Closed Do the Clothes Really Make the Drykas? (Rosela)

[Vanator]

Timestamp: 73rd Day of Fall, 512 AV

Location: Red Diamond Fashions

After Ronan Sunsigner's timely visit to the Sanctuary, a measure of alarm ran through the facility. There was a pox spreading through Cyphrus, a deadly plague that had Kavala and the healers scrambling to make preparations. Vanator too busied himself making ready for the anticipated lockdown of the facility, gathering supplies and foodstuffs to help outlast a possible prolonged quarantine. So the Drykas embarked on several trips to Riverfall for goods.

There was also a point of personal need to which Vanator wished to attend. The Drykas' wardrobe was sparse, only a couple pairs of shirts and pants, all suitably wearied by continuous use during the demanding labors of building and protecting the Sanctuary. So, while securing additional supplies in Riverfall, The Denusk passed a small, unassuming building that displayed garments tailored to both men and women. Van took a detour and ducked into the small shop.

The interior was carefully laid out, unlike the often cluttered vendors of Endrykas. The style of the garments offered seemed to cover the expanse of fashion from Eyktol to the cities of the north. Vanator looked down at himself, clad in a dark green shirt to which dust of the road from Sanctuary still clung, and black leather pants and riding boots that shared the same coating. Even to himself he appeared out of place among the quality garb displayed about the room. Suddenly, the mighty Drykas felt lost.

His eyes scanned the small shop for someone to assist him.

[Rosela]

The weather was fairly moderate for so late in the season, and Rosela reveled in it while she could. If she could go a day without being bundled up in her cloak, it was a good day. She was trying her hair up for a change, tied into a bun that she’d spend twenty chimes making look messy and casual. The wind did it for her however, and by the time she made it to the shop, it was as casual as it was going to get without completely letting it down. The battle against the yukmen had been only a few days before, and the day after was her regularly scheduled day off, so coming back after two whole days was a bit unnerving. She didn’t even remember what she’d been working on when she left. The room was chilly when she unlocked, but it would warm up soon enough once she lit the candles and the sun came fully up. The morning passed quietly, with a couple customers breaking up the monotony. As was her usual habit, when it got slow enough to be called boring, she retreated into the back for something to do. As soon as she approached her work table, she remembered what she’d been working on and groaned, snatching up the length of wool. It was just a few replacement pairs of pants that had been bought out a few days ago. She was heading back to the front when she heard the door open and she skipped out, happy to have something other to do than inseams. Her customer was a man just a bit taller than her, and unfortunately still filthy from the road. Plastering a grin on her face, she wondered if there was any polite way to get him to change before he dirtied anything up. ”Hi there, welcome to Red Diamond Fashions! I’m Rosela,” she smiled and swung by the desk to lay down the half-folded pants. ”What can I help you with today?”

[Vanator]

Vanator felt quite out of place among the finer garments the shop displayed, but when the proprietor walked into the room, Vanator's sense of misplacement was supplanted by an amazement he strove to conceal. She was not the first Eypharian he had seen, though there had been only a few in his lifetime. They were arrogant and soft, but shrewd merchants. The Drykas, however, had never been face to face with one of the women of Ahnatep. Rumors painted them as anything from conniving seductresses to political powerhouses.

As the Eypharian approached, grace and beauty were second in his observations only to the curiosity of her six graceful arms. Though her face was pleasing enough to look upon, the horseman had a hard time not staring at her array of limbs. When Vanator did meet her eyes again, he only hoped he had concealed his surprise better than the Eyktolian hid her dismay at his appearance.

Nevertheless, a true businesswoman, the Eypharian introduced herself and welcomed him. Suddenly feeling rather self-conscious, Vanator cleared his throat. "Hi. I am sorry, I know I am a bit...dusty. I rode in from the Sanctuary. I am actually in need of a few shirts and pairs of pants." No, this shop was a far cry from the open stalls of Endrykas where dust from the dirt streets settled on everything and dogs wandered the market. Van wondered if all the shops in the cities were this....clean.


OOCSorry, I edited this slightly.

