Solo Silken secrets

[Job thread] Sorla is sent to measure a girl for a wedding dress, but begins to suspect something is not quite right.

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Considered one of the most mysterious cities in Mizahar, Alvadas is called The City of Illusions. It is the home of Ionu and the notorious Inverted. This city sits on one of the main crossroads through The Region of Kalea.

Silken secrets

Postby Sorla on May 30th, 2017, 4:09 pm

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50th Spring, 517

There was an extra spring in the red-haired girl's step today. The sun was shining, and although she was still regularly perplexed and befuddled by the strange city she now called home, it was better than the overwhelming confusion and homesickness that had haunted her first few days. And, more importantly, she had a job. No more worrying about where her next meal was going to come from. Once she had made herself a more presentable set of clothes, she had gone back to see the old lady in the Bizarre about employment, and had got lucky. Betsy had remembered her, had been reasonably impressed with what she had done with the fabric she had bought, and also happened to be in the middle of a busy period and in need of a helper.

Sorla’s first assignment was to visit a large house belonging to the Malone family. They were one of the richer clans in Alvadas, their wealth coming from a prosperous shipping business based down in the Patchwork Docks. More than half of all the ships that came in and out of the Alvadan port were ultimately owned by Jaquemon Malone and his Svefra wife Maretta. And whoever controlled the ships, controlled the trade. It was said that nothing could pass in or out of the docks without Jaquemon’s small army of lackeys finding out about it. But the reason for Sorla’s visit was nothing to do with ships. Jaquemon’s youngest daughter Leire was due to be married in the summer, and the time had come for her first wedding dress fitting. Although the Inarta would not be skilled enough to actually make the dress herself, she had been entrusted with taking the first measurements, and had also taken along a little book of fabric swatches so the Malones could start choosing the design.

She recognized the house with no difficulty as she turned a corner. Just as she had been told, it was designed to look like a large ship, complete with round porthole windows, a rigged mast on the roof with a sail furled along the beam, and a large figurehead looming above the front door. Flags fluttered all along the rooftop parapet, each emblazoned with the Malone’s family crest: a green dolphin on a background of gold waves. As Sorla approached the door, it opened as if someone had been watching from one of the portholes. Awaiting her was a tall woman with piercing blue eyes. ‘Are you the tailor?’ she asked. Sorla nodded. ‘At your service,’ she replied. ‘Come in, come in,’ the tall woman said, introducing herself as Maretta. ‘Thank you for coming to see us. I’ll take you straight up to where Leire’s waiting.’ She turned and led the way up a steep, ladder-like staircase that opened out into a wide hallway, and then along the hall until they reached the last door on the right. ‘In here,’ she said, ushering Sorla through. The room was large and oval, with several portholes along each side. ‘When the house is in the right place, you can see the sea through those portholes,’ Maretta said with a wistful sigh. ‘Today it is just the back garden of the butcher.’ Sorla glanced out of the window and could see a man in a blood-stained apron lounging against a counter, apparently enjoying the sunshine on his break. She turned her attention to the occupants of the room. One was clearly the bride-to-be. She was a tall girl, about eighteen years old, with her mother’s piercing blue eyes but chestnut brown hair where Maretta’s was sun-blonde. She was standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of excited girls of her own age, but Sorla noticed immediately that she did not seem to share their high spirits.

‘Leire,’ her mother called, ‘the tailor is here. The rest of you, move out of the way.’ The girls scattered to the sides of the room, where they giggled on velvet chairs. ‘And you, perk up,’ Maretta said to her daughter. ‘Are you feeling alright?’ ‘Yes, mother,’ Leire said, smiling sweetly. ‘I’m just a bit tired, is all. I didn’t sleep well last night.’ ‘You seem to be sleeping badly a lot at the moment. Are you sure you’re OK?’ Leire nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she reassured her mother. ‘It’s probably just all the excitement.’ Maretta seemed satisfied with the explanation, and gave her daughter a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Don’t be scared, sweetheart. It’s natural to be nervous, but Godric loves you dearly and you’re going to be very happy together.’ Leire nodded, apparently grateful for the comfort, and Maretta went to sit near Leire’s friends.

Sorla cleared her throat. She had never dealt with a customer on her own before; her father had always been in the shop to welcome them, while Sorla watched from the background. She thought back to his way of talking to customers; respectful, but confident enough to make them feel they were in good hands. She looked at the girl standing suddenly exposed in the middle of the large room, and saw a hint of sadness hiding behind her smile. ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling at the girl as warmly as she could, trying to ease Leire’s nerves and hide her own. ‘I’m Sorla. Let’s get started. If you don’t mind, I need you to take off your outer clothes so I can measure you. Yes, you can leave the vest on.’ The girl looked vulnerable without her heavy gown. She was thin and fragile, with pale skin. Sorla took out the measuring tape and notebook her employer had given her, and started.

