(no subject)
A blind weaver.
Weaverhall wants me to have my suits made by a BLIND WEAVER.
Supoose it is not, after all, as though one needs to see to chose colors.
Oh, wait.
Or cut straight, or know what you're sewing, or stick trim on. Or do fittings.
Weaverhall wants to pretend he's contributing, they can. Not going to pay journeyman prices for something it's obvious some raw apprentice assistant will be doing.
Kiara is aware of the bustle behind her, apprentices making sure that everything is just so, but she has door-duty, and cheerfully greets the new entrants. "So glad you could come, sir! Do look around and make yourself comfortable, and feel free to ask any questions that might occur to you." And so it goes, with head-bobs and handshakes and smiles all around.
Although he looks a bit tired, Brady is moving purposefully as he comes into the weaver crafthall. Faint circles have moved in under his eyes, but he is well-groomed, his clothing pressed and his hair artistically tousled. At Kiara's greeting, he offers a smile, warm and appreciative. "Thank you," he says, moving on into the room and gazing around with faint interest.
Strolling in, the clothes about him looking hand-made to say the least, Apholone had decided to take the opportunity of being on the Isle to visit during the Weaver's Open-house --or should one call it an Open-Hall? --to see about ordering some custom made, ah, well, clothing. He'd had some particular designs in mind, he's just not that great at making clothing. A genteel nod for the Master at the door and a pleasant smile is shown before he speaks softly, "Thankyou Madam, I hope my trip turns into a profitable one."
Fango is just here to be gawked at. Because being gawked at is coolness itself. Or something like that. At any rate, he has taken up a post that is out of range of the main walkways in the main hall. His real job (aside from being gawked at, of course), is to answer any questions that a journeyman might be able to answer. Otherwise, just stand there and look presentable, wearing the faint smile of anyone who is not accustomed to feeling like he might be looked at in any given moment.
Kiara's beam kicks up a notch. "Profitable, hm? Well, Trader," (one does so appreciate knots, after all), "if there's anything we can do to make things profitable for hall and clan, both, do let me know." And she turns to gently tease the healer. "See anything you like, Journeyman?"
Brady flashes a grin at Kiara at the question, one eyelid twitching in something akin to a wink. "Oh, definitely, ma'am," he says, taking his cue from her tone. "I actually came hoping to commission a few suits. Nothing tweed."
Kiara chuckles amiably. "Unless you're going north, I'd not recommend tweed in any case, Ista being Ista. Linen, now, in a nice loose weave - that can make a lovely summer suit of clothes. Prone to wrinkling, if it's pure, and so not idea for traveling, but then, travel-worthy clothing is always less about looks and more about practicality."
Apholone gives a single nod, accompanied by a smile, "Thankyou Madam. I'm sure your Hall will live up to it's name." the tall man lumbering softly into the midst of room and surveying the booth's before he steps up towards one to look at the fabric on display there.
The fact that Kiara makes a point of mentioning rank when speaking with new people is definitely helpful to the blind Weaver resting at not too great a distance. Fango listens carefully as they speak, silent as he connects voices with rank, gathering information from the various pieces of conversation, and who answers. Really, it'd be much easier to simply go over and introduce himself, wouldn't it? But that wouldn't be cool and mysterious, and Fango is all about the cool and mysterious knowledge. At any rate, he stays where he started, resting against the wall a little, and absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the ever present rucksack slung over his shoulder.
Lachesis walks in from the Women's Dormitory.
Jestyn walks in from the Great Hall.
"I don't really intend them for travel," Brady says amiably. "Just teaching. I'm thinking about getting a nice gather outfit, too, but I'd like two full suits I can wear to my classes before I worry about that investment." If, after all, he's going to keep getting relegated to apprentice chores, he'd best do something to try and establish his professionalism in class.
Jestyn wanders down the hall quietly, looking around at the going-ons, and watching as the weavers go about their buisness. The kid probably looks a little out of place, since he's still wet and is dressed in the Dolphin Halls own wetsuit design.
Lachesis wanders half-distractedly into the main hall, still poring over an open sketchbook and tracing her lower lip with ink-smudged fingers. She knows she's supposed to be here, but can't quite remember why. Naturally, the sight of a hallfull of people, Masterweaver Kiara included, pulls her up - the sketchbook snaps closed, and she draws herself up and to attention. Right! Weaver business.