[Rosela]

Rosela allowed him the obligatory stare at her arms – had no one in this town ever met one of her kind before? – so didn’t feel bad for her frustration at his dirt. ”Oh, it’s no problem…” She lied, keeping her smile up and making a distinct effort to not stare at his boots again. She very much wanted to look down again to see if he’d left too much of a trail on his way in, but now wasn’t the time. She was suddenly reminded of a dirty Benshira, tracking the desert onto the clean floors. Dirty or not, he had mizas for her if she could just keep it together. ”Certainly, we have a wide variety of men’s clothing-“ She stopped abruptly and looked at him curiously. ”You’re from the Sanctuary?” The name was familiar, but her memory escaped her as to why. She’d never been, and hadn’t planned on it… She gave a girlish gasp and waved a hand. ”Don’t tell me you work with Serrif? How is he?” That was where she’d heard it, that one summer afternoon she and Serrif had wandered around the Knirin Gardens, picking flowers for perfumes. ”Anyway,” she continued, cheered by the knowledge of a mutual friend. ”We’ve got plenty of clothing here. I’m guessing you’ll want wool, for the coming winter, but we can go cotton if you really want.” She gave him another look up and down, this time ignoring the dust. ”I’m liking the green here, but I’d maybe go a little lighter to keep your hair from looking washed out. Hm, and some blue would look good too. What would you say to some nice black trousers and a couple blue and green shirts?” Three hands held up, one for each of the options, another hand rested on the stack of wool pants next to her as she smiled expectantly.

[Vanator]

The Eypharian maintained her polite facade, which Vanator knew was not for the purpose of sparing his feelings, but in the name of profit. So he dwelt no further on the consequences of his dirt-laden condition and its impact on the immaculate shop. So fancy anyway, how practical is that in these days?

The Drykas nodded in affirmation his residence at Sanctuary, a small smile crossing his face at the mention of Serrif. "Yes, I know Serrif, we do work together. He is doing well..." Chasing the riding instructor he wanted to add, a secret taunt at the tall healer. "Sanctuary will be locked down in a few days as a precaution to a pox that has been identified amongst the Drykas. So we are all loading up on supplies."


The multi-armed woman seemed to relax a bit as she slid into sales mode. "Yes, wool would be great in fact, I need winter clothing. Green is actually my favorite color, and blue is the color of my clan, so both are fitting. Black trousers too." Rosela was observant, or perceptive, having pinned Vanator's preferences easily, or perhaps they were just colors that she felt complimented him.

The Drykas strove to manage his eyes, finding the fluidity of the Eypharian's movement, the array of toned arms flowing around her, fascinating. Vanator considered her face pleasing enough to distract him, framed with a mane of dark, red-streaked hair. Drawing his gaze from her right on the verge of staring,Van took a few steps towards the pants she indicated with one of her hands. "What do you have that would fit me?"

[Rosela]

”A pox?!” Four hands flew to her mouth in horror, and she glanced around, as though saying the very word had invited it into her shop. Swallowing heavily, she forced her hands down and willed herself to continue the sale. ”Ahem, ah, thank you for letting me know. I hadn’t heard.” She wondered silently if there were any Drykas around. She wasn’t sure she’d ever met one, let alone knew what they looked like. In her mind’s eye, they were the Benshira of Cyphrus, dirty nomads dragging pox along with their dirt. A trip to the library was in order, to find not only find out what they looked like, but see if she could legally ban them from her shop until the whole pox thing blew over. The last thing she needed was to be out sick and lose money. It was comforting to make a sale, and she felt a friendly attachment to her new customer as the clothing took her mind off the unhappier things. Not only did they have a mutual acquaintance, he was kind enough to warn her about an impending plague. ”Fantastic, that’s what we’ll go with then.” She’d chosen his colors purely based on his skin tone and hair, and was surprised he hadn’t put up any fight in her choices. ”That’s so lucky you already like your best colors. You have no idea how many people just walk in here just looking for brown, gray, and leather. Ugh, how this city isn’t sick and tired of leather by now is beyond me.” She sighed and rolled her eyes, stepping over to the stack of black wool trousers. ”Do you know your size, hon? You’re a 32, I’ll bet.” She sucked her teeth once in frustration as she flipped through the 32’s. ”Wouldn’t you know it, I’ll bet these are all too long for you. Here, we’ll try this one, and I’ll hem it up for you while you’re here.” Four hands lifted the pile and the other two slipped a pair out without disturbing the rest. ”Now you go try these on, so I can hem them while you’re trying on shirts.” She handed him the pants and two hands took his arm and steered him back towards the dressing rooms. Another hand patted his back as they moved, road dust completely forgotten. ”So, tell me hon. This pox, does it just affect Drykas, or should we all be worried?”

