Tasha has never had to buy out a work contract before. The details of various forms of employment just never came up much as an airship-drover - certainly not the sort where you actually had things written down, signed and witnessed. It isn't cheap, either, to buy out the remaining time on Liza's contract with the hotel - but it does get her a portable, self-cleaning personal attendant. Liza is not in the same league as Mr. Invention, to be sure, but at least she isn't intimidating in any way to Tasha.
A bit more cash boosts Tasha to a private booth in one of the nicer passenger cars as well on the next train through to Chronotopia. Victor and his family are in the same car, so there are people to talk to when the scenery gets boring - and being from Abu-Dhabi, the striped Khattas are used to much odder looking people than Tasha, so barely blink until told that she isn't a Nohbakim.
"Do you want me to prepare your bed now, Mistress?" Liza asks Tasha after dinner. The landscape outside the window is dark, but the sky is bright, with faint traces of aurora activity further north.
"Please, Liza." Tasha finds herself suprised how easily she falls in to working with Liza, as she's never had a personal attendant before and might made for the dubious assumption of one only months prior. If her adventures and sacrifices have aged her, then her access to wealth has and priviledge has made her more indulgent. The tipping point, as she sees it, would have been several days prior when she made the concious decision to use some of her discovered treasure horde for herself in pursuit of easier living. It was the first time she had access to her own wealth in such an immediate and uncontested manner, but more so, it was the first time she -- alone -- chose to use it on herself to elevate her quality of life. The experience was a very positive one, especially with Liza as its avatar, and so she has quickly settled in to it. There's still much that's new and much mroe to adjust to, but at least she's accepted this as what might be a new way of life -- One she appreciates.
The train ride was long, but relaxing. Tasha finds the middle-aged Victor and his family to have a grounding effect, and comforting besides. The group remind her of Aaron and his relatives, especially those in Abu Dabi, a slice of a life she never lead but still an aspect of home. Perhaps her life would have been different, if she had a family like theirs'.
With the day past, it's time to sleep. In addition to an introductory fortune, Tasha can also claim to have gotten a good vacation out of the journey. And though her stated mission was a failure, she recieved clarity both in her task and in her life. She realizes she doesn't need to suffer and sacrifice, to throw away everything valuable and live frugally as some sort fo penance. She has enough on her plate, enough stress, and has determined to ease it through conventional means more often -- And that means money. That she'll also be well-rested for the invasion upon her return, she tries not to think about.
As she follows Liza to her bed, she studies her new maid in detail, wondering for a moment why she picked her instead of someone from Abaddon or even from Galactic Space. The answer comes easily enough, as it seems to radiate from the young woman: Ease. From the moment her new maid entered her room back at the hotel, Tasha felt a profound sense of ease. She decides part of it ws the building itself, and of course resting after a very long trip, but she also recognizes Liza's gentle manner and non-threatening presence. She does what so much cannot: She help her truly relax. No expectations, no judgements, no interpersonal conflict. She'd even go so far as to say that the sense of 'non-judgement' Liza showed upon seeing her the first time was the deciding factor. As a hybrid, and now a faux-Nohbakim, she was deeply uncomfortable with how people saw her, even if she tried to hide it; Liza might be one of only a handful of people that never triggered her self-conciousness.
That alone would have been worth the price, the young half-Vartan muses as she gets ready for bed.
Liza sleeps near Tasha (there isn't a lot of room once the benches are folded out into beds) and makes soothing noises, which are basically just typical Lapi muttering, akin to a feline's purr - they just happen to pick up the cadence of the train itself, softening it slightly. Come morning, the scenery has begun to change. The mountains seem further off, and there's more greenery - fields of grass and stands of trees. Eventually there are small hamlets, where the train stops briefly to refuel, but doesn't pick up any new passengers (but there is a bag of mail apparently).
It's all what Tasha would call 'retro-modern,' which speaks of how far she's come and how much she's changed. Her olf self would have seen the train, express mail and other developemental advances as purely modern and new, yet Nora's memories changed the way she looks at things, as has her constant exposure to the Elite and their world view. And so the advances of her homeworld as new, yet terribly archaic on a Galactic level to her. Increasingly quaint, but comforting for it.
"Liza, how's your clothing?" Tasha asks from her bench, looking away from the window. "We'll be traveling to Abu Dabi, and from there to Abaddon. You'll be staying in the Pit of Himaar with my Gabriel when I'm busy with work, so you don't need that much from our home, but you should have something incase we're delayed. You might miss it, too, so considr buying your nostalgia in advance?" It's something Tasha wish she knew to do, after all.
