Sartorial Peregrinations

takes a moment to shake himself awake, not unlike a dog drying its coat. His navy jacket flaps in the air with the motion before settling back down onto his wrinkled white button-down shirt, adjusting his glasses and absently running his fingers through the purple stripe on top of his head. “This place is unfamiliar to me, too. As are all of you. But we arrived here together, and that must mean… something.”

wanders over to the textiles, running her fingers over the various fibers and colors. She lingers over a drapey, dusky blue linen and a deep purple cotton shot through with threads of blue, thinking of Unua and Archie, before she asks to see what kind of thread is available.

seems to glide into the room in an outfit that seems to defy easy explanation. There’s a wrap of brown fabric from below his collarbones all the way to the floor, seamlessly meshing with the color of his fur, with some parts sheer enough to see his body moving beneath and other parts tactfully opaque to avoid incident. From his shoulders to his knees, adornments of white coral embellish the garment, carefully shaped with the touch of a true master of gnosis-work into perfectly symmetrical shapes evoking the skeleton of a fish - the ribs over the chest, a symmetrical pair of coral details which suggest a spine running down either side of his midriff, then fanning out as if to suggest a tail towards the knees. Hanging from his shoulders is a delicate, sheer capelet which gains a sense of mass as it descends towards his waist, an impossible number of layers of sheer silk and organza layered together in hundreds of folds overlapping to create a silhouette reminiscent of fins, symmetrically hanging off either side of his arms, and the effect is replicated at the bottom of the garment, past the knees and to where it gently grazes the floor. The smoothness of his movement makes all the folds shake and shimmer, and for a moment, you could swear he’s floating on the air itself as he approaches. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we continue?”

walks confidently in front. Whatever answers there are, whatever there is to do next, it begins here. He’s sure of it. His trained eidesis keep his task at the forefront of his mind, scanning his surroundings, pointedly thinking of anything and anyone other than Solei, Synthesis, and Caion. He’s opted for a heavy, wool, fuller-length version of his usual coat, and gave in with only a few squeaks of feigned protest when Caion insisted on wrapping his purple scarf around Archie’s neck. (“See? It even matches!” It was hard to argue.)

says, “is a male metahuman, vaguely fox-flavored. He’s not particularly tall or short, but is a bit stocky. Small foxes ears to the side of his head and a tail on his back, a red beard on his face and hair slicked back. Doesn’t look old perse, but definitely has a worn an experienced air to him. His clothing is a mix of red cloths, tan leathers and metallic-colored scales, though he’s not especially heavily dressed. ”

reappears after disappearing with a slate for a bit, looking a bit different. Gone are the leathers he normally wears, replaced by light linens and silks. He’s now wearing a long, light blue robe in a kimono style, though being who he is the entire upper right portion has been shrugged off to expose his arm and part of his chest. The sash around his waste is black to contrast the blue, while the sleeves are lines with runes of power and growth both, in a deliberately splotched inky sort of style. On the back of the robes are more black images in the same style, though rather than runes it’s a motif of three separate types of flowers intertwined with one another.

clapa in Unua’s direction a few times at the twirl, then something about that compels him to reach up for the welding glasses on his head, disappear them, then pulls out a much smaller pair of glasses meant to rest only just on the edge of the nose, with silver frames and a dark teal tint of the lenses. After placing them on his face, he nods to himself.

has changes clothing entirely, knowing the robes and wooden sandals aren’t going to cut it in the snow. Instead, he’s now wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt and a denim jacket replace it, along with a pair of thick leather steel toed boots. He’s still wearing the pince nez, though.

is sporting a very different look now. Gone is the scale armored shirt, replaced with black silks and red leathers, and matching bits of red metal trimmed in gold on his shoulders and arms (an HQ scorpion harness if ever you seen one), a black leather pant and boots. Most of his beard is gone now too, having taken the time to shave, though the sideburns have been left in place. And he’s now wearing a custom pair of orange tinted sunglasses. He looks more relaxed than he has since they’ve arrived on the Beast now, and casually chows down on a sausage with toasted buns.

sits up from the waist, rising not unlike a puppet. He is thin, his form made even smaller from the darkness of his clothes, but his hair and eyes give away the dark tanned face, unable and unwilling to hide.

swings his body sideways, now dangling his legs off the bed, and cautiously hops off, testing his boots. The boots are worn with nicks in the heel, and adorned with dull grey scales- their pattern is irregular. Some must have fallen off at some point.

