Rushing To The Altar

Log Info

• Title: Rushing To The Altar

• Characters: Aryia, Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: 142A Lynxstride Lane

• Summary: Telamon and Cor'lana brave the city streets to beard a fearsome power in her home -- specifically, Aryia. They need wedding garments, and soon -- after all, the marriage ceremony is in a month! Aryia, of course, has opinions, and makes them known -- whether the couple care for them or not.

142A Lynxstride Lane, early evening.

A small street a couple of blocks away from the heart of the markets. Traffic is light to non existent, as errant small shops litter the road, supplied by humble abodes and condominiums for the more meagerly lived.

One such residency was of the latter, a condo whose door was adjacent to an alleyway. A single window would give way to anything within, were there not heavy, heavy curtains blocking any light from entering, as well as any prying eyes. Though, a singular potted plant rests in the window sill. Black petaled, and closed, despite the time of day. It's nondescript, and hard to miss.

The two half-elves that walk through the neighborhood of the Lower Markets are dressed for the chilly autumn weather that blows through on the early evening. Cor'lana's wearing a long-sleeved sweater and a knee-length skirt that's a little toned-down compared to some of the outfits she'd worn more recently in the summer days that are now behind them. Her arm is wrapped around Telamon's as they walk together. Pothy sails overhead, taking care not to get too far ahead of either of them.

"Here's hoping Aryia's there. Otherwise we'll look pretty silly," Cor'lana says with a smirk to Telamon as they reach the front door of the condo that belongs to one of the finest tailors in Alexandria.

For all of summer's ebbing and autumn's arrival, Telamon is still dressed fashionably. His concession to a chill he really doesn't feel is a long, almost ankle-length coat over his ruffled white silk shirt and dark trousers, his boots clacking on the cobbles as he keeps stride with Cor'lana.

"Mmm. Perhaps. You know, it'd be nice to have some way to check with people, know if they're -in- when you come visit." He rubs his chin, contemplating the thought, before continuing on and approaching the door with Lana. Tel raises his hand to knock at the door, glancing at Cor'lana. "And besides, it's not like we're here for no reason. It's business, and legitimate business at that."

One is pretty certain the condo is abandonded. The knock echoes hollow. Nothing stirs within. Pretty sure it's em-

Keen hearing can hear the muffled sound of a door being opened. A beat later, the heavy curtains part ever so faintly. It's beyond dark in there. A singular, glowing eye peers for a brief moment between the fabric before it vanishes. A hand pokes through. Holds up a single digit. The universal sign for 'hold on a moment.'

More waiting. Shuffling of some things. Something heavy being moved. And the clanking of... is that metal pinging?

The door unlocks. Unlocks again. Again. Again. A chain moves. Finally, it creeeeeeaks open to reveal-

A sleepy eyed Aryia. Her white hair is in a frizz. In a shirt that's five sizes too big, to the point where its dangling just above her knees. She stifles a yawn, then a burp behind a hand. Then flicks a crooked middle finger at her exposed shoulder. "What's up." <Handspeech>

Is she even wearing pants?

"Oh, sorry, Aryia, we didn't mean to interrupt your nap," is the first thing that comes out of Cor'lana's mouth as she sees Aryia in a state of dishevelment that's presumably brought about by sleep--but then again, she might not be able to tell if it's from anything else. "Err, well. Telamon and I are here on business."

"They're getting married!" Pothy crows in his true voice as he lands on Cor'lana's shoulder.

Cor'lana nods to that. "The date's set for the 16th of Rhaltaas," she says, "and we decided to ask you to make both my dress and Telamon's outfit. Of course, with a generous payment due to the fact it's... well, it's in a month."

Telamon blinks slowly. Once, twice. Then his figurative feet get traction and he coughs politely. "Sorry to disturb you, Aryia. It's been more than a little busy of late... though I expect you know that as well as we do." He gives Aryia a careful eye, his own gaze sparkling, and a tiny grin flickers at his mouth before he puts on a poker face again.

