The fabric that Jahana had picked out was wrapped in a bundle in her arms. She didn't want to bring the basket she originally bought it in because, frankly, she was lazy and didn't want to carry it home again, especially since most of the fabric was staying there.
She hurried from the great library off to the seamstress, a small, winsome smile on her face. She can't wait to see what will come of them.
She pops in for her appointment; the shop owner is there tapping her foot. "I know. I'm sorry. I got caught in conversation."
"You vill pay for z'time, regardless of your tardiness, Miss Jahana. It makes no never to me. Now, let me zee vaht ve are vorking viz today." She takes the bundle from Jahana's arms. The fingers are rough against Jahana's arms, a sign that her trade has left it's mark. The woman can be as well, but she is the best. And, for this, Jahana wants the best.
"I was thinking about dresses for the lot of them. The bold colors should become garments suitable either a performance at the Lion or for a formal dinner with dignitaries. If I'm going to stay in Duirt for a while, I'll need a wardrobe for both. If there's enough, there should be skirts, tops, and dresses. If there's not, I'll supply you with more. But dresses should come first, for easy and best use of material."
"You let me vorry about best use of material, girlie," comes the gruff reply from the little gnome. "You only vorry about z'singing und z'schtorytelling." A tape measure appears out of nowhere and starts whipping around Jahana's body faster than Vae's hands. Before Jahana can figure out where the next touch is going to come from, it's gone and she's being hustled over to a reflective metal plate.
"Schtrip!" comes the rather loud pronouncement. Jahana's eyes rover over the shop, trying to see if there is anyone either inside or out that might catch sight of her nude form. She starts to pull one shoulder out of her bodice.
"I said schtrip!, Miss Jahana. I vill not say it again. You want clothes, pretty dresses, you vill make yourself available for me to create zem." Again with the tapping foot. Sheepishly, and very, very quickly, Jahana disrobes so that Frau Busypins can get to work. Fabric flies over her head, around her waist, down by her ankles. Marks are made. Pins are adjusted.
"Ow!" Jahana barks quickly, only to quail a moment later under the stern gaze of the lady in charge.
She can see the outfits take shape - flowing pants that move like water, skirts that show just enough leg to tease but also to leave something to the imagination, tops that flirt more than she does. And the dresses ... oh the dresses - form fitting here, flowing there, hugging her curves while still creating the illusion that there is more fabric than actually is.
*They were right,* she thinks with a twirl. *She's the best*
"Now vot about zis one," the frau asks, holding out the delicate, shell-pink silk. "You hold zis one aside for something special, I think. I hear z'rumours. You and zat Atianna boy - vot is his name - Fay Lion or something like zat - yes? I can assume zat zis is for him, yes? And not for his mama," she finishes with a wink.
Jahana blushes, her nude form pinking from toes to hairline, and nods silently. "I ..."
"Hush, girl. I know vat you need. You come vit me. Ve'll make it just right." She holds out an old, gnarled hand, all pretense of the gruff business woman gone from her as she leads Jahana to a back room. After all, even a simple seamstress knows that some things are best kept hidden away until the big reveal.
