Like the art? Buy some from Lore today! I’m not following the Nano rules this year. I’m working on finishing a number of pieces that are well over due. Today is the first part of that fic: An early Bricu and Threnn story that I started last year.
Bricu arrived at Threnn’s apartment at a quarter past seven, a full fifteen minutes early. He resisted the urge to roll up the sleeves of his red shirt–the same shirt Delion the Tailor had fussed over for nearly an hour–and rolled a cigarette to calm his nerves. He stood outside the apartment and gathered his thoughts. He started chuckling from the first memory.
“You simply do not understand, Bricu.” Delion said, “The difficulties involved with making garments like this. To mar its perfection by rolling up the sleeves is unthinkable. It is simply blaise.”
“But mate, it’ll get fuckin’ hot in the barn.” Bricu said, “An’ now yer sayin’ I need ta wear a shirt underneath this one?”
“Of course you do! You don’t want to perspire through this shirt! Why, you’d be a laughing stock! More importantly, you would make me a laughing stock!”
“Oh, we woudn’t want that.” Bricu said dryly.
“No, we certainly would not. Now, kind of pants are you wearing with this shirt?” Delion asked. He raised his index finger to his mouth and the side of his nose.
“I was gonna wear the linen…”
“Linen!” Delion yelped, “Are you mad? Oh, that would not do.”
Bricu was dumbstruck. “What?”
“Honestly, this is a harvest event. Textiles matter. Cotton at least, probably more of a cotton-wool blend.” Bricu watched as Delion crossed his arm across his chest, then started tapping his nose with his finger. The tailors eyes darted from Bricu to bolts of fabric neatly organized by textile, color and price, and back to Bricu.
“Yes. That would do nicely. Now, when is this again?”
“Tomorrow!” Delion shouted. “Oh why would you wait until the last moment to bring this up?” He rushed foward towards Bricu, measuring tape and pins in hand.
“Because they’re soddin’ pants Del. Strweth, they’re supposed ta be comfortable.”
“Honestly Bricu, if comfort was the driving force of fashion, we wouldn’t get out of bed!”
“While Threnny an’ I might call that a party…”
“Keep your sordid affairs with miss Al’Cair to yourself, please. Neither myself nor the Bells would want to hear such details.” Delion interrupted.
“Och, yeh think I”d kiss an’ tell mate? I’m a holy man an’ Threnny’ is a devout servant o’the Light. Such accusations…” Bricu said.
“Bricu.” Delion cut him off. He stopped measuring Bricu’s waist, letting one end of the tape measure fall to the ground, and stood straight, a half head taller than his client. Delion gave Bricuone of his practiced looks, the kind reserved for disreputable merchants and fashion diasters. Bricu continued grinning.
“Spare me the bluster.” He said after a sighing in resignation, “or I might slip and poke you with this pin. Twice. Now hold still, I’m taking your measurements.”