"In any case, yes, we finally set a date, and because this IS on short notice..." Telamon reaches into his coat, removing a wax-sealed bottle. The liquid inside is dark, but stars can be seen twinkling within it. "I also brought a token of appreciation."

Aryia glances to Pothy with an unspoken 'no shit' expression that she wears oh so well. She shakes her head at the apologies thrown her way, a hand coming up to smooth her hair down. Her ears visibly perk up as she catches the date, and she looks a little more alive. And then her ears droop as she fixes them both with a flat 'really. A month?' look. She's gotten a lot better at getting her point across without saying a word.

Even though she wouldn't shut the door on them, and they know it, they also know she really thinks about it. Glowing gaze snaps to the bottle. And a brisk hand yoinks it free. "Come in, let me put on pants," she gestures quickly before darting deeper into the pitch black abode.

Inside was a simple abode. The living room and dining area was immediate, with a small offshoot for a kitchen. Two closed doors are at the back of the living room, and a hearth next to that was empty. A well made dining table and chairs occupy the space (there's even a sith-makari chair!). There was also a few chairs in the living room with a coffee table, and some end tables strewn about with a comfy looking couch in the middle behind a the coffee table to tie it all together.

Shelves dot the walls with several memorabilia. Various sea faring baubles like sextants and compasses. Boxing tape dangles from a nail. There's a mini anchor, as well some ropes that extend from one end of the wall to the other. There's also a fancy-looking medal hanging from a nail in the wall as well.

Aryia comes out of the door on the left, hair brushed back with some brown pants on and a black tank top. She claps her hands twice, and a couple of mana lamps flicker on to illuminate the space. "Alrighty, let's talk shop," she gestures, yawning again as she inspects the bottle curiously. <Handspeech>

Cor'lana seems relieved as Aryia informs her and Telamon that they can, in fact, come inside the condo. "I know, it's a short turnaround, but when Telamon and I heard that the undead were falling back, we decided to get the ball rolling as quickly as possible before something /else/ happened to ruin it all," she explains as they step inside.

Her eyes linger for a moment on the medal as she passes by, but chooses not to ask about it at that precise second. Instead, she takes a seat on the couch. "Umm, well, I'm looking for something that's... Maybe not /quite/ as fancy as that dress I wore to meet Her Majesty, but still nice. Something long and flowing and shows off my curuchuil mark."

"But not low enough to scandalize Telamon's whole family," Pothy adds. Helpful bird that he is.

"It's called 'Night's Kiss'," Telamon explains helpfully as Aryia peers at the bottle. "It's a magical liquor, made using wine and a few other ingredients, brewed at night." He grins. "I've been branching out a bit in my alchemical experiments. It's quite good, actually."

Shifting gears, he continues, "I actually have a simpler request, and at least this one comes with a visual aid." He opens his haversack, pulling out a book. Flipping it open, he turns it to face Aryia, showing an elven man wearing elaborate, flowing robes. "Something like this, but in black or dark blue, with silver accents."

Aryia grins at the idea of a magic liquor. "I'll give that a try later and get back to you," she motions with one hand, walking up to a shelf and nudging the bottle onto a spot. She has to get up on her tip toes. She's short. Don't bully.

She looks to Cor'lana as she explains what she wants, giving a slight dip of the head before her attention flicks to Pothy. "We don't have the tits for that," she bluntly gestures to the bird. "Don't worry."

Back to Cor'lana, a stare, then to Telamon. She sighs in relief, taking the book and examining the drawing. Back to Cor'lana. "Do you have a reference or are you going to make me suffer." <Handspeech>

Cor'lana flushes a little. "Had enough to beguile Zalgiman," she mutters to herself. Which, of course, no muttering is safe from Aryia, but as though to lead Aryia off that particular line of questioning, she does reach into her bag and draws out her journal.

Besides some sappy lines of poetry in Sildanyari that seem to be about Telamon, there's also a drawing. It's of a faceless woman wearing a lavender-colored dress with a boned bodice and an awful lot of lacing and grommets along the partially open sleeves and the front of the bodice, revealing an underdress of the same color underneath. Surprisingly, it's a rather intelligible sketch. "I hope it makes sense," she says with a small amount of worry.

