Difference between revisions of "Logs:Looking the Part"

>---< Weavercraft Hall, Boll Area(#893RJs$) >--------------------------------<

  Nestled in a verdant tropical forest, the dazzling white slate of the     
  Weavercraft Hall is protected by two solid wooden gates that are usually  
  left open to admit the warm, balmy air. Draperies frame windows in a soft 
  and lightweight violet brocade, fluttering lackadaisically in the gentle  
  breezes.                                                                  
       Pern's history is detailed on several brightly-shaded tapestries     
  bedecking the walls, spaced between sconces of glow baskets that provide  
  light when needed. Ornate tables gradually increase in complexity, from   
  the more simple apprentice's tables to the intricate and thickly padded   
  rich purple of the Masters' seating.                                      
       Within, the decorous hall is rife with activity, and sounds issue    
  forth seemingly from every direction - the soft buzz of spinning wheels,  
  the tick-tick of shuttles and looms in use, and the steady hum of         
  stitching.                                                                
       Outside, a well-traveled stone path leads toward Southern Boll Hold, 
  a mere few minutes' walk away. Other paths lead toward the breathtaking   
  fields, or to the docks, the gardens, and the nearby beach.               

 -----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
  Farideh      F  21   5'5  slim, brown hair, hazel eyes                  
  Jocelyn      F  25  5'5"  lean, red hair, blue-gray eyes                
 ----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
                                    Fields                                  
>-------------------------------------< 21D 9M 39T I10, summer afternoon >---<

With the plague officially concluded and life finding its way into a new normal for those areas hit hardest, appointments are steadily being filled once again at the Weavercraft. Among them is one arranged for High Reaches' newest goldrider, who promptly takes the (slightly wrinkled) note of reminder to Farideh and asks for her assistance - both in traveling there and to dispense some advice if it's warranted. It's an odd afternoon for Aidavanth and her rider, to be separated by significant, geographic distance for the first time since their Impression, but perhaps to her credit, the weyrling gold doesn't stay in constant, immediate contact with Roszadyth once they've departed, save to wish her mother a very safe, enjoyable journey.

It's a warm, if slightly humid day when they arrive, and Jocelyn's quick to shed her riding jacket after their arrival, her dismount careful. There's a face for the dampness in the air, or perhaps their destination in general, and the weyrling's fingers curl inward at her sides as if she'd really prefer to stuff them into her pants' pockets. "Thanks for coming with me, " is reluctant, but no less sincere for Farideh. "I didn't want to travel here with one of the weyrlingmasters. It - " But someone's apparently already alerted the crafters of their arrival, for an apprentice hurries toward them with a breathless, "Ma'am! Ma'ams. Please - that is, I'm to show you inside. We have a room already setup for your consultation." A wide-eyed look is cast up (and up) for Roszadyth, and the girl pulls her attention away with some difficulty after a moment, hands clasped anxiously.

The occasion is as auspicious for Farideh as it is for the slightly older woman, if not quite for the same reasons. Anticipation brightens the brunette's face after she dismounts the riding straps, contrasting Jocelyn's uncertainty. "It's not a problem, Jocelyn. Truly." She strikes a fine figure in her weavercraft best, already: High Reaches' blue-dyed velvet crafted into a slim silhouette of a dress with moveable skirts, sleeves that are puffed at the shoulder and tapered down the arm to her wrists. "I love Quinlys, I do. I just do not think this kind of wardrobe is the type that should be left up to just anyone." Smiling at the eager apprentices who rush to them, she unclasps her cloak and hands it off to one of them, followed shortly after by her gloves. "Come on," she laughs girlishly, taking Jocelyn by the elbow and pulling her along, resistance or no, towards the Hall and her fitting within.

"I'm sure that Irianke agrees with you, " Jocelyn replies drily, affording the apprentices who meet them a short nod and an even, "Thank you, " once she's relinquished her jacket and gloves to be whisked away with her colleague's. There's an amused curve to her mouth despite her reluctance at being encouraged along through the doorway and into the hall, a side-glance taking another, longer look at the other rider's attire. "That sort of thing looks good on you. It also looks - heavy." Distaste marks her last, even as she works to school her expression into something more neutral by the time they're ushered into the room set aside for her appointment. The redhead's lips press thin for the mirrors, displays of fabric swatches and sample-size garments that await, shoulders stiffening uncomfortably.

