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benmiff · 6 years

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The Ritual And The Apprentice

Timejumping again (this time to about twenty-five years before The Dress And The Ball) to a happier time.

Abbellia

I was woken by the knocking of wood on glass, an insistent tapping against the glass of my window pane from the long rod that the knocker waiting in the street below carried through the streets dimly lit by the barely risen sun. I still had not gotten used to being woken in such a manner, and rose to my feet unsteadily, shuffling over to the window to waive the young lad away to continue his rounds. The fog of sleep started to clear, and I recalled that I would need to pay him his weekly fee tomorrow as I heard him tap on the next window down the street. Until recently it would have been my last apprentice who would have been waking me, an energetic young wood elf called Orphel whose optimism was only matched by his unrelenting joy in everything he saw; he had bothered me for two solid weeks before I finally acquiesced to take him on, and it had been a long seventeen years until a month ago when he had finally proven himself to be competent enough to practice independently. After leaving my tutelage he had rapidly been recruited into House Kalis, attracting their attention with a few avant-garde pieces he had made during his apprenticeship and cementing his worth in their eyes with the masterpiece that had earned him his independence; he had made a set of four different outfits, one for each of season, and had woven in plants that only flowered in the relevant season before enchanting the dresses to create their own small climate to further demonstrate the theme. I warned him that while the work was good they would likely prove too aggravating to wear in practice, but word got out and Pelhure gave them such an enthusiastic welcome that even if I wanted to hold him back the general consensus would have forced me to release him; clearly, he had learnt to read the mood of the city and identified a hidden trend I had not yet seen coming up. I had offered him a few contacts and a small amount of coin to establish himself as an independent but the House had offered him fanciful opportunities and silver tongued promises that he would retain creative freedom out at the edges of whatever fanciful new design or idea he wished to explore next. Orphel had always sought to run before he had learnt to walk and sometimes even before he had learnt to crawl, never being satisfied with whatever lesson was at hand and ever pushing for the next technique to learn despite not having fully mastered the previous skill; House Kalis had done their research well and pitched exactly what he had wanted to hear, and the last I had heard he was now being shipped around the various small islands and fashion shops they had strewn all over Uso’s coast in order to fuel his muse into some new style or inspired design.

I suspected I would not see Orphel again except at one of the few mandatory events that occurred each year that any designer who mattered had to be seen at, and perhaps it would not even be that often; the Winter’s Ball and the Flower Show would never go out of fashion, but the Shipping Race in the spring had long been losing importance and was only kept alive by a few vested interests in House Almaz and House Kalis. I assumed that whoever had recruited him would probably arrange to have him hidden away in one of their more remote fashion shops sooner or later, keeping him away from Pelhure and the potential danger posed by the other Houses’ corrupting influence upon him. I was ready to move on as well, having grown tired of living alone once more quite rapidly; I needed a new apprentice, someone to do all the little jobs that needed doing but that would occupy too much of my time to complete and someone to talk to and work with when teasing out one of my more recalcitrant ideas. I had put out the word a week after Orphel had left my care stating that I was looking for a new apprentice, and had already seen two sets of hopeful students since then; none of them were suitable options, all lacking one personal attribute or another whose absence would ultimately fail them and their ambitions. Still, I had another five who had presented themselves to me as possible students and given enough of a passable first impression that I was willing to spend some time to look into them a little further; today was the first test for all of them in order to see whether or not they would fulfil the requirements I had that needed to be met before I was willing to take them on.

I dressed formally, wanting to be certain to impress upon them the gravity of the situation they were in with sheer presence and style. A grey morning coat worn over a light blue silk waistcoat with a brilliant white shirt all conveyed an air of severe authority, and the darker blue tie crackled with patterns of shifting frost to compliment the effect neatly. My trousers were also grey, striped and firmly pressed with perfect creases, and I had polished my dress shoes the night before to a brilliant sheen. The final thing to complete the outfit was a neatly folded pocket square, a little test prepared for the group so that when I first met them I could see if any of them were forward enough to critique a flaw and whether they at least had a grounding in basic acceptable fashion such that I could winnow out any timewasters; my pocket square was the same dark blue fabric as my tie, carrying the same cracking and shifting frost enchantment and projecting the desired sense of contrived overthinking and sartorial uncertainty. I slipped the small iron bound pocket book and recently sharpened pencil I had left on my side table into the inside pocket of the morning coat, ready to fill the pages with my precise and tiny lettered writing. I had already noted down the names of each of the five I was going to meet that morning in my workshop downstairs, each name neatly written at the top of a pair of pages for notes on their appearance and demeanour for later review.