"I have my uniform and my traveling clothes, miss," the doe replies, referring to her rather prim black dress and veiled cap - it would fit in well in New Zion, aside from the wearing being a bunny. At the moment the doe is still in her nightgown, which is just a long shirt with a bit of frill to it. "I'm not picky about my clothing though.. or especially nostalgic. I'll wear whatever you think is appropriate. Would you like me to fetch you some breakfast or do you wish to take it in the dining car?"
"Why don't we be socialable? Too much time alone thinking, and I get gloomy." Standing, tasha turns to her own clothing: Worn yet exceedingly clean travel clothes, a mix of styles from at least three developemental levels and worlds as well. Compared to her prim maid, she's looking more than a bit slovenly in her attire. Fitting for an adventurer like herself, Tasha knows, but it still eats at her. "We can do better," she can hear Mr. Invention say as he picks over her outfit. The question is, can she and Lisa do better?
"Please help me get ready, and I think I'm going to buy myself something new when we get to Chronotopia. And, maybe Abu Dabi."
Looking over the available options, Liza mixes and matches things to exaggerate the adventurer look. An 'exotic' Abaddonian cloak and boots, with the rest seemingly at odds with itself. It might even look a bit pirate-fashiony, except that it doesn't. The doe seems intent on downplaying any Titanian influences as well. "Titania and Chronotopia are still officially at war," she explains to Tasha, before attempting to tame her mane of hair.
"Is that so? I've only been to Chronotopia a few times and I remember it being unfriendly. I was warned to stay near the docks and avoid local taverns and bars. I figured it was just the usual, but I see now there was more to it." For her part Tasha is completely fine with letting Liza handle her clothes. According to a number of sources, she's not the best dresser and her constant entry in to new cultures leaves her little time to learn to fit in. It's part of why she hired Liza, after all; She just can't keep up with it all and do her job, necessitating outside help. And if she were really being honest, she'd admit she's a bit hopeless at it all anyway.
Soon Tasha is ready, though she's no help at all. "Off we go," she notes cheerily, leading Liza on out.
The doe changes quickly into her travel clothes, and joins Tasha. The Dining Car isn't full - the train seldom runs at full capacity when it comes to passengers. Victor and his family are there, apparently having already ordered as they're in the middle of their meal, which smells strongly of fish. That alone suggests the dining car might have some form of refrigeration on hand. One small table has a Khatta merchant in it, dozing over a mug of Mateh, and there are two Gallahs with matching white fur and black spots. A veiled woman in black is in one corner, keeping to herself. She looks like a Kattha, so could actually being an Olympian priestess of Kasaris.
Thinking its been too long since she spoke with someone from the old religion, Tasha makes her way towards the veiled woman and offers her a smile. "Pardon me, ma'am." She wonders when she started saying 'pardon me' and 'ma'am,' then also when she stopped saying it after she learned to. A introspective mystery for sleepless nights. "But would you be an Olympian Priestess of the Pantheon?"
The veiled face turns towards Tasha, and a gloved hand moves the veil aside to expose an equally black feline face. The golden eyes are bright though. "I would," the woman says.. also darkly, somehow. "Would you be a demon of the Amazonian or Abu-Dhabian mythos?" she asks in return.
"Technically I'm an ex-avatar of yours and some part of an angel of a few others," replies the young woman, her smile sliding in to a mischivious grin. "Would you like some company? Its been some time since I'e seen a priestess of my old religion."
"You don't look like a follower of Kasaris," the priestess points out, but does jester for Tasha to join her. "You've got the sense of fire and metal about you. Abaddon, I would guess."
"Right in one!" Tasha sits herself down, then gestures for Liza to join her rather than having to stand. Besides, she wants her new maid to listen in and see the real train ride she's signed on to. "Ex-avatar of Tisiphone: Aldera Tasha Argentine, Herald of Abaddon, at your service. Out of Abaddon these days, of course. I chase different gods these days."
One dark eyebrow rises, hinted at by the shifting of the attached whiskers. "I've never known the gods to be chased after. They have houses after all, so it isn't like they are hard to find," the woman notes. "Whom do you chase now?"
"The old gods outside of time and space, the new gods the sowed life after being cast from another reality, those that were destroyed, and the fallen angels who were the destroyers, the children, and the others. The universe is full of gods," Tasha answers, realizing she sounds no less mystical. She suspects gaining the knowledge of universal mysteries infects a person with a aura of mystery; Certainly, nearly every god and prophet she's met has one and she fears she's getting one too. "Old Tisiphone remembers."
"And what makes you think they are still there?" the priestess asks. "Do they answer your prayers, or grant you aid?"
