Up to Measure

Log Info

• Title: Up to Measure
• Emitter: Aryia
• Characters: Aryia, Verna
• Place: Lower Markets, Aryia's place
• Time: June 17th, 2022
• Summary: Verna arrives to Aryia's place to get some casual clothes tailored for her. Apparently, Aryia's mother, Khalees is present. The head inside, and things quickly turn to a minor interrogation after calling out some suspicious behaviour the Mourner has been exhibiting. Verna allays such worries, Khalees gets tea sorted, and Aryia gets to work turning out some basic wear for her friend.

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. A young, black petaled, and closed, despite the time of day. Even though a plant should be full bloom to soak in the sun shining bright in the sky.

A heavily scarred mul'neissa woman is sitting on a chair under the sparse awning that shades the row of living spaces, one leg crossed over the other as she sips on a cup of tea, lifting it from a saucer.

Beside her is another mul'neissa woman in plainclothes, though she wears an eyepatch over her left eye. Their conversation is hushed on one side, and faint gestures from the other.

One more adds to the near-nonexistant traffic, perhaps upgrading its status to 'light.' Verna walks unhurriedly, attention as much upon the abodes to either side as the narrow path she walks; at least there is little concern of collision with other pedestrians. Her attire, such as it is, might suggest this is perhaps too high-brow a neighborhood; a simple, formless linen dress little more than a shift. On a more positive note, it is more comfortable with the growing heat of the season.

It is those outside that she notes in recognizing her destination more than markings upon nor construction of the structure, themseves. Upon spying Aryia, Verna approaches, though slows to a halt at a polite distance in recognition of the company. She awaits a pause in conversation before offering, "Good day, Aryia. Do I intrude?"

Aryia, and her mother Khalees, ceases their conversations to both look over and-

The matron rises, saucer and teacup balanced in one hand as she gives a slight bow. "No, not at all Harpist," she hums. "And good day, though it is awfully bright."

The mute gives a wave, her rising to her feet as well. "Told you she would show up soon," the pugilist gestures to her mother before looking Verna over. Down. Up. "Come inside, we can figure out what you're wanting." <Handspeech>

She uncouthly boots the door open.

Mother cringes.

Verna dips to the matron in return. "It is presently, though you may take some consolation that muting, if not impenetrable, fog is a common occurrence here." The boot to the door is both mildly startling and, upon a moment of reflection, wholly unsurprising. Verna could note that there is, in fact, a handle upon the door just for that purpose, but refrains from doing so. It is Aryia. It is also Aryia's door. "My thanks, Aryia, for your time," is offered before she steps inside.

The inside of the mute's abode has clearly seen an improvement since the last time the Mourner has been here. There's actual basic furniture: table, chairs (with a couple that are oddly shaped, wide with a dip in the middle. For makari.), a couch, coffee table, a couple tables pushed against a wall that are awash with all kinds of fabric and half finished clothes. On the walls hang sailing masts and coiled ropes, all illuminated by faint candles strewn about the place on various surfaces.

Aryia drops her chair off by the table and sets her tea down, her wandering over to her station to pick up a coiled roll of measuring tape.

Khalees walks in behind Verna, her shutting the door and locking it. >click, click, click, slide<.

What? There's three bolts and a sliding lock.

The mute twirls the coil as she motions with a hand, her head tilted to the side. "You're welcome. Anyways. So... casual. Anything in particular? I see you aren't wearing your usual robes," she points out. "Stand up straight, arms out. I need to remeasure you again." <Handspeech>

"I am not," Verna confirms the apparent as she lifts her arms out to the sides, "due to a temporary, voluntary cease in my duties. Given recent events, it seemed prudent. I am a target, and I would not bring risk to the temple. As well, Auranar and I were in need of some shared respite."

There is then the matter of attire. "I have no preferences, aside from something that Aura might find pleasing?" She turns her head to look towards Aryia with that. "Aside from my clerical attire, my wardrobe is severely limited. It was never a matter of importance, previously. Now it is somewhat of an inconvenience. A night shift or naught are appropriate dress for home, less so for public travel."

Aryia bobs her head, doling out the tape and muttering numbers in her breath as she goes about from elbow to wrist, shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist.

She slips in front to do more measurements, and to speak. "I see. I can think of some simple things for you, probably similar to what I wear."

