It's Cozy at Aryia's Place

Log Info

• Title: It's Cozy at Aryia's Place

• Emitter: Aryia

• Characters: Aryia, Ravenstongue

• Place: Aryia's Condo

• Summary: Ravenstongue comes to Aryia's place in her hour of need: she needs a dress to wear to meet Telamon's mother. Aryia lets her in and they talk about the dress needs that Ravenstongue has. It also turns out that Aryia can understand Pothy's new mode of communicating, and Ravenstongue learns things she didn't particularly want to know about her mother. Aryia gives Ravenstongue advice on talking to Telamon's mother and the dress is made after hours of sitting and talking while Aryia works her magic.

Lower Markets, Afternoon

142A Lynxstride Lane. 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 who's 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. Even though a plant should be full bloom to soak in the sun reflecting off the snow along the ground.

A certain half-elf approaches the condo, her violet eyes behind her glasses squinting at the sign that indicates the address. Her ever-faithful companion, another certain white raven, sits on her shoulder. He whistles a merry tune to her.

"Pothy, this is Aryia's place, and we're here because Tel's mother is coming soon and I need a nice dress," the half-elf says, a certain measure of anxiety in her voice. "Already bad enough that rumors are spreading about Tel... Maybe I should die his hair black. He'd look nice in black."

Pothy looks horrified when Aryia is mentioned. He whistles even more urgently.

"Just keep quiet and Aryia won't hurt you. It's that simple, sheesh." The half-elf finally knocks on the door.

Knock knock knock.

The abode is... silent. Almost unnervingly so. Was this the right place? Certainly this-

The curtains waft. Something glowing and silver exposed for a brief bit before it vanishes.

There's a return knock. Measured, stacatto, coupled with some drags and flicks. The other half of Handspeech. "One minute. I have to... clean."

Clean?

A couple minutes pass before the door unlocks. And it unlocks again. And again.

Then, finally, it swings inward, revealing a... very dressed down Aryia.

She's got a baggy shirt on that's clearly meant for a human, and some lounging pants. Her hair is let down, an ivory band to keep it back resting on her neck. "Hey, what's good? Come in," she gestures, beckoning the half-sil in.

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 crackling brightly. 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. <Handspeech>

Ravenstongue blinks and waits patiently for the cleanup process, the raven on her shoulder moving his talons somewhat anxiously on her shoulder. "It's okay, Pothy," she whispers to him reassuringly, even reaching up to pat him on his little fluffy head. "Promise she's not planning your imminent demise."

"Scary," Pothy says in Ravenstongue's voice, which earns him a little smile and a kiss on the head.

Then the door opens and Ravenstongue smiles widely to see Aryia. "Hey Aryia! Sorry to drop by--I have something very important to discuss," she says as she steps into the house, closing the door behind her--as is only polite to do.

She takes in the place as she walks into the living room, her eyes particularly lingering on the dining table and chairs over in the dining area. "Nice furniture, Aryia," she says, genuine admiration in her voice, before she sits down on the couch. Pothy stays right in place on her shoulder... His beak clamped shut like a vice.

But Ravenstongue wastes no time. Aryia's a busy lady and that time needs to be respected. "So, Aryia. Tel's mother is coming to town soon. I need a dress--and I'm not going to Sandy because she'll stuff me into something that would scandalize Tel's mother, I'm sure. Everything I've ever heard about this woman, despite Tel insisting that she's actually very nice, mildly scares me, so I'm coming to you in my dire hour of need."

And she's serious about that. There's a definite fear on her face.

Aryia steps aside as Ravenstongue comes in, the mute woman giving a thankful nod for closing the door. And she locks it. And locks it again. And again. There's... about three locks that the fey-touched didn't spy on the other side of the door.

Security must be tight here.

She pads towards the center of the room, her smirking some and gesturing off towards some of the furniture. "Thanks. Vaera made some of it."<Handspeech>

Finding a chair and turning it around to rest her elbows on the back of the, it lounging mul'neissa sits about an arm's length away from Ravenstongue. Which is... a bit odd.

It's... very quiet in this household. The fire in the hearth the only thing making a sound.

Then the mute inhales. And her lips move.

It's so, so faint. Like listening to a needle make scratches on parchment. There's no timbre, no vibrato. Just subwhispered words that could only be picked up in the silence. "Yeah, Sandy will try and shove you in something that'd try and make your tits look bigger."

At least they're in agreement on that. She pinches her brow. "... al... right. Sure. I can do something. What are you thinking?"

"I'm going to have to order something from Vaera soon, too," Ravenstongue remarks briefly as Aryia reveals the origin of the furniture. But the silence settles in--

And then Aryia speaks. Ravenstongue stares at the full-blooded elf for a moment, almost dumbfounded. Then she seems to collect herself and realize that staring is rude.