"Some answer my prayers, other grant me aid. Some I talk to, and others I can only wonder at. But that's an answer too, isn't it? They're all answers of a sort." Yep, mystical. "A few are missing. Why is somthing else, and I mean to find the answer to that too."
"And what will you do with these answers, if you find them?" the priestess asks, steepling her fingers before her chin. Meanwhile, Liza gives a breakfast order to the waiter, whispering directly into his ear so as not to disturb the conversation.
"How will I know that until I have the answers? But, I do have some ideas. That's a conversation for another day, however." Tasha glances towards her maid, then asks, "Would you mind seeing to our host as well, Liza? Thak you," before turning back. "The least I can do is take care of your meal. I do have a request, though. I can write it down if you like. I'd like you to deliver a message to the Temple of Abaddon, Amazonia, and to Fenris's Gash. I know the Temples can speak with each other, and I'm sure they won't mind. It's just some words and something to lay on a few old graves."
"The Goddess of the Night is well suited for sending secret messages," the priestess says, with a bit of a sigh. Since Kasaris is associated with the Sphere of Shadow, Tasha knows how they send messages. "A donation to the Temple would not be amiss when asking such a favor," she also points out. At least she doesn't purr.
"I never asked for donations." Still, Tasha does slide over coins -- And then keep sliding more over until the Priestess stops looking disintered. "I'll have the letters written before the train arrives at Chronotopia."
Tasha pauses then, glancing back to ensure teh waiter has moved on beore leaning in and asking, "I have another question. The Olympian Empire was founded early, some hundred to a thousand years after the Expedition. The Expedition arrived six-thousand years ago or so. The Sifra are millenia old. Khattas and Khattahs only appeared with the Expedition. Who were the Olympian gods, originally? Were they also mortals? Or something else before they changed?"
"There are many tales of the origins of the pantheon," Kasaris says. "For some.. there are tales of them beginning as mortals. Which would imply there may still be familial ties to some of them. Some were always gods, but were created as such by Primus. They have once been legendary figures, lost to history, who were then elevated to godhood."
"Telle me about Primus. He seemed different than the other gods. He reminds me of Adam, another leader of gods," urges the hybrid woman, who continues to lean forward. "Knowing one may help me know the other. Maybe they're even the same being."
"Hmm, bold, to ask the Night about the origins of the Day," the priestess notes. "Primus is the oldest, yes. His priests were great oracles. But the Light doesn't always reveal, it can hide things as well. And of course, the Darkness can reveal what the Light hides."
"I know it has for me." Tasha rests her arms on the table, propping her head on her folded-together hands. "The Light and the Darkness. Light and Dark space. Light and Dark time. And Grey, on the boarder. Hmm. So who was Primus originally? Or is his origin different from all the others?"
"I'm a priestess, I deal in Truth, not Fact," the woman reminds, with a slight grin. "The facts are lost to time. The Truth is that Primus leads the pantheon, and bestows the gifts of divination and mystic sight."
"Maybe he'll 'enlighten' me. Or not. I seem to get more Fact from Shadows and Truth from the Light. Maybe that will change." Sitting up again, Tasha leans back. "Our meal is almost here. Why don't we talk about Olympia instead? It's been a while."
Knowing she won't get much more than what she has, Tasha conceeds to eat and spends the rest of lunch discussing more trivial matters of the resort city.
The priestess seems to know a lot about Parthos, unsurprisingly. But mostly about the parts people don't get to see. "If you visit the Temple District sometime, you should seek out the Priests of Morpheus," she suggests. "His depiction has changed.. Truth being redefined by current Fact. If you have some endeavor that requires... secrecy... then you would do well to seek a blessing from Kasaris. There are even those that still seek the favor of Her brother, Dagh."
"I'm always happy to learn about and interact with the gods. Knowing one might help me know about another, after all, Light or Dark. Good or evil, however that is measured." Tasha places her knife and fork on her plate having just finished a scumptious meal of eggs, bacon, rasin bread and some sort of apple tart she's unfamiliar with but was told is Gallisan. "I'll keep your advice in mind. Thank you for the company, Priestess. I'll leave you to your shadows; Have a good journey."
After bowing her head and exchanging good-byes, Tasha rises and looks around. "Well," she says in a moment of undecsiion, "I think we've bothered Victor enough. Those two look friendly, and I should do more than talk mysteries." And so she heads for the Gallah twins to say hello.