Kiara nods, briskly. "Should you like to work on the details of those, I believe Journeyman Fango can help you. Apprentice Lachesis will be assisting him tonight; we like our apprentices to learn how things are done. You can be sure, however, that Fango will avoid tweed." She controls her face, but there's an undercurrent of distinct amusement to her voice.
Kiara cheerfully bustles over to Jestyn. "Surely you've questions, apprentice? I know I have answers, and probably more than you really want, but I am, after all, not going to drown you in knowledge."
Fango
There is an aura of confidence around this man that seems to make itself known in every move that he makes. His deep reddish-black hair is cut into a neat style that stays out of the way, but accents his features very well. Beneath this carefully combed hair-style, a pair of pale eyes appear at odd angles. There is a bleached quality about them that reached to the very pupils, making them a dull gray color. The iris might once have been a bright sapphire blue, but they have been lightened as well, to be a shade of blue that is almost white. His nose is a delicately shaped, almost feminine looking attachment to his face, residing above lips that are just a shade too thick for a true 'manly' look.
When it comes down to Fango's body, there's not much to say. His pale skin shows that he doesn't spend alot of time outdoors, and his lack of muscles seems to suggest that he's equally unused to strenuous activities. At the same time, his hands show a number of callouses that a knowledgable person would associate with the Weaver trade. He is wearing a simple white shirt, covered with a carefully embrodiered vest. A person with a quick eye might spot a few flaws in the decoration of the garment, though. His pants are made of a comfortably worn leather dyed a shade of blue similar to the vest. On his feet, he wears a pair of worn-in, but still sturdy boots. In his hand, he carries an extra-long walking cane that he uses to sweep the floor before him for obstacles rather than to support his weight.
Fango wears the knot of a Weaver Journeyman.
He is an adult of about 38. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.
"Excellent," Brady says, turning to the indicated Journeyman Fango, and looking... discommoded.
Apholone continues observing the wares on the table, moving slowly and bending down to peer at the texture, rather than feel any of the various fabrics. Being that he works as a carver, when not involved in running Dilse Caravan under Master Rhyssa, he'd rather not risk the possibility of ruining such fine material. Seeming to find something to his liking he turns and looks to see if any of the weavers are free, thinking not, he clears his throat and waits patiently. Prepared to signal the first weaver's attention with a hand gesture; he is unaware of Fango's disability and as such, his actions are not meant to be discriminatory.
Lachesis sidles up next to Fango, who she doesn't particularly know, and murmurs a polite "Hello" that seems directed at the Healer and Weaver alike. She folds her arms around her sketchbook, then tries to hold the book at her side, and then eventually decides to tuck it underneath one arm. She tips her head, trying to look studious, and waits to speak again until spoken to.
Fango comes to attention just slightly (as opposed to the somewhat lazy listening posture that he'd adopted moments ago), and manages to affect and instantly more business-like demeanor. "Right. No tweed," he agrees, entirely missing the whole discommoded thing. Good thing, too. As he speaks, he's already opening his bag and feeling at the contents until he produces a small pad of paper (or Pernese paper equivalent). Poor Lachesis... Fango is used to Lyam, who generally knows what the Journeyman needs from him without even having to ask, so he simply holds out the sketchbook, expecting the young woman to know just what she's supposed to do. "You say you want a couple of suits for teaching, Journeyman...?" he waits, fairly certain that the man's name was never mentioned.
Jestyn raises his eyebrows in surprise as he chuckles at Kiara's industrious attention. "I, um.. Was curious what was happening." he scans the room again. "What sort of clothes would go well over a wetsuit? and, I was wondering how much a warmer 'suit would cost.." he replies, trying to keep it broief, but not trying to look stupid.
Kiara ahhs. "Well, clothing doesn't go very well over a 'suit if you're planning on getting wet. A heavier suit, though... Getting to the deeper dives, eh? Cost depends on how much warmer you want it. A new lining is one thing; a new 'suit is quite another."
