A Fitting Fitting

Fort Weyr - Weavers' Workshop
In what was undoubtedly one of the main conditions behind the relocation of a Master Weaver to Fort Weyr, Master Brebain's workshop is bathed in light from not one, not two, but multiple electric lights, leaving the whole room aglow. Sure, it isn't exactly high noon at the equator, in terms of light levels — but there's a lot more light, and it's a much cleaner light, than if vision relied upon candles or glowbaskets. And the result of all that light? Well, it's plain to see that the Ability to Organize Heaping Piles of Junk — Er, Let's Just Call That "Stuff" — is one of the requirements for graduating to Master status, at least among weavers. Approximately seven million wire baskets of various sizes and weave-densities have been arranged on racks covering every wall in the room, and dividing it into quarters besides, filled with endless choices of fabrics, notions, trims, threads, patterns, and anything else one might imagine. (And, maybe, a few things that nobody would have thought to imagine.) In one quarter, there are drafting tables; another holds a small stepped platform, rising two feet from the ground, with glowbaskets clustered around its rim. Off in the corner furthest from the door is Master Brebain's desk, carefully avoided by any apprentice not presently being summoned.

It's in the tunnel outside the workrooms belonging to artisan-type crafters who are not Smiths (the poor Smiths) or Woodcrafters, those who just need little spaces, that Inri — well, she isn't actually dragging Ha'ze. Not physically. But she did some cajoling, which she is of course still doing. "He'll have to not decide to give your nice clothes to random other people this time, because I'm paying for them and they're meant to be celebrating his babies and how good his reproductive prowess is." She is definitely able to tap into what she hopes might make Kainaesyth let Ha'ze keep a nice outfit, too. "Which will make more golds choose him. Obviously."

Ha'ze is reluctant. Very reluctant. "I don't get what is wrong with what I've got." A manly hit of whine wraps about the words, and a particular dullness of an argument said more than one time. "Kainaesyth doesn't think about things like that Inri." Gentle patience as Ha'ze stalls on the doorstep to the weavers. "He sees someone needing it, and he gives it. I can always get another from the stores."

"Kouzevelth likes people to look their best," Inri isn't exactly lying, but Kouzevelth probably got that from her. As it stands, she couldn't look back far enough to tell you for sure. "And you can only have one nice outfit, and wear it to the clutching party and the hatching feast that was a breakfast last time, and to whatever other nice event. It's hard to get actual fancy clothing from the stores. People don't tend to do that — also, I don't think anyone's going to need a party suit? I'll be impressed if he can justify that one." That is most definitely not a challenge. "You can make it super boring just so long as it actually fits you. Come on." She is going to walk through the door, which means that Ha'ze either also has to or needs to duck away and hide in the hallway. And Inri does have a little green firelizard who bites.

And oh, look, a terrified apprentice! Who flinches when someone enters, and flinches again when that someone is a Weyrwoman, and that's before the biting green firelizard even enters into the picture. "Um, just a moment," the — ambiguous person — squeaks, and bolts toward the back of the room, squeaking something else and crashing briefly into a rack before actually somehow disappearing. "Yes, what, who is it," Master Brebain's voice calls, as he makes his way more neatly — and more slowly — from the far corner of the room, around the giant wall of metal racks. "Ah! Inri, how radiant you look! Please, do come in." And company.

"I wasn't going to go to the clutching." Deadpan voice comes from the hallway but as Inri is going IN there isn't much choice except to follow her, or she will make his life hell. Give her what she wants (to play dress up) and he can escape.

Something like that, right. "Thys let you get away with not being at the clutching?" Inri gives Ha'ze a funny look, like, that's definitely unusual, or that it's not going to fly with her. "Zel won't let him get away with not being at the clutching, so I'd expect you to at least put in a token appearance. You should also put in a token appearance at the celebration, since your dragon is being celebrated, and all, it's polite — Brebain, hello." She had smiled at the terrified apprentice, too, but that clearly didn't last. That would also have been the point where she'd asked him to stand, given the chance, despite the fact they're not doing that yet. "We have a clutching upcoming."

