Continued from here
51st Spring
All day Sorla had been watching Syna's progress across the sky, willing her to move a little faster so that she could find out why Leire had wanted so urgently to meet her this evening. She had spent the day watching Betsy translate the list of measurements Sorla had taken into a pattern that would actually become a dress. Sorla was intrigued, and more than a little confused. Betsy showed her how to draw out the pattern onto a large piece of parchment, using a ruler and string to mark out the length of the seams and then loosely sketching out what would become the neck opening and the armholes. By the time she had finished the parchment was covered in a mass of lines and curves, with dotted lines where the old seamstress had used triangles to help her pinpoint the location and shape of the darts. Sorla had never drafted a bespoke pattern from measurements before; that had been her father's job, while she had been tasked with the simpler orders that could be stitched together from one of the pre-made patterns her father kept in the back of the shop.
Eventually the hands-on lesson was over, and it was the end of the day. Sorla had appreciated the rest from sewing; her hands had grown soft in the long time since she had last worked as a tailor, and there were new, still-tender callouses on the tips of her thumb and fingers. She neatly packed away her sewing kit, and hurried out of the workshop, not wanting to be late to her rendez-vous with Leire. She knew it would not take her more than a bell to reach the Sanity Centre, which was presumably why Leire had asked to meet her there. It was the only place Alvadans could trust in when they could not afford the leisurely pace the city normally demanded.
Sure enough, Sorla was soon standing outside the Sanity Centre, looking around for the willowy brunette she had measured the day before. At a tap on her shoulder, she looked round to see a tall man with sandy hair. 'Sorla?' he asked. The red-head was surprised. How did he know her name? She nodded hesitantly, senses alert for some kind of trap. But the man seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 'Thank you for coming,' he said. 'Leire's waiting over there. Please, come with me.' He pointed to a small building beside the Sanity Centre. It was rather nondescript; in fact Sorla would hardly have noticed it at all if the man hadn't directed her attention to it. It had a low, wooden door, and was completely undecorated. There was nothing to reveal what might be inside.
Sorla followed the tall man through the door, unlike him not needing to duck as they passed underneath the low-hanging lintel. They were now in a rough, poorly-lit wooden room with a bored-looking woman sitting on a chair behind a counter at one side. She looked up as they came in and waved them through another door, apparently recognising the man. Sorla was tense. She had been expecting to meet Leire, not be taken into a secret back room with a strange man. He sensed her reluctance, and turned to her. 'I'm sorry about all the secrecy. It's just, if Leire was seen with me, or if anyone knew you had been here with her, things could get... difficult. I swear by Caiyha we mean you no harm,' he said with a smile, as if amused by the Inarta's suspicion. She stared at him for a moment, and then decided that there was honesty in his grey eyes; she nodded and followed him through the door.
Word count: 620
51st Spring
All day Sorla had been watching Syna's progress across the sky, willing her to move a little faster so that she could find out why Leire had wanted so urgently to meet her this evening. She had spent the day watching Betsy translate the list of measurements Sorla had taken into a pattern that would actually become a dress. Sorla was intrigued, and more than a little confused. Betsy showed her how to draw out the pattern onto a large piece of parchment, using a ruler and string to mark out the length of the seams and then loosely sketching out what would become the neck opening and the armholes. By the time she had finished the parchment was covered in a mass of lines and curves, with dotted lines where the old seamstress had used triangles to help her pinpoint the location and shape of the darts. Sorla had never drafted a bespoke pattern from measurements before; that had been her father's job, while she had been tasked with the simpler orders that could be stitched together from one of the pre-made patterns her father kept in the back of the shop.
Eventually the hands-on lesson was over, and it was the end of the day. Sorla had appreciated the rest from sewing; her hands had grown soft in the long time since she had last worked as a tailor, and there were new, still-tender callouses on the tips of her thumb and fingers. She neatly packed away her sewing kit, and hurried out of the workshop, not wanting to be late to her rendez-vous with Leire. She knew it would not take her more than a bell to reach the Sanity Centre, which was presumably why Leire had asked to meet her there. It was the only place Alvadans could trust in when they could not afford the leisurely pace the city normally demanded.
Sure enough, Sorla was soon standing outside the Sanity Centre, looking around for the willowy brunette she had measured the day before. At a tap on her shoulder, she looked round to see a tall man with sandy hair. 'Sorla?' he asked. The red-head was surprised. How did he know her name? She nodded hesitantly, senses alert for some kind of trap. But the man seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 'Thank you for coming,' he said. 'Leire's waiting over there. Please, come with me.' He pointed to a small building beside the Sanity Centre. It was rather nondescript; in fact Sorla would hardly have noticed it at all if the man hadn't directed her attention to it. It had a low, wooden door, and was completely undecorated. There was nothing to reveal what might be inside.
Sorla followed the tall man through the door, unlike him not needing to duck as they passed underneath the low-hanging lintel. They were now in a rough, poorly-lit wooden room with a bored-looking woman sitting on a chair behind a counter at one side. She looked up as they came in and waved them through another door, apparently recognising the man. Sorla was tense. She had been expecting to meet Leire, not be taken into a secret back room with a strange man. He sensed her reluctance, and turned to her. 'I'm sorry about all the secrecy. It's just, if Leire was seen with me, or if anyone knew you had been here with her, things could get... difficult. I swear by Caiyha we mean you no harm,' he said with a smile, as if amused by the Inarta's suspicion. She stared at him for a moment, and then decided that there was honesty in his grey eyes; she nodded and followed him through the door.
Word count: 620