Making the Cut

[Akantha SolEilran]

Making the Cut

Glade 50, 124th Year, A.o.S.

After the moonlit festival, Akantha wasted no time getting down to work on her father's request. More than a day had been spent with her files and books on the city's fashion designers and tailors. When the Princess of Thorns liked something she saw, requests went to the artisans for sketches of said look. Some of them took to sending her whole sketchbooks of their collections as they were released for her perusal, and Akantha would happily pay for the cost of having said drawings made for her. The end result of all of this, after all, was a steadily-growing library that she organized and could pull from when she wanted to refer to something done previously, or compare and contrast looks and designs for events or ideas.

Phoenix King Ailuin wanted the statue of the Lord of the Dreaming properly attired, and there was a deadline of less than a season. A summons from Akantha meant most would drop what they were doing and submit sketches of designs, at the very least. A short list was being put together, and while the Princess had her perennial favourites who designed regularly for her, she always made an effort to investigate other designers, even those that tended to serve clients of different statuses to her own.

And that was how one of the smaller horse-drawn carriages came to be rolling to a stop outside of Gloaming Hapertas. It wasn't the larger one for if her siblings or friends accompanied her; just enough for the Princess and her guard. This was an impromptu visit - unscheduled and unannounced. She had dressed down in a sleeveless linen gown that was draped and pleated just so, with delicate sandals on her feet. Her long blonde hair was woven into a five-strand braid, and she wore no jewelry. The door to the atelier was opened by her bodyguard, who was not dressed in anything particularly flashy, and he held it for the Princess to step inside. One didn't have to display all of the bells and whistles to be effective at their job, after all.

Blue eyes roamed over the display outfits on the mannequins, and the garments on the tables, and around the shop, well-shaped nails capping fingers that roamed just off of one particular dress that seemed to catch her eye. She didn't touch, as this was a new shop to her, but Akantha didn't need to touch to know what she was looking at. Her vision, enhanced by her osprey totem, noted cuts and stitching, and she would browse until she was addressed. “Good afternoon to you. I am looking for Master Len’Alen?”

"There is no rose without a thorn."

[Filaurel]

•───────── Gloaming Hapertas ────────•

50th of Glade, 124th Year of the Age of Steel

For one seeking an escape from the constant energy of Silfanore's core, Gloaming Hapertas was ideally situated. It was in the outer city, though still well away from the settlements at the edges largely peopled by outsiders, and surrounded in turn by a variety of quaint storefronts- here a confectioner, there the studio for portraiture. The shop was casually demarcated with an engraved shingle of ashwood, and quickly identifiable by the mannequins in the windows.

When Akantha entered, the shop was sparsely inhabited by two hytori men. One, an older elf with a weathered cast to his face, stood on a raised dais surrounded by mirrors. A handful of measuring-sticks, ropes and ribbons floated in the air around the man, gently prodding him to move as they discreetly took measure after measure. The other elf looked younger and taller, but it was hard to say for sure, for he was seated on a swivel chair at the side of the room, watching the process, hands folded neatly atop one another on his lap.

"The final say is yours, naturally." he said to the older elf as the Princess entered, apparently too focused on his work to notice, "And you may have until the week's end to ponder it. But for myself, I have no doubt- the maroon damask will suit your face and figure best."

Filaurel's voice was deep for a Hytori, full of a quiet certitude which clearly gave his patron pause. The other man pursed his lips, plainly dissatisfied with the conclusion.

"Won't it be too muted, though? It isn't that I want to play the popinjay, but if Len'Kohlin is there... you know what he's like, he'll be in some garish gown with a whole taxidermy. I'll look like a frump."

"It is your decision." the younger elf reminded him gently, "But you are a conservative soul by nature. I can make you an outfit as flamboyant as you could wish, but you will be at odds with it in demeanor and stature all the while. I think you will be best served by an ensemble which draws attention to your qualities rather than one which transfigures you into a spectacle."

The older elf's face was still a picture of inner struggle, but the tailor's quiet flattery seemed to bust it down. "Ah, if you say so, Fil. You're the expert. I'll be back in a week with the deposit."