[Vanator]

The Eypharian shopkeepers' reaction to his mention of pox made Vanator wonder if he should have kept it to himself. He certainly did not want to panic anyone. But his concern was assuaged as Rosela fell into what was obviously a matter close to her heart. Clothing. Her tone adopted a slightly more casual, friendly tone, no more tinged with irritation at his dustiness.

"You have no idea how many people just walk in here just looking for brown, gray, and leather. Ugh, how this city isn’t sick and tired of leather by now is beyond me.”

Vanator looked down at his black leather pants and chuckled to himself. He was particularly fond of them. But he admitted some wool trousers would be most welcomed come the pending cold weather. He looked up at the woman with a blank look when she asked his size. "I..I..uh..." Van had no idea how pants were even measured. He was used to just holding them up and guessing at what would fit. But Rosela was in her groove now, having already estimated his size with a trained emerald eye, and the grasslander now putting himself in her many skilled hands.

The novice patron took the offered trousers and, when she insisted he try them on, gave her a quizzical look. Cetainly she did not expect him to drop his pants in the middle of the store. But the shopkeeper gently guided him towards tiny little rooms. Vanator's earlier apprehension was eased by Rosela's now amiable demeanor, and he gave her a smile as she lead him to the changing rooms, posing again her inquiry regarding the disease.

"Oh, I didn't mean to alarm you. The sickness is among the Drykas out in the Sea of Grass. There has been no indication that anyone around here has it. Kavala, who runs the Sanctuary, is just being cautious for now." Van hoped he had eased Rosela's concerns. In truth, he knew his sister would not lock down Sanctuary unless there was a reason to be concerned indeed. But inciting panic in Riverfall would not be a good idea. Kavala would address the concern with the Council and allow them to handle the situation as they saw fit.

Leaving the Eypharian's side, Vanator slipped inside the small dressing room. He pulled off his boots, careful not to shake any more dirt from them. Then he slid off his leather pants, hanging them on a convenient wooden peg. He then tugged on the wool trousers and buttoned them up. They were comfortable and fit well, except, as Rosela had guessed, for the length. Van turned around to step out of the room, when he realized he had never shut the door. A crimson flush rose in the man's cheeks and he looked wide eyed at Rosela, a lopsided grin creeping across his face, the bottom of the pants bunched up around his feet. "You are right, a bit long. But otherwise they feel great."

[Rosela]

He didn’t make any protest to Rosela’s guess at his size, so she allowed a mental pat on the back for guessing right. Men in Riverfall didn’t seem to allow themselves the excesses Eypharian men did, and she doubted there was any man above a size 38 in the whole city. Luckily too, since it drastically lowered the sizes she had to keep on the shelf. ”Oh good,” she breathed gratefully at the news of the pox. ”Thanks. Good thing we have you all at the Sanctuary!” She waved a hand as he made it into the dressing room. Spinning on a heel, Rosela bit a thumb and surveyed the men’s section. What style shirt would be best for him… It was hard to gauge when he wasn’t standing right in front of her. Nothing too flowy; he seemed more of a sturdy, manly type. There was a rustle of leather behind her, too loud to be through the fitting room door, and she turned to look instinctively. There was a flash of men’s underwear and hairy man-legs and Rosela immediately whipped back around, unsure of what to do. Swallowing heavily, she forced maturity into her face and turned to discreetly close the door. Unfortunately, he didn’t need much more time to get redressed, and by the time she’d taken a single step, he’d turned to see her fully facing him. Panic crashed over her mind as she struggled to find an appropriate response. He didn’t seem to mind however, and with a quick grin, he passed right over it. Rosela raised a fist to clear her throat politely behind it, but the sound came out weak and strangled. ”Ahem, good. Just, ah, step up on the box here, and I’ll measure out the correct length.” Gesturing to the measurement box next to the fitting room doors, she took short, quick steps to the shelf beside it and took up a pincushion and a measuring tape in various hands. ”We don’t need to take your inseam, but it’ll be good to know for when you buy pants in the future. Now,” She snapped the measuring tape between two hands, the quickness of the motion pulling her away from the moment of embarrassment. ”Just stand comfortably, with your feet a normal width apart.” Measuring inseams was always moderately awkward, especially when some posturing imbecile tried to be cute when she was working down there. This new customer didn’t seem like the type though, and she kept her face firmly professional.

