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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 15, 2010 15:38:45 GMT -5
If I had been the type to blush, I would have under his compliments. As it was, I merely squirmed just a touch. The words were very kind, but I was unaccustomed to praise of myself and not my work.
“Atlas,” I said after a moment’s thought. “I believe that is his name.”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 16, 2010 17:35:36 GMT -5
"Indeed," I smiled, my eyes crinkling merrily. "That might be appropriate, don't you think?" I observed Darien's abashed movements, and felt instantly endeared to him. Such a modest soul for one with such talent!
"I believe Atlas traditionally wears very little, in order to show off his physique," Here I looked Darien up and down and gave a playful wink. "But for the sake of any faint hearts at the fete, you should don nothing too scandalous, I think. Perhaps the clothier will have some more concrete suggestions… far be it for I to impose upon his trade."
I craned my overlong neck to look for the tailor over the fabrics, and drifted between the bolts, running my hands through luxurious textures. "There is so much to select from here. I've no idea how I'm to choose a thing."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 17, 2010 14:39:37 GMT -5
I was more than grateful to move on to another topic. The idea of attending the fete barely dressed and having it cause a stir made me squirm even further.
I looked at the fabrics and then back at him. “I see you in colors, lots of them but nothing flashy. You call for seductive and yet sophisticated all at once. You will not need to cause a stir to draw attention to you, you could do that in a flour sack.”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 18, 2010 0:14:22 GMT -5
Well, if I had played against his modesty, he certainly took the edge out of me with his decided tone. It was as though he felt what he was saying was documented truth. I could feel the flush spreading from my toes to my hairline, like a wave of the sea, and I fell suddenly shy. I smiled with timid politeness.
"You flatter me deeply, Aghaye Darien. I cannot deny that I have a conspicuous appearance. But a flour sack?" I gave a little nervous laugh, my brows crinkling incredulously. "I'm but a Drujani temple rat, certainly no fine D'Angeline beauty... No seducer." I twisted a curl around my finger, pushing away the automatic thoughts of that ill-starred evening. "However," I began again, looking up brightly. "I do trust your artistic eye for line and colour, and can find no reason to contradict your expertise."
I walked to the counter of the shoppe, upon which was strewn a variety of masques, baubles, false weapons, and paper props. My long fingers found a little globe, and I tossed it over a bolt of fabric to Darien. "Look there, we seem to have come to a fated shoppe for outfitting you, at least. We could choose your fabrics from the colours upon its surface."
I began lifting a series of elaborate masques to my face. Wrought wire in fine gold, delicate as spider's thread; dark, molded leather half-masks; sculpted animal and demon faces. I picked up a golden mask adorned with a towering peacock's spear feather and put it to my cheek.
"This one puts me in mind of a very old story that is almost forgotten by my people," I said, turning it back to myself to appraise its turquoise and gold design.
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 18, 2010 1:55:43 GMT -5
I caught the globe and thought that it did seem I was fated to attend as Atlas. I could be comfortable with that.
My attention turned to the masks he was trying out.
“That one seems to suit you,” I commented of the one with peacock feathers. “What story?”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 18, 2010 15:28:31 GMT -5
"There is one like it in many cultures… I wonder that your people do not have a version of the myth," I sighed, petting the feathers. "It tells of an Ameshaspand - an… arch-angel in your tongue - who was first in god's eyes, first made, and first consulted in all matters. When Ahura Mazda - god - made man, this arch-angel refused to place man above god's first-made angels. He insisted that man should have an inborn respect of those greater than him, so that he may always maintain a sense of place and belonging in the grander scheme of things, and thus the essential modesty that must accompany mindfulness and compassion. He conjectured that man could not understand god without the loving guidance and example set by his angels. His vehemence caused a schism in heaven, and the other angels, who trusted blindly in god's decisions, cast this arch-angel down."
My eyes took on a contemplative mien. This story always made me a little sad. And yet something in me identified with the fallen one. "There is a culture in the northern mountains of my land that worships this arch-angel, named Taus Melek, as the embodiment of higher consciousness. They give him the form of a peacock due to two aspects of his being: one, the surpassing beauty of his form and face which was given him by god as god's first and most perfect creation; and two, that he was said to cry for 7000 days upon his fall, quenching the fires of hell. The eyes of the peacock's train represent this eternal weeping."