Word count: 943
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Sorla
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Silken secrets

Postby Sorla on May 31st, 2017, 11:15 pm

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No matter how many times she had done it, Sorla was always taken aback by the intimacy contained in the simple act of measuring someone’s body. Although she was trained well enough not to reveal any hint of it, she always felt a strange mixture of discomfort and exhilaration. It was partly the physical proximity it demanded; the way her hands brushed against the person’s skin as she stretched out the measuring ribbon; the feel of breath on her cheek as she carefully wound the tape around the neck, and the knowledge that her own breath would be grazing her customer’s collarbone. But it was more than that. It was also the sensation that by measuring the body, she was somehow measuring the spirit. As if by quantifying the breadth and slope of the shoulder, she could also quantify the courage hidden within; could determine a person’s capacity for love or impatience by recording the distance between their breast and their knee or calculating the slenderness of their ankle.

As she jotted down her measurements in her notebook, an image began to form in her mind of what sort of person Leire was. There was a fiery set to her jaw that belied the frailty of her wrists; a tension in her restlessly moving fingers that seemed out of place next to her dainty waist. She was a contradiction. And an unhappy one, too, Sorla realized. The girl’s eyes had not lit up to match the smile she had given her mother, and she stood completely still now as the tailor moved around her. Her muscles were slack and when Sorla asked her to raise her arms so she could measure her bust, her movements were slow and languid. She seemed to find the entire process utterly tedious.

‘Right, that’s everything I need. Thank you for your patience. You can put your clothes back on now,’ she said. Leire obeyed in silence, and Sorla turned to Maretta. ‘I’ve brought some fabric samples for you to see,’ she said, getting the bundle out of her bag. The girls at the sides of the room all gathered round, cooing over the gorgeous silks and the gauzes that slipped through their hands as light as air. Maretta picked up a green taffeta, running the material through her fingers pensively. ‘This is one is nice, don’t you think darling?’ she said to her daughter. Leire nodded. ‘Yes, if you like it,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely.’ ‘Why don’t you find one you like to show me,’ Maretta prompted, looking at her daughter watchfully. Leire took a deep breath, almost as if she was gathering her strength, and started to flip through the swatches with her friends, nodding as they proffered piece after piece of material: shiny satins, luxurious beaded fabrics, rich damasks, fine, translucent linens. The room was filled with the sound of laughter and the soft swoosh of material as the girls draped the material over themselves, spinning so the iridescent folds caught the light and glittered like expensive rainbows, imagining themselves festooned in majestic velvets or swathed in the softest pearl-coloured silk. Leire seemed content to sit back and let them come to her, presenting suggestions like offerings. Maybe she was just a quiet person, Sorla thought, and they were used to her lack of high spirits. But she couldn’t help notice the way Maretta kept glancing at her daughter when she wasn’t looking, as if trying to surprise her into revealing something in an unguarded moment.

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Silken secrets

Postby Sorla on May 31st, 2017, 11:19 pm

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After a while the girls seemed to have reached a consensus. There were four swatches that they all agreed would be perfect, and Maretta now brought them to Sorla. ‘I think it’s between these ones,’ she said. ‘Would you give us some advice?’ Sorla nodded readily. She examined the fabrics they had chosen, and considered Leire – her pale skin, her fragile build. She would be completely swamped in the vibrant purple taffeta they had chosen, and Sorla quickly decided it wasn’t right. ‘This one is certainly lovely,’ she said, running her hands along the shiny surface, ‘but I’m not sure it’s best for Leire. She has such lovely pale skin. Perhaps this one would be better?’ She held up a thinner fabric in an icy blue that matched the bride’s eyes, and then held both the swatches near Leire’s face in turn so the little crowd could see the difference. They all agreed that the purple was wrong, but Maretta said, ‘But the blue one makes her look so cold. Can’t we have something more… welcoming?’ Sorla considered Leire’s face next to the blue fabric and concluded Maretta was right. Although the effect of the matching blue next to her eyes was striking, it did make her seem even more aloof than before. She discarded the blue one, and looked at the other two they had chosen. One was a lush green silk, the other a dark blue cotton overlaid with intricate cream coloured lace. Holding them both up against her face, the girls were split evenly between the two. ‘The green makes her look so fresh,’ one of them said, while her friend countered, ‘but the dark one is so elegant, just imagine how grown up she’ll look!’