Her gaze flicks over to Verna's visage. "How is Aura anyways?I don't really get to talk with her much." <Handspeech>

Khalees polishes off her own tea and sets it down on the table before leaning against the wall where her dueling rapier is hanging from a hook on the wall via its belt. She watches, an old familiarity creeping onto her features. "Don't forget under the arm, dear."

The daughter squints but doesn't look over.

Verna's current attire is thin enough that it does not impede measurements despite it making it appear that she has no variance. It is as fashionable and flattering as a grain sack with holes for limbs. The not-currently-a-Mourner is quiet as Aryia makes note of values, so as not to interfere. Rather stoically.

The inquiry of Auranar melts that promptly to a fond smile, if tightened at the corners with concerns. "She is well: happy and hale... though also troubled by all that is occuring. She is concerned for me, as I am for her. There is the trip to Llyranost to plan and look to, which I hope shall occur soon." A pause as her lips purse. "Though of which I am also most anxious."

Aryia can't help but lightly smile at Verna's joy as she's measuring.

"Ah, the Curuchuil. I must extend my congratulations," the matron croons. "You shall be fine. Don't overthink it, and do what your heart desires."

The mute leans over to stare at her mother.

She raises a brow high enough that it peeks out from behind the eyepatch. "What?"

Aryia shakes her head as she steps behind Verna. The two full blooded mul'neissa share a look before the pugilist giving a tepid sigh. The measuring tape loops around Verna's neck innocuously.

"So..." the mute whispers as she moves closer to a tipped ear of the Mourner. "... I can't help but notice you were acting weird as fuck the other day."

The tape tightens, pinching lightly. "... I hate to do this, but after Eclavdran..."

Tension tightens in the room. Mother seems unfazed, almost supervising. Was this... planned?

The comment, or rather the source, causes Verna to turn in surprise. Not unpleasant, however, given the content. "Thank you for your wishes and advice alike. Thorough thought is the most efficient process for all matters..." her words trail off as her lips purse, then curl some at one end "Auranar would second your suggestion, I believe."

Aryia's comment is, in fact, less surprising than her mother's. "My mind is my own, Aryia, if that is your concern," she assures, yet caveats, "but some changes are expected, as noted by others. Influence of the fae, the possibility of lingering lycanthropy, side-effects from god-forged relics..." Her shoulders shrug lightly, shifting the tape. "At this juncture, were I to disover I was, in part, khazad by waking with a beard tomorrow, I would not be overly surprised." Yes, a grin. "Your concerns are valid, Aryia, as I have my own."

The Mourner's assurances don't seem to temper Aryia's worries. In fact, it exacerbates them, the measuring tape in hand going further taut as pressure squeezes in from all sides. "'Some changes' my ass," she hisses in that subwhisper that could only be heard from proximity. "For as long as I've known you, even /after/ dealing with stuff like that, you still acted... like you. Now? You're being weird as fuck."

"Go on, say the line," Khalees snickers in a mocking manner, picking up her rapier. "'Who are you and what have you done with Verna?'"

The mute makes a hushing 'shh!' over her shoulder.

Verna feels the increasing tension, lowering her hands. "Aryia, could you please be more specific? In the past fortnight, I have become engaged, grown fur and fangs, encountered a tentacled fae, was part of a ritual to break the Red Maw's chains, was deceased, resurrected twice, and have had no less than two relics of the gods in my lounge. To what do you refer by 'weird?'" One might expect her tone to be snide, exasperated, or flippant, but, in this moment, it is entirely flat, factual, deadpan and wholly Verna.

Aryia's frame loosens slightly at hearing that tone, but the tape doesn't let up on its threat. One strong tug and a twist is all it would take...

"You want me to explain minutia? The fuck you mean? Does your face hurt from when you talk about Aura? Because it looks like it's going to split in half and become some kind of fucked up monst-"

>Bonk.< The sound of a hollow tube of wood hitting flesh.

The tape abruptly looses its tension as a glowing fist whips around to strike at... wisps of shade?

Khalees sidesteps to the front of Verna and twirls the empty scabbard, trails of shadow wafting from her path. "Tsk tsk tsk, come now, Zilly. Leave the poor girl alone. She's clearly on the up and up," she confidently hums, sliding her dueling sword back into its scabbard as she plucks the tape off Verna.