I examined a light cloth of gold that matched the gilding upon the little paper globe that Darien held. "But to the Umaiyyati, Taus Melek is a demon. The worst of the fallen, for what they interpret as sinful pride. They gave him the name Shaytan - adversary, or rebel - and equate him with their highest devil, Iblis. Part of their derision is due to his beauty… which is seen as the ultimate invitation to sin. He is called 'the Whisperer', for he is the small voice inside man that drives him to desire other than god." I gazed at my hands, remembering the dark evening of my youth wherein I had learned just how dangerous to man my countenance could be. I had deserved my suffering.
Shaking those thoughts off with unpleasant force, I rose my eyes with a thin smile back to Darien. "I do find peacocks beautiful. Only, I'm not sure if I could be so bold as they!" I held up the cloth of gold for Darien's approval. "I think a touch of this upon you would be very godly. Not too much though, lest it overwhelm your strong features."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 18, 2010 15:58:35 GMT -5
“Ah yes, the Yeshuites have such a person in their religion as I recall,” I said when he’d finished the tale.
My attention went to the cloth he held. “Yes, that might be a nice trim,” I agreed, feeling a little uncomfortable again with his compliment.
My eyes settled on a bolt of blue cloth that matched the blue in the peacock feathers. “This would work well with that mask,” I said, picking up a corner and showing him.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 18, 2010 18:30:04 GMT -5
I looked the cloth over… it was a riot of blues, embroidered into a warbling pattern that recalled peacock feathers. It really did match perfectly. "It seems we both have found fated materials in this shoppe afterall," I said, lifting the mask up to my face again. "Though I am not yet convinced that I can carry off such ostentatious array."
Just then, a young woman emerged from a door in the wall behind the counter. I turned, still in the mask, and she laughed sweetly.
"Looking for fete attire I see?" She asked, gazing up at me as though I were some shadowy tower. "Perhaps I can help you with something. I'm a seamstress here." She looked me up and down, clearly a little baffled. "We are unlikely to have anything premade to suit your proportions, my lord."
I let out a little laugh myself, as I set down the masque. "Yes, I have a hard time fitting into anything I could simply pick up and purchase…" I said, then turned toward Darien. "My friend and I both would like to be outfitted, if it can be done."
She looked past me to Darien and placed a little hand to her throat. I smiled to myself… she clearly was swayed by handsome countenances. "I should like to help you both very much," She answered, barely sparing me a glance. I wondered then if this seamstress had been watching Darien at his work and life since she had come to sew at Fantome. Maybe this was an innocent crush.
"My friend wishes to attend the Masque as the god Atlas, strong of arm and noble of purpose," I said, turning back to grin at Darien and watch his modest reaction.
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 20, 2010 0:47:34 GMT -5
I had looked away as he talked to the seamstress, but at the mention of me and my outfit I looked back. I was struck by the way they were both looking me and I squirmed, visibly.
“I’d like a tunic..no…toga in white with this as trim,” I said, showing her the material we’d decided on.
“Oh yes,” she said, coming closer and smiling up at me in a way I wasn’t sure how to respond to. “I can do that for you.”
In an effort to distract her, I said, “My friend here is looking for something much more interesting.”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 20, 2010 2:59:10 GMT -5
For all his gifts this man was still uncomfortable with praise, even that from a comely lady! When the seamstress sidled into his personal sphere, distinctly and somewhat clumsily putting on her best hip-sway, I wanted to hug Darien. I saw his flustered expression, warring with his good manners, so instead of hugging him, I smirked just a little.
He rapidly made his order as though just to get her to go away, and pushed the focus onto me. Ah, well, I didn’t mean for my little game to distress Darien too much anyway, so I held up the blue fabric Darien had suggested earlier.
"Yes, well, perhaps not as interesting," I winked, intimating the seamstress' interest in my companion. "Something with this. I'm moved by this masque to have a peacock theme. If you can give it some… eastern simplicity, I would be much more comfortable wearing such a bold palette."
