faderift | 03 | CLOSED

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03 | CLOSED

WHO: Lakshmi & Alexandrie
WHAT: Fancy Material, pretty clothes.
WHEN: A Time.
WHERE: Lexie's place.
NOTES: Nothing as yet.

She presents herself of a morning to Lady Alexandrie's residence looking - well presented to her last inch, but more than that. All of herself, all of her homeland, of the daughter of a devout Brahmin man, of a Maharashtrian woman. Her saree is tied fast to her hips and pleated perfectly to show off the heavy gold border, vibrant against the deep blue of her favourite colour. Her long, long hair was braided and pinned to the back of her head in a high bun, and ringed with soft white flowers. But it is certainly enough that she catches the eye of more than one person as she walks, and does walk. No grand entourage, and no concern either. Because though she might be wearing enough to feed a family for a year, the sword at her hip and the utter confidence is enough to deter anyone desperate enough to try. That, and, she supposed, her cropped choli top exposed the heavy scars on her back and sides, the rest hidden behind the drape of the saree over her front. Take, as a plainly stated as to say it herself, at your own risk.

She greets Alexandrie's doormen, bowing respectfully to them as she would anyone else, and waits to be received. Takes the meantime to fish out the garments she had made for the Lady to consider. Because this was a little more than simply sharing after all. She needed someone to champion her to the upper classes where no Rifter could ever get a foot in easily. The garments that she and Galadriel had worked out on would be one of a kind, that she was absolutely sure of. Laying the folded up fabric on top of each other, the tops and skirts tucked with each one. The colours were nothing less than vibrant and rich. Silk and cotton woven into all stunningly bright materials.

Strange still, no matter how long though, that no one here took their shoes off indoors. How odd now, as she waits, looking over the walls and ceiling. How things could be the same, how they could be utterly different.

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Alexandrie, for her part, receives Lakshmi as she might any seamstress-- save, of course, for the sweeping curtsey of the depth accorded to visiting royalty that she renders the woman. Even as a blank canvas in her dressing gown with her hair pinned up simply, she manages to produce the gesture of reverence as if the recieving room were the highest court in the land.

"Bai Saheba," she says, with a bright smile and respectful incline of her head, "I have been awaiting our meeting with scarcely containable anticipation and curiosity." A brief flicker of her hand, and Marceau, who had been awaiting such a gesture, bows with exceptionally crisp precision and departs. Entirely, as he had been instructed, along with the other male servant employed at the apartments.

"And also," she continues as if there had been no change in the residence at all, her tone turning slightly dryer, "with a marked change in my previously reserved opinion of my being attired in women's clothing that contains trousers." It has been over a month now. Enough time and thought that she can obliquely reference the events of Minrathous without blanching and lapsing to silence, although the employment of dark humor is still necessary as shield in its place. The table near the side of the room contains a pitcher of white wine--chilled, if the beading of moisture on it is any indication--and an arrangement of fresh summer fruit, the which she gestures towards. "Would you care for refreshment, or to begin immediately?"

"I am glad to hear it, My Lady." The bow of her head is equally as respectful. "But there is nothing unwomanly or reserved for men alone, by wearing such things. Indeed, women have been wearing them in my home for centuries. From the highest Empress to the lowest servant woman."

A small assurance, granted. That for the sake of something more practical, she would be relinquishing some other part of herself. Not even false reassurances. It had been hard, when she had first lost everything, to adjust to the world from a different view. But kind again.

"By all means, refreshment, we have a few things to go through, so best we take supplies first, yes?" It's teasing, light, but with it she gestures to a table close to them with the bundle in her hands. "If I may - ?"

"Of course!" she exclaims, matching Lakshmi's tone, "For such a long and arduous journey as we are undertaking, it is most important to be well fortified. And please do," she appends with a nod at the table as she moves to pour wine for them both and returning to watch Lakshmi's preparations with interest, holding both glasses until such time as the other woman has a free hand.

It would be odd, Alexandrie taking the service upon herself rather than simply summoning a maid, if she had not early on made the determination to recognize Rifters the same way she would visiting dignitaries of the ranks they stated. Serving a queen is honor rather than any lowering of herself.

