Rush Order

Log Info

• Title: Rush Order
• Emitter: Aryia
• Characters: Aryia, Eztli
• Place: Lower Markets
• Time: August 3rd, 2022
• Summary: Eztli needs some custom tailoring work done. She's got zero time, a complicated request, and few folks even entertain the idea. She seeks out a seamstress whose profession is at odds with their craft. The little makari manages to snag Aryia as she's shopping for potions, and makes her case for the attire desired. The mute seamstress reluctantly agrees, but accepts it as a challenge after learning the reason for the short notice request.

Lower Markets, Midday

Rumor has it that there's a mul'neissa woman that works on any range of clothing. From casual wear to fineries. Everything from head to toe. Or claw. She's none too hard to pick out of a crowd. Look for the scarred mul in a green jacket. If she glares at you, you found her.

Not the most approachable sort if scuttlebutt has anything to say, but that's what one's working with.

Speaking of, said woman at present is at an alchemist's stand, sliding forward a sheet of paper across the stall counter. The owner attempts to barter, but a finger jabs at the page, her other hand occupied by a filled bandolier of potions. Sweat sticks to her from the heat, her green jacket tied around her waist as a tank top vents away what it can.

It seemed that 'sith-makar' and finery did not seem to go particularly hand in hand in city of Alexandria, which made finding any sort of fanciful clothing difficult on short notice. There was still one potential hope however, of the Mul'niessa that Ravenstongue had told her about, and she had heard rumors about in the area.

Not the most settling of rumors, but an idea of where she might be at the moment at least.

Eztli wandered the markets in her normal heavy robes until she found the Elf, and she stopped to regard her from what she hoped was a safe distance. It was probably her, right? Not many elves had that many scars, after all.

Eventually, said shadow elf's persistence pays off as a few potions are set up in a line on the countertop, which then gets swept away in one motion and replaced with coinage for it. There's a half hearted wave in goodbye, or thanks, or dismissal, it wasn't clear before the potions were added to the bandolier as she's walking away from the stand, but loosely towards the small makari.

If any gut sense was right, she looks dangerous.

Eztli was already stopped in place, but she continues to look at the elf, before she stops and realizes she was staring for some time.

Instead the small makari offers a wave to Aryia.

"Oh, hello, peace on your nest!" She greets finally. "You're Aryia right? I've heard a bit about you around town."

The elf was used to the stares, her gaze behind the shades pointed kept forward as she was pressing on. And yet, she's called out.

She abruptly stops with a heel clacking against the ground, her turning slightly towards the small makari. She glares.

A small dip of the chin.

Found her.

Aryia purses her lips, a brow raising slowly as an expectant look crosses her face.

"Hey, I don't mean any trouble, okay! No need to glare at me like that." The small makari huffs as she's met with a particularly cold greeting. "Unless I'm interrupting something important, in which case, that's okay, I can find someone else to help."

"I just heard that you're a really good up and coming seamstress in the city, and you might be able to help me if I need some new clothes made, that's all." She elaborates. "I'm not asking you to work for free or anything, I'm just looking for someone who has some experience sewing clothes for sith-makar or something like that."

Aryia doesn't seem to warm up when asked to chill her attitude out. But what /does/ crack it is the request for seamstress work. A little smug tug at her lips, she thumbs her nose.

She rolls a hand forward, indicating 'go on'. Interested in this prospect and challenge.

Eztli blinks once. Then sighs. "Ah, right. I need something special made see, because none of the shops have anything I need." She begins explaining, gesturing one hand to her arm, followed by her tail. "To put it simply, I need a sun dress made to order, that will not shredded by scales, but also not be so thick as to impede movement or lose the sheer qualities of the fabric. As well as being made to accomodate for my tail, and my complexion, if you could call it that."

"If that's acceptable, I am free now, but I need this dress made in the next few days, as well. As soon possible, really."

Is she paying attention? Her gaze is slowly sliding off of Eztli as she looks off to the side. Maybe the bob the head is her following along? She adjusts the bandolier to be fastened over her shoulder and across a hip, her reaching into a pocket and pulling out a journal as Eztli continues to talk.

Scribble scribble. Show the journal.

'Is really that it?'

The small makari was growing more exasperated by the second, and the lack of attention wasn't helping matters. By the time she's finished explaining, Eztli sighs, and reads the written note.

"Is that all? I'm not sure what you mean. They said you might be able to help, so you should know how scales have a tendency to shred fabric apart, especially ones as delicate as anything remotely sheer. And any inner lining defeats the purpose." The small makari grumbles. "And to make something on short notice like this, I fully expect to get laughed out of any self respecting shop."

GAME: Aryia rolls grapple: aliased to : (12)+21+2+2: 37

Aryia is just staring at her. Listening to the droning on. And on. And on. She huffs, snaps the book shut, and shoves it into a pocket. She walks past Eztli.

That... must be it. The one chance is gone-

A calloused hand grabs Eztli by the back of the collar. And with an ease that's borderline terrifying, she drags her off the street over to a shaded corner.

She reaches into a pocket. And... pulls out a white strip of measuring tape?

The elf makes a standing pose at Eztli. Arms apart, legs slightly parted.

