另类小说人亚洲小说

Fancy clothing is usually bespoke (not bespoken), which is snob-language for tailored to the individual. It wasn’t something you could make in your System inventory, or if you can, it’s a more specialized System than mine was.

That meant it had to be done by hand, without System automation. Measurements needed to be precise, patterns exactly matched on both sides of the seam, and the hands both sure and swift.

There were relevant classes, but the closest we had was Manservant. The abilities in Manservant were mostly intended for maintenance and repair, not the sort of work we were taking on.

The relevant abilities that overlapped were Sew Like The Wind, which made critical sewing checks 10% faster, and Strong Seams, which prevented loss of quality on a critical sewing check.

Don’t ask me how your System knows two or four hours in advance whether you get a critical sewing check; none of the answers I come up with are particularly comforting.

So: shirt, jacket, vest or petticoat, pants or skirt. Times four people, for sixteen pieces of precision clothing (what your System might call quality five or above). Eight pieces of clothing each, two weeks to make them in – it looked doable.

The problem with that logic is that each piece takes between two hours and eight, depending upon how careful you are. As with potions, you can attempt doing things beyond your ability if you take extra time.

Taking that extra time requires mental fatigue, either sanity or serenity. The problem is that six extra hours at a point every fifteen minutes is twenty-four points. And yes, that is only fatigue, but what happens if your day is otherwise stressful?

.....

It would leave me no time to cook; fortunately, we had the crew’s cook working in the other inn. She wasn’t happy with what he called double duty until we pointed out it was the same crew members she’d be serving daily once the ship left port.

I set the rat cages up against one of the shield enclosures at the shrine and left the door open; I didn’t feel right letting them into the wild that early, especially during the storm season, but rats survived worse all the time.

“Remember we need to sew protection runes into the hems of everything.” Kismet told me.

“I think that may be overly ambitious.”

“Wow, that’s about as positive as a wet blanket. I’ve seen you sew; this is nothing new.”

“No changing the designs, colors, or fabrics once we begin.”

She unfurled a scroll with designs on both sides; her drawings were ... not proportional, but at least symmetric.

“Kismet.” I said, “There is no Norvik rune for protection against stains.”

“Well, MAKE one.”

“Kismet, the runes look nice in this configuration, but they aren’t functional. They’d need to be in an order more like...”

“Uh. Glee. No, you find a way to make the runes work like this. Link them with string on the inside.”

“We’d need lengths of silver or gold chain, and a way to keep them from touching.”

“Simple. We’re working with cloth. We wrap them in cloth, and ward the cloth so the magic doesn’t mingle.”

“That ... could work, but we’d need time to research how.”

“How long?”

“Months, like ... hm, five runes, double the time per rune...”

“No, don’t double the time per rune! We need our time.”

“Four months.” I said. “Given this is something new, probably three or four times that before we get it working right.”

I flinched back quickly enough to take her strike on my snout rather than my eye.

“NOOOOOO! You’ve ruined EVERYTHING! We haven’t even started, and your stupid mage rules have made all my designs USELESS!”

She swatted me several times with a bolt of green velvet before storming off. As if on cue, the booming of thunder preceded the slamming of the door.

Okay, so what, an hour for her to cool down?

The knock at the door came far too quickly. Without waiting to be asked, Madonna swung in, closing the door with the same softness as if she were robbing the place.

“So, I understand that you’re a thundering dunderhead?”

“I seem to have heard that before.” I said, returning to my poorly done sketches. “How do you look in red and orange?”

“Better in red, why do you... oh! Is this one mine?”

“I was thinking four people, there’s a mandala with four elements. You’re fire, I’m water, Gamilla can be earth, and Kismet is the wind.”

“Heh. I get to tell her you see her as an air head.”

“I hadn’t considered...”

“Nope, mischief to be worked!” she chuckled, her flourish only ruined by the fact the door stuck slightly, but not so much as to ruin it.

“If anyone is related to air, then it’s Narces.” Kismet said, storming in. “What’s the extra element in the system you use?”

“You take out air, and put in metal and wood.” I said. “If Gamilla’s suit is themed on metal, that leaves earth and wood for your dress.”

“Yuck. You might as well dress me in mother nature green, and accentuate my beautiful feline features.”

I began drawing that design. “Hey! Not serious! What kind of brain damage have you TAKEN? You want STUPID? I’LL SHOW YOU STUPID! Fluffy stole for a lion mane, sienna brown for the petticoat and dress... No. A pantheress. Black here, grey here, dark grey... light... And PERFECT! So, you can carve me a pantheress mask.”

“Wait, masks?”

“Uh-huh. Pretty sure it’s masks. Dance on the day without a year?”

I was a dunce. Of COURSE, it was on the one day without a year, when the stars came loose in the heavens. Stars dancing above, guests dancing below ... it actually didn’t sound so bad. Had to be challenging for whatever band they had for music.

I rubbed my eyes. This was the outlandish edge of sewing, where fashion took priority over practicality.

“No wonder this means so much to you. I’m surprised you didn’t want to go as a genie.”

“Yuck, no, hard pass. Do you know the sorts of wishes men want you to grant when they get drunk?”

“Maybe you can convince Madonna to dress as the genie?”

Nope. Not a chance, Madonna had a very specific devil mask, complete with tailored beard, tail, and horns. Oh, and surely, I could make her a proper devil’s pitchfork? Please and thank you.

Gamilla wanted to go as Pele, Mistress of Magma, Vixen of Volcanoes. I showed her the design ideas for Madonna’s fire dress, which she seemed to like.

And, for reasons probably in retaliation for the attention I’d shown my rats, the women insisted that I should be disguised as the Mouse King. Apparently, it was either that or the Lord in Green, and they expected there to be too many lords in green.

“So, I’ll start on the clothes, you start on the masks, and we meet in the middle?” Kismet asked.

“Why so long for the masks?” Madonna asked.

“Unique head types for Kismet and I. We won’t be able to find anything that fits. Since everything else is custom, we might as well make yours and Madonna’s masks by hand, also.”

There wasn’t time to carve everything out of wood; I wanted to carve three quarters masks, ones that covered the majority of the face and swept back over the sides or top of the head, but left the lower jaw visible and mobile.

On the first day, Kismet convinced me to build basic leather domino masks to the contour of our faces, and work the details on and around those. That ended up working for Madonna and Gamilla, but for Kismet and I, I ended up molding multiple pieces that ended up bound together by fabric. They weren’t the worst masks there, but there were better.

In the end, though, in part because we were all there to measure precisely, we had passable costumes. Perhaps not as great as any of us had imagined, but a far cry from what we had feared.

I even managed two dances without stepping on anyone’s toes before things just fell apart.

The Lord in Green spun me around while I was dancing with Sola, the Norvik Sun. With great deliberation, he backhanded me across the face, and removed his glove to drop it at my feet.

“Pick it up.” He said. “Let’s finish this with what little dignity you can manage. I challenge you to duel with polearms.”

I rubbed the left side of my face. No actual damage, but I’d feel that blow when I woke up tomorrow.

Details. The mottled green of his skin was almost natural, as if...

“Farlaine.” I said. “I told you that I’d be in Vernice when the spring storms had passed.”

“Is there a master of the Code Duello present!?” he boomed, his voice carrying throughout the courtyard.”

“I am a trained mistress of the Code Duello.” The Cloud Maiden said, radiating displeasure. Not practically, but actually radiating. “The challenged chooses the weapons ... if he accepts.”

Yup, should have just ignored this invitation.