For a moment, Brady doesn't respond. His eyes just travel over Fango, and his look is somewhat dubious. He takes in the embroidery of the vest, the pale skin, the cane, and then he says, "You know what; I actually need to get going. It's later than I thought, and I've got an infirmary shift. I'll talk to someone later."
Lachesis stares at Fango's sketchbook as though it's going to bite her. As Brady begins to back away, her eyes widen confusedly, flickering between the two men as though she's missed something. Has she done something wrong?
Kiara quirks a brow as she notices Apholone gesturing, and catches Brady's tone. Jestyn gets a brief, "I'm sorry, I'll be right back - you think about that for a moment." Apholone is led over to the group, and as she approaches she makes sure to pitch her voice so it carries. "Journeyman Fango is one of our best, sir, particularly for telling the qualities of different fabrics and finding construction flaws that others might miss. A wonderful teacher; I'm so glad Apprentice Lachesis gets to assist him with taking notes while he handles orders tonight."
Jestyn frowns and nods. "Well, I've seen a few that have some cool over clothes, so they don't have to get out of the suit in between dives." he scratches his chin slightly. "Yea, I would need a much thicker suit.. We are starting cold water dives around the norther continent, so we were told to get some.. Or use the loners." Cringe. Never touch those disgusting things.. get your own, have a nice fit, and actually look good in it as well.
Kiara darts back through the crowd soon enough to catch Jestyn's words. "Clothes for while you're out of the water, that we can do. Things go over the wetsuits without difficulty. For warmth above-water, wool works well, though it does smell a bit when wet."
Fango frowns a little, eyebrows lowering slightly, but his entire attitude changing from self-assured businessman to uncertainty in a moment. "I assure you that you'd do just as well to go ahead and put in an order now, before you go. It won't take much time, and we can go ahead and get to work on your order right away." He pauses a moment, waving his hand just slightly to show Lachesis that she should, at least, take the pad and pretend to make notes. Even as he does this, Kiara is stepping in to make her point, and he musters as genuine a smile as he can for the customer. "I'm sure that either myself or one of my students can produce something to your satisfaction, sir."
Apholone follows politely behind Kiara, since it seems she'll see to him, and really he doesn't mind t'all. The trader watches the different booths with interest, most likely taking mental notes, for afterall, he's not just here for himself.
Jestyn frowns. "Well, I was thinking somthing light that wouldn't heat up much, since the wetsuits do such a fine job of staying warm above as well.. So somthing very light? maybe sisal?"" he suggests, but doesn't seem to consider if it clings, or bleeds, or rots.
Lachesis turns her gaze on Kiara - my savior! - and then nods industriously, snatching Fango's pad and producing a quill from the outside pocket of her trusty rucksack. She writes Brady's name - which she has somehow remembered - in large, neat block letters at the top of the page, and then looks back up with eyebrows arched and hopeful.
Brady flicks his eyes at Kiara. "I'm sure he is, ma'am," he says, and the slightly overstated geniality in his tone gives the lie to the words, probably unintentionally. "But -- my class." Wasn't it an infirmary shift a minute ago? At any rate, he offers a nod of farewell to Lachesis, a "Maybe later," to Fango, and then heads for the door.
Olwen walks in.
Olwen appears-- mildly disheveled after arriving via Wyn and her large blue transport. Black curls have been pinned back for the event of flying, and as Olwen steps into the Hall she begins unclipping and fluffing. Skirt shifts faintly in the progression of movement-- sequins and sparkles caught in the back splash of surrounding glows as High Reaches' resident hedonist makes her presence known in the world of weaving. Ta da.
Fango is somewhat taken aback. After a brief moment of looking somewhat stricken, he simply takes a deep breath, smiles, and turns slightly toward his assistant with an outstretched hand. "I'm sorry, Lachesis. Apparently our services were not needed afterall. Why don't we try to find someone slightly more open-minded, shall we?" he suggests with good humor, ignoring the departing Healer. If he's so daft as to make excuses to leave, then he obviously doesn't need the suits that badly, does he? Or so goes the thinking as Fango prepares to find someone who can actually appreciate his work.
Lachesis looks this side of crushed, now thoroughly convinced she's done something violently wrong. Fango's encouragement lightens her expression, though; the creases in her brow unfurrow, and she gestures Olwen's way. "What about her, sir?"