: “Irrica by way of Ishcata, woven and dyed by a skilled weaver,” he finally is able to interject, when the weaver takes a long enough breath to be considered a full stop to a sentence. “I love it. I’ll need some lengths, and a little assistance for fitting- I would like to add some cuffs to my garb, and to also augment this tattered mantle of mine. It-” and there’s an odd pause there, where the Awoken blinks once during the silence. “-worn as it is, I feel as though I should not part with it yet, but I would instead fill it with this treasure found in a faraway land.”

’s mantle and top are replaced with a long sleeved, long-tailed coat, deep-abyssal blue with striking white-frilled cuffs streaking back from the ends of his sleeves. Brass buttons secure his black button-down underneath the coat, a thick collar for the coat rising up just beyond his neck. His pants are baggier at first, widening as they go past the knee, but are then firmly tucked into longer just-below-the-calf boots that are covered in shimmering grey scales. A divebombing bluejay adorns the back of the jacket, its color a lighter, more azure blue than the rest of the coat. On the back, embroidered in irrica thread:

DARKNESS DARKNESS MOVING SWIFTLY

WRITTEN ON THE WALLS OF SUNLESS ROADS

JUSTICE MY BLADE LOVE MY STRENGTH

13 FILLED WITH THE NOTHING 13

HEAVEN OR HELL STARS TONIGHT

LIGHT-IN-SHADOW SHADOW-IN-LIGHT

SPARK THAT BURNS CHANGE THE EVERYTHING

Then, you notice, writing along the arms as well.

Along one arm: TOO FAST TO LIVE

Along the other: TOO YOUNG TO DIE

The wooden charms of a mask and bluejay, crossed with their azure and earthy, silky green threads, hang from the button just below the neck.

has added fur ruffs to the edges of his coat- along all the edges and around the sleeve endings around the wrist- and a double-layered linen interior as well (diagonally cross stitched, well insulated). A long flowing azure scarf is wrapped around his throat and bottom of his face, billowing dramatically as he confidently strides forward, hands jammed into pockets.

: “Oh, it has a function like that? How useful! And annoying!” He’s dressed back into his irrica-tailored mantle and half-frilled cuffs outfit, two carved charms hanging from the mantle clasps. There’s a simple leather wristband on his right wrist- thin, of a deeply dark blue- with a single pearl embedded within.

shows up, his footsteps making very slight clinking noises as he walks. His attire has changed- gone are the dashing full-length embroidered garb. He wears a scaled breastplate, backed by leathers, its scales shining white. Matching bracers grace his forearms. A three-part fauld hangs to protect his thighs, hips, and groin- from one side are his noted bottles, and on the other, the thinly-flowered garland. Shined polyns cover the knee area, and match well with his grey-scaled boots, which have been polished to at least some kind of shine. His right shoulder is bare, and the left is covered by a jagged shell of what must have been a great beast.

is ready, but is not dressed in his new armor- that’s for hunting. He’s changed into a new silken garb- a black ao dai, its buttoned-seam going down his right breast, the cuffs and collar embroidered with silver, long in the front and back, with high cuts up the side. Over his legs are wide, puffed-out, deeply red pants, tucked into a pair of travelling boots- support on the bottom, laced twice over and partly up the ankle. A silver dragon looms over his left breast, its serpentine body writhing up and over his shoulder, and down his back. From its snout puffs a swirl of silver smoke and fire that caresses the front flap.

has bangs that cover his face, but the rest of his hair is actually tied back into a small bun.

stands, steel scraping on stone. A frame taller and wider than any man found on their homeworld, covered in steel plates, steam venting out of gaps. They are not completely armored, and where the plates spin away or do not cover, an intricate mesh of gears, cogs, wire, and bars twist and turn as they do. Their eyes shine a solid, but faint yellow, as a flashlight. Upon their back, an enormous shield, also full of strange mechanisms, and a pale glow.

wanders over to the textiles, running her fingers over the various fibers and colors. She lingers over a drapey, dusky blue linen and a deep purple cotton shot through with threads of blue, thinking of Unua and Archie, before she asks to see what kind of thread is available.

snaps their tablet with one of the Samudrans. In their arms a simple cape, bordered in the appropriate light blue. The fabric is plain, but the clasp is an intricate clockwork locking device. They fold up their coat from Almachadta, and place it in their pack, before placing their new cloak over their shoulders, draping off one side, conveniently covering their weapons.

