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[Scorn]

42 Fall, 513 Scorn followed her sister into the weaving house. This was a terrible idea, and she couldn't remember how she'd let Scourge bully her into this, yet here they were, plotting to engag in possibly the most useless and boring activity Scorn could imagine. And for what? So Scourge could assimilate better with her adopted colony? Scorn was supposed to be getting Scourge away from these...insects! And yet, any time Scorn brought up that idea, Scourge grew bizarrely hostile. So, to avoid losing her sister, Scorn had ended up going along with this awful plan. At least if Scorn was going to suffer, she would not suffer alone. She was dragging Vyvian down with her--literally. She had her claws wrapped around his wrist, threatening to slice his hand off rather than let him get away. In her other hand, she carried a heavy pouch full of those smooth round pebbles with shiny borders. One of the reasons she's agreed to this ridiculous venture was that she'd been promised a chance to unburden herself of some of this "money". When they were approached by one of the stick people, Scorn let her sister do all the talking. Just because she was cooperating didn't mean she had to be happy about it. Scourge explained in the slave tongue that the three of them wanted coverings for the purpose of...decorating themselves? for the "Masquerade" (Scorn would never have been able to remember that whole word).

[Vyvian]

Vyvian frowned as the Scorn and her companion approached a... clothes vendor? A stupidly overpriced one at that too.

Brushing some hair behind his ear he squinted as he examined the wares on sale. Unsurprisingly, all smooth silken and lavish, with extremely well spun in patterns.

Pursing his lips slightly, he twisted his ring around and looked down at his own clothes, dark crimson and black. No patterns. He certainly liked the patters, they were very intricate and well made, and he admired their craftsmanship. But.. they were lavish and attracted attention to ones-self, and didn't offer the slightest amount of warmth or comfort. As far as he was concerned, clothes were for feeling, not looking at.

He sighed and slumped a bit lower, nearly Scorn's height, twisting his ring a bit more violently. He had a bad feeling he was going to be getting a new outfit.

[Poison]

As Scorn entered the Weft and Warp with Vyvian in tow, all of the weavers stared at them. By now most of the Symenestra knew (or thought they knew) that Scorn and her sister Scourge didn’t mean them any harm, but the novelty of Zith living in their middle hadn’t quite worn off yet.

One girl made a mistake because she was focusing on Scorn rather than her work and nearly ruined the cloth she was working on, another weaver dropped a spindle … and Avarys Anthurium who owned the weaving house together with his cousin? Avarys Anthurium furrowed his brow, he frowned a little, but then he approached his newest visitors with a huge, somewhat mischievous smile on his face.

„Welcome! Welcome to the Weft and Warp!“ he greeted them. For Scorn and Scourge he was probably just another stupid, useless twig man, but by Symenestra standards he was handsome with his long black hair and violet eyes.

„What can I do for you and your friend?“ he asked her. „I have never had Zith customers before, but I love a challenge, so just tell me what you need, and I’ll try to accomodate you! You could benefit from new clothes!“

His gaze went from Scorn to Vyvian who looked unhappy and somewhat confused, and he wondered, „You do know that your friend is a Zith, right? Smile, my friend, smile. There’s no reason not to!“

[Scorn]

Scorn took an instant dislike to the stick man, and she bared her teeth, at a loss for how to claw his tongue out when both her hands were occupied. Before she could get creative, Scourge's black form stepped between them, saying, "We want to go to the Masquerade. You have coverings we need for this?" Scorn's throat had started emitting a low, quiet growl, as everything about this situation defied her instincts. She normally tried to avoid the city proper, so she wasn't used to being surrounded by prey creatures, especially non-fleeing ones. Her senses were assaulted; the invasive scent of too many other creatures far too close, the soft, incessant noises that had stopped all too briefly, the bright, unnatural colors... Well, there were one or two colors which were not so unnatural. Scorn found herself drawn to a comforting vision of the only color that had reason to be bright: red. Focusing on the scarlet hue, Scorn tried to tune out all the other confusing distractions. She took a step toward a swatch of red, unaware that her grip on Vyvian's wrist had tightened. Scourge was more used to the noise, but as she looked around, she too found a color that brought comfort to her. Hues of emerald brought to mind visions of a forest from her youngest years, and trees she now believed she would never see again...

[Vyvian]

Vyvian gazed up mournfully from through his hair at the shop keeper.

"You tell me my friend is a Zith, and then ask me to smile? You do the same then I will Krova".

Despite his seemingly hostile words, they were murmured with a complete lack of emotion and an equally dead looking facial expression, the only movement being his hair in the slight breeze when Scorn moved her wings.

Slouching a little lower as the two Zith began to browse the shop, he turned to the shop keeper again, now gloom on his face.

"Black.. just get me something simple and black." he sighed, his eyes turning skyward in thought, before looking at the keeper out of the corner of his vision.

"Unless you have fur?" he murmured softly?

[Poison]

As Scorn bared her teeth, Avarys simply bared his fangs and growled, and then he laughed as if he had just done something particularly amusing. The weaver wasn’t easily scared. About the only thing he was afraid of were women (and occasionally men) that couldn’t accept a no. He had once hidden in the lower caverns for a couple of days because Soraya Orchid, one of the Moth Queens of 512 AV, had insisted that he was her future husband and threatened to accuse him of rape if he didn’t marry her.