"Yes, of course you do! And congratulations on the happy event," Brebain answers immediately, with some beaming, and … one hell of a side-eye at Mr. Grumpypants Who Is Not Dressed Well, Not At All. (Not according to Brebain, anyway, but it's not like the Master Weaver has a clue about Kainaesyth's generous habits.) "And is this… gentleman… also part of the happy event in question?" Or is he a charity project, possibly?

"Thys didn't have a choice?" The eggs were laid, Ha'ze was GONE. So unless Inri is planning on tying Ha'ze to the weyr she can't make it happen. Kainaesyth'll be there? "My dragon provided the sperm." Crude, just for him.

Inri unfortunately can't tie Ha'ze to the Weyr, or she already would have. That, or made sure both halves of the pair stayed gone. But Kouzevelth is delighted with Kainaesyth as doting clutchfather, so — so there you go. Inri mostly has no complaints. Except for Ha'ze's tragic oufit. "Yes, precisely," says Inri, because Ha'ze provided the correct answer and she sees no reason to try to make it sound any prettier. That's valid. "So it is also his clutch, as I said, we have a clutching upcoming and we are in need of clothing for it, though Ha'ze doesn't want anything too fancy, I don't think, and I don't want a long skirt." Everyone else is a charity project to Kainaesyth.

"Pity," Brebain announces, eyeing Ha'ze, for a loooooooong moment, and then turns another smile on Inri. "Not that I think I blame you for wanting a shorter skirt, considering the heat of the Sands — I do assume you'll end up wearing the dress out there, for at least part of the evening?" Without actually waiting for her answer, he glances back at Ha'ze again. (Judgmentally? Or is that just Weaver Gaze?) "That blue satin would have suited so well with his coloring."

"No." Ha'ze puts this out there without actually listening to what Brebain is saying. "Brown." Because brown doesn't show the stains as well. His arms settle across his chest and there is more then a slightly MULISH look on his face. Stubborn Donkey Button, GO.

Brown is better than black, and — it doesn't show stains as well, which is a good point. Inri tries to be helpful by adding, "He gardens, and also sand," even if depending on who you ask it's not Ha'ze who gardens. "And presumably I will be wearing the dress if I have time, yes - usually she's as slow to clutch as she is not slow to rise, at least." When it comes to the actual rising part; length of proddy period has no bearing on time the clutching takes.

"Brown." Okay, Ha'ze, you're back to getting side-eyed, with some serious shade — and a tiny bit of thoughtfulness, which might just be a really good reason to be really apprehensive right now. "Why brown?" asks Brebain, with another tiny glance at Inri to acknowledge what she's said. (Meanwhile, in the background, apprentices are trying to hide, again, or escape, without being noticed, and yes, that is fairly difficult when the three people actually in the scene are blocking the main doorway. No, this room is not particularly fire-safe. No, that does not mean it should be set on fire. Brebain will be very angry.)

"It doesn't get dirty easily." Is there suppose to be another reason why Ha'ze should want another color. "It doesn't stand out." Ha'ze likes to be UNDER things. (like women, *cough*) The side-eying of the man is making Ha'ze irritated. "Are you going to sharding do it or not?"

"Also, I mean, why not brown, brown is a nice color." Inri's hair is brown, some of her favorite dragons are brown, wood is brown and ale is brown. These are all excellent reasons to like brown, if you ask her. "I'd prefer something light and summery that maybe goes well with brown, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with brown."

"I never said I wouldn't do brown," Brebain the Inveterate Side-Eyer points out calmly. "I do have a nice paisley, after all. Not too shiny." Which isn't the same as not shiny at all, of course. "Did you want it to be treated to resist stains, then?" Logical question? Who wouldn't want their fancy Formal Event suit to be resistant to things like massive red wine spills, right?

Ha'ze is going to give Brebain a solid STARE. "What the fuck is a Paisley." It's not totally not a question, but it's not totally a question. And it's a little bit directed to both of them, and holds hints of why-am-I-here-again?

Inri can answer that one, at least, with, "It's a fabric pattern," that completely doesn't give away what it is that paisley looks like. At least a dark brown paisley might very well be dark and subtle. Please, Brebain, pick something dark and subtle because that actually suits how Ha'ze looks and do your job right, rather than make her day worse. That may all be in her eyes; unfortunately, the Weaver doesn't know her all that well to be able to read her every glance to that extent. "It can either be absurd or very attractive. Brown I would think would be very attractive, but youa lso get people trying to make paisley, like, pink and yellow, in which case no."

