The Final Stitches
Log Info
- Title: The Final Stitches
- Emitter: Aryia
- Characters: Aryia, Ravenstongue
- Place: Aryia and Violet's condo
- Summary:
142A Lynxstride Lane, Lower Markets
It's nice outside. A bit chilly from the wind sweeping through the streets, but the blue sky is smattered with fluffy white clouds while the sun is distant and nonoppresive.
Inside Aryia's place? The complete opposite. The abode is trashed: fabrics and thread strewn about everywhere, couch and furniture pushed against walls to give more room on the floor for baskets of textiles, many mugs of empty drinks are strewn about on the kitchen. There is one place that is organized, the coffee table, it harboring the tools and needles necessary to weave and stitch together this high priority, complicated commission.
The mul'neissa seamstress in question is currently plopped on the floor cross legged, bathed in white light from the manalamps and a tinge of orange from the smoldering fireplace. She's... dressed? Really just a human sized shirt that goes past her knees. To quote: 'I don't have time to put pants on, get your dumb ass in here we got shit to do' is the general frantic vibe.
Hell. She's not even doctored her wounds from a massive outing, lots of little pock marks on her legs and small cuts on her arms that have long since scabbed over. There's a loud >SLUUURP< from her inhaling cold coffee before resuming her work, needle dipping in and out of fabric, guided by fingers capped with metal tips.
And the person behind the commission... One half of it, anyway... Is stopping by. One doesn't ignore Aryia's commands, after all, and Cor'lana looks... anxious? Anticipatory? as she approaches the condo that Aryia occupies with Violet. In her hands is a basket containing a bottle, a loaf of bread, and something wrapped in cheesecloth.
"Now remember," she tells Pothy on her shoulder, "no eating any of the bread or the cheese. These are more gifts of appreciation for all the hard work that Aryia's been doing for the wedding. You can handle that, right?"
"Right," Pothy answers in his whistling, although it comes through to her (and to Aryia, too) as his usual cherubic voice. "I wouldn't dream of stealing Aryia's snacks."
"Good. I'm glad we have that sorted out," Cor'lana replies as she steps up to the door. And she politely knocks on the door to Aryia's place.
The door echoes from the knock. There's clearly someone inside. There's some shuffling. Silence.
>Thud.< Something hits the door. >Thud. Click.< Something again. >Thud. Click.<
This happens a few more times until the door... creaks open. Random bolts of cloth litter the base of the door, the slim opening revealing the mul'neissa woman, moon hued hair in a fritz, hands moving in smooth and practiced blur.
"Hi! I brought magical alcohol, some nice bread, and some really nice cheese," Cor'lana immediately gets out of the gate in a sort of 'please don't hurt me' defense, rattling it off like her life depends on it. "I'm here for another fitting."
"She hasn't gained any weight, either," Pothy is pleased to announce. "I've been monitoring her snack intake like a hawk."
Cor'lana just looks at Aryia. "Which is to say, he's been having everything that I'd even think about eating. He's good at that. Where can I set this basket down?" she asks. She seems to have expected the mess.
The mute doesn't look up, though a long ear twitches in acknowledgement of the uttered words. A few beats pass as she's sewing before a hand is freed up and another bolt of unused cloth is tossed at Cor'lana.
Well, past her. It clonks against the door, and it closes with a quiet >Click<.
She gets to a stopping point, her planting both hands down on the table and leaning back, eyes close as she takes a biiiiig breath in. Slooow exhale.
She pops to her bare feet and plods over. Shining eyes look down, up, over, around the bride to be. "Give me," she holds out a hand for the basket. "Weight can stay the same but fat can turn into muscle and muscle weighs more than fat," Aryia elaborates to Pothy. "I got BASICALLY everything done except for the bullshit fucking frilly lace on yours. I had to snap a bitch ass witch queen in half so I have no fucking time right now." <Handspeech>
Explains the scabbed wounds.
The basket is given to Aryia, but Cor'lana's violet eyes go wide at the mention of a witch queen. "Witch ass bitch queen?" she asks, and then she flushes. "Err! You get what I mean."
"There aren't even any cats in here to steal your tongue," Pothy comments. He takes flight and lands on the highest perch that he can find that isn't covered by tailoring supplies and doesn't appear to be anything that Aryia would be upset at him for occupying. "I'm sure you snapped her in half, though. You're good at that."
Cor'lana nods slowly. "Aryia is good at fighting," she says. "I'd ask for more details, but, umm, sounds like it might be more distracting than anything?" There's obviously tension in her voice.
