Closed Pants or no Pants?

Shhh... [Caspian]

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

Pants or no Pants?

Postby Rohka on May 30th, 2021, 2:11 am

16 Spring 521 AV

Rohka asked a patient at the Healing Centre, before she left, about where to find decent clothes in the city. Directed to a place named 'The Saville', the sybil headed off in the vague direction she was told to go.

---

"I have to disguise myself, okay? I really need help figuring out how to do that."

She tried to explain her situation to Caspian. About how she fumbled and lied and felt stupid for not just telling people where she came from. She explained that she was worried, and scared, and frankly angry that this city didn't accept Rhysol as a God to be worshipped in public. A part of her wondered if it mattered to really be telling him any of this, but she figured it was only right to confess. Besides, the plan didn't seem terrible. Was it a lie to decide to become a different version of herself? A better one? One that was striving to perfect her skills and learn everything she needed to learn in order to find her family?

She told him that she would need to learn how to do her makeup differently. And that she would need clothing that looked good, instead of the drab she usually wears.

"I was thinking it would be best to fit in with people like that, see?" She awkwardly gestured to a woman wearing a well-tailored bodice and a unique yet slightly pompous looking hat. "Or maybe I should request a design? I don't know, what do you think?"

She pulled out a light green skirt and brought it to her waist, pulling the fabric out to see how it flowed. "I used to wear skits like these in Ravok. I'm having a hard time picturing what I should look like with a name like 'Rohkaria'. There should be a theme, right? An aesthetic of some sort?" The sybil looked around for something to spark an idea of sorts.

She came across a vest, like part of a men's suit, with stars embroidered in the front. Rohka had no sense of whether this was meant for women or not, and pulled it out, examining it. "It's a darker pattern, and the thread kind of sparkles, doesn't it? Does it match me well though?" Holding it up in front of a mirror, she paused, frowning, still unsure of the style she really wanted.

"Maybe I need to accessorize? This isn't a jewelry store though, so..." Rohka put the vest back to keep looking. A disguise needed to make herself look like the image she held in her mind. An image of someone who could be trusted, someone who was able to see into the future, someone who had divine guidance to provide, someone who was both common and extraordinary, someone who had a plan and stuck to the plan, someone who---

"Oh, look at that scarf!"

She ran towards a golden thread looped into shades of pink. "It's pretty, but how would this look on me? How do I wear this?" Funny enough, the sybil barely noticed that she was coveting yet another scarf. If she knew it for herself, or if Grayson had been here, there would be much teasing and fun involved with the fact that she truly loved scarves as an item of clothing.

They were versatile.

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Last edited by Rohka on September 1st, 2021, 4:29 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Hold a Place?

Postby Caspian on May 30th, 2021, 2:16 am

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It’s almost Caspian’s birthday.

Well, not really, but also – kind of? Close enough that he’s thinking about it; still far enough that he’s doubling back on himself and wondering if he isn’t jumping the gun. Three weeks is a lot, isn’t it? Two might even be pushing it. If he were more sure of himself – if it were anyone but her? - he’d offhandedly bring it up the night before. The thing is, he doesn’t have any plans. It won’t be the end of the world if he doesn’t. If he can have them he’d like them, but – and this is the part he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t admit to her or anyone – he only really wants them, would see it worth getting out of bed to celebrate, if she’s involved.

The bell tinkles pleasantly as the door to The Saville closes behind him, announcing his presence before he’s ready. (But he’ll never be entirely ready, he has to admit to himself – not when it comes to her.)

But they have far more important things to talk about than his silly birthday, and for this he’s grateful. He listens attentively as she describes why she’d called him here today. They create a language of their own, in a way, a whole mess of euphemisms and work-arounds, all for Rhysol. The girl at the till, the young socialites poking through the racks, even the mistress of the house, Yvette herself – none of them are aware of what they speak of. It’s exciting, having a secret under their very noses. Exciting and right.

“If you’re looking to become someone you aren’t, you’ve come to the right person,” Caspian says, and it comes out rather glib for something that’s so starkly true. He’s sitting on a velvet stool in the corner, one leg crossed jauntily over the other. This morning his magical suit had turned into a checkerboard, flags of black and white, broken up only by the red cravat at his neck. His shoes are a gleaming white leather pricked with an elaborate floral brogue across the toes, and because the suit doesn’t do anything in half measures, red socks peek out at his ankles.