She busy's herself in the meantime, laying the bundle flat and picking out the different sets of clothes that she has made. Careful with it, and easy to see why - to say that they are bright and intricate is to say the least of it. Woven in intricate patterns of bold colours, both light and dark, contrasted sharply with other colours, or gold and silver. There is a fortune in material, to say the least. She had spared no expense in the making of this.

There are four, in total, once they are all set out. One in greens and blues, one in whites and golds, one in reds and yellows, and one in pinks and blues. Each colour shifting with the tight weave of the silk, so that it shimmered in the light. Wide borders of gold were against each one, with woven patterns of flowers or birds, or just tightly geometric patterns.

Once she is finished arranging them, she straightens, moving back towards Alexandrie, taking the glass from her with an ease. Taking a small sip and nodding appreciatively for it before she ventures. "Though... I am afraid that for this, and it is why I prefer there to be no men about, that your... undergarments must change."

One by one, the sets are murmured over delightedly: the shine, the patterns, the brightness of the color, the obvious quality and richness of the fabric. She does of course seem to particularly like the white and gold, but that will hardly come as a surprise.

"I assumed so," Alexandrie replies easily on the subject of undergarments, looking up from her inspection with a bright smile. "After all, what goes beneath any fashion must be suited to best display it. I took the liberty of preparing for such an inevitability." That is to say, she's not wearing a stitch besides her dressing gown. "I know not how it is with your people, but mine are quite famously unconcerned with traipsing about as the Maker made us, so you need not spare a moment of worry for my modesty." She hasn't got any that isn't fabricated wholecloth whenever it might be advantageous to have a bit.

She chuckles, brief - "I am glad to hear it. We dress... very differently in my homeland, as I am sure you've noticed." Obviously, was that not how this all started? "Which is not to say we take any less pride in our appearance, of course. But it is... hot, there. Beyond even the worst days of this summer could dream of." It's chuckled, rather than admonished. Though the heat, granted, would change. Whether it was the deserts of Bundelkhand or the damp heat she had heard about in Ceylone.

Her hand smoothed out - "I have prepared a few styles for you. The saree, like I wear now, with the choli top, though there are many ways to wear it, depending on the preference of the drape. An anarkali dress with... trousers, and the Salwar suit," the pause seems to be on the word, shaping it in the right language to the terms before it, that each time seems to give her pause. She has spoken English, or whatever the term here was for it, for many years now, but it was still the fourth language she had learned. Switching between them took its brief toll, had a tone that was richer in her voice when she spokes names, that let her voice become deeper roll smoother, not quite so clipped on each vowel. " - and a lengha, or a long skirt. There are also the shawls, or dupattas, as well, to match each one. None of which I think you will find to be unfeminine."

Although Alexandrie has the appearance of only a light breezy attention, her eyes are intent as Lakshmi names and explains each manner of dressing--although the sounds are strange, they will be remembered.

"I place myself in your most capable hands then, Bai Saheba," she says, "I confess I am most excited to be of aid. And not simply because it allows me an opportunity for one of my favourite pastimes. I think this has the potential for reward far larger than one woman's swanning," She pauses to take a drink, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips, "lovely as it may be.

"Perhaps if we are very successful, we shall be able to convince Kirkwall that it is not simply one of the preeminent ports of Thedas, it is the port of all worlds. What a feather that would be for its cap, no?"

She raises a toast to that, her glass lifting and nodding her head. The smile that could only be called wry. "You have honoured me by wanting to wear what we have made." She takes a sip herself.

"It is my hope that Rifters as well can be seen as a blessing for our differences, for the new things that we may bring. Not just a weight on common men's pockets as extra mouths to feed." A sigh, she does not blame that resentment. It would irk many she knew, at home. "I would be proud that Kirkwall could boast of us in such a way."

She moves to place her glass down, gently on the table and - for all she is a royal. For all that there are a half dozen habits that betray that, there is a simple practical way to how she moves about. The familiarity with each gesture, and how she handles herself. Her hand flicking to move the pallu draped over her shoulder back up her arm. The way she minds each of her jewellery and their clanking and chimes. Moving to take the seven-yard saree first - and grabbing with both hands on one hem, she flicks out the material in a cascade of blue, gold and green colours that moved like water. Pooling and shimmering, her bangles clanging as she did in once and then twice. Taking a step out to let it stretch to its full length.

"And I honored to have been chosen," she replies with a corresponding lift of her glass.

