The Damned Lace

Log Info

• Title: The Damned Lace

• Emitter: Aryia

• Characters: Aryia, Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Aryia and Violet's condo

• Summary: Aryia is hard at work on the lace for Ravenstongue's wedding dress when Ravenstongue and Telamon show up for Telamon's fitting. The pugilist-tailor invites them in, and Telamon tries on his nuptial robes. Ravenstongue tries very hard not to faint (and succeeds).

142A Lynstride Lane, Lower Markets, Midday

Soon, it'll be all over. All the fabric and thread will be cleaned up. She can go back to her usual practice, so close to a breakthrough, yet so far from all the minute needlework needing to be done.

"F-ck th-s f-ck-ng l-c-...!" the woman hisses to herself, manalamps illuminating the disaster of a living room. Empty cups on the table bely mostly finished drinks. The line of magic booze line the kitchen counters in promise for their future imbibement.

She's currently working on the bride's dress, while the groom's is hooked on the wall and splayed out to keep any wrinkles from forming.

Meanwhile, outside the condo that belongs to a certain pugilist-tailor...

Cor'lana soon-to-be Lúpecyll-Atlon touches down on the front steps, the blue-purple wings of her spell simulating the wing-flapping that Pothy often uses to soften his landing. The magic fades out of reality, however, and Cor'lana offers a smile to her groom.

"You're really going to like what she's done," she says as she briefly rummages in the basket that's hooked around her arm, looking to ensure everything's in place. "It might be the nicest thing you've ever worn. I just hope she doesn't mind more snacks. It's the least she deserves for everything, you know?"

Right behind his bride-to-be is Telamon soon-to-be... well, same thing. His own wings are vanes of pale light, anchored to a disk that hovers parallel to his back; as his feet touch down, they fold smoothly behind him before dissipating.

"I have full faith in Aryia. It doesn't hurt she has a visual reference, too." He smiles at Lana. "Honestly, I think she might appreciate the alcohol more. Once this is over and done she's probably going to go on a truly impressive bender." He smirks slightly. "I think we startled that guard patrol when we stepped outside and took off. Ah, well, there's no rule against using flight spells in the city limits."

The mute is working. Working. Working. Working...

An ear twitches. Hands stop.

The sound of quick movements from within rapidly approach the door. The handle moves. It slams open!

A tired looking mul'neissa woman looks up at the couple, glowing eyes sunken as she's in nothing more than a large shirt that goes to her ankles. It has coffee stains all over it. An eye twitches.

"Fuck your lace," she points to Cor'lana. "Hi. You. Yours is done," her gestures shift to Telamon. "Come in." <Handspeech>

Cor'lana blinks, of course, at Aryia's appearance. She's even worse off than the other day. At least Pothy's not here to aggravate the situation. "At least it wasn't 'fuck your face'," Cor'lana says with a sheepish smile. "I came to deliver him for his fitting."

She gestures down to the basket. "We brought more magic alcohol and more snacks, too," she says. It's a peace offering... or a payoff for mob protection. Matter of perspective, really. Either way, she follows Aryia into the condo.

Telamon doesn't quite jump back, but he leans back a bit as the door slams open. "Uh... it's good to see you too, Aryia." He's not so stupid as to comment on her sartorial choices. He glances at Lana a bit worriedly, before following her inside and shutting the door.

At the state of the apartment, Tel raises his eyebrows. "Uh... is there anything I can do to help clean up, Aryia? I don't want to interfere with your work, but... yeah, I'll be amazed if you've got any clean cups left."

Aryia stares at Cor'lana and give a wave to Tel. "... I would not tell you 'fuck your face'. I'd use action for that." She looks down to the basket. And yoinks it, holding it close like its a lifeline for the future as she leads the two into the mess that is her home.

She whirls around, pointing a finger to Telamon. "You can clean my cups, but do NOT touch a thread on ANY bolts around here," she warns. Aryia plods over to the dress, her moving a view pieces of lace to mind her place. Probably about eighty percent done. She slides over to the groom's attire, her carefully taking it down. <Handspeech>

Cor'lana flushes, and she opens and closes her mouth at least two times before she wisely decides to keep it shut. Once inside the condo, she glances at her dress and... Well, she can't help it. She gasps happily, her hand going to her mouth. "Oh, it's going to look gorgeous when it's done!" she says.

She looks back to Telamon as the groom's attire is taken down, grinning as she goes and finds her place on the couch again from only a couple days prior. "Okay, time for the main event," Cor'lana says, grin spreading from ear to ear. Either Lily-of-the-Valley and Mirabilis have rubbed off on her, or she's actually allowing herself a little shamelessness. Maybe both.