The Dalmation-spotted Gallahs have lingered long after their meal - hinting they may be from one of the more public passenger cars. They're dressed well, if a bit heavy on the darker, more somber color tones. They sit across from one another, playing a card game - although Tasha doesn't recognize the card set. They look more like fortune-teller cards than playing ones. Still the men seem friendly. "Good morn, madam," the one with a black spot around his right eye says. "You look to be one seeking their fortune.. or who have perhaps found it." The accent is definitely Chronotopian - but these two are far enough from looking like Karnor or Titanians that they probably get by fine in Chronotopia.
"Oh, aren't we all?" Tsha offers a smile, then gestures at an unoccupied chair. "Traveling alone is somber work, and Liza has to deal with me enough as it is! Care for some company, sirs?" She asks.
"A bit of exotic distraction would not be unappreciated," the other one says, this one without a spot mark around any eyes. Both men then stand, looking rather tall and lean, as the pull out chairs for Tasha and Liza.
Usually only Gabriel pulls out a chair for Tasha and for a moment she has to pause and consider if she's doing something she maybe shouldn't, then quickly recalls that it's a common enough gesture in nicer circles and takes her seat. Afraid to seem to be cheating, and more afraid of actually doing so, the caution reflects her anxiety about the safety of her relationship. Once she and Liza are seated, Tasha waits for the two men to sit as well and asks, "So, what brings you to travel on this new Titanian train?"
"Oh, business, yes," Spot says. "Although it has been pleasurable as well," the other (call him Speckles) notes. "We do not often get to travel in our line of work."
"Local men, then? If you don't mind, what is your line of work? Or should I go first?" Tasha inquires, head cocking to the side in more avian a manner than she'd have probably liked if she had noticed.
"We are undertakers," Spot notes, still quite cheerful about it.
"Is that so? Well, this is Sinai, so sometimes the dead get around. I know." Tasha's grin is wry, her head cocking the other way. "Ever have to deal with the undead? Skeletons, ghosts, spirits?"
"Oh no, we have to deal with the rich," Spot says, eyebrows raising. "Ghosts and such would be much easier."
"I don't know about that. If you've ever had an army of scimitar-wielding Naga chase you through a ruin, you might wish for the rich. At least they pay you instead of wanting to skewer you. And of course spirits haunt, which means endless hours of hearing their advice, worries, desires, and complaints whether you want to hear it or not." A roll of the eyes later, tasha shakes her head. "Of course the rich are daunting, I'll agree with that. I know a woman, Katie -- Katherine -- who is my friend, but she's rich and famous. I like her and she still makes me nervous some times! And then there are the politicians, people who combine rich with political. Gods help me if I ever get one as a ghost too."
"Famous.. they are.. hardest," Speckles notes. "Our client was very well known in opera. Very vain. And.. I think.. insecure," he notes, leaning in and whispering in confidence.
"We had to bring his body to Olympia for a special.. treatment," Spot says. "It has been an enjoyable trip however."
"All a business expense," Speckles notes.
Tasha leans in to listen, nodding slowly. "I can't even think of Katie needing an undertaker. I never thought of how hard it must be to care for the physical dead; They're quite dead but still, they're fussy. In a way, a lot like their spirit halves except less talkative. At least, what they say isn't spoken -- Or whispered in your head." She then leans back and asks, "It seems like you've had trouble, but a nice trip for it. Me, I'm an explorer, an adventurer. Aldara Tasha Argentine, Joint Expeditionary Force of Abaddon. I was here on research, but now I'm heading home again."
"Walter Iano," Spot introduces himself. "Buster Iano," Speckles identifies himself. "You do cut quite the adventurous figure though. No need for antler enhancements or.. other enhancements for you. But I would suggest a painting for people to remember you by, not plastinization."
"Plastinization?" Tasha asks, head tilting again. "As for paintings, perhaps I'll do it myself? I'm a painter, after all. It was soemthing I picked up while recovering from my injuries, as I had been severely wounded in the line of duty not that long ago. Still, I do have a fourty-story statue to mark my grave. Maybe I can have a crypt or tomb? It could be my turn to haunt and chase with swords." And so she snorts a laugh.
"Haunting seems a waste of time to me," Walter claims. "So repetitive. People prefer closure from their passed loved ones.. not having them show up in the bathroom when one least expects it."
"It is a magical and alchemical process for turning a body into a perfectly preserved statue, in whatever pose is required," Buster explains.
"Tell that to my ghosts. You wouldn't believe how many dead people I meet, and bodies. I've made a few myself recently. Sad, that." Tasha stares off in to space for a long moment, then glances back and says, "Plastinization sounds useful for preserving specimens along with bodies, though it sounds very expensive. Sometimes I need to move bodies, too. Old ones, of archaeological importance. Grave robbing for the greater good!"