Telamon glances at the journal, and furrows his brow at the poetry, before clearing his throat. "Obviously, we wanted to come to you first. I know Jovani could probably do the work, but... I think we'd both appreciate one of our best friends to do it instead."

He smiles a bit, wryly. "It's been a wild time since I walked into Alexandria leading my donkey. You were the first, well, adventurer I met here." His eyes glint merrily. "I said as much to Lana. It doesn't even feel like almost a year. More like ten."

Aryia just raises a brow at Cor'lana as scarred, missing in a few places ear flicks from her muttering. "Whatver works," she shrugs at that before leaning forwards to take the sketch. She frowns, scars on her face pulling her visage down some in the process. Glowing eyes flick from the drawing, to Lana, back to the drawing, then to Lana. "You want this complicated shit in... one month."

She exhales deeply, rubbing her temples as one eye cracked open watches Telamon. His wry, honeyed words get the abrasive mul'neissa disarmed slightly, her ears drooping slightly. "It feels like a year," the blunt elf elves elfishly, her shaking her head.

She picks up the other reference, one in each hand, and peers over it to look at the to half elves. Back down. Back up. Back down. Up. Both books get closed with a snap as she tosses them onto the coffee table. She crosses her arms, lips pursed. Bare foot tapping on the ground.

A long moment of thought. Weighing. Timing. Testing. Redoing. Measuring. Adjusting. Adjusting. Adjusting-

One thing of note about the house is that it is... very, very silent in here. One could hear another's breath easily. One could also hear the staccato hissing and pops of subwhispered words. <Handspeech>

"I c-n d- -t," the mute nods.

There's a slight sense of nervousness as Cor'lana interprets Aryia's words and then waits for her verdict. She looks like she's about to offer Aryia enough gold to go diving into a small swimming pool of it when the mute confirms it. Cor'lana sighs in relief and leans back into the couch, a smile spreading on her face. "Thank you," she says genuinely. "Truly, just--name your price. I know it's a pain. And you can change my design if you need it to change."

"And you can ignore the sappy poems that compare Telamon's nose to the 'most noblest of statues'," Pothy says, mid-feather preen. "Seriously, his nose? At least it's not belly buttons. I've read some pretty bad poetry that compared belly buttons to pasta."

Cor'lana looks embarrassed /and/ a little green. "How... Where... You know what, I don't want to know," she answers Pothy.

Telamon brings his hands together, clasping them. "Outstanding," he says with a grin. "I assume it'll be easier to do the measurements here and now, so you have them on hand as you work? Should I make you some coffee? I am not above pitching in to help out, especially when it is on short notice."

He raises an eyebrow at Lana, and just shakes his head. "Really, dear, it's a nose. I'm just thankful I didn't break it when I was a child. But..." He trails off at Pothy's comment, and blinks repeatedly. "Wait, what? I've seen some Veyshanti poetry that compares the navel to a jewel, but pasta?"

Aryia, without missing a beat, gestures to Cor'lana, "I'm going to change your design somewhat because it looks like you've been sitting there doodling increasingly complex, frilly designs for the past six months as you stare out the window sighing contently thinking about the day that is coming in the next thirty days without thinking of the poor sod that has to sew this fucking thing."

That's just her way of showing she cares. "Also, gross, and whoever thought of that deserves a swift kick in the d-"

She stops and points to the kitchen. "Coffee is in there. Water is in a small barrel. We have an artifice teakettle for hot water. We can do the measurements here, yes," she nods, fishing into her pocket and pulling out a small notepad and a roll of marked string. "I have to measure you again, RT, my old measurements won't work anymore." <Handspeech>

Cor'lana flushes as her poetry is dissected--and then it deepens as Aryia completely skewers her to the wall. In the metaphorical sense. It is, incidentally, a better metaphor than the one she used for Telamon's nose, although the metaphor that Telamon recalls from Veyshanti poetry is far better than the metaphor of the pasta belly button.