Telamon nods slowly to Aryia. "I'm not that brave," he jokes. Then he traces his fingers in a little motion. "Sisig bursag," and there's a funny little whisper in the air. He says calmly, "Collect the cups, plates, and flatware, take them to the kitchen, wash them and dry them." Suddenly, cups start lifting up off the table, carried off by the unseen servitor.

Meanwhile, Tel is aware of Lana's commentary. "Try not to faint," he quips to her. Then he begins undressing. Over-cloak and boots first, then his ruffled shirt. Across his back is an elaborate tattoo in gold, silver, and blue inks, depiciting a sunburst and star-chart. "Trousers too?" he asks Aryia.

Aryia looks over her shoulder at Cor'lana, a hand gesturing as she flatly stares. "I mean punching faces. But yes. It's so beautiful," she deadpans. "I'll appreciate it and be a smug bitch about it when it's done so I don't strangle you with the lace." Good gods she's tired.

Her glowing gaze shifts to both. Then to the force collecting the plates before settling back on Telamon. "Keep your small clothes on please." A glance to peering bride to be. "You too."

A tiny smile at the joke, but its dashed away in concentration as she steps forward. The tattoo is given a slight once over (it wasn't the first time she's seen it), but she holds out his commissioned work. "I don't have to help you into this, here you go." <Handspeech>

Well, okay. This part is always Cor'lana's undoing. As Telamon takes off his shirt, she flushes, but she doesn't avert her eyes. "I-I mean, I can't imagine you're not wearing trousers underneath the garment on the wedding day. Or... something to cover the..." Cor'lana eeks out. And then her flush on her face deepens.

Which isn't helped at all by Aryia's joke. She's a rather rosy-red as she says, "I-I mean! I wasn't going to--unless you want me to try on the dress again--err..."

She claps her hands to her cheeks and slowly drags them down her face with a sigh. But she does, of course, still watch her soon-to-be husband changing garments. Cor'lana may be flustered, but she's not going to tear her eyes off him.

The slim half-elf takes a breath, before peeling down his trousers as well, stepping out of them. Telamon takes the robe, and begins to carefully slide it on. "It looks amazing, Aryia," he compliments her. It helps he's read about this kind of ceremonial garb and has at least an idea of how to get it on properly. Once it's closed and fastened shut, he raises his arms, the long sleeves hanging from his wrists. "Wow. These are... you could hide a gnome in these sleeves."

Tel tries not to snicker at his blushing bride. "Look on the bright side, Lana. Think of it as a gift package you're going to get to unwrap." His eyes twinkle merrily, as he inspects the robe's trim and the markings on it.

Aryia can't help but puff up in pride as her work is complimented on. But she glances to Cor'lana. "Do you need a cold bath? A blindfold? A stick to the skull?" She twacks her hand against another hand. Bonk.

Back to the groom to be, she steps forward, hands fussing and adjusting the way the robe sits on him. She frowns a bit, then gets some needle and thread to make a few adjustments. "Warn your neighbors after the ceremony is over," she gestures with one hand. <Handspeech>

Cor'lana stares in amazement at Telamon in his outfit, her mouth slightly open and her right hand tightly cupping her left, where Telamon's ring sits on her finger. Her eyes sparkle as she inspects him. "I knew you'd be amazing in that," she practically whispers, like she can scarcely summon the strength to speak up any louder.

And then, of course, Telamon delivers the killing remark. Cor'lana is snapped out of her fascination and is thrown right back into 'thinking disrespectful thoughts' territory. "A stick to the skull, please, because I'm not sure if I've died or if I'm about to," Cor'lana murmurs weakly. Finally, she slaps her hands to her face and just leans back into the couch.

Deeeeeeep breath. "We're renting a cottage in Ylvaliel just to make getting to the fest hall easy," she says, "and the honeymoon is out in Marniar'nir, where Tel's borrowing an estate belonging to a family friend. So... no neighbors to complain. At least for a while."

Telamon holds his arms out so Aryia can work. "Close enough to civilization if we need to get something; far enough away that we won't... ahem, disturb anyone." He looks innocent, or tries to. He winks at Lana, though.

"I admit, Marniar'nir isn't too bad. When our adventuring days are done and we're ready to settle down, I think we might look into a place there. In the meantime, though... Alexandria offers plenty of opportunities to practice magic."

His lips curve into a grin. "I must saying, flying is definitely one of those tricks I'm glad I finally picked up."

Aryia finishes up with her tiny adjustments, her nudging the clothes this way and that before moving around to the other side. So many things layered over the other, sometimes it's just a tinge... off.

