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."

-TBC-