: “The lack of heat here is borderline uncomfortable.” Even Luĉja has opted for a heavy serape-like cloak. They had no idea that worlds could lack this much fire.

sits up, crossing her legs. She is a small, bird-like woman. Her hair is long and dark and is escaping from the crown braids on her head. She is wearing a cloak, dark green. If you come closer, you might see intricate embroidery over every inch. She has the brown coloring of a sparrow, with a aquiline, down-turned nose. Her clothes are finely decorated, if made of simple organic materials.

snaps the slate tablet in half, arms outstretched. Laying across his arms is a garment just like they imagined together - green trim on a light blue coat, light and airy but feeling sturdy, with a sparrow motif above the chest pocket. “I hope you don’t mind the blue, it’s part of the uniform for research assistants. Try it on!”

shrugs out of her cloak, and then of the structured coat she wears beneath. She adjusts the laces of the loose linen shirt, and unbuckles her belts. She uses her friend as a glorified butler’s rack with a slightly chagrined smile, pulls the coat on over her blouse and pants, rebuckles her belts over the coat, and then folds cloak and coat up into a neat package. “I’m going to stick these in the camp pack,” she says.

stands outside the door of the refectory, having arrived last. “Hope over fear,” she mutters to herself. “Walk bravely along the untold path. Sing–oh, fuck it.” And she pushes open the door and walks through. Sometime, between morning and afternoon, she’s changed clothes. The coat Archie made for her hangs over her shoulders, held in place by three chains of intricately-knotted azure-and-pearl ribbon. Underneath the coat, she’s wearing a loose, translucent blouse gathered at the wrists that leaves her collarbone and shoulders bare. She’s saved from immodesty by a light blue band that covers her chest and midriff. She’s traded out her practical pants for a dark blue skirt that looks pleated at first, but when she moves it becomes clear that it’s different panels of heavy, silken fabric. She’s wearing sandals, and when she shifts her weight to one hip, the panels of the divided skirt part and it becomes clear the sandals lace rather high up her leg. Her hair is pulled back into a low bun and braided with azure ribbon and strings of pearls. She’s wearing earrings, delicate carved abalone in the shape of a bird in flight. She walks over to food swiftly, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and fills her plate.

looks up, wonderingly, at the ice. She’s traded in her divided skirt and sheer top for heavy, fur-trimmed boots, a fur-lined cloak, warms trousers and a coat with a gnosis-worked shirt of something that feels a lot like silk underneath—somehow, it remains warm yet comfortably cool against her skin. The gloves the Academy equipped them with keep her hands warm, but are thin enough to allow fine motor control. She’s braided her hair into two thick braids that hang down her back, and a wool scarf, somewhat unevenly woven and dyed a deep red, is wrapped around her neck. Her cloak has a fur-lined hood, and her nose is pink in the cold, despite the attempt to keep the scarf up and over it.

: “I still don’t know what’s going on with that lamppost,” she says as she approaches the Awoken. She didn’t, perhaps, manage her time terribly well, and she’s been spending a lot of time with a brush and some burning gnosis trying to get her hair to fall in the loose, full curls it looks best in. She’s wearing it down—only the sides are pinned back in thick twists dotted with irrica hairpins. “Huh,” she frowns at her phone when it makes a ping. “I didn’t know it could do that.”