“Here’s my expert diagnosis,” he says grandly, briefly inspecting the stitching on a blouse before handing it off to one of the passing assistants. “Your problem, Rohkaria, is the same as mine – in that you look good in most nearly everything. Which makes both choosing and rejecting anything difficult, and might possibly result in us being here all day. Which, for the record, I absolutely would not mind.”

He meanders over to a rack all in blue; picks thoughtfully through it, then moves on to the one next to it, the clothes there arranged from lightest kitten-nosed blush to deepest magenta. A frock somewhere in the middle calls out to him, and he pulls it from the rack. Holding it up against Rohka, he hums thoughtfully over it for a moment (“That’s a lot of tulle for a weekday, isn’t it?”) then returns it, proving his point.

Something in the corner catches her eye. She’s so clearly pleased by the discovery that it warms him, that feeling starting in his chest and growing, and he’s unable to help the grin that comes across his own face. Have feelings always been this contagious? Before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing, he meets her there, takes both ends of the scarf and loops it around her shoulders, then delicately across her hair. They’re not standing side by side – it’s much closer than that – much better than that? – for the winding has brought them nose to nose.

“I suppose you’d wear it like this,” he says, and he finds himself suddenly less sure of himself. With the scarf wrapped around her this way, it brings out her features, and he realizes he’s staring at the slant of her cheekbones, the curve of her lips. “This, and – maybe a dress, all in white.”

There are white dresses here, more than plenty of them, a whole room to The Saville devoted to it. But all for a certain occasion.

He’s thinking several steps ahead, taking associations and making them too material. Clearing his throat, he takes a step back, pretends he’s suddenly become invested in the green skirt she’d held up before.
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Last edited by Caspian on September 4th, 2021, 5:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Pants or no Pants?

Postby Rohka on September 1st, 2021, 4:29 am

"Choose anything you think would make me look better, would you?"

The sybil was adamant and oblivious in her selfishness on whether or not Caspian wanted to help. She told him that she was going to leave the Healing Centre soon, and needed a place to stay, and wondered if there was an inn in the city that would have accommodation.

"I also need to look like a local at least, for when I go to Kennabelle's estate. I really just want to go see it. I probably won't find anything important there. It's just fascinating that she's so celebrated and yet there's a whole place that's empty of her presence and her family? And instead, there's just a housekeeper there? It's weird, you know? Oh well. I'm just happy to finally say that I'm ready to leave. I'm walking better, breathing better, feeling more alive..." her voice carried and her eyes looked off into an imagined future she knew she could barely reach, but would certainly be there, and one that she would strive towards.

"Okay, I need to focus. I want a new dress, maybe shoes, a scarf? A top and a bottom. I want it to bring out my eyes," she said, grinning. "And I want to look professional, but also..." the sybil hesitated to say that she wanted to look attractive. With a blush beginning to grow, she turned and found a pair of pants. "You know, looking like a snack wouldn't be helpful if I'm going to start a business. Maybe like a..." she put the pants down and went towards another rack that held corsets. "Well, maybe not that. I don't know." She started to remember her times at the HIP in Ravok and pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is harder than I thought."

Would she need to ask for help from an employee?

Wald Wainwright was around, keeping an eye on customers while teaching an employee the proper method of mending a rip on the cuff of a sleeve. He'd been quiet enough to overhear bits and pieces of the conversation between Caspian and the sybil, but his boiling kettle of opinions was only on the brink of spilling over. Besides, the cuff needed to be perfect.

"Maybe," started Rohka, picking up a peasant top. It was of a lesser quality cotton, but the quaint mutton sleeve made her pause. "Would this make me look fat though," she asked, deadpan.

They continued to peruse the racks and Rohka listened to Caspian's opinion. She was excited to be out shopping with him. There was no telling whether he liked her as more than a friend, and she was sure she was clear about her focus, and what was more... she was wary of him. Unsure of whether he'd yearn for more adventure and venture off again. Who was she to say anything to change his path?