"Sorry," she says at last. "I just didn't--nevermind that."

Another moment passes before Ravenstongue says, "You have a nice voice. Anyway, umm--I was thinking a high neckline. It has to cover the curuchuil mark--hence why I didn't go to Sandy--and also, it has to have long sleeves."

She pulls the sleeve back on one arm to show Aryia a faint scabbed-over long wound, characteristic of a bladed weapon. "I received this from a soldier who went berserk the other day--long story, she's in custody right now--and Tel and I agreed that we don't want to make her worry. So the dress has to hide this."

Ravenstongue sighs for a moment and rubs her face after she lets the sleeve fall back down. "As far as colors go, honestly, I'll take anything. Violet, blue, maybe black--but whatever is nice and fashionable. I just want to impress this woman. She's fiery and protective of her son. I just don't want to make her think I'm... wild and dangerous."

The mute blinks. Her face colors a tinge. She didn't really have a voice, per se. It was mostly just a lot of hisses and breathy sounds that, over time, she's been able to make it make some since when the environment is fitting for her to do so.

Which, basically, is almost every single social situation is too loud for this to work.

".. thanks," she mumbles. The pugilist gets up, makes a gesture for Ravenstongue to 'keep talking' as she steps into a room in the back.

She returns a moment later, a sketchbook in hand as well as a small sewing basket. Aryia raises a brow at the wound. "... huh. Interesting..." the scarred elf notes.

She flips open the pad of paper, her scribbling down some notes and requirements that Cor'lana mentions. "Fiery and protective?" she repeats, having to stop her writing to speak (yes, even that would mask her words.) "The only thing that'd make her think you're wild is if Pothy doesn't shut the fuck up while talking to her," she deadpans.

Scribble scribble. "So... something fashionable, but subdued. But not... demure. Hm. Give me a minute to think on that..." Aryia rubs her chin.

Pothy makes a movement with his body that can roughly be interpreted as "the bird is much unamused." He leans into Ravenstongue's ear and whistles quietly.

This prompts an eyeroll from Ravenstongue. "Shhh. She's right, you know," she says. This makes Pothy visibly deflate a bit, but he remains quiet on her shoulder.

Ravenstongue looks back at Aryia and seems a little embarrassed by the request. "I know that's a lot of conflicting asks," she says. "It's just, well... This woman apparently had a pocket in the bosom of her dress that she drew a sword from to threaten anyone who had a problem with her marriage to Tel's father. She's a human and he's a llyranesi elf, so naturally, there were people who had 'problems' with their wedding."

She shifts a little in her seat on the couch. "You can see why I'm a little scared with a description like that, right?"

Aryia raises a brow between bird and master, and her lamplight gaze settles on the white raven. "I'll talk to you however I fucking want, birdie," she subwhispers, quirking a smirk before resuming writing notes and sketching.

Which... pauses, as she hears this bit about the mother. "... overly protective. Al... right. To be kinda honest, she might appreciate a bit of push back to know you'll stand up for Telly."

She waves off to the side. "Stand up and put your arms out. Gotta measure you."

Pothy whistles again, looking panicked. "Shit! She can understand me?" The elegant little boy's voice seems entirely too used to cursing. Pothy ducks his beak into Ravenstongue's braid, as though hiding behind her hair will save him.

Ravenstongue similarly looks surprised. "Oh, what? I thought it was just me who could understand him," she says. "Tel just said it sounded like bird whistling when Pothy does that."

At any rate, Pothy looks highly uncomfortably with being any closer to Aryia than he has to be, so when Ravenstongue stands up and raises her arms for measurement, Pothy flies to a 'safe place' elsewhere in the room... Which happens to be the furthest part of the couch from Aryia.

"Well, she let him leave the Mythwood to come study magic here in Alexandria, so she can't be that bad. I've met her husband and he's a very nice man, so that's reassuring. Tel takes a lot after him," Ravenstongue says as she's got her arms out in the air. "She just wants her son to be happy. My nervousness is that she'll find a reason to think he won't be happy with me."

Aryia snerks. "Yeah, I can. He does sound like that, but I get the gist of it. Calm down, damn. Literally don't scream in my ears, and I won't turn you to paste," she grins, just a hiiiint of that mul'neissa cruelty popping up before it goes away as she rises. Though, she mentions, "Telly can't? Huh. That's... weird."

Aryia strides up to Ravenstongue, her having a string in one hand while putting the notepad down on the dining table. "So... all I'm hearing is, 'don't be a bitch, but have a spine.' You'll be fine," she tries to assuage in that way only Aryia can. Through blunt force, either through her fists, or her words.

