•───────── Gloaming Hapertas ────────•
2nd of Searing, 124th Year of the Age of Steel
It was an agonizing ask, though Filaurel Len'Alen did not let it show on his face. To have a Val wear shelf-stock instead of bespoke wear... it was scandalous, and a prince no less? If that sort of thing got out, every tailor in Silfanore would carry tales of his disgraceful behavior. The wastrel charlatan Len'Alen, who foisted off second-hand cloth on royalty! It was more than enough to end his fledgling hapertas.
Still, one couldn't very well refuse to sell his stock, not without looking churlish in the extreme. The Princess was right, of course, that he didn't have time to make design from scratch in three days- even if the thought of putting off his other clients was much easier to swallow than for this particular duo. No, he would simply have to do his best by them with the tools and time he had.
(And anyway, those kinds of practices mattered mostly if the dress advertised the maker; where the prince was not looking for self-aggrandizement, perhaps there would be no inquiry into where he got his clothing? That made the transaction much more palatable. Safer.)
"Under ordinary circumstances, it would be a grave insult to offer a prince ready-wear..." Filaurel allowed, his voice a bit slow, "...but I do see the practicality of it here. Hm. Appropriate to the court environs, suitable for the subject of an intimate garden party, but unprepossessing..."
If Filaurel could have snapped, he might've, but it wasn't a good idea to fool around with such a precise act of Kinetics when delicate fingerbones were on the line. "Yes, I've a thought." The tailor's excitement was so great that his use of the formal register dropped momentarily, slipping into brogue. He lifted himself hastily from the chair and floated quickly to his storeroom, digging through the material and materiel there, hunting feverishly.
A minute later, he returned, grinning ear-to-ear. With a flourish, he presented an ensemble- or at least, the beginnings of one.
It was three-piece, with cream-white trousers in black trim, secured at the front by six buttons; a dark chiffon shirt, and a trim red coat. They were about Rhydian's size, though some adjustment would obviously be merited, but the cut was strangely archaic, as though the coat had been pulled out of some wardrobe which had sat undisturbed since the Sundering. Filaurel brought attention to this at once, tapping the lapel.
"This I began work on last year and did not finish. It is inspired--though only loosely inspired--by costume worn by his Majesty at the infamous fete in Turoth, when the last Wraithwyrm was finally laid to rest. It fits your Highness' color, suggests your service without centering it, and will give an impression of distinction without being overly formal. Best of all, as the King was said to like it, the lining is smooth and cool to the touch, comfortable even after hours in the heat."
Filaurel's eye turned to the unfinished front of the jacket, and he frowned.
"The historical jacket was finished with a phoenix in golden thread, and I had meant to do the same here when Searing arrived- when it did not arrive, I found I could not bring myself to put the missing bird to thread. Thus, I put it away. A little embroidery along those lines should take no more than a day, if you fancy it."
