Solo Because I Said Sew!

[Piraen Saneka]

Because I Said Sew!
Piraen (Job Solo)
The 14th of Spring, 514 AV
Midday, Piraen's Apartment

"I don't understand!" Piraen slapped his hands against the floorboards in frustration."How is it even possible to tear a hole there?!" The tailor sat in the middle of his small apartment's floor. Surrounding the man was a sea of fabric, carpeting the room wall-to-wall in colorful patterns and dingy solids. To his left, a box of assorted sewing materials. On his right, a bag of dried peaches.

Pi's obsidian eyes glared down at the pair of pants below him, his eyes staring intently with a mixture of both confusion and anger. He clenched his jaw. How, or why, someone would rip a hole in the front of their pants, Piraen would never know...and that upset him. He had seen tears in the butt of pants, the seams, the knees, the bottoms of the legs...all the reasonable possibilities. He had never seen a tear in the stomach part of pants, though. Besides this being an obvious mind-puzzle, the situation also brought about a dilemma for the young seamster: he had no idea how to decently patch up this rip.

The flaw in question was about four to five inches long and ran diagonally across the stomach section of a pair of high-waisted trousers. There seemed no easy way to stitch it up without causing a weird pinching or puckering. Not to mention that, given the size and intensity of the tear, Pi had no idea if the pants would still fit the client after the repair.

Pi leaned back and popped another peach slice into his mouth. He gnawed intensely as he weighed his options. I could tear out the front section, I suppose, and add a pattern thing here... The tailor visualized the pants with two columns of brass buttons running down the stomach. He had to admit, it was cute. Cute, but not manly. Given Ravok today, Piraen couldn't decide which was worse...being a dingy and run-down looking merchant or feminine and "cute" business man. Both options seemed less than favorable.

Piraen's eyes skimmed over the rest of his apartment. Maybe I should just make a new pair of pants... He had enough extra clothing in the apartment to do so. They'd be a different color than the original--in fact, they might even be two or three different colors--but they would fit, and they would most likely look decent while doing so, too. Most likely.

Or I could move onto something else. Deciding that that was the best option at the moment, Pi reached out and grabbed at another project: a woman's shirt that needed resizing. It would be done within a couple bells, and it would, more importantly, take his mind off of those stupid trousers. Piraen sighed, hunching over the red shirt as he descended with his needle. Procrastination: always the solution.

[Piraen Saneka]

Pi relocated himself to the windowsill that sat next to his bed. It was a deep window, with about two feet between the wall and the glass. This was just enough space for Pi to comfortably sit in. One leg swung back and forth as he sewed the blouse in his lap.

"Escort." This was a game Pi often played while working. He would take the article of clothing in his hands and analyze it. He'd hold it under different lights, smell it, rub it between his fingers...he would gather all possible information about the owner through his senses and the garment. Then, he would guess what kind of job they held.

"Housewife, the pretty kind." This shirt was a bright red. It was the kind of red that you wore to stick out in a dull and boring Ravokian crowd. Seeing as the shirt belonged to a woman, clearly there were only a few options that this left. Entertainer, escort, barmaid... The owner was thin, and built well. She had the proportions of beauty, with a thin waist, large bust and wide hips. Though, now that Pi looked at it some more, he realized that this woman seemed to be letting herself go...why else would she need the shirt to be taken out?

"Shyke!" Pi flinched as a pin-prick pulled him from his reverie. He shook his hand vigorously (as if that would get rid of the pain) before returning to his work. Pulling the needle through to the outside of the fabric, Pi noted the work he had left on the shirt. He had already resized the bust, and pulled in the edges of the front together to form a more modest neckline. Now all that was left were the sides.

Pi ripped open the vertical seam that ran up the side of the shirt, scoffing as he did so. "Someone's about to get the boot." No matter what job this woman had, she was obviously there because of her curves. If her employer--which Pi assumed was the man who had dropped the garment off-- had wanted that appearance to be covered up, this woman was clearly in for some rough waters.