The hopefuls were due in about an hour, and that was enough time for a light breakfast before the days labour would begin. The street hawkers outside had already set up their stalls under cover of the dawning shadows ready for any early street traffic, loudly proffering their goods to any who passed regardless of how little interest they were showing; my workshop was situated in quite the busy district, near to Pelhure’s harbour and so within easy reach of numerous fabric sellers and other wholesalers of material and other necessary items, and the food stands made good business from the various workers that walked past on the way to their jobs as haulers or sailors or other such dock labourers. I purchased a roasted length of fatty pork sandwiched between two toasted chunks of rough seeded bread and slathered in sugared apple sauce from one of the cleaner looking stalls and returned to my workshop; once there, I unwrapped the waxed paper to eat the meal, careful not to dirty the tables with grease or toasted crumbs, and once I was satiated I set about readying the main test I would use to determine the calibre of my applicants.

I had half an hour before the five hopefuls arrived and the time did not pass exceptionally quickly; a few light sketches in the back of the pocket book of possible ideas and embellishments kept me lightly occupied while I waited, but I could not easily sink into design and inspiration when I knew it would be interrupted before I really got immersed in the creative process. Ultimately, the sketches would be discarded as better ideas came along; they were basic and derivative designs and far from the usual quality of work I strive to produce, but the exercise did at least clarify that I had run the course of interesting ideas on what to do with the rest of the bolt of rough denim which had been used in a number of my recent designs to evoke a more earthy tone.

The first potential apprentice arrived about ten minutes early, a young dark elf named Celine. She clearly had arrived in Pelhure with limited resources, and her style had obviously been constrained by what she had available to her; the signs of hope that she would find something before she ran out of funds was not uncommon amongst newcomers, with the rumours that Pelhure could make you a star readily being absorbed by hopefuls. The rumours never mentioned how high the failure rate, was, and if I had to bet I would have said that all she possessed was in the large shoulder bag she had set down just inside the workshop’s entrance as she made her way in. No doubt she would grasp any opportunity that I would give her, though there was an edge of confidence to her that showed she was sure that I would offer something significant. The cloth of her dress was a simple thick cotton stained a plain blue, but she had made cuts along the sleeves to open up a number of long lines that went along the arm, showing the grey skin underneath without drawing undue attention to the long scar running down her right arm; more work had been done on the main skirt to stitch in numerous pleats to bring the dress in closer to the legs while leaving enough freedom that she could move without risking tripping over. She had managed to make something passable out of simple materials, which at the least boded well for her creativity. Her hair was tied up into a neat bun, obviously put up that way in an attempt to appear serious, but the carved wooden butterflies at the end of the long pin keeping the hair up was a nice touch. Ultimately, it was a reasonable first impression, and I invited her in to wait for the others to arrive.

As we waited, Celine sat politely, and I saw her gaze cross my pocket square and tie without comment; the only sign she had even registered anything of note was a briefly raised eyebrow before she dismissed it as not worth bringing up. Disappointing, but not a surprise, given she sat primly and likely did not want to risk offence this early into the interview. She seemed more interested in the contents of my workshop, looking with mostly concealed awe at all the various tools that were around the room that she quite obviously wanted to get to use.

“Look closer if you wish,” I said with a motion of my hand, and Celine went over to the storage racks, fingers running over the tools, and soon the ten minutes had passed. Nobody else had arrived, and I looked out into the street in case one of the others was rushing up the cobbles, but there was no-one. Unusual, given my stature, as most would not willingly pass up an opportunity for apprenticeship from someone of my repute; Pelhure was a city that did not give second chances or many chances at all, and to succeed one had to seize every opportunity one could. It was telling that Celine did not seem all that surprised that the others had failed to turn up when I said we would wait a further five minutes before beginning, only proffering an offhand comment that they perhaps had fallen ill and were unable to attend; later investigations of mine showed that they had all come down with some kind of violent food poisoning that passed within a few days but that had left them unable to move in the meantime, a discovery that only made things more suspect. Celine was either uncannily lucky or had arranged for the illnesses, and either circumstance was a good sign in a potential apprentice; luck never goes amiss, and if she was eager enough remove her competition it meant she would at the very least be invested in her studies and able to handle the social pressure a Pelhurian apprenticeship could bring. First, though, I needed to administer the test, ensure that she had the other traits that she had to have if any of this was to be worthwhile.