She starts to measure, string tapping various points along the half-sil. Stopping to scribble some numbers down before resuming. She's quite professional about it, and gives a heads up to make sure Ravenstongue wasn't uncomfortable about it.

"Scary lady. If you cared for me at all, Lana, like your mother did, you would comfort me and tell me I'm a good little boy and then give me a snack. Like a sweetroll," Pothy says. It would appear that Pothy's 'true voice' is... unsurprisingly, a bit of a spoiled brat. Especially since he sounds like a nobleman's five-year-old son.

"Maybe later, Pothy, but I'm trying to get things done here," Ravenstongue responds. She doesn't seem to mind Aryia's tape measuring efforts at all. One gets the impression she's used to it, being Sandy's magical apprentice and all.

"What is it with your family, Lana? None of you have ever fed me. Ever. I have starved for hundreds of years, despite my ceaseless work for every one of you people, and this is how I am repaid?" Pothy continues to whine. "I have to beg from samples from the market vendors! Do you know how humiliating that is? It's my job to know everything, including how food tastes, and I can't do that if I am not given food to eat!"

What does he mean, 'his job'?

Aryia peers from around Cor'lana, her eyes narrowing. "For fuck's sake, would you quit your bitch ass whining," she hisses. "Maybe you'd be taken more seriously if you stop spear dicking your desire for food every other gods-forsaken breath, you'd get some snacks in your mouth."

A few more scratches of a pen. She thumbs her nose. "Bird brain," she lately adds.

The hissing mute pats Ravenstongue on the shoulder to denote that she was done as she goes back to sketching something out. "... Hmm... I think I have something..." she murmurs after a moment, glancing from her drawing to Ravenstongue.

Pothy is stunned into silence for a long moment. Finally, he just says, "Hmph! How rude!" And then he begins to preen his feathers. If one cannot win an argument, at least one can make sure they look good.

Pothy's silence has been bought for free today. At least for now. Ravenstongue just is grinning from ear to ear as she sits back down on the couch.

"What are you thinking?" she asks as she looks at Aryia.

Aryia snorts. "Yeah, I am a rude bitch, who woulda thought?"

She shakes her head, focusing her attention on the woman that needs a dress and needs it stat. She sits on the coffee table, right in front of Ravenstongue. "Right, so like, a conservative thing, but also, you know, something that yells out 'I'm not a weak spined baby bitch.' Was thinking like... well, here, look."

She turns the pad of paper around, and points with the pen to a... simple, but not so simple dress. "I like these kinds of dresses. It'll be like a turtle neck, but it also goes to your wrists. Stops at the shins so you can run if you gotta. I know how important that shit is if things go down."

She taps the pen on the chest. "No chest window, too cold for that shit, buuuut we can put some gold threading here to give a faint outline of what your mark is. But that's just for decoration, because it'll look like.."

She taps the shoulders. There's a veritable wreath of feathers on the shoulders and collar. "White and black feathers, most of the dress will be black and grey. The dress won't show off much, but it'll be pretty obvious that it'll appear that you know what you're doing."

She glances to Ravenstongue, a brow quirked. "Thoughts?"

Ravenstongue looks at the pad of paper for a long moment. Her eyes go wide as she studies the drawing.

"Aryia, if you make this, I think Grandfather might insist I get married in it," she says, looking up at her with a grin. The sheer excitement in her voice is palpable. "Yes. I love it. Let's do it."

Pothy is admittedly curious and flaps back onto Ravenstongue's shoulder. He studies it and says, "Huh. Easily the most expensive looking thing you've ever worn in your life, Lana."

"I know," Ravenstongue says, still grinning as she looks at Pothy. "I can't wait."

Aryia blinks, happy that her friend liked it, but- "... uh... o... kay? Gonna be real honest, this is kinda some basic shit. If you do a wedding, I'll make it more... fancy."

She scratches her head, smiling a bit. "... it's really not that pricey. A few gold, maybe. Oh. Right. Money. Uh... just cover the materials and gimmie like, five gold on top of that and we're square."

The seamstress looks down at her design. Ponders a bit, then nods to herself. "I'll get started on it now. Feel free to hang out. Violet is out at the moment."

"We can talk about a separate wedding dress later. Tel and I haven't even gotten engaged yet," Ravenstongue says, quick to chime in. "I just am... Well, it's the nicest piece of clothing I've probably ever had besides the dress Sandy gave me. It's exciting."

"You'll have to forgive her, she was more interested in books than dresses growing up," Pothy says. His childish voice is bitingly critical in the way he talks about Lana--and yet there's an undercurrent of humor there. He doesn't really mean it.

