"Legacy" mpreg series ficlet: "Visit to the Tailor"
I think I understand anew how I could write an mpreg ficlet a day back in the summer of 2003... once I give in to the muses, they swarm!! o_O
This is another bit to the story I've been meaning and needing to do, and falls during the two days between my last bit, " Telling Bilbo," and the " Choices" ficlet from awhile ago. Again, all of this series is listed in chronological order on my Fropreg list; it's also on my fic journal here (those links go to the entries on my fic journal, not the ones here).
_Visit to the Tailor_
Frodo had just finished depositing what he'd managed to eat for second breakfast in a potted plant outside Bilbo's room when Sam appeared beside him. "Sir, Lord Elrond wanted me to tell you that his tailor is hoping you will come by today so he can make you some more 'suitable' clothes."
"Because mine aren't 'suitable'?" Frodo asked sourly as he pulled said clothes straighter.
"Now, Mr. Frodo, you know those breeches won't be fitting for much longer, and 'twould be better to get some replacements before you have to run around pants-less like a bairn," Sam said mildly.
Frodo nearly smiled at that image. "I know, I know," he sighed. "It's just so . . . humiliating."
"No more humiliating than a tweenager being fitted for a new suit after he's grown out of the old one," Sam countered, patting Frodo's back in sympathy as he tried to steer him in the direction of where Elrond said the tailor could be found. "And sooner started is sooner finished."
"Oh, all right, just let me tell Bilbo I won't be in to talk to him for a while yet." Frodo disappeared into Bilbo's rooms, then emerged with the elderly hobbit tottering behind. "He insisted on coming with," Frodo said to Sam with a shrug.
"Trust me, it will be easier this way," Bilbo said sagely. "Now come, it's on this side of the house."
They arrived at the tailor's area without incident, and were greeted by a very tall elf in long, flowing robes (then again, what elf wasn't tall and in long flowing robes?). "Master Baggins, is good to meet you," he enthused, bowing at the hobbit. "I am Vehilion, clothes-master for Imladris."
"Well met, Master Vehilion," Frodo said, bowing in return.
"First, many sorries; I speak not your tongue as well as some, but I do my best. Now, stand here and let me look at you." He directed Frodo to a small, round step in the middle of the room, and Frodo obeyed hesitantly, not enjoying being the center of attention. Bilbo and Sam watched from the only available chairs along the edge of the room -the rest were piled with fabrics, ribbons, pins, and all the other assorted items used in the clothes-making trade.
Vehilion slowly circled Frodo, hmming and hahing in a most alarming fashion, then he produced a stool and sat upon it, facing Frodo. "You wish new items to be like old ones? Or you wish something more like elf-wear?"
"I would appreciate keeping things the same, as much as possible," Frodo said nervously, ill at ease at the thought of being saddled with so much fabric to trip on.
"That is well. I must need see some items closely to, ah, see how it is made. You have . . ." Here he seemed at a loss for the right word, so he glanced over at Bilbo and rattled something off in Elvish more quickly than Frodo could hope to understand any of it.
"Ah. He wants to know if you have any extra clothes he can work from in making your new ones," Bilbo supplied, while Vehilion nodded vigorously.
"Yes, I have a few things, but not all of them fit anymore . . ." Frodo eyed the elf questioningly.
"No matter," he said with a dismissive wave. "I need only the, ah, idea." He sat in thought for a moment, his eyes speculatively sweeping over Frodo. "Take off top pieces, please. I must see bottoms."
Frodo flushed, but did as he asked. Off came his waistcoat and shirt, his bracers hung down next to his legs, and he was standing only in Sam's borrowed breeches. Then the elf's hands were on him, feeling and seeing where the trousers rested on him and how they were supposed to fit. Vehilion said something under his breath, and Bilbo laughed. Knowing it was about him, Frodo hugged his arms over himself and asked crossly, "What?"