“Since you’re the only one here, this test will be a one on one test. I’ll demonstrate, and then you need to replicate my actions as accurately as possible afterwards. Precision is key here; I need to know you can be taught,” I said, indicating the various items I had laid out in front of me. “I picked up this particular ritual on one of my travels. Preparation of coffee, but there’s a lot of detail and a lot of steps, so you’ll need to pay close attention.”

With the warning given, I began. Zilean coffee beans had to be measured precisely and ground to the correct consistency in mortar and pestle while the water was heated over a fire to the correct temperature; while these two things were being prepared, one also had to begin to melt down the sugar slowly without letting it overheat to get a perfect caramel, timing things right so that one could infuse vanilla into cream before adding it to the caramel for the flavouring sauce. Once the beans were of the appropriate consistency and the water was at the right temperature (hot but not quite boiling), they need to be added to the heavy copper brewing pot and left to brew for just the right length of time while the caramel cream was carefully dotted at the bottom of each of the fine china cups ready for pouring. Finally, the coffee itself had to be poured, a precise amount into each cup difficult to achieve with the weight of the brewing pot, and a number of differing levels depending on preference of how milky one wanted the coffee. Finally, an appropriate amount of milk in a small jug for each coffee, and then the tray of cups arranged precisely right and presented to the recipient after waiting exactly the right length of time to let the caramel vanilla sauce infuse into the poured drinks.

Celine’s attempt was not unreasonable for a first attempt. She had been paying close attention, but it was a lot of information to take in on one pass, and many of the fine details had not been achieved to the exacting levels I intended to demand. Of course, that was very much one of the points of the test – nobody ever passed it perfectly, and nobody ever could. There was always some fault, something that I could pick out and use as my pretext for their failure. I emptied the cup with several deep mouthfuls, making her wait; perhaps a little cruel, but I couldn’t dismiss her immediately as that would spoil the real point of test. Once the cup was finally drained, I set it back down upon the tray and brushed down my lapels before nesting my fingers together to address her.

“The cream caramel dots were too large. The water was slightly too cold before being added to the brewing pot. The amount poured was not correct. The ground beans had an uneven consistency. All told, while you made a reasonable effort, your performance was not satisfactory. I won’t be taking you on. You may leave,” I said, freeing a hand to wave her away as I dismissed her, and as I spoke I saw a flash of anger cross Celine’s face before she smiled and recollected herself.

“Thank you for your time,” Celine said, trying to keep from gritted teeth as she spoke, and then she snatched up her bag and left.

- - -

That was not the end of it, of course. This was the true purpose of the test; it was not enough to be precise, or quick to learn, or creatively talented, or any of the various things that so many gossiping amateurs claimed were the foundations of the truly great designers. No – the ability I sought was far more vital; any apprentice of mine needed persistence, the ability to continue after a failure and not just give up. It was a rare asset with many who failed the coffee ritual choosing instead to simply go away and try to gain an apprenticeship with another lesser teacher now that they were unsure that they were as good as they had previously believed. Nevertheless, it was two days later that I learnt that Celine was definitely not going to give up following just a single refusal; she had the right spirit, and likely would not have given up until one of us went too far.

I had spent the two days after Celine’s test coming up with a new design, my previous sketches burnt in favour of a fresh start; I spent the rest of the first day walking through the markets, looking for a new fabric or button or something to inspire a new idea, and the second day experimenting with a batch of things that had caught my eye trying to assemble something special from the disparate elements. By the late evening I had assembled most of a design for an outfit, pinned up against the wooden frame at the back of my workshop, but it needed a little extra vim and vigour; the thick cords that ran along the seams were a pleasant contrast to the lighter grey of the dress but I knew that I had a store of elemental frost in one of my spare warehouses that I could use to add a glowing frost that would flow up and down the cords, giving it the finishing touch it would reach perfection with.