The man stepped down from the little stage, the floating instruments of measurement all flitting away to corners and alcoves to nest, and gave the seated tailor a firm nod. Filaurel inclined his head in return. The older elf nearly barreled into the princess on his way out--something to which her guard would surely have taken offense--but he caught himself at the last and mumbled a half-hearted apology. The seated elf turned his head at last, taking notice of the new occupant of his store.

Filaurel was unfamiliar with the royalty of Sol'Valen, and especially with its young princess, for he had spent the time she had begun entering society in the throes of the curse, confined to his bed; as a consequence, her face was totally foreign to him. Still, he was not wholly unobservant. Her linen was plain, but obviously bespoke, and her sandals bespoke a cavalier approach to wear. Also, of course, she was accompanied by a man whose deference was at least professional.

A noblewoman, then. Certainly unusual in this part of town, but by no means completely unknown. "Beg pardon that I do not rise- might I assist you, my lady?"

Filaurel's brows drew up at Akantha's reply. Not just wandering the shops on a lark, it seemed. But who could have given his name to a highbrow client like this? No- it wouldn't do to inquire, not about something like that. He inclined his head politely, as though doing a brief bow, but not a single muscle below the neck twitched.

"Certainly- I am Filaurel Len'Alen. How may I be of service?"

[Akantha SolEilran]

The Princess was quiet while she browsed, investigating the mannequins, tables, and shelves. From time to time, she would lift a sleeve and study the stitching, checking for the uniformity and consistency. For the way the fabric was treated, for tension and evenness. She was happy with what she was seeing thus far from her casual observation of his craft. When she did reach to touch a garment, she kept her touch light, but she knew what she was looking for here. She may not have given the appearance of paying any attention to Filaurel and his client, but she was listening attentively.

That this tailor did not seem uncomfortable with dressing men, nor expressing opinions on how the outfit might suit the client's personality while keeping in mind the client's requests. All of that was good. Neither she nor her bodyguard looked that way towards the dais where the consultation was going on, but from the glances Akantha had gotten in her peripheral vision, his assessment seemed correct. Judging by the man's disposition, tones, and mannerisms, Master Len'Alen was likely on the right track. But she wasn't about to comment or speculate.

Of course, she couldn't talk; Akantha was all too happy to be a spectacle when the time and place suited. But she could carry it and make it work.

She sidestepped the dour-faced departing client, giving him a smile and a polite nod when he apologized. No harm done, after all - he hadn't run into her or trod on her, When Filaurel addressed her, Akantha inclined her head and approached the tailor where he was sitting. "Of course, it is not a problem." The Princess reassured him. For one not to get up and do his own measurements, that was different. She didn't know why, but perhaps he couldn't. Of course, there was plenty of proficiency with Kinetics from what she had seen, and if it got the job done, then it got the job done.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I've seen your designs around, and I was curious to see if you are accepting new clients," Akantha explained. "I have a soiree to attend, a rather formal dinner party, in a month... and I would like a custom gown. So I thought I would see if you were available to dress me for it. There is no budget." She knew that a month might be pushing it for a bespoke gown, but that would of course depend on Filaurel and how busy he was at present. He didn't seem to know who she was, and that suited her just fine. She could see how he might dress her, and get a feel for him, his personal style and instincts, and go from there.

"There is no rose without a thorn."

[Filaurel]

•───────── Gloaming Hapertas ────────•

50th of Glade, 124th Year of the Age of Steel

Filaurel's eyebrows climbed his face as his visitor spoke. No budget? Well, he'd had customers say such in the past, but they generally meant the opposite- that they were out of money.

The tailor's mind raced. He didn't recognize the visitor, but if she had that kind of money and what appeared to be a minder of some sort, she was probably from one of the better families of the city. Why come to his little atelier? There were great masters of the woven art in Silfanore who tended to such folks. Perhaps they were having the same issue as the lesser tailors, with the sudden press of festivals and galas overwhelming the capacity of the high-end shops?

"A month... for a bespoke gown. Yes, it can be done, but one would have to avoid imports. It would hardly be possible to order anything from without the city on that timetable."