Thankfully there was just enough excess fabric on the inside to fit the new measurements. If there wasn't, Pi would've had to find some more, and that--coupled with the annoying pair of pants that lay in rebellion on his floor--would have completely ruined his day. He realigned the edges of the ripped seam. After making sure that a straight seam would be formed, the tailor pinned the sides together. He held the shirt away from him and double-checked the straightness of the seam. Satisfied, he nodded and began to sew.

For this task, he would use a simple whip-stitch. The whip-stitch was his all-time favorite, in part due to the fact that it was the fastest to use. Tying the ends of his red thread together, Pi pushed the needle through the top of the seam. From there, he pulled it through. When he felt the knot snag on the other side, Pi looped the thread around and pushed it through right beside the knot. He continued to make these small circles around the raw edges of the fabric.

Another great thing about the whip-stitch was that it required almost no attention once you started, which allowed the sewer to wander through their thoughts without worry: "Maybe she's just injured." Pi pondered aloud as he returned to his little game. He remembered seeing a person at the market who had injured their insides--he couldn't remember the exact injury...a brake, rupture, something to that effect--and had swelling all over their midsection. Their clothes were ripped and torn all along the seams to accommodate for the bandages. In the case of this mystery woman, maybe she wasn't being let go. She could just be injured.

"That'd be nice." More work time for her meant more shirt alterations for him.

Returning to his current alteration project, Pi could see that he had whip-stitched just over half way down the seam. Stopping, Pi tilted his head and examined his work. Aside from one slight snag at the beginning, there were no visible mistakes. Piraen smiled, happy with his ever-improving skills. Step one: perfect whip-stitch. Step two: perfect shop.

[Piraen Saneka]

"All the bakers at dawn," Piraen sang quietly as he tailored. "May they all cut their thumbs." Whether or not those were the correct words, Pi did not know. It was a song he often heard his mother sing while doing chores--heavens forbid she was actually required to do work--and the tune stuck.

"And bleed into their buns until they melt away." More times than not, Pi hummed that line. Besides the fact that the connection between blood and melting eluded him, the line also caused a reflexive giggle. Piraen couldn't help it. He was a big child, through and through, and the visual that came with their "buns" melting away was priceless.

The song in general had that effect on him, actually. The majority of the time, when something confused Pi, it also amused him. Perhaps that was why the song had stuck with him for so long, because the lyrics made absolutely no sense. All the bakers at dawn, may they all cut their thumbs, and bleed into their buns until they melt away. Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall, never should've called, but my head's to the wall and I'm lonely. He had sung those words countless times, yet they still confused him. First of all, why were the bakers cutting their thumbs? On what? Pi had little experience with baking, but he was under the assumption that it wasn't too deadly of a career. Furthermore, what was a bull doing inside? Was this a foreign custom, letting your cattle run through your halls? Of course this man is lonely, his head is to the wall! If you call someone, then hide your face in the wall, then obviously they won't speak to you.

Piraen shook his head. At least his art made sense. If your shirt is broken, you fix it. If a rip tears through a song, then you'll never be able to repair that. Pi will never be able to retrieve those lost words from his mother's song. Now, he is stuck humming bizarre tunes about bakers cutting their thumbs at dawn.

"Dawn breaks," Pi swung both his legs over the edge of the windowsill, jumping to his feet as he continued to sing. He crossed the room to the small table in the corner and plopped onto one of the wooden chairs. He smoothed the shirt out onto the table and looked over his work. It was a bit sloppy on the inside, with a few bunches in the thread here and there. These mistakes weren't visible from the outside, though, so Pi just took mental note of them. He'd practice seaming later.

Satisfied with the seams, Piraen moved on to the last step: putting in an additional button. In hindsight, he probably should have done this before taking the sides out. That would have allowed him some more wiggle room, as it were. Now, he would have to be extra careful not to change the shirt's dimensions while adding in the fastener.

Piraen fetched his kit and placed it next to the shirt. Opening the box, the tailor began to sift through the buttons and fasteners inside. He was looking for a small, red button. It would be shaped like a gumdrop, and would be the same size as a pencil's end. After rummaging through the menagerie before him, Piraen managed to find a decent fit: a decoration pulled from an old Vinati. He was sure that it was originally meant as just an ornament. Nevertheless, it appeared to be just wide enough to hold a shirt closed.