Aryia takes the basket, dives a hand in for the bread, and rips it in half with her teeth. She takes a step back to flop onto the couch, her under handing a morsel of it towards Pothy atop one of the high shelves of sailing memorabilia.
With her mouth full and more to come, she gestures with a slight smirk pulling at her face from Lana taking on her lingo. "I beat her the fuck up, Braelnoir cut her in half. Some weird fucking ooze thing escaped though, and I can't hit it, so we'll have to figure that one out later. But I'm just glad that's over with."
She somehow manages to inhale that half of the bread, her giving an appreciative nod for the food. When was the last time she ate? "Witch Queen, witch of Thuul, lording over kobolds. Freed them. Lots of people helped. Jinks, Seyardu, Braelnoir, someone called Selia."
The seamstress rubs at her face. "I need a distraction right now, I've been up all day the past couple of days and napping here and there to catch up," the mute signs. "Ok. So. Listen. This shit is almost done. I have to fit it one last time. Same with Telamon. Your fucking lace will come later. I'll be there at the wedding to do minor adjustments for the both of you."
She picks up her cold coffee and downs the last of it. It clacks onto the coaster. "This shit is in the final stage, and if you ask me to change something- I know we're friends- but I'm going to suplex you into the ground off the Redridge Mountains and the crater you make will be the site of the wedding when I marry you to the ground." The last bit has lots of fun visuals of a hand making a leap off a cliff along with a SMACK of her fist going into a palm. <Handspeech>
Cor'lana finds a place to sit somewhere within the chaos of cloth, pins, needles, and other tailoring accoutrements as she takes all of it in. "I wouldn't ask you to make any changes right now, of course!" she says with a laugh, although it's clearly another 'haha, please don't hurt me' defense mechanism laugh. "Whatever you hand me is whatever I'll be wearing. I wouldn't dream of changing a thing, and as I told you before, if you have to make changes to make things easier, that's more than fine with me,"
Pothy coos happily as he gets a bit of bread from Aryia's hand. "Thank you!" he says, sounding very much like a happy child who's just gotten a piece of candy. "The bread's from my favorite bakery, and the cheese is from a favored cheesemonger of mine. It's a wonderful cheddar that you could slice up and snack on."
Cor'lana pouts a little. "Of course, he makes it sound so good when I can't have any," she says with a sigh.
There are a few places to sit: a couple of chairs, the couch has enough space for two. Pathways have been made to get from the sewing area to the kitchen to the bedroom, the bathroom, and the 'don't go in there' room.
Aryia blows out a sigh of relief, a strand of silver hair twirling on the gust. "Th-nk f-ck," she hisses out.
Talk of the cheese gets her to fish it out, the mute inspecting it before breaking off a tiny piece and giving it a try. There's a pause. Her long ears flick twice before she nods in approval. "It's good," she motions out towards it, stuffing it back into the basket. "Look, this will be over soon, and then you can have as much cheese and wine as you want. I guarantee once the wedding is over I'm not going to be sober for about three days straight."
She clasps her hands together, draws a deep breath in, then hops to her feet. "I'd have a witty thing to say here to lighten the mood, but I'm sleep deprived, so, limber up and ditch the clothes, we're shoving you into this fucking thing." <Handspeech>
She scoops up the intricate dress on the table.
Cor'lana has barely sat down on the couch when Aryia gives the order. Thankfully for Aryia's sanity--as she was quite clear on past fitting instructions--she arrived in the exact same underpinnings that she'd worn for the initial measurements and all succeeding fittings, ensuring that the measurements weren't thrown off by that factor, at least. She gets herself into the gown and...
Thankfully, no seams are bursting. The final gown is structurally sound on Cor'lana's form and has nothing else that needs to be taken in, as Aryia's knowledge of the final material versus what she used for her initial mockups has allowed her to plan the seam allowances accordingly. Silk is, after all, not nearly so forgiving as the cheaper cotton that was used for the mockups.
"This looks gorgeous, Aryia," Cor'lana says with astonishment, admiring the sleeves of her dress and the skirt. "And it fits perfectly."
Meanwhile... there's the sound of sobbing. From Pothy.
"My big sister looks so beautiful," he says. "Your mother would be so proud."
Usually Aryia is one to take her time with things, like most elves do: they have all the time in the world. But Aryia's reputation is at stake here. And that means barely any time for resting.
The mute cracks her knuckles and gets Lana to step into the dress. Sleeves, yep, strap this on, tie it back here...
There's some muttering going on under Aryia's breath, seemingly going about a process as she tugs and prods various spots to check for give and slack.