Filaurel rose slowly and gracefully from his chair, to avoid bumping himself on anything and to avoid drawing the eye to the less-than-natural way the lift caused his body to dangle with movement. He drew within a few feet of Akantha, frowning as he studied her.

"Golden blonde... about... six-two? Natural draw towards warm colors." For an ordinary customer it would be an easy call- something red, perhaps gold with rose hues, as a classic. Slim-fit, as she had the figure to pull it off. But that kind of work was not wont to impress a client who probably spent most of her money shopping in a better class of boutique. No, what he needed was imput.

"Let me show you some of the fabrics I have in stock, so we can see how each looks against your skin. And while I do- well, I have no wish to pry, but what are you celebrating? And what might you like to convey, at this party?"

A door to the back opened as Len'Alen telekinetically rummaged through his stock, fetching a selection of the finer silks and cashmere, finely-worked and richly dyed wools from Avenna's realm, and even delicate yarn spun from Sangenese musk oxen. Curiosities, mostly, which he'd picked up on a whim over the years and packed away for a rainy day.

[Akantha SolEilran]

Akantha nodded in agreement when Filaurel said that one would need to avoid imports. There were ways, if needed, to fetch something specific - the access she could arrange for with the host of Traversion mages, for example - but this was a decision she would leave to the tailor. If anything, she could see what sorts of fabric and materials he had in his inventory. That was another aspect she found interesting - what sorts of things caught his eye? What drew him to them? Would they be classic, utilitarian, exotic? There was only one way to find out.

There was another nod when he guessed her height. Six-two it was. The way he levitated was confirmation to her of the craft of Kinetics, but the Princess was far too schooled to inquire as to its necessity. It was absolutely none of her business, and it clearly didn't impact the quality of his work. If it did, she wouldn't be here. Perhaps he had employees, though she wasn't seeing any here, but that didn't mean they didn't exist.

"Of course," his new client was quite agreeable, watching as he sorted through his fabric stash. Akantha did not resist taking a peek from where she waited, rather than follow him around. Lovely - the intrigued smile she wore suggested that she seemed to approve of the colours and materials he had picked out to test with her. If he wanted her by the mirrors, the Princess would move as directed. Her bodyguard just watched from a respectful distance, less interested in the contents of the atelier than he was in Akantha and her well-being. This was not an uncommon trip; the only difference was in the setting and where she was.

"There is a painter whose work I enjoy, Risalyn Len'Cisca, and she has a gallery opening to showcase her craft. She invited me to the soiree to celebrate the opening and see her new works," the younger elf explained to Filaurel. Definitely not something as strict and solemn as religious rites, at least. "She specializes in watercolour realism, if that is helpful to understand the type of art that will be on display," Akantha added. "I would think that most of the attire there would be fairly conventional." Which didn't bother her, either. Everyone wore what they were comfortable with, but sometimes it was good to get comfortable being uncomfortable.

"My usual preference is to stand out and push limits and boundaries when it comes to fashion and style, but in this case, I would like to support Mistress Len'Cisca and not be too... avant-garde. A splash of uniqueness that doesn't take over the room would be appreciated." The Princess was thoughtful. "The attention really should be on the artist and her work." Not, for once, on the Princes of Thorns. She enjoyed being admired, but it was important that Risalyn got her due. She had worked hard for it, and it was her time for the spotlight. She was another one of the artists that Akantha had started sponsoring a few years back, and there was no way she would miss the opening.

"There is no rose without a thorn."

[Filaurel]

•───────── Gloaming Hapertas ────────•

50th of Glade, 124th Year of the Age of Steel

"An art gala..."

The tailor had harbored some thoughts of fishing for the client's identity with his questions, but he found himself quite enraptured by the scenario she'd presented. It was passing strange, as a challenge of fashion. Certainly it wouldn't do to attend an art gallery in a getup more ostentatious than the artwork, but neither could one be too conservative without seeming drab amidst the displays.