The mention of grave robbing gets Liza's ears to perk in alarm. Maybe she wasn't prepared for that side of the employment deal.
"So long as they are not Iano Brothers Graves and Tombs," Walter says with a chuckle. "Chronotopian soil is not the best for planting our type of garden. We use mausoleums."
Tasha glances over at Liza, then reaches over and pats her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry Liza, I didn't hire you to help me rob graves; I have enough help in that department. With luck, you'll never need to follow me in to the field. The worst will probably be dealing with me in whatever shape I'm in after I come back." She then turns back to the two men and nods. "I image the rain is a problem, and with Sylvania next door there's that problem too. There's a reason airship crews don't stay long, even when they can manage local service there."
"We did have a protest once," Buster notes. "We use a lot of lightning rods. Everyone does if they can. Some group accused of trying to reanimate the dead with lightning... It isn't easy being a canine in Chronotopia, alas. Savanites have it better now."
"So I've heard. I'm hoping my obviously Vartan features will help in that regard. I'm planning to do some shopping, now that I can. I found my succes, like you said, so why don't I enjoy it some?" The rest of the conversation settles in to quiet talk about Chronotopia itself, customs, treatment of canines and other local items. It's not long before Tasha realizes she'd best get to writing her letters, or else they won't be done by the end of their trip. And, kmnowing letters always take longer than she expects, she bows out early to get to it.
And so in time the letters ahve been provided, bags packed and readied, and Tasha and Liza both prepared for stepping otu on the town. But before she does she speaks with Victor, seeing if they can't arrange the same airship and helping him pick out a safe and reasonable ship while urging him away from those she knows or suspects to be problematic. With all else out of the way, Tasha turns from the docks and finally takes a moment to really look at Chronotopia. Until now, she'd be hurrying about and avoiding conversation to get things done; She'd scarecely ahd time to look or really talk to anyone else.
There are a few venues clearly set up just for tourists - an amusement park with a rollercoaster, telescope towers for observing Bosch from a safe distance, and many stalls selling Chronotopian Eggs and Quantometers - all genuine of course. The government doesn't stand for fakes or low-quality knock-offs ruining their reputation.
There is a large clothing district - Chronotopian looms produce high thread counts and sturdy fabrics, after all.
"I'll have to buy Gabriel a pocket watch or maybe a navigation tool, he seems to like them. Books too, maybe? But first ... " Tasha's gaze washes over the cityscape before her, her elevated position near the airship docks giving her a commanding view of the city. "Clothing. Liza, you'll help me, right? You're so cute after all, you're probably much better at it than I am, and Katie isn't here to save me. Well," she gestures off towards the garmet district, using what she learned from the two undertakers to spot her destination; She didn't want to be drawn in to tourist shops and the like, hoping for something more genuine and a little more quiet, "That way I think?" It's a wealthier area, that's for certain, and soon off they go.
"Miss, what image do you wish to present?" Liza asks her. "And.. if may be so bold.. how genuine is that image?"
Tasha slows, then stops, turning to face her maid and give her a funny look. She then goes to answer, pauses, closes her mouth and think. After a second or so, she admits, "Well, I'd like to dress better. I know I'm not a famous person, a star, like Katie. I'm not really rich, although I could be. I might be? I spent most of my life droving pteras, but I'm a little sick of being in worn out clothes and dirt all the time. I know I still need to and I don't mind, I like being at ease, but when I'm not ... Can't I be more comfortable?" The young woman bites her lip a moment, looking around as if all the clockwork and archtecture might provide a timely, well-crafted answer.
At length the hybridwoman simply admits, "I don't really know, I suppose. I thought you might know."
"You want to be comfortable, but not appear to be of higher status than you can manage," Liza suggests. "You do not want to be a target. Would you feel best if you were always the one to initiate contact with another? In that case, you do not want to stand out too much. Your appearance is already unique and striking, so your clothes should serve to either enhance or minimize that."
"I am a little tired of being stared at. Liza, I'm the only one of my kind. I've been stared at my whole life, so maybe it's time to do something about that." Tasha turns slowly, taking in the nearby shops in the hopes they'll help. She's never considered reducing her impact; While it's true she's often been stared at, and for the worse and much as the better, her self-esteem was so low attention was never to be avoided. Now she's reasonably wealthy and has people she loves close to her; She doesn't need to 'wow' people, doesn't need another mate, and she certainly doesn't need more trouble. After a great deal of soul searching, she finally nods, though mostly to herself. "Comfortable, not higher status than I can manage, don't be a target, don't stand out. Hokay, Liza. Lets see about minimizing."