For all that Alexandrie had chosen her signature colours years and years ago, that shimmering peacock color is entrancing and is frankly going to look absolutely amazing next to the bright copper of her hair. She hums happily at it, and then tilts her head with great interest. There are no seams in the cloth, nothing to pass ones arms through, nor tighten to make a waist. It is like an untouched bolt of fabric waiting to be made into a dress rather than clothing in and of itself.

"I am most intrigued to find out how that shall take form," she says, slipping the robe from her shoulders in preparation as unselfconsciously as a model might for an artist in a studio.

"It is the sort of thing you learn young and is a mystery even then. But yet you do it every day. Wrap it the right way, and I have seen women fight it, and even in the heat of battle, astride a horse, it does not come free."

For there is only this one long stretch of fabric that she suspends between her two hands and then gestures with it - "Your gown, my lady." And once she is free of it, Lakshmi moves to begin to intricate task of dressing someone in a saree. At the front, one end is tied to a middle point of the fabric, and tightly so. Enough that no matter how it was tugged, it would not come free. That almost too rough only a woman could be with another woman when it came to such things. The fabric pinched and pulled to hold secure.

Then she spools out an arm's length, drops it away clear, and starts back at the end closest to Alexandrie's body. The fabric reaching the floor to make up the skirt. Not the flowing sweep of an Orleasan skirt, stiffer from the heavy silk patterning. As it begins to take shape, it curves about the body. But for now, from that close point and between her fingers, Lakshmi begins to make pleat after pleat and pinches it tightly to make sure it doesn't move. Her eyes down on her work as she stands close to do it, fills the empty air with idle chatter. "For different drapes, there are different types of fabric, lengths, such things. But women have been wearing such things for centuries."

It is fascinating to watch the deftness and exactitude with which Lakshmi makes the pleats in the fabric, even with the less than perfect vantage point for viewing it that she necessarily has. Alexandrie imagines attempting to do it oneself might be as difficult as lacing oneself into court formal wear, at least until properly practiced. Those who do not wear such things as she may consider having a maid to dress her to be lazy unnecessary luxury, but truly, it would be a nearly impossible feat without such help.

She makes a note to inquire as to whether or not one of the young women working in the household might be taught, if she is to wear this in society at another juncture. Emile would surely have picked it up quickly.

(But Emile was gone.)

"These different drapes, are they for separate classes or occasions, or simply for the sake of variation in dress?"

It was nothing Lakshmi did not understand. She had, when she was a younger woman, enjoyed having her body painted in henna. No one was more skilled in it then Kashi, and then, it took near three hours to finish a full design. Even with Lakshmi's preference for simpler designs and patterns. Ever the lotuses she wanted on her palms.

Ah, it was no time to be sick for home, but she supposed it inevitable as she moved through the motions she had abandoned so long ago.

"They often show where you come from, or they are for purposes. A drape from Lucknow is very different to the drape of Tamil Nadu. I am from Maharastra, and we are known to be very hard workers. So we often dress in drapes that allow us greater freedom of movement to show that we are workers. Others are very ornate, for special occasions, others better suited for tending the fields."

The pleats made, twelve all told, a little wider than her palm and she leans forward to tuck the mass of it at the waistline directly below Alexandrie's belly button. The effect becomes clear, and mimics how Lakshmi's own sits. Settles low on the hips, but held fast with the knot. Secures it as she rolls the material in and around itself.

Once it is done, she takes a step back. Admiring, briefly, looking over her work with a certain eye that knows the mistakes to expect. But nor is all that fabric yet used, and the excess, she begins to wind around Alexandrie. Her eyes keen as she goes, that way she knows what she is looking for and simply goes to straighten it. "In a woman's private quarters, they will not always feel a need for the top part. I have brought it for you, all the same, but it is the luxury when there are no men about in the heat."

It is luxurious, really, to be both fully dressed and not. A luxury which she imagines most men who did happen to be about would not begrudge her in the slightest, but there has always been something pleasant about things that are kept amongst women. It is another thing that makes her deeply appreciate the changeable nature of her beloved.