The girl had trouble removing her eyes from Darien, though she was contemplating her task. "Hmm, a jacket from that, with trim perhaps," She began, and reached for a contrasting silk. "And another piece from this, I think. Eastern… I have just the pattern." She nodded emphatically and I felt well attended. She seemed sure of her genius so I was not like to argue.
She spun back to Darien a little too fast though, whipping a measuring tape out from somewhere within her skirt pockets, and pushing Darien across the shoppe to a little pedestal. "Now, any extra bulk of your clothing should be removed," She chirped. "For proper measures, of course."
I almost broke out laughing, but instead crossed my arms and gave Darien a sly smile.
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 20, 2010 14:25:54 GMT -5
I felt completely overwhelmed and almost refused to be measured. Then I remembered why I was here, because Merav wanted me to attend the fete with her, and I found a little stability.
“Alright,” I said, removing my shirt and laying it aside – ignoring the little gasp from the seamstress as I did. “That should do for what I am seeking.” My breeches were fitted enough there was no need to remove them. That done, I stepped up onto the pedestal, keeping my eyes trained towards the ceiling and hoping this would go quickly.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 21, 2010 0:17:08 GMT -5
Well, that was a surprise. I had completely expected Darien to refuse the girl! He dropped his shirt gracefully, though a little flustered. I could not see a mark or flaw on him that he might have been determined to hide, though. He was quite elegantly made, strong; his form molded by long hours poised at strange, focused angles over canvas. His forearms and low back, in particular, were sleekly roped and spoke of intense control over his media.
I did not know what it was these D'Angelines did every day to make them all so aesthetically pleasing. But I was not about to grumble about it, watching the seamstress take a little too long at her work.
"Aghaye Darien," I began, smiling at him quite benignly via the mirror. "I am pleased to believe that you will be a magnificent Atlas. Doshize…" I addressed the seamstress politely, in my language. "I do hope your plan for my friend's costume will allow freedom for his enviable arms."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 21, 2010 22:49:09 GMT -5
“Oh yes, the girl murmured a little dreamily. “I am going to leave them bare.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and stepping off the pedestal. “I want sleeves.” I was flustered again, and it was beginning to become too much. I was thinking of ways I could leave and not offend anyone greatly.
“I think it is your turn to be measured now,” I said to him, grabbing my shirt and pulling it back on quickly.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 22, 2010 15:06:15 GMT -5
Oh dear, it seemed the seamstress and I both had moved a step too far. Darien's modesty was clearly easily turned to shyness and even offense. I felt a little cowed and gave him an apologetic glance as I walked forward through the bolts of fabric.
"Yes indeed," I agreed with him, stepping up onto the pedestal. "It seems my friend's measures are much better understood by a … professional of Terre D'Ange." I spoke the word sweetly but with emphasis, hoping the girl would take it to heart. Here eyes flicked to Darien as though trying to get some last glance, but she did straighten up and face me finally.
"Yes," She said, gladly intelligent enough to quit her fawning. "Your proportions, my lord, require extensive notes." She gestured for me to remove my sleeveless coat.
I had not expected her to need to, seeing as it did not impinge upon my arms and was fit quite close to my body. A little flush went over me. I had not removed my outer garment before anyone in many years. It simply was not done in my homeland.
I looked over my shoulder shyly at Darien, through a cascade of little curls. But this was how things were done in Terre D'Ange. With a little hesitation I unclasped the front of my jacket and slid it down my arms, holding it protectively for a moment before the seamstress removed it from my hands and set it aside. She clearly didn't notice my discomfort.
The air of the shoppe was suddenly chill through my gauzy sudrah tunic. It was strange to stand before two foreigners in my sacred foundation garment, the kusti cord wrapped tight around my thin waist, surely emphasizing my waifish proportions. I knew my sudrah was fine enough in weave to admit a hazy view of my flesh, and wondered if the many scars that covered my back were plain to Darien.
