someone that can tolerate being around me for a few centuries more. Still, you'd think it would be easier to be patient."

"So you should be flamboyant then, Aelwyn. But I don't get it. What's wrong with those colors? You were just saying how you want the focus on you, so why not colors that complement each other and draw attention to you? That's the nice thing with having colorful scales, isn't it?"

"One must accept all parts of oneself to truly shine," Aryia wistfully gestures, dipping her head. Seems like she too has had much to work on that. She bobs it a few times, tapping her foot as she finishes writing down whatever it was and stashes her journal away. Shining eyes peek over the shades to look at the Cavalier-to-potentially-be. Stares at the macabre grin. Then sighs. "If the Order of 'biggest cockatrice in the room' doesn't take you, then the world is fucking over, as the threads of fate have been totally severed." She rubs her temples.

A shrug is thrown Eztli's way. "Patience is something that is learned. Took me a long while to figure that one out." She rests on her back foot. "Color is color. Even dirt-color can be appealing if the craftsman knows how to work it. Now, I prefer greens, silvers, and golds. And won't be caught dead in only blacks, greys, and reds. So I get it." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn's grin disappears and he loosk at Aryia with a confused, perhaps offended, perhaps unsure look on his face. He puts his hand on his hip. "This one feels as if one should be offended." But he doesn't have it in him, instead turning his eyes towards Eztli and actually giving her a sombre look. "... it is the color of the Crimson Troupe." He tells her, quite flatly. "It is this one's color that this one carries with pride."

Speaking of which, he turns towards Aryia. "And it is _fine_ color to be dressed only in. Though this one feels gold goes with it very well. Tch, even the blues and reds."

"I don't think you should be offended, Aelwyn, don't worry about it. She's just saying that you'd be a perfect fit for the order of the cockatrice. Are you going to be offended that you're right for an order you're going to be championing? Now _that_ doesn't sound right to me." Eztli points out, shaking her head once and patting Aelwyn on the shoulder. "Now, you really should say these things before hand, though. So we know what we're doing. If that's what you want, I'm not going to argue it."

"If you take offence to facts, then you must look within for the transgression," Aryia flatly gestures with a shrug. Before pausing. Then resuming. "I'll make a few sets, with one of just red and some gold. It's not like it's going to take very long anyways with how little I'm making."

She nods once with Eztli's points, before resting on her back foot and crossing her arms. "You work at the TarRaCe, right? I'll find you and we can do adjustments. Don't bother with payment, the clout is all I want." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn reaches out and pats Eztli back on the shoulder. "And bias the discussion of what suits this one's scales? Tch, never." He flashes his teeth. "... and this one is not opposed to other colors. They are just... different." He makes a face. Was this how growing sense of style felt?

Then Aelwyn lifts up his hand at Aryia. "No. Clout is not enough; for this one shall pay in coin or kind." He states, firmly. "Though this one has many services to render in turn, as well." He rumbles with a low thrum in his chest and slight lean towards Aryia.

"Well, I don't think you're getting away with working for free, even if you want to. At least let him pay for materials and work hours minimum, your time is probably worth a lot since you could be punching punching demon castles instead." Eztli laughs. "Alright, that's fair, but it does sound like it bothers you. But sounds like it's settled! Now, should I grab that dress while I'm here maybe? It's no Aryia design, but hey, maybe I'd manage to look good in it? I don't think she was pointing it out to see you in a dress, Aelwyn."

Aryia just stares up at Aelwyn. "Coin then for materials and labor. I'll just dump it into my team at the Colosseum," she comments before pushing up her shades. There's a nod towards Eztli: yes, her time is worth quite a bit.

But she looks up at the dress in the windows. Down to Eztli. Then back to the pink dress. "Adjust the back to be lower towards the underside of the tail, should leave room for the tail and wings. Couple it with a white hat with some feathers in it, and the combination should play well with your scale hues," she advises before taking a half step back. "I've got shopping to do to get this done. It'll be a nice break after everything. Eztli- see me later if you want more clothes that won't get fucked up by wings. Bye."

Uncouth and unfazed, the mute seamstress simply gives a parting wave before making a beeline straight towards the textile shop she just left. <Handspeech/Tonges>

Aelwyn bows graciously towards Aryia. "Naturally, one shall spent the coin as they see. This one is most grateful for the attention." He flashes his teeth as he straightens. "This one shall wait for the first dress rehearsal."

The Dragoon tilts his head and then considers Eztli for a moment longer. "Sheer would look good on Spelldancer. Floating with the thunder." He flashes his teeth, before he tilts his head. "... though has one considered ribbons on the wings?"

"Just don't rush her, trust me on this." Eztli adds, giving Aelwyn a slightly grave look. "Noted! I'll see if I can get it adjusted there. I'll keep in touch!" they wave as Aryia takes off. "I'm sure it would. Now, come on! I need someone to help me decide if this a good idea or not. It won't be anything like Aryia makes most likely, but maybe we can expand your wardrobe a bit in there."

With that Eztli grabs one of Aelwyn's hands, and unceremoniously drags him into the clothing shop as well.

-End Scene-