[Vanator]

Vanator felt a subtle flush as Rosela cleared her throat, her own embarrassment giving rise to some of his own. He would not have been as concerned had she been Drykas, but the horseman still felt a bit disarmed by the Anhatep woman. She seemed so ...refined. His first opinion that she was a snob had been dispelled by her apparent friendliness, and the fact that she didn't scoff at his dressing room faux pas convinced him that she was professional at the least. With a nod he followed her instruction and moved to the short box.

"Oh, yes, sure." The Drykas stepped onto the platform, trying not to stand on the hems of the pants. Feeling a bit on display, Vanator rested his hands on his hips as the woman collected the instruments of her trade. He observed the seamstress from the new angle, appreciating her generous contours as she readied the marked tape, snapping it soundly. He had no idea what an inseam was, but he obediently planted his feet in the box and held still...she did have, after all, a handful of pins.

Vanator found the presence of such a woman curious in the city of the Akalak. Most women in Riverfall had an interesting tale about how they came to the place, some less pleasant than others. Perhaps it was a bit forward, but Vanator ventured a question. It would help to fill the silence as the seamstress performed her tasks.

"What brought you to Riverfall, Rosela Reshimala?"

[Rosela]

Rosela wondered if he’d ever been formally measured, as he posed on the box with no small amount of awkwardness. Many men simply bought on sight, guessing what would fit. Oddly enough, the well built ones, the warriors, were more amenable to being measured, luckily for her. One of them had told her they were used to it because of their armor – ill fitting armor could not simply be taken back to the tailor and hemmed. Starting with his outside length, her hands faltered at his question as she stretched out the measuring tape. ”I…It was nothing. I needed a change of scenery.” The lie came abruptly, and she forced her hands to steady. Pulling the measuring tape from the waistband of the pants, which did indeed seem to fit nicely, down to his ankle, she took a breath. Why would he ask such a thing? He couldn’t possibly know… She’d been in Riverfall nearly a season and he was only the second person to ask about her past. Just the same, she didn’t want to make the entire sale uncomfortable, and so forced unhappy memories back and focused on the present. Logging his length away in her mind, she shifted to his inseam. ”I grew up in Ahnatep, but I found it a bit stifling once I was an adult. Riverfall is relatively close, and a safe place to start out on my own.” Maintaining a blank face, she pulled the tape measure from the crotch of the pants down to his ankle. As soon as she had the measurement, she pulled the tape away and shifted to the side, not lingering for a second more than she had to. ”Did you grow up here? Or are you an immigrant as well?” Throwing out the question as a safe diversion, she pulled out a few pins with two hands and rolled up the pant leg with two others. The final pair took the pins one at a time and pinned the rolls in place. Shifting spider-like to the other leg, she quickly repeated the process and stood up. There was a moment of silence as she stared at the bottoms of the pants, the two hands with the pins held up in the air like frames. ”Fantastic, just right.” Moving to the desk, she pulled out a sheet of paper and marked the two measurements on it. ”You’re a 29 inch inseam, and a 35 inch length. The length can vary, depending on the style, but that’ll be the average. Most places fit pants by just waist and inseam, but it’s always good to have the whole picture. Anyway, you can change back into your regular pants, and I’ll hem them while you’re trying on shirts, Mr….?” Her pencil hovered over the top center of the measurements paper as she looked over questioningly.