Brebain shudders delicately. "Not pink and yellow," he promises. "But I think something in a rich, brown-and-gold paisley for a waistcoat, say — and then a more muted, subtle suit, hmm?" More eyeing of Ha'ze, definitely speculative, and he takes a few steps back, gesturing around the rack-corner to the little platform. "Take a step up here, would you, and I'll get your basic measurements."

… Ha'ze is putting up some passive resistance right now, but simply not moving at all. "This is insane. You wouldn't dress up if a human pumped out a kid." Ha'ze has been to at least two of those by now. They are messy man. MESSY. "I don't get why this is different."

"It's tradition," is really all Inri has. Because she's used to it, and because Dtirae and Elara trained her that that's what you do, you have a clutching party. And then you have a hatching party. "Parties boost Weyr morale, and the celebration of new dragons was all about keeping people's spirits up in the face of Thread, when there was some. And I suppose in the Thread days it was also worth celebrating the new dragons because the more dragons you had the less likely you were to die." Unlike the dragons. "Now it's just — Fort is all about tradition. This is the most tradition-laden place on the planet."

"And traditionally speaking, it's bad luck for the clutchparents — or their riders — to look shabby at the party," Brebain offered, whether or not that was actually the tradition. Or the luck. C'moooooooon, Ha'ze, step on the box! It doesn't bite, unlike Inri's firelizard! The Master Weaver is nobly refraining from any sort of expression or gesture that actively implies he thinks Ha'ze currently looks shabby. That's worth something, right?

A more than moderately deep sigh comes from deep within the bronzerider. He has to take off his shirt right? That's how people do measurements. Or maybe he's just irritated and taking off his shirt is the thing that one does when irritated. Whatever the reason, Ha'ze's shirt is coming off even as he steps onto the box. "Solid colors, I have to be able to move, and nothing that you won't mind being ruined when Kainaesyth realizes there's something in the fields he needs a better look at."

And to the apprentices' great relief, even though they don't know it, Inri's little Lyonette isn't even here right now. She's probably back under the bar at the Gemstone sleeping away in the space that she hatched. "You d—" Inri starts, about to say 'you don't actually need to not have clothes on,' and then backtracks because his clothes didn't really fit properly and it isn't a bad view, maybe one of the female apprentices is single and looking to get pregnant. Inri has to be considerate of other people's life goals, after all, especially Kainaesyth's. "Being able to move is always a requirement in clothing riders, in case you haven't caught that yet, Brebain. None of us are high fashion enough for tight things."

Hopefully none of Brebain's apprentices are looking to get pregnant — at least, not if they intend to remain apprentices. Lineface, okay. Major narrative lineface. Brebain, meanwhile, is reasonably non-reactive to the way Ha'ze is auto-stripping, although Inri's narrative has a point that that shirt really hadn't fit him particularly well, so really it's a good thing!! The Master Weaver whips out a measuring tape and starts instantly fitting Ha'ze into little boxes, or… something … whatever it is that weavers do when measuring people's limbs and bodies, anyway. "That was why we were going to stain-treat it," is all he says in response to the whole ruined-in-the-fields thing. Mildly. To Inri: "Did you have any thoughts for the fit of your dress, my dear?"

A lot of this has Ha'ze thinking he's more or less superfluous to this whole process. At least he got his color choice? The weaver's efficient touches are irritating, but Ha'ze bites back on them. "We don't need to match." Just in case Inri was going to suggest that. "She can mat… why isn't D'ani here?" He'd more logical.

"Relatively loose without being a bag," says Inri with a knowing smile; it's the sort of knowing smile that is in relation to how she tends to know that her dragon clutches at weird times, and so they won't exactly be having a ball or some other kind of affair that would call for a tight bodice. More likely a breakfast or a luncheon. "I would like to actually have a figure, but it's not exactly a black tie affair or anything. D'ani has some nice clothes," she adds. "He doesn't need to be forced into new ones."

