(2023-04-04) Ladies Who Shop

Details

Author:	Jessa
Summary:	Ismene writes back, and the next day meets up with Cressidha to do some shopping.
Rating:	T for Teen

Cressidha,

You have saved Ben from a very unpleasant fate, as I was planning on dragging him along as I shopped for fabric. I even had the thought of begging a favor from you for more dresses, as you’re quite right and I’m not at all packed for a stay here. I only have one actual dress and while it’s perfect for business matters, it’s hardly appropriate for the splendors of Dalaran!

I’ll meet you there tomorrow at noon for the shopping adventure. The ‘garden’ at Hero’s Welcome is charming, but a bit boisterous at times. Perhaps you’ll let me treat you to lunch at one of the other restaurants in the area?

Ismene

Ismene Hazan walks the streets of Dalaran, trying to remember the location of the fabric store and also trying not to burst into tears again. She’s barely repaired the damage to her eyes from the most recent spate.

”She is offerin’ right there to take you shopping, kitten-cat,” Ben said to the top of Ismene’s head. “She won’t care that you’re showin’ up in a dress you already wore, and one you look so pretty in beside. She ain’t even seen you in it, and I bet she will like it fine.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Still, it went against the grain to finally be able to accept an invitation and actually go somewhere with Cressidha Aspenwood, and then have to show up in a wrinkled dress. It was pretty, she had assured Ben, and she liked it enormously well for Business, but…

She sighs and purposefully changes her expression to one of optimism and cheer when she spots the tailor’s shop. Her steps lighten and she hurries toward it (with one last surreptitious straightening of the lace cuffs on her sleeves).

Simultaneously, Cressidha Aspenwood approaches Talismanic Textiles from the opposite direction. She is dressed in a long-sleeved day dress in butter yellow and white, and her long hair falls down her back in soft waves rather than being pinned up in its usual bun. She looks as though she has never been anxious a day in her life.

As the two of them get closer to the building, Cressidha takes note of an incoming Ismene and her expression softens into a faint smile. "Ismene, good afternoon," she calls as she gets nearer.

Ismene pauses to look over, tilting her head and smiling with studied pleasantness. “Cressidha! How pretty you look. I told Ben when we arrived that I felt like someone’s country cousin; now I know whose.”

Cressidha holds her hand out for a handshake as she reaches Ismene. "Ah, thank you. It's wonderful to see you, truly." She sounds faintly amused as she adds, "I've always wanted a sensible country cousin."

The handshake Cressidha gets is correct and polite with just the right bit of grip. “I should warn you I don’t intend to be sensible at all in there,” Ismene says, nodding her head toward the shop. “Ben offered to buy me three dresses, so I think that means six bolts of fabric and I intend to take him up on it.” She wrinkles her nose. “Oh bother, I suppose I should get him a shirt or two. The tabards cover a multitude of sins but he can’t wear one everywhere. Shall we?”

Cressidha laughs quietly and offers Ismene her arm. "Buying six bolts of fabric sounds quite sensible to me, personally, but I am a tailor."

Ismene loops her arm gently through Cressidha’s, her smile proof enough that she’s touched by the gesture. This lasts for approximately a quarter of a second after they enter the shop, then Ismene vanishes in favor of Mizzy. “Oh!” she says, letting go to step quickly to the wall of fabric. “Look at this green. Oh, this pink is delicious! It looks like one of Mordecai’s strawberry cupcakes, don’t you think?”

Cressidha makes a gesture to the store's employees to ward them off: no, they don't need help finding anything, it's fine. She smiles as she follows after Ismene. "Oh, it does," she agrees. "What's your favorite color?"

Ismene unspools a length of the fabric to get an idea of how sheer it is or is not. “Dreadfully simple,” she says, flashing a smile over her shoulder. “Pastels. Pale green, light pinks, it’s difficult to find a blue that looks well on me. And I envy your ability to carry off such a pretty yellow! Such a nice color…” She steps sideways. “Oh, this lavender is nice, isn’t it? You must look lovely even in jewel tones, with your coloring.”

Cressidha moves to examine the lavender and hums in agreement. "My favorite color is red, although," and she lowers her voice a little, "between the sin'dorei and the Horde as a whole, I find myself wearing it less often than I would like. It's often more favorable to be seen in Alliance blue, and I have the Cobalt Company tabard to match as well, of course."

“And the Defias,” Ismene agrees. “When I have to match Cobalt blue, I generally go toward creams and whites.” Thoughtfully, she holds out a bit of gauzy blue anyway. “Something about my skin tone just doesn’t work with it. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I’m too old to wear pastels gracefully. One doesn’t like to see wrinkles and pastels. Though that may be my mother speaking. What sort of dress were you thinking of for yourself?”