There was a natural instinct, of course, to try to tailor the gown to the art, to pick complementary colors and designs so that the one fed into the other- but that was an obvious maneuver, and guests of any sophistication would come at once to the conclusion that it was simple artifice. Fashion was a language best spoken through subtext, in Filaurel's opinion. When onlookers were affected at the subconscious level, it was a natural support to one's own words and activities; when the audience understood that it was artifice, it led them to question the earnestness of everything else about the wearer.

"Yes- yes, I do believe your instincts are correct." Filaurel turned away from his guest as he retrieved additional materials from the back, comparing them with each other. The bright reds and violets were replaced with softer and quieter colors, as he imagined the effect each combination might have. "I would suggest something conventionally modest for the primary ensemble. Len'Cisca, unless I am mistaken, is from the school of thought which values paints of high transparency in composition. Soft colors and pastels. We can use a darker tint of neutral colors to remain complementary without competing with the art. And then... contrast of about twenty percent."

Filaurel paused, thinking internally for a moment. At one point in time, that would have called for an accessory with a splash of contrasting colors- a blood-red parasol, or perhaps a hat. But something soured him on the notion here. A hat would be too high, too eye-grabbing for people scanning the room for portraiture to examine. And a parasol, beyond being out of fashion, conjured thoughts of the Eclipse which everyone was so pleased to have just escaped.

"A major design on the body, perhaps?" Len'Allen was a great believer in adding such symbols, even though they certainly stretched the boundaries of his belief that the language of fashion should be whispered rather than bellowed. "Something symbolic of art and creation?"

[Akantha SolEilran]

"An art gala," Akantha confirmed. It was a challenge, true, and perhaps an unfair one. The nature of the event made these design decisions far more complex than the average party for the sake of a party. And Akantha loved those too; but if she wanted to see how this gentleman did, this was a good way to do it. It didn't hurt to see what kinds of creative expression he was capable of, and perhaps he would enjoy the challenge.

"I agree, and you are correct, Master Len'Alen," she confirmed with a pleased nod as he remarked upon Risalyn's work and portfolio. "Her colour palette does tend towards the delicate side." While the artist did do realism, there were so many ways to express it. Between light sources and composition, one could take it in either direction. She did like where he was going with his analysis of the affair and what she was needing - and Akantha found herself making little mental check marks with regards to his thoroughness and ability to pivot rather than fixating on an initial colour. That was promising. Some designers that she worked with were so caught up with their own ideas that they did not listen to the client - and while there was a time and place for that, and she enjoyed many of their designs, this was a different situation.

But the Princess of Thorns was getting a bit excited - she valued the creative process, and seeing how a new-to-her Maker experienced it was special indeed. She was always interested in how others worked and made the decisions that they did - and how they chose each step, and the outcomes of those steps. No two were alike - even those who may have trained under the same mentor. The end result, of course, was the most important thing: his name was on what she would be wearing, after all. There was, perhaps, more pressure on the tailor than there was on those who worked with other accessories, such as jewellery or shoes. The outfit was noticed first. Everything had to work together... but the outfit came first.

She considered his suggestions, and nodded thoughtfully. Such colours would go well - neither blending nor being utterly disharmonious. "I believe that those are sound ideas. Do you have a signature when it comes to such design features?" She didn't know if he would like time to sketch and consider his options, but she would leave that open to him.

"There is no rose without a thorn."

[Filaurel]

•───────── Gloaming Hapertas ────────•

50th of Glade, 124th Year of the Age of Steel

"A signature?"

It was a reasonable question. The tailors to the great, they had signatures; sometimes literally, but more often emblematic designs which they worked into prominence. Once upon a time, Filaurel's own master had told him that the whole concept was self-serving, that it smacked of base behavior like advertisement. He'd grown up supposing that the practice was indecent, in a way, one of the many little embellishments of high society which coarsened the world.

But with time and experience, he'd come to see that it did give something to the customer. When you were a great master of the craft, when your name itself was so renowned that it leant a certain quality to the art... then such a mark confirmed the wearer's prestige. An original work by Val'Khymer was beautiful, of course, but it was all the more respected because the mark gave it a certain lineage, tied it to royalty of fashion. But there was no such prestige in the name Len'Alen.