"What did you think of Walter and Buster's attire?" the maid asks, recalling they more or less black business clothes.. with not particular details sticking to mind. "They are also both very noticeable men, due to their rarity in the community and striking appearances. Clothing can be used to set an image in a person's mind. This is the purpose of business attire."
"It wasn't bad, but I don't think I like suits, except mayeb on my Gabriel. I do like your uniform, though. It's very cute, ut it's not intimidating and it's striking even though it's not. Of course, it wouldn't make sense for me to wear the same thing." Tasha suddenly starts walking again, needing the movement to help her think. Vartan fashion tends to be practical and shiny, but she doesn't live in a Vartan world anymore. She lives amongst Karnors, but not just Karnors; A great many others. She can't predict the dress needs of Galactic Space, so she focuses more on Abaddon and Sinai now. "Well, how about something like yours, but more suitable for me? Does that make any sense?" She asks as she peeks in the window and that.
The doe tilts her head momentarily to one side, and then rights it. "I know what you need," she declares, and starts leading Tasha away from the higher-end section.
It's Tasha's turn to perk her earsm but she quickly follows after her maid. She might have been surprised by Liza's assertiveness if she hadn't secretly chosen her for it. She knew that she needed help, and she knew that help would have had to have the force of personality to push that help through -- To lead her when she's lost. When Liza wouldn't allow her to exit her bath until she was ready, she was that much more convinced the doe was what she needed.
And so far she's not disappointed!
While the doe is confident.. she doesn't actually seem to know where she's going. She uses the different shops that pass as guideposts, sometimes hitting a dead end. She also sniffs the air quite a bit. Tasha can smell one particular scent getting stronger as they progress: cigar or pipe smoke. This brings them do a small tailor shop without any display window. "I think this is the right place," Liza says.
"I trust your judgement, Liza." Tasha does; Far more than her own in this situation. Cautiously she advances on the store, not seeing any window to suggest she's in the right place or even if the tailor accepts random visitors. With nothing left but to step inside and see if her maid is correct Tasha grabs hold of the handle and pushes, stepping inside.
There's a smell of old smoke and leather within the door. A few garments are hanging, ready for their owners to get them. They are all military dress uniforms.. many of them modified to deal with missing limbs. The tailer is a small human, wearing thick glasses and with gray and thinning hair. "Ah... can I help you? Are you picking up something for your.. for someone else?" he asks, surprised at Tasha's appearance.
Liza immediately begins inspecting the lining on the inside of some of the uniforms.
"Uh, n-no," Tasha replies, quickly looking around before focusing her attention on the diminutive human. "We're just ... " At least she does until Liza wanders off, the hybrid's gaze now turning to watch her maid out of the corner of her eye, " ... Looking around. We're sorry to bother you, but we may need your help in ... um ... A moment?"
The doe turns and smiles to the man, asking, "Do you have any air-cavalry humanoid or Vartan-base uniforms? Gold lining at 300 threads would be ideal, along with immediate tailoring.."
"What size?" the tailor asks, then seems to realize something and stares at Tasha. "For her?"
"Um, yes, that," Tasha adds unhelpfully, turning back towards the man. feeling more might need to be said, she adds, "My name is Aldara Tasha Argentine, and this is my maid, Liza."
"And yes, 'her,'" the hybrid woman adds a moment later, frowning deeply.
"Yes, for her," Liza says. "What colors are available? It should compliment the cloak and boots that she has. Also a wide belt, and an officer's pocket for a cigar case."
"I've never tailored for a woman.." the man seems to protest, only to have the rabbit tell him, "I'll show you how."
"I've been told I can be ... Um, a bit manly?" Tasha offers somewhat more helpfully, although she does also succeed in making herself feel bad and more than a little awkward as a woman. "I mean, super- ... -soldiery."
It's an awkward fix.
"Grayish blue for the jacket, gray for the trousers and cream for the blouse," Liza suggests. "Black belt. Blouse should be 300 thread count as well. I'll handle the alterations. Cervani trousers will work. I can modify a human shirt and jacket for her wings.."
"Hold on.. you can't just come in and commandeer my shop.. uh.. I think.." the tailor protests a bit.
Even Tasha is a bit taken aback and can only nod and utter uncertain assurances. "T-that sounds good," "Um, that," and "Y-yes," are just a few of many stammered agreements. She inwardly agrees that maybe her maid is going too far, but it is getting results and she isn't about to stop her!
"We're in a hurry," Liza explains.. and goes right to fabric rolls to look through the linings. "How much are you willing to pay, Miss Argentine?" she asks Tasha, as if suddenly realizing there could be some cost involved.