"Something for the springtime. Perhaps a green, if I can find one that suits me. There's certainly no shortage of violets here, but I suppose that's only natural, given the Kirin Tor." Cressidha does not comment on wrinkles and pastels. Maybe she agrees with Ismene's mother? Who knows.

“One wouldn’t like to be thought misrepresenting oneself,” Ismene says, one-ly. She steps toward the violets in any case. “So pretty. Perhaps a different shade… I am sorry we didn’t get to go to the opera. I was very excited to get the invitation! You were so kind to make it, and then, well, reality conspired against us. I forgot entirely to ask the innkeeper about entertainments here.”

Cressidha examines a couple of different bolts of green. "It was quite inconvenient, being rushed off to Northrend like this. I'd barely had a chance to recover from the battle at the Sunwell when Sir Ference asked if I would go. Even so. The offer still stands, of course, and perhaps it shall be something to look forward to in the future when travel is a little more stable and reliable."

“And to think, you’re the one responsible for what stability we have!” Ismene turns and, despite her comments about blues, looks at a deep blue heavy silk. “I hope they thanked you appropriately for taking such a risk.”

"Miss Gwenivene Whittle deserves far more of that credit than I. I was merely the field operative," Cressidha insists. Genius-level math or risking one's life - which is more worthy?

Well that deserves turning around and facing Cressidha. So, like, she does. “Do you mean to say you’ve had not one word of thanks for going into that maelstrom, fighting past all those creatures, and correctly setting an experimental piece of magery that could well have exploded in your face?” Mizzy turns a glare on the shopkeeper who tries to rescue the blue silk from being mangled.

Cressidha chuckles and holds a hand up placatingly. "I've had a few. It hasn't granted me the immediate portal access I was expecting, but I'm certain it's only a matter of time before the paperwork is processed."

“Paperwork?! Honestly, I’m of a mind to march right over there and set some people on their ears.” Mizzy snorts, an indelicate sound. She waves the shopkeeper off with an imperious flick of her hand. “None of them could bestir themselves, I see. Merely the field operative, indeed.” She drops the blue silk on the counter. “I don’t suppose you have Ben’s measurements? No one ever believes me about his shoulder to chest to waist ratio and then I have to have all his shirts altered again.”

Cressidha smiles at her. "I have them as of last January, although it's possible they've changed since then, given the squad's hard work as of late. Would you say he's put on more muscle since January?"

Ismene stops to consider it. “Probably,” she says, just a touch dreamily. Then she blinks and turns the exact shade of pink as Sample #330A on the wall. “Um, I suppose he can come back for a final fitting.” Hastily, she moves on to other shades that she approves of for Ben. “I imagine your brother and his husband packed several appropriate outfits,” she says. “Lord Aspenwood — the tall one — doesn’t strike me as the type to ever be unprepared.”

"Colson's been living out of his bags for years now. I believe it's a left-over habit from his time in the army. Although he did actually unpack when he and Mordecai bought a home…" Cressidha brings a bolt of green mageweave over to place next to Ismene's blue silk. "It's no trouble to make alterations, regardless." It is a little bit of trouble, but Cressidha doesn't seem to mind.

“Oh goodness, I wouldn’t have you do it!” Ismene says. “You’re due for some relaxation time, and you shouldn’t spend it making sure we’re all appropriately clothed. That’s a lovely green. Ben does look good in green; his dark coloring, you know.” She’ll probably stop singing her husband’s praises sometime soon. But probably not right away. “Have you seen the home? Oh, of course you must have. I stopped by when I was in the area; I felt terribly awkward, stopping in without an invitation, but Mordecai always knows how to make me feel welcome.”

"I helped them move in. It's rather small, but it suits them, I believe. They seem very content with it, and the garden is rather charming." In other words, it's not to Cressidha's personal taste, but it's still a nice house.

“It’s cozy,” Ismene agrees, “and I believe Mordecai had hopes for the gardens, although of course now we’re all stuck here when it’s spring at home.” She sighs. “I hate missing spring in the orchards. When all the trees are blooming and apple blossoms drift around, the air so perfumed you could bite off pieces and nibble them like candy.” This time she doesn’t protest when they save a length of deep golden brown from her. “I don’t suppose you have any idea when it’ll be possible to travel both ways via portal?”

"I'm afraid I don't know, although Miss Whittle's team is working tirelessly towards a solution." Cressidha sighs. "They're rather a luxury, portals, but I do so miss them."

“That’s what we’ll do, then,” Ismene says, nodding her head once. “When the portals are up, if it’s still spring, please say you’ll come and have a tea or luncheon in the orchards. Even my mother approved of it, and Mrs. Barnsby sets the most lovely table under the trees. As long as one doesn’t mind the hum of bumble bees and the odd flower or two tumbling into the cakes!”

Cressidha smiles. "I would enjoy that. Ismene, what do you think about this one?" She motions Ismene over to a pastel pink bolt of soft runecloth that she has found.