Weaverhall wants me to have my suits made by a BLIND WEAVER.
Supoose it is not, after all, as though one needs to see to chose colors.
Oh, wait.
Or cut straight, or know what you're sewing, or stick trim on. Or do fittings.
Weaverhall wants to pretend he's contributing, they can. Not going to pay journeyman prices for something it's obvious some raw apprentice assistant will be doing.
Kiara is aware of the bustle behind her, apprentices making sure that everything is just so, but she has door-duty, and cheerfully greets the new entrants. "So glad you could come, sir! Do look around and make yourself comfortable, and feel free to ask any questions that might occur to you." And so it goes, with head-bobs and handshakes and smiles all around.
Although he looks a bit tired, Brady is moving purposefully as he comes into the weaver crafthall. Faint circles have moved in under his eyes, but he is well-groomed, his clothing pressed and his hair artistically tousled. At Kiara's greeting, he offers a smile, warm and appreciative. "Thank you," he says, moving on into the room and gazing around with faint interest.
Strolling in, the clothes about him looking hand-made to say the least, Apholone had decided to take the opportunity of being on the Isle to visit during the Weaver's Open-house --or should one call it an Open-Hall? --to see about ordering some custom made, ah, well, clothing. He'd had some particular designs in mind, he's just not that great at making clothing. A genteel nod for the Master at the door and a pleasant smile is shown before he speaks softly, "Thankyou Madam, I hope my trip turns into a profitable one."
Fango is just here to be gawked at. Because being gawked at is coolness itself. Or something like that. At any rate, he has taken up a post that is out of range of the main walkways in the main hall. His real job (aside from being gawked at, of course), is to answer any questions that a journeyman might be able to answer. Otherwise, just stand there and look presentable, wearing the faint smile of anyone who is not accustomed to feeling like he might be looked at in any given moment.
Kiara's beam kicks up a notch. "Profitable, hm? Well, Trader," (one does so appreciate knots, after all), "if there's anything we can do to make things profitable for hall and clan, both, do let me know." And she turns to gently tease the healer. "See anything you like, Journeyman?"
Brady flashes a grin at Kiara at the question, one eyelid twitching in something akin to a wink. "Oh, definitely, ma'am," he says, taking his cue from her tone. "I actually came hoping to commission a few suits. Nothing tweed."
Kiara chuckles amiably. "Unless you're going north, I'd not recommend tweed in any case, Ista being Ista. Linen, now, in a nice loose weave - that can make a lovely summer suit of clothes. Prone to wrinkling, if it's pure, and so not idea for traveling, but then, travel-worthy clothing is always less about looks and more about practicality."
Apholone gives a single nod, accompanied by a smile, "Thankyou Madam. I'm sure your Hall will live up to it's name." the tall man lumbering softly into the midst of room and surveying the booth's before he steps up towards one to look at the fabric on display there.
The fact that Kiara makes a point of mentioning rank when speaking with new people is definitely helpful to the blind Weaver resting at not too great a distance. Fango listens carefully as they speak, silent as he connects voices with rank, gathering information from the various pieces of conversation, and who answers. Really, it'd be much easier to simply go over and introduce himself, wouldn't it? But that wouldn't be cool and mysterious, and Fango is all about the cool and mysterious knowledge. At any rate, he stays where he started, resting against the wall a little, and absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the ever present rucksack slung over his shoulder.
Lachesis walks in from the Women's Dormitory.
Jestyn walks in from the Great Hall.
"I don't really intend them for travel," Brady says amiably. "Just teaching. I'm thinking about getting a nice gather outfit, too, but I'd like two full suits I can wear to my classes before I worry about that investment." If, after all, he's going to keep getting relegated to apprentice chores, he'd best do something to try and establish his professionalism in class.
Jestyn wanders down the hall quietly, looking around at the going-ons, and watching as the weavers go about their buisness. The kid probably looks a little out of place, since he's still wet and is dressed in the Dolphin Halls own wetsuit design.
Lachesis wanders half-distractedly into the main hall, still poring over an open sketchbook and tracing her lower lip with ink-smudged fingers. She knows she's supposed to be here, but can't quite remember why. Naturally, the sight of a hallfull of people, Masterweaver Kiara included, pulls her up - the sketchbook snaps closed, and she draws herself up and to attention. Right! Weaver business.