"So… fitted at the bust, perhaps, and then something fairly free-swinging, perhaps?" There's a brief hand gesture toward Ha'ze's chest, seeing as how the bronzerider has gone and put it on display right in front of Brebain and all that, but at least there isn't, you know, touching, with demonstrating where the fitted-bust part is supposed to be. Or what the free-swinging part is supposed to be like, either, although that would presumably look better — or at least more reasonable — on Ha'ze. Cough. "Neutral colors, or jewel tones, or pastels…?" Quick, everyone, picture Ha'ze in a pastel babydoll dress! Or … don't, so everyone who reads this doesn't end up hurt in one way or another.

"My bust. Not his bust." Does Ha'ze really have a bust? Do men have busts? Statues of men are, at least, called busts. Inri is just clarifying to make sure that everyone knows. The pastel part is surely also talking about her, right? Hopefully, because that's what she wants: "Also, pastel sounds best. I mean. Eggs." Not that all dragon eggs are particularly pastel, though Kouzevelth did have an all-pastel clutch. Maybe this one will take after it.

"Don't you even dare trying to put those on me. I swear I will let Kainaesyth ruin them before the clutching." Not even an idle threat from Ha'ze as he attempts to level his gaze on the moving Brebain. "Not all eggs are light colored." Ha'ze has done this once, and then there was that one time he got to touch them, and then all those times where he watched OTHERS touch them. But then, something helpful! "Match the dragons."

"You," Brebain stated unequivocally, pointing the last four inches of the tape measure at Ha'ze, "are wearing brown, like you asked, and no, I am not putting you in a pastel brown." Yes, of course he has a pastel brown; what do you take him for, an amateur? That four-inch length of tape gets tapped in his hand, twice, and then against his pursed lips, as he gets thoughtful for a moment. "Admittedly, a touch of bronze would go quite well with the fabric I had in mind — and I'm sure I can manage something similar for you, weyrwoman, considering the rather … remarkable … color of your lifemate." Orange. The dragon is orange.

It's actually a good idea, and it's not the fact that Ha'ze has good ideas that impresses Inri, it's that Ha'ze had an idea about clothing that was a good idea that actually impresses Inri. For all that it's, er, extremely difficult to match her dragon, yes. "Brown is like bronze, and you could put a bronze trim, or something, or didn't you say paisley? There are probably bronze bits in it, then. I think that's brilliant. You can make a Kouzevelth shade pastel, I'm sure." Pastel pure-gold would probably be a hideous unfortunate shade of yellow, but pastel orange-gold has the potential to be pretty. And it's not like the Weaver Hall's far away if he's short! "That's brilliant, though, Ha'ze, thank you."

"Just match Kainaesyth then. He's pretty." For Th'ero-dragon-spawn. Ha'ze shugs. He doesn't care even a little bit that Inri's dragon is pretty much an impossible color. A shrug at both of those ideas again an an eyebrow at the weaver. Is he done yet already?

Brebain has the feeling that Ha'ze is not really a person who, as it were, gets fabric. Or fashion. Or design, or … clothing … at all. Anyway. The tape measure gets flicked at him again. "Come back in a few days and we'll make sure that the rough fit is accurate," he tells the bronzerider, resigned. "Not sooner than three, not more than five, or I won't be able to guarantee it's finished before the actual clutching." Sternface. He'll sic Inri on you, Ha'ze.

"…." Audible silence. (I like oxymorons.) Ha'ze steps down off of the box because Brebain is totally done with him, right? His eyes look around the weaver's hall and something about it doesn't settle quite right about it. All the fancy. Ha'ze is not fancy. A shake of his head and uh, hopefully they don't need him, because Ha'ze is leaving, pulling his shirt on as he goes.

"Now," Brebain begins with the most awkward tone he's had yet, so far as conversations-with-Inri are concerned, "I do hope that someone is prepared to pay for his outfit…" Awkwardly Trailing Off? Yep. Check that. Something tells him that Ha'ze is not going to understand or believe his tailoring bill when it comes due, so much.

Absolutely. The person in question isn't Ha'ze: "Yes, me, I was going to the entire time," the goldrider replies, smiling her typical calm-and-winning smile. (Not the put-upon or fake diplomatic one.) "He never really has much money because his dragon is — well, it isn't his fault, and Kainaesyth is very … admirable. Anyway!" On to her. They'll spend the next hour, most likely, discussing the season's fashions and how to best represent them at this and a series of other parties … and Inri probably remembers to mention at some point that she might be having a weyrmating/housewarming type event, too.

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