It was dark out in the streets and had been for a good couple of hours, but the warehouse was not far, and it took me all of five minutes to walk across the harbour front to reach the building. The store had been built from rough stone blocks that kept any salt from the sea from ruining the delicate items within, and the door was enchanted to let only me in; the handle responded to my touch to magically unlock itself, and I let myself in. The lights inside the building were already on as I entered, little elemental orbs of ice that glowed blue whenever anyone was inside the building; it was an early warning that someone else was present, something I thought was impossible with the enchanted door and the solid stone walls. Nevertheless, I was quite capable of handling a simple intruder, holding the sapphire ring on my right hand tightly before triggering the spell within to grow a large spike of ice jutting out from the gem and perfect for punching with. Now appropriately armed and ready for any potential confrontation, I moved into the main space, calling out as I did so.

“It would be best if you show yourself. This doesn’t need to end with your death.”

As soon as I spoke, I heard movement deeper in the warehouse, a scuffling of fabric and then leather hitting stone. I rushed forward towards the sound, trying to capture the interloper and so identify their motives, but I was too slow; she was up the wall and out through the hole she had made in the roof, a few tiles pried off carefully to let her gain access. There were defensive spells layered across the roof that meant she should have been frozen up there until morning, but clearly she had found some way to bypass them. Still, I had gotten a good look at her as she fled and it was obvious who she was; there was only one dark elf in Pelhure who would have any reason to be breaking in to my warehouse in particular. I went to where Celine had been to see if I could discover just what she had been doing that made her think she needed to break in, and as I approached I saw it lying there against a bolt of lace. She’d managed to make an outfit in only a couple of hours and with what she had found, and she couldn’t have known in advance what was going to be in here for her to use until she got in; she had taken a gamble with poor odds that she would be able to find enough material to be able to produce something to impress me, and while the work wasn’t finished what she had managed to achieve so far was a decent effort. There had been a bolt of red lace she had found along with a bolt of darker crimson cotton; the dark cotton had been cut to make a tight fitting dress while the lace had been sewn into a cage around that billowed around it. She had already begun the fine detail work when I had interrupted her, and some of the lace had already been animated; she had found a small shipment of minor air elementals she was using to make sure the lace knew how to flow and billow appropriately, a fairly impressive piece of magic for someone so young. I put the dress to one side, ready for it to be completed at a later date, and fetched my elemental frost before leaving, a new task now added to my mental list of things still to do quite near the top of the ordering.

Celine had not managed to leave any written message, and yet what she had done spoke by itself; she’d decided that she would show herself to be a worthwhile apprentice even if I didn’t want her to. She had passed the final test of persistence even if it was in an unexpected manner, and her work hadn’t been all that terrible either. All I had to do now was put out feelers to find where she was resting in Pelhure and get a message to her. I had temporarily forgotten my work, and the elemental frost could always be applied in the morning anyway; I had a letter to write, and so I spent the last hour of the evening writing the letter and getting it into the hands of someone who would get it to Celine.

“Celine,” the letter read. “Your latest demonstration of why you should be my apprentice was fairly rude, but I have reviewed the work and found it satisfactory up to a point. If you are still interested in the apprenticeship position, visit me at the workshop where you failed the coffee ritual test and we shall go from there. The work will be hard, and the hours long, but if you are willing to put in all you can then I can promise you will be a fine couturier by the end of it.”

“You will have to master the coffee ritual, though.”

- - -

The letter reached Celine three days later, and she turned up to my workshop the very next morning.

I am pleased to say she said yes, and that I have a new apprentice.

#dressverse #apprentice #writing #couture #sneaky #author:benmiff #character: abbellia #character:celine #character: orphel

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abalonetea · 6 years

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1, 4, 10-12, and 18 for...Zeffer and Bolte please?

always coming to me with such quality asks, thank you friend!

zeffer

1. What was your OC’s first kiss like?

they were kids in the mine when they shouldn’t have been, because Zeffer thought exploring would be fun and Yolenda never quite figured out how to say no to her. it was dirty and wet and dark. Yolenda missed and they bonked foreheads together, laughed until their sides ached. when she tried again, Zeffer wasn’t paying attention and nearly gave Yolenda a bloody nose via enthusiastic elbow to the face. the third time ended up being the charmer.