It's in this posture that the balding, bespectacled journeyman and his assistant who enter some minutes later find her. He tsks, shaking his head faintly as he approaches and extends a hand toward each woman for a brief greeting. "Lady Farideh, " said with the same panache that one might inject into 'hello, darling' and a moment after, "And you are weyrling Jocelyn. Your Weyrwoman's description was terribly accurate." At Jocelyn's look, he merely says, "Do relax a bit, if you can. It'll make this go by much quicker." Eyebrows lifting, he's already stepping away to begin circling her, muttering faintly under his breath. "Nothing too red, of course. The perfect shade of blue would naturally bring out your eyes. But of course - " More audibly: "I understand that you're here to be fitted for formalwear today. You probably don't have anything specific in mind, but do you have any preferences?" There's a glance tipped to Farideh with a slightly knowing sort of look; he's aware that this one will need some suggestions.

"Of course Irianke agrees with me!" It is without a doubt that Farideh purposefully chooses not to take that comment the way it's likely intended. "It's warm. Between always seems to linger me with long after I've come out, and High Reaches is just--" She fakes a shiver, and clutches the other goldrider's arm closer as they are ushered within. Unlike Jocelyn, her eyes light up at the fashion plates and swatches, threads and accessories. "I could die." Her arm slips out of the older woman's then, only so she can gush over the samples set before her own eyes; as though she's forgotten this trip is for Jocelyn and not herself. Most suddenly she becomes distracted from her perusing by the journeyman, and she takes his hand in a light shake, her lips curving in a demure smile. "It's a pleasure, Journeyman--" Without a name, she has none to supply, but she does tip her head back in return, tapping her chin with a finger. "At least one in High Reaches blue, for show. I think she would look lovely in-- silver or white. It would show off her hair and-- her features."

"Anything is warmer than between." At least there's that to agree with, and Jocelyn's stance relaxes slightly in the wake of Farideh's obvious excitement. "Are you quite sure you don't want to trade places?" It's a genuine joke that hits on all levels: they're going to be colleagues, they're in the same boat, they're even about the same size. "Kaplin, " supplies the journeyman pleasantly, waving his assistant toward the swatches with low instructions for a selection of fine-quality fabrics in High Reaches blue. "Silver and white would both complement the blue of your Weyr, yes, " he muses aloud, pulling a thrice-folded letter out of his vest pocket for a brief scan. "Right, then. We have some sample pieces of dresses appropriate for Gathers and other diplomatic functions. Ignore the color of this one, " he's gesturing them toward a princess-seamed bodice attached to layers of skirts with long sleeves and puffed shoulders displayed in a rich purple, "but we could modify something like this for your personal style." Jocelyn frowns, wiping her palms down the sides of her trousers. "Do the sleeves have to be so - tall?" It's not quite plaintive, but there's a quick glance for Farideh: Help?

"I already have too many dresses. It would be wise not to waste more marks when there are perfectly good things to wear in closet that-- I have not, yet." Farideh looks disappointed by that, wearing a sulky expression briefly as she finds some chair to perch upon and smooth her skirts. "Journeyman Kaplin," the goldrider acquiesces, nodding her head in deference, once more. Her attention is on the whirlwind of pretty things all around them, and when the weaver points out the purple gown, her mouth purses as she gives it some thought. "I do think that might be a little much. Our Jocelyn needs suitable attire for all occasions, but not quite so--" She waves a hand, hoping the man understands. "I think her personal style is quite restrained. Softer. Simpler. Classic as opposed to what is in style. Those sleeves are lovely, but for her?" Shaking her head, her thought is obvious: no.

"Classic, " Kaplin echoes, with a snap of his fingers. "Yes, I see. I believe I've just the thing, " and he heads for a rack across the room, pushing hangers aside quickly until he finds what he's looking for. Jocelyn, meanwhile, gives Farideh a grateful look for her input, poking awkwardly through the squares of blue fabrics brought to her by the weaver's assistant. "Something like this, perhaps?" The journeyman turns to present the weyrwomen with a simpler dress; it's of a similar cut, still layered in skirts, but with capped sleeves. "It doesn't have to stay black, of course, although we could put together a heavy wrap in an accenting color to go around the shoulders for warmth as well as a lighter one that's purely for ornamentation." The look Jocelyn gives this sample isn't quite as dismayed; she's considering it, if nothing else.