"Guilty as charged," she murmurs. But she looks at Telamon and offers him a little smile. "What can I say. I am still like my teenage self in some ways--but at least this time, the person I'm fantasizing about is real."

Pothy continues to preen his feathers as he replies, "Keep it up and you'll probably come up with a metaphor as bad as the navel pasta. Which is to say, you should probably let Aryia measure you quickly or she might strangle you with the measuring tape."

"Good idea," Cor'lana says, standing up to do so.

Telamon doffs his coat, draping it over the chair before heading out to the kitchen to start brewing the coffee. "At least she's willing to take correction, Aryia. We've all dealt with people who are incapable of admitting error." The sounds of water being poured and a kettle being activated herald the prospect of good coffee -- well, maybe. Depends on Aryia's tastes.

Tel steps back out, leaning on the doorjamb. "What else do you need, Aryia? Besides measurements."

Aryia just stares at Cor'lana before slowly looking at Pothy. "He's right. As much as I am happy for you two- I really am, despite how annoyed I am- I /will/ strangle you if pasta poetry comes out."

She pops the measuring string like its a wire as it makes a >thhhvwhip!<

"Yeah, that's true, Telamon," she motions to him from across the room. Her hands light up ever so faintly out of habit to make it easier to see. "I'm going to need the fabrics you want for this. I will not have time to go and search for fabric. And lace. So much fucking lace," she lists off. "I'm also going to need you two to come by here every few days after I get the fabric so I can constantly adjust for the two of you if you can. Adventuring changes your body a lot."

Without waiting for permission, Aryia walks up to Cor'lana, plants both hands on the half-sil's waist and- Cor'lana is lifted up like she's just a piece of wood.

The half sil bride-to-be is plopped down near the front of the abode as Aryia pokes, prods, and moves Cor'lana around to take her measurements. There's random comments along the way with a hand, such and such got bigger, such and such shrunk. <Handspeech>

"Sure, that sounds agreeable to me--eeep!" Cor'lana yelps a little as she's lifted like nothing. Which, granted, Aryia is /very/ strong, and Cor'lana is very slender, but it's still a little more than Cor'lana was expecting. She seems relieved for the actual measuring process once she's put down, sighing in relief.

Pothy watches Cor'lana getting poked and prodded. He laughs a little. "Your waistline got bigger? I didn't even know you were /capable/ of gaining weight, Cor'lana."

"Shut up," Cor'lana says with a flushed face. "Only by an inch! It'll disappear under the boning, anyway."

Telamon ducks back into the kitchen to pour some coffee, returning with a trio of mugs on a tray. "I wonder if it has to do with not needing to eat any more, dear," he remarks. "I mean, surely there have to be -some- effects to that sort of thing." He sets down the tray, picking up a mug and taking a sip from it.

"The fabric shouldn't be too hard to get. I spoke with Master Stiger, and got an introduction to a broker in exchange for, how shall we say, tidying up things at the Chalice meeting house?" His eyes twinkle. "Once we're done here I'll swing by with your list, Aryia, and get things moving on that front."

Aryia snorts to herself, shaking her head. "Maybe it's because you're sharing snacks with her?" she suggests. Though, as she's working on measuring Cor'lana's legs, Telamon's ponderings make the mul'neissa pause. An ear flicks. Her measurements resume without observations.

"Just because you get more gifts from Grandfather doesn't mean you can ignore your body's need to move. You're still mortal," she gestures as she stands. "Aren't you?" The question asked with her glowing gaze focused directly on Lana's. The low light in the room makes them eerily bright.

One extra-planar hating pugilist has pieced together things. It's clear from her shaking her head as she's walked over to get her notepad and jotting the measurements down.

"Anyways," she moved off that, "Once I get that list I'll buy everything I need. I'll give you an invoice for it. And I'll figure out the price of everything later. I don't have time for math." She inhales her coffee, grimacing at the temperature before beckoning to the man. "Alexandria's ass, get over here. Your turn."