Or, it's elven perfection coupled with pride getting at her, so she's doing the smallest things that won't ever actually be seen.

Needle stops for a second. She reaches out towards Cor'lana. Then flicks her forehead, a little sparkle burst of moonlight glimmering off the tap. Bonk. "Have that mending spell at the ready then," she mentions dryly at the notion of a cottage. She look sup. "Flying? You two can fly now?" <Handspeech>

Cor'lana rubs her head a little at the very inoffensive bonk, although she's still blushing rosy-red. "Not that noisy nor that destructive," she grumbles in a very weak protest. Phenomenal magic power... but only a little bit of energy to try and defend herself when she's been thoroughly assaulted by teasing.

But the topic of flying puts some life back into her, as she sits up and nods. "Yeah," she says. "It's a spell that lets us travel long distances with flight. Telamon got his faerie dragon friend to teach it to him, and I felt that I could copy it... so I did, in my own way, and it was successful." Her eyes sparkle again. "It also manifests in very different ways for me and for Telamon--but I suppose that makes sense, considering we're of separate sorcerer bloodlines."

"He was mostly teaching me theory. There's a lot that goes into flying that I didn't consider at first." Telamon smiles at Lana. "Honestly, Lana takes to it better than I do. Not surprising, all things considered."

As Aryia continues to work, Tel's brow furrows. "Why are people assuming there will be property damage? I... alright, I am not having this conversation." He shakes his head. "But yes. There's something to be said for checking out the city from about a hundred feet up. I wonder how high I could get?"

"You don't want that conversation with me." Aryia fusses with one of the sleeves, her brows furrowed. An ear twitches along, her listening clearly before pulling a looooong thread out, puts it back in the needle, then threads it back in. A brow raises. Thread tied off. Scissors snip and she sticks it into a pin cushion.

"Faerie dragon? What's that?" Ponder. "... I've always wanted to punch a dragon..."

She shakes her head. "But that sounds like its a lot of fun. I've been flying before with magic Cryosanthia did it. I bet you could get pretty high, but once you get past mountains... breathing is hard-"

She stares at the two of them. "... you two fucks don't have to breathe. Bullshit," she throws her hands up in defeat. <Handspeech>

"Please don't punch Jyndei," Cor'lana says, chuckling in a nervous way. "They're just tiny little dragon-ish creatures who live in Quelynos. He acts kind of cat-like? I catch the pixies trying to play with him sometimes. Just a little orange dragon with butterfly wings."

She points at Telamon. "He is the one who doesn't have to breathe. I'm lucky--err." Her cheeks bloom crimson again. "He's lucky."

Cor'lana coughs a totally real cough.

"Yes, please don't go punching my faerie dragon. He's a perfectly polite and reasonable sidekick who usually has some fairly useful insights, and he gets along well with the pixies and Pothy." Telamon snorts. "Besides, as Lana notes, he's not exactly imposing. It'd be like kicking a puppy."

At Aryia's exasperated declaration, he starts to respond but Lana beats him to it. He simply says, "Look, it's useful for finding things in the Tornmawr. I did some salvage work this past summer for the guard, and they like it when they have a man on the river bottom who can stay down there to check things."

Aryia huffs. "Damn. I want to punch a dragon," she complains, but gives a little shrug.

She looks to the pointing. Then rubs her face. "Damn. That is lucky," she agrees with a bit of a jealous look before waving it off. Unfazed by the topic. "But yes. I can see swimming and the like being really useful. I just wish the city would fucking lift the teleporting lock so I can do my shit."

The seamstress finishes, her stepping back and plodding around Telamon barefoot. The manalamps highlight her tired features. "How does it feel on you? Fit okay? Can move around? Will it get in the way of your spell stuff?" <Handspeech>

"It'd be nice," Cor'lana says with a sigh. "I mean, all manner of foul things can still sneak into the city by other means. Teleportation's just an easy way in for things that want to kill people. Luckily, Tel and I are at least powerful enough to handle ourselves fine against things."

She looks back at Telamon in his robes again and grins. "He looks handsome to me," Cor'lana replies. "But then again, that's how he always looks. You could probably put him in a burlap sack and I think he'd be the most handsome burlap sack to have ever lived."

Telamon nods to Aryia, a bit piqued. "While I can understand the summoning and calling injunctions, the teleportation block hasn't done much to prevent nastiness from simply putting on a disguise and walking through. It might be more effective if they warded the gates with something to detect when someone is using a magical disguise."

