Difference between revisions of "Logs:Fitting"

There's been the exchange of time and place, a weyrling assigned to take Aleudre where he chooses, and so it's with only a brief announcement from the brown pair that brings the Master Weaver to the Weyrleader's quarters. Aleudre has an apprentice with him, a nervous looking girl who carries all of her Master's things in with them as they enter. "Weyrleader?" Aleudre calls, looking around with a lifted brow. "I've come to do your fitting. I hope you're prepared?"

"Master," N'rov greets the older man with certain deference, and a token smile for the girl that doesn't linger in quick gray eyes: he's already turning back to Aleudre. "I wouldn't dream of being anything other than prepared." He doesn't even smell of drills, for this one does regularly run drills even if they aren't always the Traditional sort, being freshly changed and barefoot in the plain tunic and trousers he favors. Every other day, a headwoman's assistant comes to clip that curly hair short. "Tell me, how do you want me. There are rumors of men, or is it women, being instructed to stand upon their heads."

Gulp! Lora shuffles to place Aleudre's things on a nearby table and busies herself by taking out a tape measure and a note pad. Aleudre gives N'rov a stiff nod, no smile making its way forward. "If you were to stand upon your head I would have quite the difficult time of assessing how a shirt fits your shoulders," he replies without a trace of catching on to the joke. "Lora, please hand me my tape. And have the Weyrleader stand on the box we brought." The apprentice nods and rushes forward, getting the stepstool out for N'rov to stand upon before she hands the tape measure to the Master. "Sir, if you would be so kind as to stand loose. I will begin to take measurements." And he does, all business-like as the tape measure is wrapped around parts of the Weyrleader's leg, the length of him, and his waist. "33, 42," he mutters to Lora who makes quick notes.

"Then it's just as well." That Aleudre's not showing a sense of humor? The bronzerider stands dutifully enough, though it had better be a large box for him to stand truly at ease. It's an opportunity to examine the top of the weaver master's head: how does he wear his hair? Does he have dandruff? Once, too, to check on Lora: does she appear to be paying proper attention to her superior? These things are important. It also must be noted, for the record, that his length is in no way inferior. "We spoke briefly, I think, about sourcing materials from Fort's protectorate. I understand that, ordinarily, you're able to collect from all over."

"Yes, I remember," Aleudre replies blandly, "and I have to remind you that the quality of my work is best represented by my traditional sources for fabric." He inclines his head, snapping his measuring tape along N'rov's neck. He mutters the size to Lora before taking the width of the bronzerider's shoulders. "It may also add to the cost and the time before you are able to receive your desired outfit." A few more measurements are taken and then it seems the Master Weaver has completed his assessment of N'rov's form. Lora is paying attention, nervous to be around the Weyrleader and always nervous around Aleudre who is known to have a short temper when things are not done right the first time. "Lora please bring my sketchbook so that I may show the Weyleader what I've in mind for his Gather attire this season." He holds out his hand, clearly impatient with this entire process.

"It's a mark of the recognition of a man's expertise that such things are accessible to him," N'rov remarks once the man's checked his neck again, once he can safely talk again. "I appreciate your taking on such a challenge even more because of it. Better that our Holds get the publicity, and what that will do to their market, for their wares being transformed into your creations; it's fortunate that some of them will discount for the prospect as well, or so is my understanding." Which is to say: don't bump up the price just because you don't like it. "I don't want to think of my holds providing materials lesser in quality, of course, but I don't pretend to understand what drives your... art. What would you substitute, had you a completely free hand?"

"Yes I suppose it will serve to increase the amount of fabric being bought up in your Holds," Aleudre allows, adding, "many of my peers take direction from where I purchase my raw material." He shrugs his shoulders and waves a hand to indicate N'rov may step down. Lora steps forward with the master's sketchbook and Aleudre hitches a finger at the Weyrleader before he opens up the book to a specific set of pages. "I had thought we'd use colors that accent the bronze," no, he won't name the dragon directly, "in russets, browns, and darker blues. Do these styles seem to your liking?" The majority of the sketches on the page do host the more traditional designs for a dragonrider - with mind to functionality and only a touch of added flare to the cut of the clothing. "I can't tell you where I normally purchase my material, Weyrleader, as you're aware some things must be kept secret." Or as secret as he can make it.

"As they should." If there's flattery there, it's matter of fact enough. There's a moment where N'rov recognizes Lora's existence again, just as she hands over the sketchbook, and then he's back to examining the pages agan. Mostly they meet with approval or at least deference conceded to Aleudre's design skills, though the Weyrleader does refuse one tunic on the grounds that its sleeves are too 'flappy,' his word. "I need to be able to move in them, and also not have them catch on things," he explains, adding, "And I prefer dark gray. With the others, of course, I suppose it's time to expand my horizons somewhat." Finally another smile escapes, even if's sidelong, even if the master isn't seeing it. "Don't wish to pry into your secrets, either, of course, if that's what it is. It's more... does it bother you to use ovine fleece instead of llama, for example, although I understand we do have some llamas raised along the northern borders." If dinner will be served shortly, if they're expected, it's not something of which he chooses to take notice.

"Most of these aren't fleece either way, meant for the coming summer and layers if you get cold," Aleudre observes with a superior air. Doesn't he know these things? "But yes, your requests are noted." He hands the book back to Lora with a pointed look. The girl rushes to make notes on her pad before she busies herself with packing up the Master's belongings. "I do believe there's dinner to be served soon, yes?" Aleudre queries, seemingly mollified by just that small touch of flattery. It would seem the more that's given, the easier Aleudre is with his mannerisms. "Lora, please bring that shirt we brought for the Weyrleader. I do believe it will fit correctly." The apprentice moves over to one of the larger bags that she carried in, carefully drawing out a long-sleeved, dark gray, shirt that she hands over to N'rov. "Please put it on, Weyrleader. I'll make sure it fits correctly and then I hope you'll wear my gift to tonight's festivities?"

"As you say, master Weaver," N'rov murmurs, a smile not quite permitted to play about his mouth, emerging only in his eyes: could be, he's picked up on the flattery bit, even if he will have to wear those garments in coming seasons as well. Or maybe he won't: he's Weyrleader now. "We won't keep each other from it, of course, but... Well!" Will Aleudre ever find tedious that pleasure in a client's eyes? This one's new enough to his job that it's even a surprise: and the color he likes, the color Aleudre mentioned himself, no less. "Thank you. I'll be pleased, I am pleased. Quite pleased." He glances briefly at the girl, and then there's a shrug that concedes to the master's knowing what he's doing before he moves to change.

"You're welcome. I had thought you would like a touch of finery this evening and this way I can show my worth to you and the Weyrwoman," Aleudre replies with the first appearance of a smile on his lips. Yes, he does appreciate it when he can tell he's made a client happy - even if he plays the gruff and grumpy sort when it comes to 'pleasing' their wishes in the first place. "Do you mind asking the weyrling pair to come back to collect us?" It's short order before the brown pair has returned and the Master Weaver along with his apprentice are settled on the brown with their things and taken down towards the bowl to attend the dinner only after Aleudre has had time to change his clothes.