Autumn 17, 514
Spire of the Red Lanterns
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It was a day for her best dress. The feel of it was peculiar on her, now, after spending so little time in Zeltivan dress over the past months, and the fit did not help. She had put on some flesh and while she carried it with less sagginess then it had on a consistent diet of little enough exercise and plenty of kelp fritters, it was enough to make her quite aware of the differences between her own build and a young Kenabelle Wright’s. she buttoned as far as she could manage, and managed to make the rest of the neckline with a bit of contrivance, a length of grey grosgrain, and a handkerchief over the decolletage. Even so, it pinched at her flesh, almost as much as the little boots made her feet ache.
But, today was a time for high and important business. Still, it did make her wish tailoring was more common in the City-on-the-Spring. As she pulled the button hook through the boot-buttons, she had found herself realizing that what she SHOULD have looked for was a theatrical costumer, as there likely was several highly talented members of that profession in the city. But this rather clever idea had come entirely too late, and in the way of self-consolation, she had convinced herself that likely such a costumer would be unused to fitting human bodies in the first place, though she managed such a soothing only by ignoring the fact that SOMEONE must have manufactured the rather beautiful gown that Raisa had worn at the sea-opera, so long ago.
But it was not, after all, a matter of looking beautiful - Minnie still held no credence in the idea that she could manage any feat so daunting. It was simply that in matters of import, one dressed the part. It was a way of showing respect, both to those one might confer with, and to the topic on inquiry itself. And in this case, she would confer with the Leibsangers who warranted her respect, and the subject of inquiry would be in regards to the mysterious box of Kenabelle Wright, and what demanded more respect than that?
She now stood - a bit stiffly to relieve strain on her buttons - by the long pool of the house of lives lived, fidgeting idly with the strap of her carefully packed satchel. She could see the chair descending now from the lime-white tower. Minnie went to stand, then realized she already was, and took her crozier from where it leaned against the wall. The turned wood of it was light, despite it being slightly taller than Minnie herself, and it made her feel very official, magisterial almost. The Akvatari swept close enough that the chair hung just over the ground. They did not land - Minnie was an accomplished rider, now, and did not need help into her seat.
“Philomena Geldscrier, thou wisht our services?”
“Good morning to you both, Dairolot, Sevollse. I’m not dressed for swimming today, I must be off to the Red Lantern Spire, if you could oblige me?”
She was already in the seat, her satchel cinched tight to her, her gloved fingers wrapped around the lines of the seat. Sevollse, the taller white-haired one, nodded, “Of course.”
The flight was short, and the breeze only rocked her gently, instead of some of the harder days, when a stout sea breeze could tip the seat to a rather unsettling angle, especially when wind turned to howl along the channel of the Grand Canal.
The chair stopped, the two carriers, quiet as was their wont. Suspended over the hollow shaft of the Red Spire, Dairolot and Sevollse descended with a slow grace, rotating slightly as they went.
“Is there a shelf thou wishest to be set on?”
“Oh.. oh no, just the gardens. I shall be happier for the walk, Krindre is so close to the bottom. I’ll be fine.”
Dairolot smiled with a bit of puckishness about her. Likely, Minnie reflected, she assumed that Minnie and Krindre had become sweethearts of a sort. The thought amused Minnie, and so she did nothing to contradict it.
The seat stopped just above the mossed stones and Minnie slid carefully to her feet, letting the bag’s strap out again, and turning to press a few nilos into Sevollse’s hand. Sevollse took a moment to remember the tradition, and as was her general wont looked both amused and inconvenienced to even bother with such trifles, but she took it with a bow.
“Can I call for you later, when I’ve finished?”
Sevollse shrugged, “It is slow business, thou knowest. The gardens are cool, and the air sweet with the last flowers. I imagine we can wait, eh Dairolot? I have my pens and a sheet or two of foolscap.”
Dairolot nodded, “Of course.”
Minnie nodded, gratefully, and turned, just as Dairolot began on a carefully choreographed bit of aerial dance. Minnie had seen her practicing it several times, and had it explained to her that it was part of a new work at the Seasky Ballet, to which the young akvatari had earned a chorus dancer’s place.
The lamp on Krindre’s porch was lit, a fine twinkling in the dusky shadows of the lintel. Minnie turned again, to wait. Sevollse was drawing, slow, graceful arcs of black ink, while her more broadly built companion, hummed a snatch of a piece to herself, while flying in long, sinuous verticals, then falling backwards, as if pierced with an arrow. It was an affecting sight, for she hun tenuously at the top of her ascent, then fell, limply toward the earth. The movement of her wings was stylized, with precise movments that suggested the idea of death while simultaneously slowing her. The objective seemed to be to slow the body so that it stopped as close to the ground as possible, so that the last release of her weight to land on the earth was almost imperciptible as being separate from the preceding fall. It seemed, to Minnie’s mind, rather an unfair thing to ask of a dancer, but then, while she was delighted by the sight of dance, she had always been quite sure she was not suited to performing it.