As she looked around, Avarys‘ gaze followed her before he focused on her sister Scourge that was much more well behaved. „Scourge, right?“ he asked her. „I’ve seen you around Kalinor occasionally, but I don’t think we‘ve ever talked. That reminds me, can she …“ he pointed at Scorn. „… even talk? That emerald green cloth over there is beautiful, isn’t it? It makes me think of the jungles of Falyndar where our ancestors live. And red …“ He gestured towards the cloth that Scorn was looking at. „… is the color of blood, the color of our god Viratas of course. I think it would suit you very well.“

„I am smiling“, he informed Vyvian. „The Zith haven’t eaten any of us yet. Isn’t that a reason to smile? Besides, the Harvest Festival is going to take place soon." He paused for a moment and took a breath. "We have black things of course, but trust me, my friend, black isn’t your color. You’d look like some kind of Symenestra Nuit in it, and nobody likes Nuit. As for fur …“ His eyes lit up a little. „I might have a bit of white fur somewhere.“

[Vyvian]

Vyvian's eyes narrowed in suspicion and confusion.

"Then what is my colour then? People have... colours?"

He frowned and his mind wandered as he begun spinning his ring slowly.

"What fur do you have then?" he said, half dreamily. His eyes and hands wandering to the various softer materials hung up as he started stroking them softly, running them through his fingers.

"Oh, Scorn does talk, she can just act a bit... how would you say.. childish?"

A ghost of a smile passed his lips, and his eyes, as he focussed on the store owner, for a brief second, and chuckled.

[Scorn]

At the man's running commentary of color-coordination, Scorn nodded sharply, once. Anything to get her out of here faster. The red was not worse than pointless, and perhaps appearing covered in blood would teach these animals who she was. Though, they might be confused by the lack of blood smell. She would have to come up with something for that. Vyvian was chattering along with the annoying twig man. She mostly did not pay attention, but then she heard her name. She listened a little more closely, curious in spite of herself what her slave had to say. Unfortunately for him, he had not quite gotten the hang of what it was safe to say around Scorn. At what she perceived to be his accusation, she grew furious. She swiped at him, raking him across his chest, her claws leaving four long gashes. "I am not a child!" Scorn did not realize that Vyvian probably didn't understand just how big of an insult that was to a Zith. A child was technically a drain on a colony, fed and taught only in the hopes that they would grow into successful hunters, and keep the cycle going. Implying that Scorn was still a child at her age, in her eyes, was tantamount to suggesting that her continued existence was worse than useless, and a drain on the colony. And, naturally, drains on the colony were expected to go off and die, to spare the limited resources of their brethren. Scourge sensed that the comment struck especially deep for Scorn. It had taken the grey Zith longer than the other children to succeed in the kill that marked her as an adult. It hurt Scourge to see her sister fighting with her friends, so she threw herself at Scorn and tackled her with a hug filled with nuzzling. Then, out of nowhere, she got a brilliant idea. "You kept a trophy from your Balicani kill, didn't you? Why not wear it to the gathering?" she whispered into Scorn's ear. Scorn, distracted from her rage by her sister's affection, considered this idea, and found it to be a good one. She turned to the annoying twig man and spoke, wanting to progress toward ending the entire unfortunate encounter. Besides, she had to discipline her slave properly, and that couldn't happen with her sister watching and getting in the way again. "You. You give us the red. And the green," she added pointing at Scourge, "and the white fur," gesturing to Vyvian. She then addressed her primary concern about this whole venture. "Make the rags not limit movement, or I will shred them, and shred you."

OOCWheee, Zith violence! If you want the civilized one, probably best to talk to Scourge

[Poison]

Avarys looked shocked as Vyvian asked him if people had colors. „Of course they do!“ he informed him. „You are a Symenestra and not some kind of Zith hybrid, right? As a Symenestra you can’t wear black! That’s a crime, almost a sin against Viratas! Your colors are white and red. You’d look spectacular in a mix of the two! I can find something for you …“ He started loooking around the Weft and Warp before he turned back to Vyvian. „The things are for the masquerade, right? You haven’t really told me yet …“

As Vyvian informed him that Scorn just acted a bit childish, Avarys grinned and nodded. Yes, he could see that. She didn’t look particularly happy to be here. She acted just like a child that had been dragged into a clothes shop against her will. A dangerous oversized child with wings, teeth and claws.

As Scorn attacked Vyvian, the grin abruptly disappeared from Avarys‘ face. He didn’t want anybody to get killed in his shop. He didn’t want to have to clean up the mess. And he also didn’t want an angry Zith to accidentially (or purposefully) break something, so he stepped forward and raised his hands. „Now, now, Scorn, there is no reason to attack your friend. You don’t want to meet the Ochya, do you? That red will look magnificent on you. I’ll even make a special price for you.“

He took the „rags“ and handed them to Scorn and Scourge.

„You are going to take your friend …“ He pointed at Vyvian. „… to a doctor, right? He might need one.“

[Vyvian]

Vyvian sighed and coughed up some more blood, moaning a little as his back gave in again. "Yes.. that'd be nice..." His eyes lit upon something hidden at the back of the store, they turned haunted and looked downwards as he thought... "Avarys, could you get me a replacement of these clothes as well as that leather attire back there, and fashion it into a complete travelling suit. Then make a replica of this." he carefully, yet shakily took a drawing of a rose out of his pocket, somehow it was still intact. He had found it in the rubble ands its colour... its beauty sang out to him. He wanted the real thing, or as real as he could get. "Actually... make two of them please." Vyvian muttered, he wouldn't put it past Scorn to take one of his. A ghost of a smile passed over his face as his humour found its place. "Does this pass your artistic criteria?"