"No, I am afraid not." But what to suggest? "The signs of spring are much-requested, these days. Certain early-blooming flowers. All of society is eager to celebrate the return of the warmer clime..."

Precisely the problem. Doubtless there would be a half-dozen other young women at the gala showing primroses and crocus. Filaurel had the distinct impression that while this particular client might not wish to command attention at this event, she would not relish being relegated to one among a dozen daffodil designs.

A thought struck him then, the same thought he'd had when he met previously with Turuther.

"Perhaps... moons?" Not usually a sign of spring, per se, but... "One of the sigils of the Boundless Empire, lost long to dysfunction, was a circle for Ransera, joined by two moons and the stars beyond. A triluneary motif in the same vein would acknowledge the change wrought by the eclipse, but signify adaptation in a new world. Subtle, I grant, but certainly distinctive."

[Akantha SolEilran]

The Princess of Thorns nodded when he repeated her, but she wasn't about to press or push. When she had been doing her research, she hadn't seen one as such, and while she usually had a keen eye for detail, and knew some tailors might have gone for certain stitching on the hem on each garment, or a colour or a symbol or a cut... if they had a signature element, eventually, usually, she would find it when she was researching. But when it came to Filaurel's... To be fair, Akantha's research was a little more limited, but even here in the shop, what she did see was good, clean craftsmanship with attention to detail and evenness. And one could never go wrong with that. Perhaps over time, he might develop one. Perhaps he might not. Every artist's path was different, but there was always a thrill to seeing which they chose to tread.

Flowers were regular; Gods knew Akantha quite loved them as well, and rarely ever got tired of floral-themed outfits. One of her outfits on her nameday had been one such gown. But wearing one to a gallery opening... mm. His instincts were right about that. His suggestion, though, fit perfectly. Distinctive, yet subtle. Forward, with a nod to history. It wasn't something that was being seen on the fashion scene right then, as many were still wondering what this new moon portended. But embracing it was bold, and that was something she greatly enjoyed. "The moons... You know your history, Master Len'Alen," there was approval in both her eyes and her tone as she appraised the fabric selection anew with this consideration. This was his vision, his idea, and ultimately his design choices.

But this creative exercise was off to a flying start - she quite liked this direction that he was leaning towards. It would stand out, and therefore she would stand out amongst the guests of the event. She might have by birthright alone in many settings, but the Hytori did not scrape and bend to their monarchs like the gauche Re'hyaeans to the south at a public event. "I think that that is an exciting choice... and I am eager to see what you can do with it. Do you have a preference towards cut and style? Or do you like to see where the design process takes you with it before committing to one?"

"There is no rose without a thorn."

[Filaurel]

•───────── Gloaming Hapertas ────────•

50th of Glade, 124th Year of the Age of Steel

Another question which gave away this customer's usual high-class inclinations; the great tailors of the realm were generally given carte blanche to design as they wished. The customers of Len'Allen tended to have specific, explicit preferences. Still, it wasn't as though he never took point on the design front...

"Yours is the final say, of course," ventured the tailor, "But I have in mind a chiffon gown, sewn such that we achieve a diagonal gradient in our complementary pastels.... perhaps a soft trumpet fit? Then the device can go either at the bosom or, better yet, at the navel..."

Filaurel's eyes roamed the Princess' figure with a professional air, mouth pursing as he pictured the fit, the colors and the cut on her form.

"You have an excellent shoulder." the tailor remarked, apropos of nothing, "A lace half-cape over one shoulder, hip-length, or even floor-length... well, perhaps not floor-length, for you would risk catching it upon the gallery fixtures. Hold but a moment, and I will sketch this-"

An easel unpacked itself from a discreet corner of the shop. As Akantha watched, a light pencil floated over to the page and began to describe a lithe, feminine figure. Over the course of several minutes, the tailor focused his attention on the telekinetic display and an image of the princess wearing such a gown described itself upon the page. By the time it had finished, sweat was beading on Filaurel's brow, and he let out an unconscious breath as the pencil clattered into the little metal tray-catch below the easel's surface.

"I think I could do something like this. What say you?"