"I beg your forgiveness, Doshizeh," I nearly whispered to the seamstress, the back of my neck blushing where it met my uptied hair. "But my faith prevents me from disrobing any further."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 22, 2010 18:31:08 GMT -5
The seamstress seemed ready to protest, but I spoke up before she said anything. “I am certain you are talented enough to take my friend’s measurements as he is and come up with a lovely outfit,” I said, giving her a little smile. She blushed and with a nod began to measure.
It was only a small gesture on my part and hopefully would make things go quickly. I was ready to be done in here and out of the uncomfortable situation. I finished settling my shirt in place and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 22, 2010 22:43:47 GMT -5
I thought, overall, that the seamstress' somewhat young, rough attitude was finally going to be mellowed when Darien himself spoke on my behalf. She nodded and wrapped the tape around my chest. I was glad that the only bare flesh she would see were my slim arms where my sleeves had been rolled all the way up, and the long lozenge shape left open from the pearl button at my collarbone to the seam closure just above my breastbone.
She was so close to me that I could hear her breath, this complete stranger. In my country only body slaves and lovers, maybe parents, would be admitted so close, and I had been without all three for nearly all my life. I also did not want any awkward questions from her about my relative lack of masculine definition, and certainly would rather leave off the inevitable conversation about all of my scars.
"Aghaye Darien," I began as the girl moved behind me to measure across my shoulders. I must make some conversation to keep myself from feeling so exposed. "Do tell me if you will, how is it that you choose the designs you make upon your client's skin? Does it hurt them very much?" I couldn't deny interest in his art. The more I thought on it, the more I liked the idea of disguising the worst of my scars with elegant artwork. He was probably very busy with his connection to the Night Court, and I was unlike to find myself under his needle as such, but perhaps some information could help me choose a marquist who would work on a less esteemed canvas.
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 23, 2010 19:06:05 GMT -5
“For adepts of the Night Court, the designs of their marques are predetermined unless the adept is willing to serve extra time to pay for right to change it,” I answered, feeling far more comfortable as we began to talk about my work. “For private adepts to those just wanting an inked design, it depends. Sometimes they want me to create a design, sometimes they come in with a design. As for the pain, it depends on each person and how sensitive they are.”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 23, 2010 20:14:30 GMT -5
"How elegant, to wear the sign of your House's pride upon your skin for the remainder of your days," I pronounced wistfully, as I thought about the many matching marques that must hide beneath the garments of various adepts. I did truly think on them as some sort of greater beings, I realized. "Branded a sacred soul, chosen from the masses for your gifts." I finished, lifting an arm for the seamstress to measure.
"When you have full freedom to tattoo whatever you wish upon regular citizens, what is it that you like to mark them with?" I asked, trying to imagine how the continuous insertion of sharp needles would feel for me. I gave a secret little shiver at the thought that, both very sensitive and very... abnormal... I would probably like it very much.
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 23, 2010 23:29:08 GMT -5
"I only mark them with something meaningful or representative to them," I answered. "I am not a marquist who will work on a dare or for sport. This becomes a permanent part of a person and so should be something they can have pride in for the rest of their life."
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 24, 2010 2:21:27 GMT -5
"Your work is noble no matter who the person is, then," I nodded, watching via the mirror as the seamstress jotted notes in a little book. "That is very admirable, Aghaye Darien. One should be quite lucky to find themselves under your good hands."
The seamstress seemed to be done her measurements, so I stepped down and slipped my jacket back on, turning to Darien as I did up the clasps. Secretly I was glad nothing untoward had been noticed.
"Do you ever find yourself with open appointments?" I asked, trying to sound casual about it.
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 25, 2010 1:39:25 GMT -5
“I do. It varies depending on the time of year and other things, but I usually have at least a few open,” I answered, smiling.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 25, 2010 20:17:29 GMT -5
"That is interesting indeed," I responded to his smile with one of my own. "The more I speak with you the more your art interests me. And your mien instills the kind of trust I would not typically just hand over to any man with sharp implements." I grinned at him, repinning a curl that had come too undone. "I have… unhappy memories upon my flesh that could do with replacing. Perhaps I will visit you at your place of work and find some way to slip into your appointment book."