Cor'lana blinks a couple of times. Nothing gets by Aryia, truly. "Yes, I'm still mortal," she says. "You could poke me with cold iron and I'd still bleed as much as a normal person would. And I still eat plenty. Social eating is important."

"And snacks are important, too!" Pothy says, his tail wagging up and down. "Don't worry, Aryia. I'm keeping her plenty humble and plenty mortal."

Then Aryia calls Telamon 'Alexandria's ass' and Cor'lana grins widely, although she flushes a little as well as she returns to the couch. "He has a better butt than I do, it's true," she teases.

Telamon just raises an eyebrow at 'Alexandria's ass'. "I assume you don't need me to undress or anything," he remarks, as he walks over after setting down his mug. Standing where Lana was, he holds out his arms to either side.

"If you say so, dear. I'm not exactly capable of inspecting it easily." He smirks at Lana, before continuing, "I think Aryia's recommending we do..." And he shudders in mock horror, "... exercises. Although if it helps, Lana, I'll be right there enduring them alongside you."

Aryia points a finger at Cor'lana. "Social eating is what has it. If the gift supplements your body with the basics, extra eating will will just pile on." A glance down to Lana's waist before she looks at her again. "Unless you're pregnant. Just... don't be right now. This dress is already razor thin with the deadline."

Man, she's pulling no punches today. "Good," she gestures to Pothy before unrolling her measuring string. "No getting undressed, that comes later. I hope you two are comfortable with that," she flicks with a hand before staring on Telamon. Once more, she pokes, prods, and moves him about without asking. The question of superior posteriors makes the seamstress stop. Lean to the side to peer. Then lean to the other side to Lana. Twist around to look at herself. Glances off to the side in thought. Then. "Violet's is better." Nod nod. Measure.

Oh! She grins. "I taught Cesran how to work out! I can do help you with that!"

What fresh hell that must be. <Handspeech>

Cor'lana flushes deeply. "No! No chance of being pregnant," she says. "Another decade at /least/ before we try for one. Maybe two. Depends on how long Telamon's mother is willing to wait." She suddenly finds herself fidgeting with the hem of her skirt in nervousness.

When Aryia gives the verdict of who has the better butt--and it comes down to Aryia's significant other--Cor'lana laughs. "That's the safest answer," she says. "I hope Violet is doing well. And... Err, I can /try/ to work out?"

Pothy just stares at Cor'lana for a moment. "That means you get to see Telamon with his shirt off more often."

The flush returns with a vengeance. "Nevermind, I'd probably die from blood loss," Cor'lana mutters.

Telamon shrugs. "I might blush a bit. Comes with the territory, I suppose. I assume you're all right with body art; I've got a fairly interesting one on my back. Long story about that one, too, but it can wait." He just shakes his head at the discussion of posteriors.

At Aryia's eager grin about 'working out', Tel actually gives her a stern look. "Just to keep the edge, Aryia. I don't want us incapacitated from some kind of demented workout program. I ran into some bald lunatic the other day ranting about 'one hundred push ups' and a bunch of other things every day."

Aryia snorts, shaking her head. "Good. Wait until later." She pauses her measurements to ponder. "... that kid is gonna be one fucking fire cracker." Triplicate blood line ties. Yeah.

She bobs her head. "Yes, Violet is well. Busy working for my mom with untangling stuff," she signs as she finishes her measurements. A glance to Cor'lana, and her glowy eyes roll. "You'll be too tired to worry about that."

The mute picks up her notepad and scribbles down Telamon's measurements, pen quickly jotting them down in a rhythmic manner before setting it aside and taking a drink of her coffee.

She peers at Tel's stern gaze. Then almost chokes. "Fuck, where?! I heard about that guy, I have to talk to him," she gestures quickly before shaking her head. "I'd push you two, but I won't destroy you. Cesran was atoning for something, so I held few bars for him." <Handspeech>

"Yeah, we keep joking one of our children might end up as the first emperor of all of Ea," Cor'lana says with a tiny eye-roll. "No, I hope they all have happy, long, and fulfilling lives that are completely free of emotional turmoil." This implies multiple children are planned.