"Since you have brought it I should like to see the effect in any case," Alexandrie says, swishing her hips back and forth experimentally to see what sort of movement the stiffer fabric has, extending her arm to admire the dramatic draping fall of the fabric. A myriad of golden bangles on the other side would balance it nicely, something which Lakshmi and her people are obviously very aware of, given the immensity of the riches the queen is wont to wear. "Even if I am sure I shall find its current state more agreeable," she says as an afterthought.

"This would have been marvelous in Tevinter," observed casually as she waits for the top's appearance, "Did you go? How does the climate compare to that of your home?"

"It often is for many women. Some just wear it like that as they go about their daily work."

Lakshmi moves to go and get the top, taking the moment to unlace the back so she could dress her in. "I did go," to kill a man. But none of that even remarks in her voice. "But not quite, not from what I could tell, as it is mostly desert in Jhansi. Perhaps it is closer to Calcutta. A city far to the east of my own, and a port city." She ventures that too, mildly, as she comes back, holding the short top in her hands as she strides up to dress Alexandrie in it. Prompting her to bring her arms up.

"How did you find Tevinter, my lady?" The bangles clatter as she moves. In fact more than that, they chime. As does each step she takes, seems she wears bells too.

Arms are brought up easily to accept the garment when prompted, although the smooth movement hitches briefly at Lakshmi's question.

How had she found Tevinter.

"It was..." The good parts. There had been good parts. "...Minrathous was a beautiful city." Who knows, now. "All the buildings so old and proud, magic in the air as unremarked on as birds might be. The flowers were beautiful, especially the ones left to their own devices to wind and climb where they would." She wonders, then, about the fate of the flowering vine she had been painting in the slanting sun. Had the fire and bloodshed taken it as it had taken so much else, or did the leaves still wave in the breeze, the flowers bloom in the sun, the stem green and curling and entirely unconcerned with the brutality around it.

"I nearly destroyed something out of fear, but built it instead. There were good things that came back to Kirkwall." Alexandrie looks to the side, her face falling to light sorrow, "There were good things that did not." Emile. Frigga.

Edited 2018-10-11 21:26 (UTC)

She pauses in her adjustment as she hears her falter, listening carefully to the tone of the words, in where to step forward, to where her place was. To step over her bounds, where to not. But as the fall away of her face, she steps closer. Her fingers curling to nudge her chin up with the curl of her knuckle and a light push. To meet her intently in it. To never let the gaze falter, to look at her, to look at all of her.

"War always takes more than we ever thought to give, out of our lives, out of ourselves." Her hand drops, settling to her shoulder. "But where it falls, so we find something new, even in their memory."

No one has touched her in such a way for quite some time, that sure lifting of her chin to look at her in the measuring way that all mothers seem to have. Alexandrie nearly balks at the daring of it, at being made to feel more girl than woman, but with the loss of Emile, there is a sort of simultaneous yearning to again have the security of someone quietly looking after her. The fight of it is obvious, to someone looking as intently as Lakshmi is, but it finally settles into the kind of stubborn pride worn by those who refuse an offered arm and limp on.

Let me pretend, it says. It is all that I have.

"A lesson I would gladly return the knowledge of."

"We always would."

She squeezes her shoulder firmly but leaves it there. Because oh, how she knows that look. It has stared at her many times, mirror reflections that hide never so much as one could want.

Her hand drops, her head tilts, eyes sliding away from that gaze. Going back to straightening the pallu that hangs over her shoulder. Fixing the extra material to be neat and drape appropriately with the weight of itself to hold it in place. Smoothing it down and around her body with that deftness still.

It's when she's done that she steps away, letting her look again. "There, it brings out your eyes wonderfully I think."

Alexandrie hasn't worn colors like this in ages. More than a decade. But Lakshmi is right, it does make her eyes a brighter blue, almost adding a bit of green to them which in turn does lovely things for her hair. She should have to wear a different shade on her lips to truly complete the effect, but it is certainly a look that ought to attract attention to Lakshmi's fashionable endeavors.

"It is lovely," she says, turning this way and that before the mirror to check the profile it creates. The years of tight-laced corsetry mean she still cuts a similar figure to what she might with a more forgiving bodice, and really ought to give viewers something to think on and imagine. What might she be wearing beneath such different clothing? "I think perhaps I have never seen colors so rich and bright, and I think all who comment upon it should be extremely surprised and curious to know it is but one piece of cunningly draped cloth. That alone may be enough to induce others in Hightown to patronize your budding business."

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