Up, and down the woman went, up and down, until Minnie’s eyes began to droop, lazily.
x
But, today was a time for high and important business. Still, it did make her wish tailoring was more common in the City-on-the-Spring. As she pulled the button hook through the boot-buttons, she had found herself realizing that what she SHOULD have looked for was a theatrical costumer, as there likely was several highly talented members of that profession in the city. But this rather clever idea had come entirely too late, and in the way of self-consolation, she had convinced herself that likely such a costumer would be unused to fitting human bodies in the first place, though she managed such a soothing only by ignoring the fact that SOMEONE must have manufactured the rather beautiful gown that Raisa had worn at the sea-opera, so long ago.
But it was not, after all, a matter of looking beautiful - Minnie still held no credence in the idea that she could manage any feat so daunting. It was simply that in matters of import, one dressed the part. It was a way of showing respect, both to those one might confer with, and to the topic on inquiry itself. And in this case, she would confer with the Leibsangers who warranted her respect, and the subject of inquiry would be in regards to the mysterious box of Kenabelle Wright, and what demanded more respect than that?
She now stood - a bit stiffly to relieve strain on her buttons - by the long pool of the house of lives lived, fidgeting idly with the strap of her carefully packed satchel. She could see the chair descending now from the lime-white tower. Minnie went to stand, then realized she already was, and took her crozier from where it leaned against the wall. The turned wood of it was light, despite it being slightly taller than Minnie herself, and it made her feel very official, magisterial almost. The Akvatari swept close enough that the chair hung just over the ground. They did not land - Minnie was an accomplished rider, now, and did not need help into her seat.
“Philomena Geldscrier, thou wisht our services?”
“Good morning to you both, Dairolot, Sevollse. I’m not dressed for swimming today, I must be off to the Red Lantern Spire, if you could oblige me?”
She was already in the seat, her satchel cinched tight to her, her gloved fingers wrapped around the lines of the seat. Sevollse, the taller white-haired one, nodded, “Of course.”
The flight was short, and the breeze only rocked her gently, instead of some of the harder days, when a stout sea breeze could tip the seat to a rather unsettling angle, especially when wind turned to howl along the channel of the Grand Canal.
The chair stopped, the two carriers, quiet as was their wont. Suspended over the hollow shaft of the Red Spire, Dairolot and Sevollse descended with a slow grace, rotating slightly as they went.
“Is there a shelf thou wishest to be set on?”
“Oh.. oh no, just the gardens. I shall be happier for the walk, Krindre is so close to the bottom. I’ll be fine.”
Dairolot smiled with a bit of puckishness about her. Likely, Minnie reflected, she assumed that Minnie and Krindre had become sweethearts of a sort. The thought amused Minnie, and so she did nothing to contradict it.
The seat stopped just above the mossed stones and Minnie slid carefully to her feet, letting the bag’s strap out again, and turning to press a few nilos into Sevollse’s hand. Sevollse took a moment to remember the tradition, and as was her general wont looked both amused and inconvenienced to even bother with such trifles, but she took it with a bow.
“Can I call for you later, when I’ve finished?”
Sevollse shrugged, “It is slow business, thou knowest. The gardens are cool, and the air sweet with the last flowers. I imagine we can wait, eh Dairolot? I have my pens and a sheet or two of foolscap.”
Dairolot nodded, “Of course.”
Minnie nodded, gratefully, and turned, just as Dairolot began on a carefully choreographed bit of aerial dance. Minnie had seen her practicing it several times, and had it explained to her that it was part of a new work at the Seasky Ballet, to which the young akvatari had earned a chorus dancer’s place.
The lamp on Krindre’s porch was lit, a fine twinkling in the dusky shadows of the lintel. Minnie turned again, to wait. Sevollse was drawing, slow, graceful arcs of black ink, while her more broadly built companion, hummed a snatch of a piece to herself, while flying in long, sinuous verticals, then falling backwards, as if pierced with an arrow. It was an affecting sight, for she hun tenuously at the top of her ascent, then fell, limply toward the earth. The movement of her wings was stylized, with precise movments that suggested the idea of death while simultaneously slowing her. The objective seemed to be to slow the body so that it stopped as close to the ground as possible, so that the last release of her weight to land on the earth was almost imperciptible as being separate from the preceding fall. It seemed, to Minnie’s mind, rather an unfair thing to ask of a dancer, but then, while she was delighted by the sight of dance, she had always been quite sure she was not suited to performing it.
Up, and down the woman went, up and down, until Minnie’s eyes began to droop, lazily.
x