Eztli didn't even have a chance to sulk by the time she was being dragged off by the collar.

Well, that was it. There was no way she stood any chance of getting out of that grip, this is how she died in some alley on the streets. The small sith-makar is left coughing for a moment, before she looks up, and blinks.

"You could have just asked me to follow you." She grumbles, but she does stop and spread out her arms and legs as told. Or shown? "Do you not have a shop or something for this?"

Aryia steps forward, quickly measuring the little makari head to toe in very quick motions. A beat to loop the measuring tape around scarred throat and neck, and she pulls out the journal from before. Numbers are jotted down. Page turn. Scribble. Show.

'I don't have a shop. And I'm not taking you to my house. I don't know you. And we have zero time.'

'What colors do you want? Do you want a pattern? Straps or short sleeves.'

She hands Eztli the journal to read before she steps behind her and puts the tape at the back of her neck and base of her tail.

Oh, the elf couldn't talk, most likely. Eztli thought the mentions of the mul'niessa letting her fists do the talking was a figure of speech. She didn't have too much time to think about it, anyways, as Aryia was quickly taking measurements.

"So what, do you just take all your clients in alleyways? That doesn't seem right." She grumbles. The measured tail flicks a bit agitatedly. "I'm not picky about the color or pattern, as long as it looks decent on me. So, whatever fabric you have that would work. But short sleeves, please."

There's a few more taps on the little makari's back. Where some scales are. Distance from neck to horns. Back of the arms. Speaking of arms. Strong, scarred grey ones loop around Eztli briefly to get her waist and hip measurements before the tape slips off and is jammed into a pocket.

She collects her book and scribbles more measurements down. A glance to Eztli. A squint behind her shades. Scribble. Show.

'My clients tend to be friends. Not random people that catch me in the middle of the street that give me fucking three days to finish it.'

She pulls it back once Ez is done reading. More scribble. More... scribbling. Is... Aryia going to ream her out?

Scribble scribble... show?

What is shown is a sundress with little flowers printed all over it, sleeves short, halfway up the bicep with a string at the front to draw it closed. A slit on the back for a tail with a flap to keep it secure. The main color scribble in is white, the flowers a yellow, something that matches oddly well with the metallic brass. And the trim of the dress is labeled as sky blue.

She looks at Eztli, a brow raised.

"Fair enough, but then why did someone recommend me to you if you only do work for friends?" The small makari huffs. "I mean, I'm happy for something to be done, if it's possible. I thought I was seeking out a tailor, and paying them fairly for a rushed priority job."

Eztli sighs, and waits for any further response.

She looks over the sketch, for one minute, and then she nods. "That will look quite nice, I think. I wasn't expecting a white dress, but I suppose the idea is for the subtlety of it. I will take it, if you are capable of making it."

Aryia stares at Eztli. An eye twitches. She raises a hand, and it starts flicking about. Quickly. Hand shapes and gestures, motions and expression. While the meaning is there, the way she's doing it just... makes some sense?

"Okay, listen here. I make good shit. The best fucking clothes in Alexandria. The only person that beats me is fucking Sandy. All this shit here matches your scales," the gist of it says. Per... haps maybe it was better she wrote things down.

"Polish your scales before you put it on, it will match the hue. You're small so it will be faster. And I matched the spines of your tail with the little ties here on the back. It's a sundress so white reflects heat. I'll triple stitch the inseams so it won't rip on scales and use a special thread for it." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Eztli blinks once, and twice, and the confusion only grows. "I'm not going to ask how I understand what you're trying to say." The small makari sighs. "Please, nothing like what they make at the prestigious moon. I'm going to hang out with my friend, I'm not even sure if it's a date. But I've seen her work, and I want to look like I'm taking her to a beach, not a brothel."

"I'm sure you're an excellent tailor though, or you just trained really hard to be good at taking measurements, which makes little sense." She continues, finally managing a hint of a chuckle. "Maybe I'll figure out a way to polish my scales beforehand. That's a creative solution for the tail spines. You'll have to show me how to do the ties when it's ready."

She reaches into her robes, and pulls out her coin pouch, sorting through the contents. "I'll give you fifteen gold pieces upfront, how much will it be for the finished product?" She asks while offering the stack of coins.

Aryia's rapid movements slow to a halt. She blinks, her glowing eyes flicking twice from the motion. Then she bursts out laughing. An odd sound that is similar to heavy breathing and nothing more. "Ha... ah... ha...... aha....."

She starts coughing, cutting that off as she rubs at the old, mangled scar on the front of her throat. But then, there's an odd gleam of competitiveness. A challenge. "A date?" she gestures.

She scribbles something down, rips the page off, then hands it over to Eztli. It's... a small list for a scrubbing powder? She taps the page. "That's for scales. I have sith-makar friends. Fifteen gold is fine. Meet me here. Right here tomorrow morning for final fitting. We have no time."

She swipes the gold. "Tomorrow!" And in a blur. She's gone. The only trace of her is the left in the paper she handed off to Eztli. <Handspeech/Tongues>

GAME: Aryia rolls craft/tailoring+2: (17)+19+2: 38

 -End Scene-