Pi pushed the kit aside. He rethreaded his needle with the same red thread he'd been using and picked up the shirt. Looking at the outside, Pi looked for a good placement for the new button. He drew an invisible line up from the next button up, stopping when the distance between the two seemed the same as between the rest. Just to be sure, Pi pushed a pin into the cloth then held the whole thing away from him. It looked okay to him, which, all things considered, was the biggest test. Not many could boast about having better eyesight than a Kelvic bird of prey.

Placing the needle on the inside of the shirt, Piraen pulled it through next to the pin. He then looped the thread through the hole on the back of the new fastener. After removing the pin, Pi finished attatching the button by pulling the needle back through the fabric. He pulled the thread tight, then, just for good measure, ran another loop through the back of the button before knotting the thread on the inside.

Eager to finish his project, Piraen quickly pinned the other side of the shirt around the button. He poked open a small hole and folded the raw edges under. After a few stitches to attatch these edges to the inside of the shirt, Piraen was done. Leaning back, the man surveyed the room. It was in disarray, as usual. Not that anyone would mind. Clients always met him in the streets, and his friends...Oh, right. He sighed. He needed to get out more, if not just for the sake of a scenery change.

He stood and crossed to the window. Below, Ravok bustled. Pi didn't really want to leave. The people below were unforgiving, and the tailor didn't have the energy in him to muscle his way through the obnoxious crowds. Then again, he never did. Might as well...

Piraen grabbed a few mizas and the shirt. He opened the door, revealing a pathway full of rushing people. They angrily pushed forward, ignorant of any destruction they caused as they raged. As Pi jumped into the crowd, he finally understood the analogy. A grin spread across his face.

"Like bulls in the hall."

[Piraen Saneka]

"Get the door, Fick!" Piraen flinched. If he had been standing any closer to the door, Pi knew he would have felt the voice vibrate in the wood. "Because I said so! Don't make me come dow-"

"I got it, Ma!" A latch on the other side was released, and the door was slowly dragged open. "Uh, Hello, sir?" A small boy stood in loose clothing clung to the side of the door. The child was too young to know what social norms to uphold at a door, but he was old enough to understand that he was supposed to observing some rule; the boy nodded awkwardly. He fidgeted with his shirt as he looked up at Pi, waiting for a response.

"Do I have the right home?" Piraen's face contorted slightly. He couldn't envision an escort or trophy wife residing in the same home as a child. Wouldn't that hinder, rather than help, the business? Especially now, as dusk was flirting with the skyline?

"Let the man be, Fick. Back to your chores now. Go." The worn voice of a mother softly drifted to the door. Her words released the boy from his obligation at the door, causing him to shoot into another room. A woman hobbled into view. One hand grasped at the doorknob, using it as a stabilizer as the other hand rubbed her swollen midsection lovingly. Piraen smiled. With child.

Enlarged breasts, slightly larger abdomen, small boy, a man running errands for her...Piraen felt silly for thinking anything else.

"I'm the tailor." Pi smiled, handing the folded shirt to the woman. "Your order is done." She took the shirt, releasing the door as she reached for the coin pouch at her belt. Piraen waved, shaking his head. He wouldn't take a pregnant woman's money. He could gather payment from her husband later.

"No, no. It's already been taken care of." She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Clearly, she wasn't buying it. Though, seeing as she was currently holding what seemed like the family's communal miza pouch, it appeared her question was one reason, not time. Pi smirked and spoke again, answering her question with a playful pun. "How about 'because I said sew'?"

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[Abstract]

Grade Awarded!

Piraen

Skills

~ Observation - 3
~ Planning - 1
~ Fashion Design - 1
~ Sewing - 2
~ Singing - 1

Lores

~ Procrastination is Always the Answer
~ Identifying A Profession by Clothing

Other

N/A

Notes

A lovely solo! Good job!