She steps back, arms crossing briefly before she tries to smooth her hair down, dark bags under her eyes highlighting the flicking glances of the dress. "Of course it does, I made it," she signs smugly. "Thanks. Probably could have done better, but. Eh." Elves. Never satisfied. "Do a spin. Stretch your legs a bit. Move your arms about like you're casting magic. Looking for anything catching or snagging. Last thing I want to happen is you do some spell thingy and you flash everyone."
She looks at Pothy, snorts, and shakes her head. "I'm sure she would be." <Handspeech>
"Casting magic? Gods, I hope I don't need to cast magic while dressed in this!" Cor'lana exclaims, although she does do a twirling spin as directed and walks around. Finally, she does move her arms around, and thankfully, thankfully, there's enough fabric for her to move her arms around in a full frame of motion. She didn't request a ridiculously long train on the dress like some brides might have, simply because she'd probably trip over herself and die (as she put it so dramatically at one fitting session previously), so things aren't snagging on it.
Pothy nods approvingly, as does Cor'lana as she looks back at Aryia. "I think we're all set, minus the lace," she says. "Like I said before, I think this is fantastic. Truly wonderful."
She looks up to Aryia with a giddy sort of grin. "Granted, I never thought I'd ever get to wear a dress like this one, but... Life is odd and weird like that."
"Please don't start crying," Pothy requests, despite his own raven sobs. He's slowing down on them, however.
Aryia shrugs. "You never know. Everything I make for me I can fight in if I have to. And besides, you magic folk use magic all the fucking time without realizing it." She satisfied from the display, her walking up and fidgeting with some of the strings to make it sit just a smidge better. "Someone might spill something or you want to do a fancy lightning sparkler or some shit. I don't know."
There's just a smidge of a tremor in her hands. Tired, exhausted. Perhaps a bit of nerves from her work being displayed so prominently. Perhaps also a tinge for her friend by proxy.
She steps back, looking over it one last time... "Y-s." She nods. "We're set. It looks great." Her eyes drift from her work up towards happy violets. She smiles. Sort of. It's kind of weak and is marred by her Resting Aryia Face, but its the best effort she's got. "Life is weird like that. Like how I never thought I'd be free of that Bitch." Captial B? Taara. Has to be. "Yet here we are. I'm free. Your dense ass is getting married. Pothy is sharing snacks."
She looks at Pothy. "... says the cry baby." <Handspeech>
"Good points," Cor'lana concedes, accompanied by a blink of the eyes. "Knowing Telamon, he might want to do a light show of sorts at the party, and I plan on being very quick with a cantrip if I notice even the slightest of stains on this dress. I'd like to preserve both of our outfits either to wear again at a later date, or maybe for one of our eventual children to wear."
Then she thinks. "Or maybe Addy can wear it if she plans on marrying Algar--nevermind, Addy will probably just drag Algar to a temple when she's tired of waiting and they get married in whatever they're wearing that day."
Violet eyes rest on Aryia, and she smiles brightly at her. "Life is strange," she says. "It goes to show that good things can come from the bad. Whether it's from dumb luck, your own efforts, or a bit of whatever they might call fate--I believe very little is 'fated'--or a combination of some or all... It can happen."
She stares at Pothy. "Oh, come here," she says, and Pothy comes over to land on her hand, talons gently gripping the side of her palm. (He doesn't dear touch the dress.) She kisses Pothy on his fluffy little head, and he finally stops crying.
Aryia bobs her head, agreeing with those insights. "Yes. I'd rather it get passed to someone else that can use it or you use it again instead of it sitting in a closet." She snorts at the mention of Addy, her knowledge of the cousin only second hand.
The mute smooths out her borrow shirt and gathers her hair to the front. "Fate is just a cop out term for hopelessness," she supplements. "I've been 'fated' to many different things in my life, and yet here I am. Two days up in a row drinking stale coffee in my underwear and a shirt, making a bitching dress."
She watches Pothy before rolling her eyes and snorting, a hand reaching down into the basket to tear off a piece of bread and lob it towards him. "Anywho. I think you'll look great and be great there. Of all the weddings I've had to officiate and oversee, this will be the least depressing." ... that's a compliment. "Now take it off before I fuck with it more." <Handspeech>
"Oh, I agree whole-heartedly," Cor'lana says with a smile. "Clothes are meant to be worn, right? What's the point of something never getting worn once and then never again? Especially with all the work you put into this one--it'd really be a shame."