4. How does your OC hug others?

with her whole body. just throws herself into the hug, big arms a comfort. when you picture “bear hug” you’re picturing a hug from Zeffer

10. Does your OC like telling stories to kids? How do they go about telling a story?

yes! Zeffer loves telling stories, to anyone that will listen, really, but also to kids! kids make the best audience, you know? she’s a verbal talker, so she makes grand gestures with her hands and exaggerated facial expressions. sometimes she even does voices, though she’s not particularly good at that.

11. Speaking of kids, what is your OC like around children in general?

Zeffer says that she doesn’t, but the truth is that she really likes kids. it’s the only reason she stuck around and joined the Army of Orphel, you know? someone’s got to look out for Finneus, and it sure isn’t gonna be himself or Alexandra. she wants them to be happy and healthy. a very supportive woman who believes that children should get to act like children; not like martyr’s meant to kill themselves for the “greater good”

12. How does your OC sleep?

like a log. when Zeffer is out, that’s it, she’s out for the night. it’s like a complete stop. she has a very heavy wolf-hide blanket that she bought a while before joining up with the Army, and drapes it around her shoulders like a cape before face-planting into her bear companions side. yes, you can cuddle with her.

18. How does your OC talk about their love, if any?

with all the devotion in the world. her love might not be perfect but, oh, she’s close to it. and her imperfections are still beautiful, if you ask Zeffer, because they’re part of what’s made her SO so strong! loves to compliment that - so strong, what an amazing warrior!

Bolte

1. What was your OC’s first kiss like?

easiest question of the bunch! he hasn’t had one. affection of any sort will get you killed in Fara Falls. living with someone is already a weak point; making deals on Red’s behalf is already a danger. so yeah, Bolte hasn’t had a first kiss before, has never had a relationship.

4. How does your OC hug others?

awkwardly, for start. it doesn’t happen often. but - one day he comes home from a really bad patrol, dripping blood and mana, sinks down onto his knees and just sort of falls against Red. hugs like he doesn’t know what to do with it, like it’s something that he wants but knows that he can’t have.

10. Does your OC like telling stories to kids? How do they go about telling a story?

Bolte isn’t much of a story teller, unfortunately, and kids in his world aren’t much of listeners. but later on, when he gets the chance to sit down and talk with Blue? he tells stories about battles with vivid detail, paints Captain like the hero no one wants to admit she is; recites broken bones and the stories behind old scars like it’s normal and - sometimes talks about being a kid himself with so much disdain that it burns. he was a stupid kid. almost got Red killed more times than he’s comfortable with.

11. Speaking of kids, what is your OC like around children in general?

surprisingly soft! Bolte knows what it’s like to be a kid out on your own. and as a member of the Royal Guard, he knows how often kids turn up dead - easy EXP, you know, when you’re too young to know how to fight proper and there’s no parent to fight on your behalf. so, yeah, Bolte has the bag (good, he’s a good guy even if he won’t admit it) habit of keeping an eye out for them. will slip them gold if he finds some while he’s out on patrol, sometimes bits of hardtack, always has their side if a fight has broken out and, no, Bolte doesn’t care how much bread the kid stole, hands off or he’ll kill you where you stand. the threat is always serious. kids need all the help they can get - and Bolte will always give it if he’s able.

12. How does your OC sleep?

Bolte sleeps like a knife that doesn’t have a hilt. at least, that’s how it’s described in the story at one point! to be less prose-y about it, he, ah, doesn’t sleep often and doesn’t sleep well. thin sheets on the bed, mattress on the floor, one eye open at all times.

18. How does your OC talk about their love, if any?

a complicated mixture of insults and pride, tbh. Bolte will call Red a useless drunk (which is true, mostly) in one breath, and praise his tenacity for survival in the next. Bolte’s never seen anyone be in a healthy relationship before, doesn’t know what one of those looks like at the start of the story, doesn’t think he can have a relationship at all but - you’ve never heard warmth in his voice until he starts talking about Red.

#zeffer #bolte #nar tag #bolte and red

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