Kiara nods, briskly. "Should you like to work on the details of those, I believe Journeyman Fango can help you. Apprentice Lachesis will be assisting him tonight; we like our apprentices to learn how things are done. You can be sure, however, that Fango will avoid tweed." She controls her face, but there's an undercurrent of distinct amusement to her voice.
Kiara cheerfully bustles over to Jestyn. "Surely you've questions, apprentice? I know I have answers, and probably more than you really want, but I am, after all, not going to drown you in knowledge."
Fango
There is an aura of confidence around this man that seems to make itself known in every move that he makes. His deep reddish-black hair is cut into a neat style that stays out of the way, but accents his features very well. Beneath this carefully combed hair-style, a pair of pale eyes appear at odd angles. There is a bleached quality about them that reached to the very pupils, making them a dull gray color. The iris might once have been a bright sapphire blue, but they have been lightened as well, to be a shade of blue that is almost white. His nose is a delicately shaped, almost feminine looking attachment to his face, residing above lips that are just a shade too thick for a true 'manly' look.
When it comes down to Fango's body, there's not much to say. His pale skin shows that he doesn't spend alot of time outdoors, and his lack of muscles seems to suggest that he's equally unused to strenuous activities. At the same time, his hands show a number of callouses that a knowledgable person would associate with the Weaver trade. He is wearing a simple white shirt, covered with a carefully embrodiered vest. A person with a quick eye might spot a few flaws in the decoration of the garment, though. His pants are made of a comfortably worn leather dyed a shade of blue similar to the vest. On his feet, he wears a pair of worn-in, but still sturdy boots. In his hand, he carries an extra-long walking cane that he uses to sweep the floor before him for obstacles rather than to support his weight.
Fango wears the knot of a Weaver Journeyman.
He is an adult of about 38. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.
"Excellent," Brady says, turning to the indicated Journeyman Fango, and looking... discommoded.
Apholone continues observing the wares on the table, moving slowly and bending down to peer at the texture, rather than feel any of the various fabrics. Being that he works as a carver, when not involved in running Dilse Caravan under Master Rhyssa, he'd rather not risk the possibility of ruining such fine material. Seeming to find something to his liking he turns and looks to see if any of the weavers are free, thinking not, he clears his throat and waits patiently. Prepared to signal the first weaver's attention with a hand gesture; he is unaware of Fango's disability and as such, his actions are not meant to be discriminatory.
Lachesis sidles up next to Fango, who she doesn't particularly know, and murmurs a polite "Hello" that seems directed at the Healer and Weaver alike. She folds her arms around her sketchbook, then tries to hold the book at her side, and then eventually decides to tuck it underneath one arm. She tips her head, trying to look studious, and waits to speak again until spoken to.
Fango comes to attention just slightly (as opposed to the somewhat lazy listening posture that he'd adopted moments ago), and manages to affect and instantly more business-like demeanor. "Right. No tweed," he agrees, entirely missing the whole discommoded thing. Good thing, too. As he speaks, he's already opening his bag and feeling at the contents until he produces a small pad of paper (or Pernese paper equivalent). Poor Lachesis... Fango is used to Lyam, who generally knows what the Journeyman needs from him without even having to ask, so he simply holds out the sketchbook, expecting the young woman to know just what she's supposed to do. "You say you want a couple of suits for teaching, Journeyman...?" he waits, fairly certain that the man's name was never mentioned.
Jestyn raises his eyebrows in surprise as he chuckles at Kiara's industrious attention. "I, um.. Was curious what was happening." he scans the room again. "What sort of clothes would go well over a wetsuit? and, I was wondering how much a warmer 'suit would cost.." he replies, trying to keep it broief, but not trying to look stupid.
Kiara ahhs. "Well, clothing doesn't go very well over a 'suit if you're planning on getting wet. A heavier suit, though... Getting to the deeper dives, eh? Cost depends on how much warmer you want it. A new lining is one thing; a new 'suit is quite another."