Sorla stared at the giggling group, trying to recognize anything of herself in them. They were no younger than her, but they seemed like children. They were like creatures from another world. In the last year she had left home, travelled across the wilderness, arrived in a new city and got a job. What had they been doing? She knew with absolute certainty that for them, their friend getting married was the most exciting thing that had happened in that time. They were little girls, excited about being an adult because in their world being an adult meant the freedom to do as you wanted without having to ask permission. Sorla noticed that Leire was staring at her carefully, as if trying to detect something. They locked eyes for a moment, and Sorla felt a spark of companionship or recognition pass between her and this woman who seemed as out of place as she felt in the sea of happy, excited girls. Leire was the only one who did not seem caught up in the thrill. As the back and forth between those who wanted green and those who wanted dark blue became more heated, she seemed more and more detached, as if unable or unwilling to care.

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Silken secrets

Postby Sorla on May 31st, 2017, 11:21 pm

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Seeing that there would be an argument soon if she didn’t intervene, Maretta swooped in. ‘Thank you girls, that’s enough,’ she said with the air of someone who was used to dealing with over-excitable youngsters. ‘Why don’t we discuss more practical matters,’ she said, sitting down at the side of the room and motioning Sorla to a chair beside her. ‘How much would these cost?’ Sorla remembered her father’s advice clearly: ‘Remember Sorla, never recommend the more expensive option straight away. It only makes the customer feel as if you’re trying to milk them for coin. Suggest the cheaper one, make them feel you’re on their side, that you just want to help. More often than not, you’ll find they go for the expensive one anyway. People seem to like spending money. It’s reassuring, even when the cheaper option would do just as well. But as soon as they think you’re pushing them, they’ll back away, so always make sure they feel as if they’ve decided for themselves.’

Her father’s words echoing in her memory, she said, ‘Well, the silk is about twice as much as the lace, but the actual cost of the dress would depend on how much material we used, of course. The lace would probably need more material to make something really spectacular, but I think Leire would look lovely in something more subtle. The lace could really accentuate her slimness. What do you think, Leire,’ she asked. ‘It’s your dress, after all.’ ‘Yes, I like the lace,’ she replied half-heartedly. Sorla got the distinct impression she was only agreeing to get the session over with quickly, but there was nothing she could say without being rude. She glanced at Maretta, who was looking at her daughter strangely, pursing her lips, but didn’t say anything either. ‘If that’s the one you want, darling, then that’s what we’ll get. Thank you,’ she said, turning to Sorla. ‘You’ve been so helpful. Please send my regards to Betsy, as well.’ Sorla nodded, sighing slightly. So much for her father’s advice; if she had suggested the silk, she was sure Leire would have accepted her recommendation just as readily, and Betsy would have been delighted with her for persuading the Malones to part with even more mizas. But it was done now. She gathered up her swatches, tucked them and her notebook back into her bag, and waited for Maretta to escort her downstairs.

‘I’ll go,’ Leire said, suddenly. ‘I’d like some fresh air, anyway.’ Maretta glanced at her sharply again, but merely nodded and waved them out. Sorla climbed down the steep staircase back into the entrance hall, aware of the tension in the girl beside her. ‘I’m sure you’ll look lovely…’ she started to say, mainly just to fill the silence, but Leire interrupted her. ‘I need your help,’ she said in a low, urgent voice as she opened the front door and Sorla slipped past her. ‘Meet me tomorrow evening, at the Sanity Centre. An hour before sunset.’ Sorla only had time to nod in confused assent before Leire shut the door behind her, leaving her to walk back to the Bizarre with her thoughts in turmoil.

Betsy was pleased with the measurements she had taken, although she told her she should try and write more neatly in future, and seemed satisfied with the sale of the lace material. She told Sorla she would be heading to the Malones’ house herself the following week to discuss the details of the design for the dress. ‘You can come with me,’ she said. ‘It’ll be useful. I don’t imagine you made many gowns up in Wind Reach,’ she added with an arched eyebrow. Sorla could only agree.

Word count: 2643
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Silken secrets

Postby Madeira Dusk on July 4th, 2017, 6:14 pm

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Grades Awarded!

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Sorla

Skills
  • Socialization: 3XP
  • Negotiation: 2XP
  • Persuasion: 1XP

Lores
  • How to take body measurements
  • The difference between maturity and adulthood
  • Negotiation tactic: never recomend the more expensive option

Awards & Retribution


Notes
You cant just leave a cliffhanger like that! You are a cruel woman/man/interdimensional being.

Please contact me if you have a question about your grade!
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Madeira Dusk
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