"My lords," The seamstress began, interrupting us. She was gathering up the bolts of fabric she needed, bustling them behind the counter, a little flustered still from her chastisement. But she was not the argumentative sort, it seemed. "I have your measurements, I have my plans, and I have a short time in which to produce your costumes. There is no need for you to worry, it's in good hands. You may return in a few days to collect everything, or I can deliver it personally." I began to paw inside my jacket for my purse, but she waved me off. "No artist accepts payment for work not yet accomplished!" She scolded. I did not think it was the normal way of things. But maybe this was her way to ask Darien's pardon; she was certainly pink around the cheeks over it. "You can pay me after you pronounce my work to your liking. All alterations and changes will be included, of course."
Little did I know that, while Darien's Hellene style would turn out quite perfect and as expected for his tastes, when I would arrive to retrieve my costume, I'd find it… somewhat unexpected. That is what I get for assuming that any D'Angeline seamstress would have knowledge of 'eastern' clothing construction outside the ostentatious, provocative fantasy of Chowati bellydancers' garb. Well. It would turn out to be of very creative design, impeccably well made, and obviously a great pride for the fledgling clothier. I would have no heart to make her start over. And after all, it was a costume party, and I would wear the character she had invented for me. The peacock train would still seem too much to me, though.
"At least let me buy the masque," I protested.
"No, I need it for … inspiration." She clasped it to her breast as though I'd run with it. The iridescent feathers sparkled foreshadowingly against her waist.
"But wait, Aghaye Darien, you have your globe… but have not yet chosen your masque. You can't very well arrive at a masqued ball with your face bare to all the world."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 25, 2010 20:27:59 GMT -5
Glancing around, I settled on a full mask of white with gold accents.
“This one,” I said, laying it next to the globe on the counter. I was still feeling a tad uneasy and the idea of fully covering my face was appealing.
Drawing money from my pocket, I laid it on the counter and shook my head as the seamstress tried to protest. “Please, I will not take advantage of another artist,” I said, even giving her a smile. She blushed and nodded silently.
I looked at my companion again. “You are welcome at my shop any time,” I said, drawing a calling card from my pocket and handing it to him. “For work or even if you’d just like to talk.”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 26, 2010 15:29:25 GMT -5
It seemed Darien was pleased to make his reparation with the girl, which made me smile sweetly. There would be no hard feelings, after all. And I felt the masque he chose to be ideally masculine for his role… and for his own personality.
"That was decisive," I said. "I suppose it's only natural that you don’t longer too long over creative choices… else you'd have your patrons squirming with the needle poised over them."
He handed me his card, which I looked at as though it were some kind of mysterious key into D'Angeline tradition.
"I shall certainly come to visit you. Though I'm not quite sure whether my courage will be gathered enough to contract your talents straight away. It may be forward of me to ask, for I don't know how public you are with them, so I will not be offended if you disagree… But I would also like to see more of your artworks, if possible."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 26, 2010 17:38:40 GMT -5
“I have some that I would be willing to show you,” I said, smiling. “They are in my rooms above my studio, so should you come by you can see them then.”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 27, 2010 0:12:04 GMT -5
"I would enjoy that very much," I replied. "I should count myself lucky indeed to have made the acquaintance of one of this city's great artists so early in my visit… and luckier indeed to have a second opportunity to learn of his gifts."
I smirked, placing a hand on my hip. "Though with so little immediate plans on my behalf, you may find yourself quite sick of me when I present myself at your studio in relatively short time."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 27, 2010 21:38:00 GMT -5
“You are welcome whenever you’d like,” I said, grinning and then I bowed slightly. “Until then.”
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Feb 27, 2010 23:48:18 GMT -5
"Until then," I agreed, with a nod and a much warmer smile than I had shown him in jest. "I couldn't have had a better teacher and companion in these… D'Angeline matters." I lifted my hand in a demure wave to the seamstress and moved to the door.
"And perhaps we will meet at the masque itself! You'll be the only person I'm like to recognize." I swung the door open and stepped out. "Farewell, Aghaye Darien."
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Post by Darien Kachine on Feb 28, 2010 0:01:58 GMT -5
“Farewell!” I said with a smile and laugh as I left the shop and headed towards my salon.
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