"And you're a little fuzzball who makes up the most of the household food budget, Pothy. Love you too." Ravenstongue kisses him on the head and nods. "I'm afraid it'll mostly be us chatting like this. I've apparently 'learned' how to hear him--this is very new for me. Apparently not for him."

"Her mother only took a month to understand me," Pothy says. "It took Lana here over two years. Almost three in a few months." He tugs at her braid gently. Cheeky bird.

Aryia snorts at the back and forth between the two. "Yeah, yeah. Just like, I blinked and you're already mentioning wedding attire. Shit, next you'll crush his hips and I gotta make some fucking tiny clothes for later," she joins in on the ribbing before stepping back into a different room, this time her keeping the door barely open so it wouldn't show what was inside.

The mute returns with some bolts of various cloth. "Yeah, I dunno how I can understand him. Just kinda like, well, can."

Ravenstongue goes from completely cool and calm to blushing furiously at Aryia's words. "No! No, we're taking our time, honest! We just have been talking weddings because... Well, we know we want to be together for a long time. We're just making sure we don't hate living together first. It's faster than normal people might go at the beginning of a relationship, but, well... We're adventurers, Aryia. You get it, right? One of us could die tomorrow, after all."

"At least he hasn't knocked her up with a baby by accident while conveniently forgetting to tell her he's sleeping with his brother's wife," Pothy offers up. His little cherubic voice is absolutely funny to hear juicy gossip from.

Aryia snickers, shaking her head and taking some pins to start marking spots in the fabric. "Just fucking with you. Mostly."

She sputters at Pothy's words, her pulling back to have a good, "Ha.... aha... ha..." in her breathy manner before coughing a few a times.

She takes a moment to herself before clearing her throat. "I mean, sorta, I guess. You gotta remember I'm like, five times your age, girl. And got about four or five hundred more of those ages left in me. So..."

Sometimes, one can forget, the shit talking pugilist is in fact, old as hell, and is an elf, too.

Pothy pipes up again. "I'm serious. That's what happened to Lana's mother. Nadina was never really the marrying type--she had plenty of boyfriends and girlfriends before then--but she swore to me, 'Pothy, I'm never getting into a serious relationship again'--"

"Please don't tell me about my mother sleeping with people, Pothy. I'm begging you," Ravenstongue says with a sigh, her hands going to her face and slowly running down her cheeks in an effort to suddenly relieve the stress of what Pothy has said from her skin.

She shakes her head and looks at Aryia. "I always forget you're so much older. You just never come off that way," she says.

Aryia snickers, shaking her head. "Fuckin' same, man," she grins. "Hooked up with a lotta folk too back in Charn. Men and women both."

She nudges Ravenstongue with her shoulder. "Don't sweat it, RT."

The shadow elf slowly sighs, her bobbing her head, making her snowy hair spread out a bit in front of her as she works. "I mean, like, well, when you're around short-lived folk for, dunno, sixty, seventy years, you kinda get it. And I ain't a noble anymore, so I'm not a stuck up dickwad."

"That's where you--and my mom, apparently--differ from me," Ravenstongue says. "I've never experienced romantic or sexual attraction to anyone or anything before Tel. I would read romance novels and I'd think, "Wow, that sounds unrealistic. Nobody actually talks like that to other people." I've even read what honestly amounted to smut about chance encounters at a pub and I was thoroughly disinterested. Just didn't seem appealing at all. But then Telamon helped me a lot with the Feathered One and... he felt important to me in a way I'd never experienced before. I love him. I love him so much."

Ravenstongue sighs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just, well, vomit my emotions. I'm an odd bird, I guess."

Aryia listens quietly, then softly smiles, her reaching forward to ruffle Ravenstongue's hair. "I getcha. I know some people like that. And that's just fine."

The pugilist sits back in her chair, continuing her work. "For me, I gotta know them a little bit, but man," she whistles lowly, "some people fuckin' hot," she mentions.

A glance to the bedroom, then back to her work. The mute's scarred visage colors a tinge. "Love makes it nice too."

She inhales deeply, then picks up a pair of scissors. "Right, so, uh... you want tea or something? Booze? Kitchen's fair game. We're gonna be here for a hot while so, make yourself comfy."

The scissors go 'snick.'

GAME: Aryia rolls craft/tailoring+2: (18)+12+2: 32

Ravenstongue smiles a little as her hair is ruffled. "You know, I'll take some tea," she says, heading over to the kitchen.

Pothy follows, taking a seat on her shoulder. The bird has chosen to supervise the brewing process.

The cups are poured, and the conversation and the work goes for hours until the winter evening arrives. At least it's cozy at Aryia's place.