His eyes grow thoughtful. "Hmm. Maybe I should call on one of our more senior spellcasters about that, see what they think."

Tel starts out of his train of thought when Aryia asks him about the robe. "Oh! Yes. The robe fits fine. It'll take me a little time to get used to the sleeves but I don't think it'll be a major issue. I don't expect I'll be casting too many spells during the wedding and reception. Seriously doubt anyone will show up looking for trouble."

Aryia just throws her hands up in a shrug. "Yes, I guess so. I just have to go out the city to train now. Just fucking annoying. Whatever. I need to go back to punching rocks." A glance to Telamon. "Honestly it keeps the bad things out a lot easier. Too much shit just pops in and gets away with it. At least I can keep up with them now and chase them down. I'm just bitching to bitch."

She stares to Cor'lana. "I will sew a burlap sack one day just because you said that." ... that is a promise.

A long sigh leaves her, her shoulders relaxing. "Good. I'm glad. But you're going to cast spells. It's going to happen. Mages, after a certain point, just don't stop using spells all the fucking time. I explained this to RT earlier."

She rolls her shoulders. "Besides, if someone comes looking for trouble, they have to deal with me." <Handspeech>

"They'd have to deal with all three of us," Cor'lana says brightly. "We're not quite at your level yet, Aryia, but..."

She pauses. "Well. Okay. I swore that I saw a Pothy plushie out of the corner of my eye earlier today, but I was too busy buying things to line your basket. Could also just have been wishful thinking. Anyway, they'd have to deal with all three of us, because we're certainly no slouches at this point."

This is followed by a shrug and a rather smug grin. "Sounds like you're getting burlap sack clothes eventually, Tel," she says.

"Don't try and get around the ward, in any case." Telamon's tone becomes startlingly serious. "I had to interview someone about an incident a short time ago -- that house that collapsed in the University District -- and evidently it was caused by someone trying to wedge an extradimensional space into their home. It... didn't go well."

He arches his eyebrows at Aryia's complaint about mages. "Perhaps, but if you have an ability, why not develop it, put it to use?" His unseen servant drifts by, having been in and out to collect glasses from the table, and the sounds of washing come from the kitchen. "I grant that some magicians tends to be... obsessive. But magic's always been the means to an end for me, not the end itself."

He smirks at the burlap sack comment. "Only if you get a matching dress, Lana," he retorts with a grin.

Aryia snorts. "Yeah, they'd get fucked up."

She tilts her head to the side. "What? I didn't make any other plushies since the one I made you."

A nod to Telamon, her giving an equally serious nod and cringing at the thought of messing with space like that. "I'm not going to. I've embarrassed myself too many times when the wards went up and I'm having a repeat."

The mute shakes her head, her glancing to the kitchen. "Most do. But I know someone is going to stain something, and you're going to use magic to clean it."

She holds a hand out towards Telamon. "Ok, take that off. I'll give the clothes to you at the wedding. I'll make burlap clothes so you can tear it off later," she dead pans.

It's hard to tell if she's serious or not.

"After I sleep for three days and drink this magic booze." <Handspeech>

Cor'lana goes over to Telamon to help him out of the robes, and she helps him out with putting his prior clothes back on (although she does sport a tiny blush while doing so, in a surprise to precisely no one). "At least you have plenty of booze for just that reason," she says with a sheepish smile to Aryia.

Once her husband-to-be is all assembled, she pats him on the shoulder. "Shall we get out of Aryia's hair, then? I don't want to be within striking distance when she gets back to sewing on lace." She's smiling, but she's quite serious about that statement.

Telamon shrugs at Aryia lightly. "Probably. But... eh. We can have this debate another time. Preferably when you're not sleep-deprived and under a deadline." Once he's removed the robe, and put his clothing back on, he smiles at Lana, taking her hand.

"I think that might be for the best," he admits. "Aryia, if you need anything else, let us know." Tel's expression is thoughtful. "Now, you mentioned a Pothy plushy. But the only one we know is the one Aryia made..."

And so the couple slip out, and leave Aryia to her work.

Aryia shoots a thumbs up towards Lana. "I'm getting fucked up at the party," she warns, eyeing the booze lined up in the kitchen. Tired eyes swing from robes, her putting it up towards the dress on the coffee table. "... evacuate before I work on this."

She inhales. "I'll let you know if I need a hand. Probably won't." She rubs her face, exhausted as she waves at them as they go. A breath In. Rolls her shoulders. Takes a seat. <Handspeech>

Pause.

Almost inaudibly, she squints in the low light. "... is something stealing my fucking plushie cred? Those bastards."

Something wicked this way comes.