"And I hope that they share their snacks with me," Pothy says. "/You/ did. You'd drop snacks from your highchair for me on purpose. It drove Nadi /insane/. But it was fun! ...For me, that is."

Cor'lana shakes her head, and then looks a little more considerate regarding the matter of exercising. "Keeping an adventurer's edge on things /is/ a good reason to do it," she says. "Oh! And yes, Aryia, undressing's fine. I mean, you've seen me at the TarRaCe baths before."

"I saw him down in the market district -- he was with some other fellow I didn't recognize." Telamon spreads his hands. "I was in a hurry at the time, unfortunately, or I'd have gotten his name."

He smiles at the mention of children. "I'm with Lana. All I want is for our children to live in a happy home, with the knowledge their mother and father love them no matter what. There will be trials and tribulations, but there will also be a place for them to regain their strength, if they need it."

He nods. "I don't have an objection, mostly because it's not good to try and adventure if you don't have at least a -little- stamina. So we'll work on that with you, if you like." He taps his chin. "Just... don't expect us to vault anything easily. I don't think either of us is built for the kind of things you can do."

Aryia nods to the two of them "I'm sure they'll live happily. Just... I'd live somewhere else other than here. Too much shit happens to raise a family. Let me know where you two settle, I'll visit."

She picks her coffee up sips more slowly this time around. A small chuckle at Pothy's antics. "I'm okay with body art," she mentions to Telamon. "Wish I could get some, but, needles," she shudders. "Think I'm painted enough as is anyways," the scarred elf gestures.

She huffs. "Damn. Oh well. I guess I'll run into them later or whatever."

Her gaze drifts over her abode, settling on the medal on the wall. "I can teach you two. Shit, I teach new fighters in the Colosseum all the time. I don't expect you two to vault buildings or punch through stone walls, you don't have literal decades of conditioning. And I don't expect me to shoot lightning or something, so we're even on that front." <Handspeech>

Cor'lana nods. "We were thinking about the Mythwood to raise them," she says. "Tel's family is there, and I'm told it's easier to raise children when your relatives are nearby to help. And like you said, Alexandria is... Too much."

She finally takes her mug of coffee and takes a sip. And... she makes a face. "A little more cream and sugar," she murmurs.

"Didn't you /just/ learn from Aryia your unnecessary eating is why you're gaining on the waistline?" Pothy fires off. Always quick to tease.

"Yes, hence the discussion of exercise," Cor'lana says. "Either that, or I learn some of that magic that my mother used to... enhance her appearance."

Pothy just stares at her for a moment. "Lana, no amount of magic is making your bust measurement bigger," he says simply, and then he looks at Aryia, like he hasn't just devastated Cor'lana's whole psyche. "Aryia, do you have any snacks we can share?" His tail wags with anticipation.

Telamon nods in agreement with Lana. "As much as I've enjoyed Alexandria -- it's an exciting place -- but I think we'll go to Ylvaliel, make a home there. Close enough that my parents and family can visit, far enough that we won't be underfoot -- nor will they."

He takes a pull off his coffee, and gives Pothy a quelling stare -- less for the snack-begging, more for the needling on Lana. That done, he continues, "Fair enough. We'll work out a schedule at some point. At least the weather is shifting away from summer heat and we won't bake out there."

Aryia bobs her head. "That's a good idea, and a safe place to raise them."

She glances to Pothy, down at herself, to Lana, then back to Pothy. "Savage," she signs to him before reaching out to pat Lana's shoulder in solidarity.

The mute punches a fist into her palm. Knuckles crack. It's loud. "Sounds like a plan. Clothes to make. Exercises to do. Weddings to attend. I'll keep your references while I work on my own sketches. Get me that textile list asap."

She whirls to Pothy, jabs a finger at him, and walks into the kitchen. There's some shuffling, pots and pans clanging. And a package thuds against the table from an expert toss. "All I have is pemmican, enjoy the shitty snack," hands snidely snipe. <Handspeech>