For a moment, Brady doesn't respond. His eyes just travel over Fango, and his look is somewhat dubious. He takes in the embroidery of the vest, the pale skin, the cane, and then he says, "You know what; I actually need to get going. It's later than I thought, and I've got an infirmary shift. I'll talk to someone later."
Lachesis stares at Fango's sketchbook as though it's going to bite her. As Brady begins to back away, her eyes widen confusedly, flickering between the two men as though she's missed something. Has she done something wrong?
Kiara quirks a brow as she notices Apholone gesturing, and catches Brady's tone. Jestyn gets a brief, "I'm sorry, I'll be right back - you think about that for a moment." Apholone is led over to the group, and as she approaches she makes sure to pitch her voice so it carries. "Journeyman Fango is one of our best, sir, particularly for telling the qualities of different fabrics and finding construction flaws that others might miss. A wonderful teacher; I'm so glad Apprentice Lachesis gets to assist him with taking notes while he handles orders tonight."
Jestyn frowns and nods. "Well, I've seen a few that have some cool over clothes, so they don't have to get out of the suit in between dives." he scratches his chin slightly. "Yea, I would need a much thicker suit.. We are starting cold water dives around the norther continent, so we were told to get some.. Or use the loners." Cringe. Never touch those disgusting things.. get your own, have a nice fit, and actually look good in it as well.
Kiara darts back through the crowd soon enough to catch Jestyn's words. "Clothes for while you're out of the water, that we can do. Things go over the wetsuits without difficulty. For warmth above-water, wool works well, though it does smell a bit when wet."
Fango frowns a little, eyebrows lowering slightly, but his entire attitude changing from self-assured businessman to uncertainty in a moment. "I assure you that you'd do just as well to go ahead and put in an order now, before you go. It won't take much time, and we can go ahead and get to work on your order right away." He pauses a moment, waving his hand just slightly to show Lachesis that she should, at least, take the pad and pretend to make notes. Even as he does this, Kiara is stepping in to make her point, and he musters as genuine a smile as he can for the customer. "I'm sure that either myself or one of my students can produce something to your satisfaction, sir."
Apholone follows politely behind Kiara, since it seems she'll see to him, and really he doesn't mind t'all. The trader watches the different booths with interest, most likely taking mental notes, for afterall, he's not just here for himself.
Jestyn frowns. "Well, I was thinking somthing light that wouldn't heat up much, since the wetsuits do such a fine job of staying warm above as well.. So somthing very light? maybe sisal?"" he suggests, but doesn't seem to consider if it clings, or bleeds, or rots.
Lachesis turns her gaze on Kiara - my savior! - and then nods industriously, snatching Fango's pad and producing a quill from the outside pocket of her trusty rucksack. She writes Brady's name - which she has somehow remembered - in large, neat block letters at the top of the page, and then looks back up with eyebrows arched and hopeful.
Brady flicks his eyes at Kiara. "I'm sure he is, ma'am," he says, and the slightly overstated geniality in his tone gives the lie to the words, probably unintentionally. "But -- my class." Wasn't it an infirmary shift a minute ago? At any rate, he offers a nod of farewell to Lachesis, a "Maybe later," to Fango, and then heads for the door.
Olwen walks in.
Olwen appears-- mildly disheveled after arriving via Wyn and her large blue transport. Black curls have been pinned back for the event of flying, and as Olwen steps into the Hall she begins unclipping and fluffing. Skirt shifts faintly in the progression of movement-- sequins and sparkles caught in the back splash of surrounding glows as High Reaches' resident hedonist makes her presence known in the world of weaving. Ta da.
Fango is somewhat taken aback. After a brief moment of looking somewhat stricken, he simply takes a deep breath, smiles, and turns slightly toward his assistant with an outstretched hand. "I'm sorry, Lachesis. Apparently our services were not needed afterall. Why don't we try to find someone slightly more open-minded, shall we?" he suggests with good humor, ignoring the departing Healer. If he's so daft as to make excuses to leave, then he obviously doesn't need the suits that badly, does he? Or so goes the thinking as Fango prepares to find someone who can actually appreciate his work.
Lachesis looks this side of crushed, now thoroughly convinced she's done something violently wrong. Fango's encouragement lightens her expression, though; the creases in her brow unfurrow, and she gestures Olwen's way. "What about her, sir?"