"I, um, I can cover it?" Tasha offers, suddenly worried she might be in the way of the process. "I-I have a crown ... "
"Come over here then, please," the doe requests, smiling. "Let's look for a good jacket liner. One with a proper pattern. While the outside will set people at ease by letting them know what sort of position you hold, the inner liner is all about your personality."
"O-okay," goes Tasha, who can only be swept along. She walks over, craning her neck as she looks at the materials. The young woman can't help but feel that she's snuck in to some secret world where people like Mr. Invention work their magic, never to reveal it to outsiders lest that magic be revealed.
"How's this?" Liza asks, holding out a swatch of gold-and-rust cloth with inch-wide zig-zagging stripes. "Or would you prefer something rounder?"
"Uhhhh," is Tasha well considered and weighted response. She actually looks towards the tailor for help!
"Are you sharp, like to laugh, or bold?" the man asks Tasha.
Tasha considers this, suspecting she's the latter two but not feeling like very much of any of them at the moment. She's out of her element. The last time this happened, she ended up with a girlfriend, glowing tattoes and relationship problems. "I think ... All of them? I mena, I like to laugh ... But ... I haven't been doing it that much lately, I don't think. I am an adventurer, um, and an officer. They really didn't train me for this." She really wish they would have.
"We'll go with the zigzags then," Liza says, and then takes Tasha a bit more into the back to take measurements. Even here, things seem exotic and strange. There are machines. Apparently clothing isn't hand-stitched. And there are different kinds of stitches. And every tool is sharp and lethal looking.
"Tailoring is a lot more dangerous looking than I expected it to be," Tasha admits as she eyes a pair of extremely sharp looking scissors which are -- alarmingly enough! -- placed next to a tomb raider's trap worth of very sharp looking spikes impaling a hapless pillow-like object. It all gives her a strong, 'do not touch anything or you will break everything including yourself' sense of forbodding. If it were Nora, it'd all be frowning at her. Severely. "There ... Sure are a lot of machines I don't recognize." She fairly sure sounding as inane as she suspects she sounds isn't inclining the sharp objects not to poke her.
"It will mostly just be scissors next to your skin," Liza notes, collecting things. "Oh.. do you mind getting undressed? It will make things go faster, and only be for a few hours.."
"I don't mind, but I think you might scandalize the poor tailor. If he survives." Tasha drops her voice and admits, "He looks rickety."
"I can handle an old man," Liza promises. "I've done quite often. I'll need your cloak first..." And at least Tasha isn't standing around naked all of the time, because there's almost always something being draped, wrapped and pinned together on her.. with and disturbing mix of chalk lines and very fast moving scissors. The smoke flavored air at least is comforting. Eventually, things are put onto her and Liza declares that she's finished and can look in the mirror. At the moment, Tasha's cloak is just draped over her shoulders (since her wings really hold it in place anyway) with the sleeves loose and dangling. This lets the high collar of the jacket stand out - it's also pretty broad, in the Chronotopian style. The 'uniform' isn't exactly laying flat though - it's tailored to Tasha's curves. The blouse looks like a blouse, and the jacket conforms well when the wide leather belt holds it in at the waist. It extends well below the hips, flaring out a bit at the sides. The trousers also hug where they sh
ould, until the knees where they spread out a bit, and have subtle pleating to resemble something like a flyer's skirt. They end high up, letting the polished boots show. There's no tie or scarf, adding a touch of the casual - but still, the outfit seems to imply authority. It also makes Tasha looks taller somehow. It's almost like something Katie might wear - a uniform made sexy, but without the glam that usually goes with the starlet.
"Gloves, maybe a beret.." Liza mutters. "Pocketwatch on a chain, certainly. Possibly a scarf. Needs some accessories, still.. but a good foundation I think."
And like when Katie had her team work on her, Tasha is again filled with the sense she's looking at someone else. It's as if the Harrower had dropped her not in to her own reality, but in to an alternative reality where she has a maid, likes luxury, and actually look authoritative. She even feels, but doesn't dare actually believe, that she might come close to matching Gabriel's presence.
All in all, Tasha is impressed. Beyond that she's a little intimidated -- By herself no less! Katie made her look beautiful, even gorgeous through the white tailoring magic of Necessity and Invention. Somehow Liza has replicated the levelof change, although this time it's backroom black magic, smokey, intimidating, yet still dangerously attarctive. She's sure she couldn't have come up with the look if she had spent her lifetime in this shop.
"Um." Immediately, authority-Tasha's presence in the mirror makes her regret her uncertain stammer. Authority Tasha clearly doesn't do such things, and so Stammering Tasha better get her act together. And with effort, she does. "I mean, it's impressive. Very impressive. I don't think I've looked this, um, mature or, well, respectable before even in my actual uniform. I knew you were the right choice."