"He said we are just in time, as you are about to burst your trousers," Bilbo informed him with a chuckle, and Frodo flushed even redder.
"I can't help it," he groused. "You can't shove a babe around the way you can a normal stomach." Indeed, the babe was fast becoming a sizable lump right in the spot that made it difficult to fasten breeches. If it were up higher, it wouldn't matter as much since he'd be able to push the pants down a bit and fasten them there (as he was about ready to do with his underdrawers since they are tied rather than buttoned), but no . . . naturally it couldn't be that easy. Now it was even at the point that on his nicer, fitted waistcoats he couldn't fasten the bottom several buttons.
While Frodo wasn't paying attention, Vehilion had begun to take his measurements, nodding periodically as he made notations on a small bit of parchment. "You wish button or string to close bottoms?"
"Buttons, please."
"String easier to change size," Vehilion countered. "But no matter, you change mind by next fitting."
"Next fitting?" Frodo asked, astonished. "Why would I need another?"
"Clothes from now fit not by end of . . ." Again, he looked to Bilbo for help, earnestly explaining in Elvish what he wanted Frodo to understand.
"He's saying that what he makes you now won't last through the entire pregnancy. If he made the clothes large enough to accommodate your possible size at the end, you would be swallowed up now by the extra material. Doing one batch now and another later will fit you better and make you more comfortable," Bilbo relayed while Vehilion watched Frodo closely to see if his meaning came across.
"Oh," was about all Frodo could say to that. "I - I suppose that makes sense."
Vehilion clapped his hands gleefully. "You not be sorry," he assured the hobbit. "I done now, you put clothes back on. Bring me, ah, spare set, and I have bottoms for you in two, three days. I send message when done."
Frodo quickly redressed, grateful to finally put everything back on. "That sounds fine, Master Vehilion," he acknowledged. "I will have those clothes brought to you by the end of the day."
He was more than relieved when the three of them were finally headed back toward Bilbo's room. Sam offered to fetch the clothes and take them to the tailor, which Frodo more than happily agreed to. As Frodo and Bilbo slowly walked back, Bilbo said with a wink, "You see now why I came along?"
This is another bit to the story I've been meaning and needing to do, and falls during the two days between my last bit, " Telling Bilbo," and the " Choices" ficlet from awhile ago. Again, all of this series is listed in chronological order on my Fropreg list; it's also on my fic journal here (those links go to the entries on my fic journal, not the ones here).
_Visit to the Tailor_
Frodo had just finished depositing what he'd managed to eat for second breakfast in a potted plant outside Bilbo's room when Sam appeared beside him. "Sir, Lord Elrond wanted me to tell you that his tailor is hoping you will come by today so he can make you some more 'suitable' clothes."
"Because mine aren't 'suitable'?" Frodo asked sourly as he pulled said clothes straighter.
"Now, Mr. Frodo, you know those breeches won't be fitting for much longer, and 'twould be better to get some replacements before you have to run around pants-less like a bairn," Sam said mildly.
Frodo nearly smiled at that image. "I know, I know," he sighed. "It's just so . . . humiliating."
"No more humiliating than a tweenager being fitted for a new suit after he's grown out of the old one," Sam countered, patting Frodo's back in sympathy as he tried to steer him in the direction of where Elrond said the tailor could be found. "And sooner started is sooner finished."
"Oh, all right, just let me tell Bilbo I won't be in to talk to him for a while yet." Frodo disappeared into Bilbo's rooms, then emerged with the elderly hobbit tottering behind. "He insisted on coming with," Frodo said to Sam with a shrug.
"Trust me, it will be easier this way," Bilbo said sagely. "Now come, it's on this side of the house."
They arrived at the tailor's area without incident, and were greeted by a very tall elf in long, flowing robes (then again, what elf wasn't tall and in long flowing robes?). "Master Baggins, is good to meet you," he enthused, bowing at the hobbit. "I am Vehilion, clothes-master for Imladris."
"Well met, Master Vehilion," Frodo said, bowing in return.