Everything about the mode that Farideh conducts herself in, in this den of sumptuousness hints at the behavior coming quite natural, rather than forced; she is obviously enjoying herself, and the bevy of assistants who complement the journeyman. "That," she says, after a gasp, "would look wonderful on you, Jocelyn. It is a little drab in that color, even with the wrap, but--" Her nose wrinkles and then she sighs delightedly. "What do you think? You can make a similar dress with long sleeves for the winter events, if you like it well enough," she suggests, sitting forward to consider the dress more carefully, from its hem all the way up to the neckline. "Yes. I think it suits you."

Jocelyn's expression turns begrudging as she gives the dress another, closer look. "I could - " She pauses, begins again, deliberately lightening her tone. "I'd like to try the sample on, if I may. The fit doesn't have to be exact for me to get a better idea of how it might work - or not, as the case may be, on me." Kaplin's too delighted to indulge her; "Go on, darling, changing screen is over there." As she heads off in that direction, he brings a small display of appropriate accessories to Farideh. "I'd recommend this bag to go with it, and perhaps some simple earrings. She isn't the type to get enthused about dresses, is she? I think we can find something she'll appreciate for her formal leathers." His assistant helpfully waits just outside the screen in case the weyrling should require help getting into and back out of the garment, although in the end, the only help she seems to need to offer is to gesture Jocelyn toward a three-sided mirror once she emerges. Critically, the redhead surveys herself, examining the modest cut of the back, the way the gathers fall and move when she takes experimental steps this way and that. Her, "This is tolerable, " is pronounced at some length with a decisive nod, and she turns to better face Farideh and the journeyman with lifted eyebrows: Well?

The younger goldrider watches Jocelyn move behind the screen, for modesty's sake, with a quirk of lips, but her focus shifts to Kaplin quickly. "No, she is not one to like dressing up. I think the bag would be perfect. I think she'll need some type of cloak or shawl to go with it, and some gloves. Matching slippers, of course," says the brunette with the shopping problem. "I think you'll find her not as difficult when it comes to pants, which is a shame," with a pout. Shame, Jocelyn, shaaame. Her hands clap together when she sees Jocelyn, her lips curving more fully into a sunny smile that matches the delight in her eyes. "It's more than tolerable. It is divine. I knew you'd look great in it. Yes, that, and-- all that we talked about?" The last part is to Kaplin, as her eyes lift to his face.

"Cloak, gloves, slippers, " Kaplin rattles off easily, "yes, I quite agree. She'd look very presentable with only a little trouble, and - ah, yes. Excellent!" That last is for Jocelyn's emergence, even as he's already moving to begin taking measurements and calling them off to his assistant, quite ignoring the rider's marked grimace. "Perhaps you'd like two of these - one done up in High Reaches blue, the other in another color of your choosing?" While he's assessing the fall of the skirts in the back, there's a nod for Farideh. "Yes, all of that, too. Add that to the list, " to the apprentice who's scribbling quickly a few paces away. Once that's done, "Let's see, now. I have something over here for your formal leathers that I think you'll find most agreeable."

Jocelyn shoots Farideh a long-suffering look as she follows in Kaplin's wake, expression brightening for the selections of leather and well-stitched outerwear, polished riding gear and appropriate boots. These selections take longer to make, as she's perfectly willing to spend more time assessing quality, color and cut for a well-tailored jacket, riding pants and hardware selection for both goggles and helmet. The better part of several hours have passed by the time their session draws to a close, with Kaplin thanking both women for their time and delivering assurances that everything will be ready within a reasonable working time. "I still don't see how people like this sort of thing, " Jocelyn expresses to Farideh in an aside as they prepare to depart, "but I'd work with him again, if I had to. At least he didn't suggest anything pink."

One of those oh-so-helpful apprentices helps Farideh with her cloak, and she laughs, before thanking him, at the other goldrider's comments. "It's the same to me as checking inventory and checklists are to you. I love the fabrics, the colors, the creative experience of creating something-- or, having something created for you. It's delightful," she replies, tugging on her gloves as she moves towards the exit and her dragon waiting outside. "Pink would be a travesty. You don't have the coloring for it. Now, let's go home," with a smile, as she steps out into the beautiful weather that Southern Boll is known for, among other things.