"I think this will let you fit in anywhere," Liza says. "It does not draw attention, but is recognizable. Once you add your insignia and other markings it will work better. I'm glad you like it." She actually says this last part a bit timidly.. as if now that the work is done, she's back to being a maid.
Which brings up the possibility that the Lapi outfitted Tasha to be the sort of person she wants to serve.
"I may have to have you plan all my outfits," Tasha admits, turning slowly left then right, to get a good look at the sides as well. "It's going to be an effort to live up to this."
"You should also strive to be a good role model to yourself, Miss Argentine," Liza says. Of course, her own outfit doesn't quite match up with Tasha's now.. it just isn't dynamic like the hybrid's new look. There may be a bit more shopping to do to fix that. Maybe a more military-secretary look for the doe.
Tasha nods to this, then nods again, and again until the nod looks appropriate. "Yes, I know." She pauses, then tries again. "I mean, You're right. You're right." Nodding again, this time in satisfaction, she turns to smile at the doe, then tilts her head. "You're missing something," she notes.
"You'll need this too, miss," the tailor says, and offers a leather saber frog to go on the belt. "You don't have to carry a sword, but this will put one in people's minds."
"I'm sure we can fix whatever is missing with some accessories," Liza notes, assuming Tasha means she missed something in the new outfit. It is comfortable too - the lining is nearly as smooth and satiny as Zolk.. although it's just done by being very densely woven.
"I understand." And Tasha does; She's seen enough uniforms by now to get a sense of the power the convey; That a weapon is also associated with the outfit only heightens that effect. The frog she knows how to use, having also had a tour of baldrics, sheathes, and all things weapon storage oriented during her many preperation forays.
Considering Liza for a moment, Tasha nods again, having decided something internally. "I like the fabric, and I like the outfit." Inwardly she wonders if and when her new tone and attitude might stop intimidating herself. "But now you don't match. Once I'm done, I want you to make something for yourself. We can always build on it on Abaddon, Katie ... Katherine will help I'm sure."
"I may have trouble finding things in my size," Liza notes, then looks to the tailor. "Once more then, if your hands aren't too cramped.." she tells the man, then begins to undress so she can take her own measurements.
Being smaller.. and requiring a simpler outfit, since there aren't any wings to deal with, the Lapi whips up a matching-color outfit. The jacket collar and lapels are more modest, and there's a skirt instead of trousers (although underneath are ankle-length bloomers that should be a match for Abaddon's chill). With her very short, naturally curly head-hair, the doe would do fine with a beret as well.
Tasha clears the way so Liza and the tailro can work, moving off to a corner of the main customer area to look at herself in the reflection of a mirror. She really doesn't recognize herself, but she knows she likes the person she sees. Inwardly, she can't decide if she's just surprised or can't bring herself to believe she could ever be as good as the person staring her in the mirror. But hasn't she done so much? Come so far? Spoken with gods, risen out of the mud, carrying what had fallen with her?
Isn't she someone special?
Isn't she amazing?
The question hangs in the air like silence after the last note. What does she think of herself? Why can't she believe it, when so many other people do? Why does she have to suffer, pay penance and bow her head for past wrongs, real or imagined? She's moved on; She's gone far. The world is better for it, isn't it? So ...
Why?
Tasha resists closing her eyes, resists looking away. The woman in the glass won't let her, won't let her turn away, won't let her run away from the question any more. As Liza works, Tasha thinks, long and hard. Thinks as the better woman stares her down, her expression slowly shifting from surprise and disbelief, to cautious consideration, to stoic focus, optimisim and then, at last, certainty.
All right. No more. I changed before, I can do it again. be a role model for yourself, live up to it, and that means I need to let go. I need to believe I can be better. I am better. And I can be better still. No more guilt. Stronger, now. Keep going. She draws in a breath and nods to the other her, then turns around to watch Liza finish.
The doe finishes belting her jacket. The flash of white from the underside of her tail stands out a bit from behind, but otherwise she looks very much like.. Tasha's assistant.
"Very striking," Tasha observes, nodding her head slowly. Having accepted her new role as a role model to herself, she finds the words come easier. It reminds her of trying to be 'like-Nora,' or rather, be Nora. Except this time she's the role model, the hero she wants to be. It's reinforcing; It makes her feel stronger. "I don't think Gabriel will know what to make of us, but I know I like it. Lets finish up here and pay the man; We wouldn't want to miss our ship and we have a long way to go. You did a good job, though, Liza. I was right, you are the right choice."