"First, many sorries; I speak not your tongue as well as some, but I do my best. Now, stand here and let me look at you." He directed Frodo to a small, round step in the middle of the room, and Frodo obeyed hesitantly, not enjoying being the center of attention. Bilbo and Sam watched from the only available chairs along the edge of the room -the rest were piled with fabrics, ribbons, pins, and all the other assorted items used in the clothes-making trade.
Vehilion slowly circled Frodo, hmming and hahing in a most alarming fashion, then he produced a stool and sat upon it, facing Frodo. "You wish new items to be like old ones? Or you wish something more like elf-wear?"
"I would appreciate keeping things the same, as much as possible," Frodo said nervously, ill at ease at the thought of being saddled with so much fabric to trip on.
"That is well. I must need see some items closely to, ah, see how it is made. You have . . ." Here he seemed at a loss for the right word, so he glanced over at Bilbo and rattled something off in Elvish more quickly than Frodo could hope to understand any of it.
"Ah. He wants to know if you have any extra clothes he can work from in making your new ones," Bilbo supplied, while Vehilion nodded vigorously.
"Yes, I have a few things, but not all of them fit anymore . . ." Frodo eyed the elf questioningly.
"No matter," he said with a dismissive wave. "I need only the, ah, idea." He sat in thought for a moment, his eyes speculatively sweeping over Frodo. "Take off top pieces, please. I must see bottoms."
Frodo flushed, but did as he asked. Off came his waistcoat and shirt, his bracers hung down next to his legs, and he was standing only in Sam's borrowed breeches. Then the elf's hands were on him, feeling and seeing where the trousers rested on him and how they were supposed to fit. Vehilion said something under his breath, and Bilbo laughed. Knowing it was about him, Frodo hugged his arms over himself and asked crossly, "What?"
"He said we are just in time, as you are about to burst your trousers," Bilbo informed him with a chuckle, and Frodo flushed even redder.
"I can't help it," he groused. "You can't shove a babe around the way you can a normal stomach." Indeed, the babe was fast becoming a sizable lump right in the spot that made it difficult to fasten breeches. If it were up higher, it wouldn't matter as much since he'd be able to push the pants down a bit and fasten them there (as he was about ready to do with his underdrawers since they are tied rather than buttoned), but no . . . naturally it couldn't be that easy. Now it was even at the point that on his nicer, fitted waistcoats he couldn't fasten the bottom several buttons.
While Frodo wasn't paying attention, Vehilion had begun to take his measurements, nodding periodically as he made notations on a small bit of parchment. "You wish button or string to close bottoms?"
"Buttons, please."
"String easier to change size," Vehilion countered. "But no matter, you change mind by next fitting."
"Next fitting?" Frodo asked, astonished. "Why would I need another?"
"Clothes from now fit not by end of . . ." Again, he looked to Bilbo for help, earnestly explaining in Elvish what he wanted Frodo to understand.
"He's saying that what he makes you now won't last through the entire pregnancy. If he made the clothes large enough to accommodate your possible size at the end, you would be swallowed up now by the extra material. Doing one batch now and another later will fit you better and make you more comfortable," Bilbo relayed while Vehilion watched Frodo closely to see if his meaning came across.
"Oh," was about all Frodo could say to that. "I - I suppose that makes sense."
Vehilion clapped his hands gleefully. "You not be sorry," he assured the hobbit. "I done now, you put clothes back on. Bring me, ah, spare set, and I have bottoms for you in two, three days. I send message when done."
Frodo quickly redressed, grateful to finally put everything back on. "That sounds fine, Master Vehilion," he acknowledged. "I will have those clothes brought to you by the end of the day."
He was more than relieved when the three of them were finally headed back toward Bilbo's room. Sam offered to fetch the clothes and take them to the tailor, which Frodo more than happily agreed to. As Frodo and Bilbo slowly walked back, Bilbo said with a wink, "You see now why I came along?"