She was becoming Rohkaria now. What that would entail... only time would tell.

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Pants or no Pants?

Postby Caspian on September 5th, 2021, 1:31 am

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“I’m immensely glad to see you out and about,” Caspian says. “The city of Zeltiva is all the better for it.” He’s still keeping it light – she must be used to his blowsy, gallant chatter by now – but it’s only to conceal the current of pensiveness underneath. There’s just no telling, with this sort of thing, how long it takes to truly heal. To further complicate it, it might not even be time that’s helping her; any number of other factors, all beyond his ken, could be giving her what she needs. It’s overwhelming to consider how much he doesn’t know – about medicine. About her. About what might happen tomorrow. But the important thing is she’s doing better now, has an undeniable glow about her that wasn’t there when they’d first bumped into each other outside the Healing Center. And he’s grateful.

Because before, he had been helpless.

For the sake of busying himself he runs his fingers along a row of tassels and braiding, other thick spools of embellishments the tailors might add to any garment of their choosing.

“Oh, we’re terribly spoiled for choice here,” he agrees when she points out they ought to at least try and narrow things down. “Let’s skip customizing anything for now, in that case, or we’ll have to start paying Wald rent.” As Rohka enumerates the items on her list, he flies into action. “Dress…” He draws out a navy number with a low back, patterned with golden medallions, and beading trailing off the ends of each trumpet sleeve. “Shoes!” He holds up a pair of pumps with a walkable heel, in a neutral color that should last her many a season. “Consider that scarf yours.” As for the top and bottom – it takes him a moment, but he knows it’s right when he sees it. With no small amount of triumph he holds up an airy ivory blouse with a fluttering ribbon around the collar, to be tied into a bow; hands her a pair of wide-legged trousers meant to skim the body and flow with her movements. He caps off the lot of it with a lightweight coat, the hemline reaching past her calves, with asymmetric waterfall lapels. “Just enough drama, I think,” he says. “As for that”—he considers the mutton-sleeved top—“should come in useful if we ever have trouble at a bar, and will need to elbow our way to the front.” He tries to keep a straight face; fails, and adds, “The more I stare at it, the more I feel sorry for it. And the more I want it.”

But he’d said that last part a little too loudly, and Yvette’s glaring at them from the back, which makes him laugh.

When was the last time he’d had this much fun? He becomes struck, suddenly, with the urge to tell her something – anything, but personal and deep. The specifics aren’t important; he feels, as he always has, that he can confide anything in her, and that she would not flinch from it.

That being said, he’s not going to comment on how potentially –

Edible she might be, though.

He diverts his eyes from the many lacings and frills of the row of corsets.

“It certainly won’t hurt to put your best foot forward,” he decides is the diplomatic response.

As she tries on the clothes he suggested, he makes another delightful discovery – a belt of silver links, studded with lavender colored glass, that goes with everything in their current pile of spoils. Just the right amount of glint, of self-assured, quiet style. It catches the afternoon light as he holds it ought to her. “Now here’s a looker. My sister would covet the living hell out of this. You should meet her sometime, actually.” He takes a seat again on the velvet stool. “The typical thing one says in this scenario is something to the effect of ‘I think you two would get along’, but I should warn you that you probably won’t. Not of any fault of yours, though. I don’t think Ravens are the sociable sort.”

No matter how enthusiastic Rohka’s response might be – or not – he falls silent. What’s he trying to do, exactly? What kind of fool goes out of his way to create a complication? But it had seemed simultaneously so important and altogether natural for him to throw out the idea that Rohka get to know Taalviel.

“The other thing one usually offers here is ‘you’re welcome by any time’, and I should think you are, but-” These cuticles aren’t going to be pushed back any further. “Call it coincidence, or what you will, but I’ve also been thinking about, ah, making a change. In my living situation, that is. So if you had a more concrete idea of when you wanted to leave the Healing Center, I could – well. Sort out my own affairs, and…” He clears his throat, and to pave over his nervousness, patters forward with, “It would be economical, you know. Dividing the rent in two. And I have a longstanding personal vendetta against dust, so. Rest assured the space would stay tidy. Just an idea, though. In any case I think I'm on my way out of the cottage soon.”
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