Duly summoned, Ismene answers the call. “Oh,” she says softly. “That’s beautiful.” She fingers it, then drapes it over her hand to compare the color. “Do you love it terribly?” she asks, hesitant to steal fabric from Cressidha Aspenwood.

"I would love to make something out of it. For you, of course, if you'd like." No keeping Ismene in suspense. Cressidha is here to make clothes and they are not all going to be for herself.

“Oh, but you mustn’t. You’re on vacation now!” Ismene insists. “I realize that for a battlemage, simply not having to huck giant icicles at things must be relaxing, but you can’t mean to work and I couldn’t let you. It’d be entirely too selfish.”

"Ismene," Cressidha says warmly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "This is my hobby. This is what I do for fun."

There’s a blankness in Mizzy’s dark eyes that suggest she’s trying to equate tailoring to fun, but she blinks and evidently decides to take her at her word. “Well, I certainly shan’t argue further then,” she says, brightening into a full grin. “A Cressidha Aspenwood original, it shall be. But you must make what you wish out of it, to make it more fun for you. I trust you’ll let the tailor make a batch of shirts for Ben? They really don’t take any imagination.”

There’s a distinct huff from the shopkeeper. Not that Mizzy notices.

Cressidha pouts at her. "I can't make Ben at least one shirt?" she teases, rather than dispute the amount of imagination shirt-making takes.

“You just want to take his measurements,” Ismene accuses, but she’s still grinning and there’s the nose-wrinkle that assures anyone that she’s teasing.

"Mrs. Hazan, I do hope you aren't insinuating what it sounds like you're insinuating," Cressidha says in a friendly tone, patting Ismene's shoulder once before pulling away. She inspects some dark eggplant-colored silk. "If you would enjoy taking your husband's measurements yourself, I can always write you a guide for it, and you can simply give me the numbers, if you'd like."

Ismene giggles. “No need,” she says, but declines to elucidate further. “I wonder how long of a break you’ll get before they chase you back to work,” she says instead, leaning in to admire a tray of braids and trims. She holds up a row of mother-of-pearl buttons, just to see the glow in the light.

"Something for Azizia with this, do you think?" Cressidha motions at the silk. "I would have invited her as well, only I thought she might enjoy the surprise, and I was unsure how well you knew her." In other words, she didn't want Mizzy to be uncomfortable around the scary Draenei lady. Awww.

“Not at all,” Ismene says, walking over to see the silk closer. “I’m more familiar with those in White Squad, naturally, excepting yourself and Lord Aspenwood. That could look very well against some of the draenei skin tones I’ve seen. I can’t imagine she won’t love it. She has that pretty white hair, doesn’t she? It must pick up every hue she wears.” The last is said in a tone of envy. “Does she like to shop?”

Cressidha laughs. "Oh, yes, she most certainly does. She has a good eye for these things. She was my roommate for a time, back in Valiance Keep. She's a very honest woman, the sort you can trust to speak her mind."

“That can be dire,” Ismene says, “if one doesn’t keep an eye toward kindness. She sounds terrifying! I’m sure I’d have shriveled up and blown away, if she turned such honesty on me. Especially in that rich, rolling draenei accent.” She does her best imitation of one. It’s not very good, but she deepens her voice and tries. “Why sparrow girl look at pretty colors? Sparrows belong in brown!”

"Ah, well." Cressidha smiles and shakes her head. She can't deny the possibility. "Regardless, I have seen much of her as of late, and very little of you. How are you liking Dalaran?"

“I love it,” Ismene says, turning to lean on a counter. She hastily straightens again, though. “I can’t believe I finally get to be here! I grew up able to see the purple glow on the horizon, you know, when it was under the bubble. My housekeeper used to spin the most amazing stories about this place, and I’ve always dreamed of coming. Now I have a suite of rooms here! It must be equally special for you, as a mage.”

Cressidha smiles and says tactfully, "I'm glad to hear you are enjoying it. It is such a step up from our previous accommodations that it comes as a very welcome relief to be here at last."

Quite capable of reading between the lines, is Ismene. She blinks, then drops it. “At least it’s warm finally. I heard Lady Atley has been having trouble keeping food down; one hopes she’ll do better here.”

"Indeed," Cressidha agrees. "What sort of sleeves would you like?" For the dress, apparently.

“Close ones, I think. Big poofy sleeves in pink will make me look like a cupcake, not just be the color of one.” She grins at Cressidha. “But you must have a free hand with the rest. Far be it from me to tell an artist what sort of art to make!”

"I shall. Oh, buttons!" Cressidha has found the buttons. She is clearly delighted by the selection and thoroughly distracted from the conversation.

Ismene bends her head over the button selection as well, all too willing to indulge in the frivolity of the moment.