Aryia grumbles, rubbing her head from getting swatted.

Verna blinks at the harsh words, whisper or not, then winces at the enbonkening. A moment passes before she realizes it was not delivered to herself. She offers the matron gratitude, yet with a caveat. "Thank you, though I am not certain that force was necessary..." She then turns slowly to Zil-er, Aryia. "My apologies. You are correct, I may be more ...expressive as of late. Cor'lana and Telamon informed that such is an expected side-effect of dealings with the fae. That said, Auranar has affected me for some time, as you might know more than others, Aryia, even if I did not always display as much."

Khalees shrugs, putting the sword and belt onto the table as she sweeps up leftover teacups into one hand. "She can take it," she notes before stepping off into the kitchen.

The mute shakes her head off before shooting a glare to the retreating matron. "I expected as much from being around Aura more. But the fey stuff..." She makes a face at the mention of the subject, her shifting on her feet. "Just be careful and take note of how you feel when being too... expressive. Last thing we need is an emotionally high-strung werewolf."

"You're one to talk," comes from the kitchen.

"Fuck you, mom." <Handspeech>

"I expect that she can," Verna notes as compliment as Khalees moves to the other room. She then exhales a breath and nods to Aryia, expression tightening. "I take great measure, and effort, in control as of late. It is frightening, and exhausting. I am, truly grateful for your attention to detail and your caution. Just as with the aftermath of Eclavdran, I do not wish to lose myself again. Others nearly came to harm, before."

The last bits of Aryia's tension fall away like a cut rope, dropping into a relaxed yet bungled expression to rest upon her face. "Just let me know if you need me to keep an eye on you, okay?" she signs with a final sigh, reaching otu to rest a hand on Verna's shoulder. "I'm sorry you have to deal with all that shit. It does sound fucking exhausting."

The Matron returns with a fresh teapot, as well as another porcelain teacup. "Fancy some tea? It's nothing exquisite, just black," she hums, setting out all the additives of sugar, honey and milk in their own little receptacles.

Verna considers that and lifts one shoulder lightly and a smile forms; not one threatening to make her ears fall off, but one warm as it is slender. "I am most concerned due to Auranar, but she is worth any and all effort. As before, if you notice anything concerning, please feel free to make me aware of it. Forcibly, if necessary."

The Matron's return causes her to turn, smile still present. "Thank you. I would fancy some tea, yes." She starts to move, then pauses to regard Aryia. "Apologies. Did you acquire the necessary measurements?"

Aryia just gives a light smile, and a firm nod of the head. No words were necessary. Smacking permission granted.

The mute raises her hands to address the question, but Khalees beats her to the punch. "It's not necessary," she purrs, pouring out tea for everyone. "Aryia never needed to measure."

The mute scowls.

"What? Don't give me that look, it was /your/ idea if things got out of hand. Quite clever I must say."

The daughter glances away from Verna, ears drooping a bit.

"Oh come now, this isn't the time to feel guilty. Strangled friends make the bonds grow stronger? Oh, wait, no, that's an absolutely out of date Charneth saying..." she asides to herself, a hand on her chin. "Nevermind. Tea?" She offers the cup and saucer to Verna.

The mute just slowly blinks, and sliiiiiides back to her tailoring materials in the back. "I'll make some simple shirts, shorts, and pants for you. Layman's stuff to beat the heat," she motions. <Handspeeh>

Verna accepts the tea with "My thanks," and takes a sip as she looks to the slinking Aryia. She then follows, if just to assure that no offense was taken. "The measurements were not required? How else would you craft a proper fit? Simple is all that is required. I do not require anything formal nor ostentatious." A pause as she reconsiders. "Not yet. Hmm... are you able to tailor swimming attire? Aura has mentioned a desire with the warming weather."

Aryia taps a notebook beside her. "I already have your measurements from that one time. And you haven't eased up on being physical as of late so... it's basically the same. And simple is... very easy. And fast."

Her attention shifts to Verna, her blinking once. Then she grins. "I can certainly make that happen. Just tell me how much- or how little- you want." <Handspeech>

The matron pinches the bridge of her nose. "... does my house have no more honor?"

"Hell no," the mute snickers. <Handspeech>

-End Scene-