She looks around to try and spot Telamon's outfit somewhere in the chaos of the room--presuming, of course, it's here. Then she gets told to strip and she does so, putting her regular clothes back on. "You know you're like, one of three people who's ever asked me to take off my clothes?" she says with a snicker.
Pothy flaps off and resumes his perching spot now that he's not crying over his big sister in a wedding gown. "Rookie numbers compared to your mother, although she was usually the one giving the order," he comments.
That makes Cor'lana roll her eyes. "I'm sure she was, Pothy," she says, sitting back down on the couch. "The wedding will be great. Absolutely nothing depressing about it."
Aryia snaps a finger gun towards Cor'lana in agreement, her taking the dress and hanging it up next to Telamon's. They're situated on the wall, about five hooks and hangars in place for each so it spreads the fabric out loosely. His seems to be, well, done in its entirety. His was much simpler in design, but the fabrics were rarer.
She steps back to look at the two, hands on her hips, chin raising in a signature look of superiority. Or, just simple pleasure in getting the job done well. A laugh slips out of her, a silent, breathy sort of thing. "Oh yeah? That's funny."
She looks at Pothy. Quirks her lips to the side, then looks up to the ceiling. A pause. A shrug and nod of approval. "I wouldn't complain if she did."
ARYIA, NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR- "That's what I said. It's the least depressing." <Handspeech>
Cor'lana just... facepalms a little. "It's okay, everyone thinks--thought--my mother was beautiful," she says. "She totally took advantage of that, from everything I've ever heard. Pothy's told me some stories."
"I have lots," Pothy says, preening his feathers. "Nadi was a terror in some ways. Ladykiller and maneater. Didn't matter to her. And she never would have had her own wedding."
"If she did, I don't know if it would have qualified as a wedding. Might have looked like something else," Cor'lana mutters before she looks up at Telamon's hanging outfit. Her eyes sparkle. "He will look so handsome in that," she says. "I mean, he does in everything, but... gosh."
Aryia snorts. "Sounds like my kind of woman," she gestures, thumbing her nose before shaking her head, a hand waving the topic off. A sigh leaves her as she ambles about her space, a bare foot shoving things out of the way as she stays moving.
The utterances aren't lost on her. The household was made to be quiet. Expression about the outfit makes her glance over to it, then slide back to Cor'lana with a tired smile. "Yes. He's going to look really good in it. Please do not nose bleed on my dress when you see him, or I will make fun of you." <Handspeech>
Cor'lana flushes. "I'm more likely to pass out, based on my track record," she says. "But no, I won't. I have to preserve every ounce of dignity that I have, especially on my wedding day."
"What dignity?" Pothy asks. "You threw it away when you flirted with Zalgiman. In front of Telamon, for that matter. You are your mother's daughter in some respects, but you have none of her shamelessness."
That gets a glare from Cor'lana, and she looks like she's about to grab the bread and throw it at him, but Pothy preens his feathers again. "I said I'd let Aryia eat her snacks, not that I'd stop making fun of you~" he teases.
Cor'lana sighs. She gets up from the couch and flattens out the dress she's wearing. "Okay, then. I'm leaving you here with Aryia. How about that?"
Pothy bird-blinks. He stares at Aryia. "Umm. ... I may look soft and downy, but don't use me as a pincushion?" he offers meekly, before he flaps to Cor'lana's shoulder. It seems that the sorceress is going to get out of Aryia's hair.
Aryia chuckles, her stepping forth and patting Cor'lana on the shoulder. "Don't worry, sometimes you have to use what you got to get the job done," she grins, piling on the teasing with Pothy before looking down at the bird.
She looms. All four foot eight of her. "As fun as that would be to poke you with sewing needles, this household is selfish with snacks."
The pugilist abates, her flopping back onto the couch and pulling her knees into her shirt so that she's just a ball of mul'neissa. "Send Telamon over here when you get the chance. After that, I just have to put the lace on, and I'm done. Speaking of done, I'm going to take a nap."
The ball falls over to one side, pinning an arm. But that doesn't stop her from gesturing. "Thanks for the good shit. I'll get blasted later once all this is done." <Handspeech>
Cor'lana flushes a little with the teasing, but poor Pothy is not sent out without some teasing of his own. Both bird and bird-named-girl act just as bashful as each other. "I'll make sure he gets here, don't worry," she says. "His should be much more straight-forward. I don't know how he keeps his figure."
Then she blushes and looks to the floor. "No, wait, I do know. ... ANYWAY, I'll let you get that nap. Have a good rest, Aryia, and enjoy the basket."
She departs the condo with a little spring in her step, however. Now it is only time and distance that separates her from the wedding.