: “Thank you. Also thank you for the … pinging feature. How does it work?” She did dress up. Her dress is of a coppery-green, gnosis-worked, diaphanous material—transparent, with delicate shimmering, beaded embroidery on the wide sleeves that are gathered into long, heavily-embroidered cuffs. A bodice, made of a thick, darker green velvet, lends the garment shape, some modesty, and a plunging heart-shaped neckline. The skirt is heavy velvet paneling stitched into the transparent drape underneath. The dress’ skirt is hitched up over one thigh, revealing her well-worn leather boots and comfortable leggings beneath. She wears the irrica bracelet they bought her as well, but the dress does display a lot of bare clavicle, her long, elegant neck, and what cleavage she has to offer. Just saying.

strolls in to the caravanserai quite late, her hair Billowing behind her in lose, perfectly-formed curls. She had to make a quick trip to the bazaar to pick up the finished pieces of the clothes she commissioned, and she’s wearing them now. The dress is mostly a system of intricately knotted, gnosis-infused, silken cord in a deep red. The only fabric portions of it are a layered halter top and a skirt with two high-cut slits over either leg, both made of diaphanous Samudran gnosis-worked fabric flowing elegantly from the silken cord. The dress is made more practical by a finely-articulated scale-and-plate pauldron on one arm, and intricately articulated golden plates stitched into supple, thigh-high leather boots and fingerless gloves. The outfit is completed with a series of metalwork golden armbands bracketing either arm, another golden band high on her thigh. ⁂

In the hollow of her throat rests the Rose Gold Rose pendant, a rose-gold wreath of tangled rose vine, an eight-pointed golden star nestled within, and within that a crystal sphere, bounded by an iron band, with a single mote of quicksilver pressed against the surface. She’s wearing earrings that match, with a whip of rose vine that runs along the shell of her ear and terminate in golden points that match the star of the necklace. ⁂

: “Waiting for me?” she says, a bit of a laugh in her voice. “Or, barely waiting.” She’s also changed into a deep, emerald-green cheongsam cut perilously high on either thigh. The silk is heavily embroidered in birds—sparrows and jays, darker green on darker green on almost black. The edges and closures of the dress are a richly gleaming copper thread, as are the tall heels that give her at least an inch on him. Her hair hangs down in loose curls that frame her face in the front, but the back is pinned up with gleaming copper hairpins. Looped around her arms is a shimmering drape of copper-green fabric, much like the transparent paneling of the dress she wore home to Almachadta. She’s done something with kohl around her eyes, making them more heavily shaded and defined, and her lips are a deep red. At her ears dangle a complex web of copper, garnet, and emerald. She’s smiling, but maybe, even still, a little shy.

shifts his eyes from spear to…thing…and then around the room, taking in the stirring figures. “I…” But that’s all he gets before his face twists and he coughs hard. “Hrr.” He looks human, save for the elongated, pointed ears, the wolfish eyes, and–just barely glimpsed as he coughs–the fangs. He’s clad in simple armor of undyed leather and bone, over which he wears a long, sleeveless overcoat of crimson hue, open at the front and flared below the waist; around his waist is a sash of dark green cloth, with what looks like scabbards of some kind tucked inside.

can be heard before he can be seen–boot-steps coming nearer, somewhere between a click and a thud. He comes around the corner, striding purposefully…and the first thing that catches your eye is that his crimson coat has been replaced by one of a vibrant, royal blue the color of the sky right at the beginning of twilight. It hangs down to his calves, split at the side so as to preserve freedom of movement–split at the back so it flows behind him in the breeze of his motion. Silver filigree embroidery decorates the edge of the high collar, while small silver chains drape from the front and back of the collar, held to his sleeves by thin loops of cloth. ⁂

Under the coat is a white tunic that hangs down to his knees, split front and back up to the waist so it also flows with his movements. Trousers so dark a blue as to be nearly black are tucked neatly into white, knee-length boots with a dapper little fold halfway up the calf, while a black leather belt with silver fittings wraps around the coat and now bears the sheathes of his blades. The outfit is capped off by white gloves that reach up his forearms, with vambraces of silver metal and blue gemstones. ⁂

has simply layered a thick woolen cloak over his normal jacket. And much thicker gloves. And a scarf. And a rather adorable knit hat pulled low to cover his ear-tips. Aaaand…he still kind of looks miserable.

filters in from…wherever he’s been wandering around the city–he clearly visited some kind of tailor’s shop, because the scorched edges on his coat are now covered with simple-yet-elegant black edging on the lapels, bottom hem, and cuffs–glances at Awoken, raises an hand in greeting, then pauses, examines him more closely, and squints. “…did you embark on some campaign of conquest that I am not aware of?”