Today is of the Cycle Of The Seventh Moon.
Current Season & Month:  , Year: 543 A.R. (ref)

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The Lavish Hand


Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 438
Journey starter  
The Lavish Hand (Liathildor ForeignQuarter)

The Lavish Hand

 LPC: Vincen Chemaux

(master tailor & proprietor)

Spoiler
Proprietor Vincen Chemaux
Vincen Chemaux
  • [occupation] master tailor, proprietor
  • [hair] golden, some curls
  • [eye color] very light blue; sometimes looks blue-gray
  • [height/build] tall; svelte/slender
  • [misc.] refined speech, cultured, source for gossip & information

═ ✽ ═

The Lavish Hand is a modest-sized tailor shop located off of The Central Street in Liathildor's Foreign Quarter.  It's colorful storefront helps it stand out and differentiate it from the somewhat drab façades of the surrounding buildings.  Various high quality and fashionable garments may be found on display in the shop window, alongside gorgeous couture gowns and formal wear.

 

Upon entering the establishment, a small tinkling bell above the door will summon Vincen Chemaux, a master tailor and the owner of The Lavish HandMonsieur Chemaux is golden-haired Elf with a slender and refined bearing; it is readily apparent from his manner of speech and the flourishes of his gestures, that he comes from a sophisticated and cultured background.

 

Vincen's reputation as a master of his craft has grown well beyond the Foreign Quarter, and rumor has it that the quality of his gowns, dresses, and menswear rivals anything that can be found in The Sparkling Market.  A surge of recent interest in his shop by some of the Lords and Ladies of the Noble Houses of the Kingdom Bridgeways, is sure to solidify Monsieur Chemaux's already excellent reputation.  

 

With any luck, The Lavish Hand will soon be considered the 'go-to' clothing shop of the nobility of Liathlidor. 

═ ✽ ═

Spoiler
Rumors & Gossip
It is said that Vincen keeps a finger on the pulse of all the goings on of Liathildor's elite.  He might be a good source of information about the happenings in the city and his knowledge can certainly be had…for a price.[/spoiler]

TOM-CAT (Must Read): Teleskela - Kiana Beach Battle (3/3) - ★★Try Again - ★★Powder Keg - Soft, soft - Imprint - ★★Stupid Little Tom-Cat
DAETH (top 3): Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - ★★Sensing Death
RISQUÉ (most recent): ★★Fun with Fisticuffs!
──────────────────
[ ☆ = favorite / ★★= extra fave]


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

Eddellyn Wynterleaf

[OOC: from The Central Street]

A small bell above the door tinkled when Wynterleaf entered the shop and within moments a tall, slender elf joined her at the front. He had curly golden hair piled high on his forehead and wore a lavender colored shirt beneath a gold vest, the threads sparkling in the light, and umber pants that looked to be made of satin.

Wynterleaf blinked once as she took in the picture he presented and inclined her head in polite greeting. Hello.

The elegant looking elf tipped his head back, literally staring down his nose at her for a long moment as he assessed her appearance. It was clear she wasn't an elf of Ufaerian birth, her lineage heralding from across the sea and not one she knew about to speak of besides, and thus far her reception with the local elven population could be described as cool at best. So, it was a bit unexpected when the other elf smiled widely and swept his hands wide in a pleasant greeting, “Welcome to the Lavish Hand. Our goods will rival anything you can find in the Sparkling Market.

She cast an eye about the shop before settling her gaze back on him. Are you the owner of the Hand?

“Yes! The esteemed Vincen Chemaux at your service," he answered with another flourish of his wrists. "What can I help you find today?”

Eddellyn let a moment of silence pass between them as she turned to make a show of examining a bolt of cerulean fabric draped over a nearby table, rubbing the edge of it between her fingers as if in consideration. She made no effort to hide the brand on the back of her hand, uncaring if the shop owner saw the elven words marking her a thief.

A gown. Something special for an… exclusive event... She looked pointedly at Vincen, before she added, And a bit of information to go along with it."

At the word "exclusive" he ushered her immediately toward a selection of fine silks and laces, having translated that to mean a large sale. “Of course, of course. We have a beautiful variety imported from Tenara; maybe not as excellent as the ones made by Ufaerian hand but they are still quality and well worth their value.”

He gave her figure another quick assessment, ostensibly mentally estimating her measurements. “I am sure I could have one made up to your specifications within a week, for a reasonable price. I’m thinking an off the shoulder gown with cap sleeves in a dark color, would suit your coloring,” he enthused.

A pair of elbow length gloves to complete the look, to hide any... flaws,” Vincen slid her a sideways look and arched a finely shaped brow in challenge.  


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

The shop owner was not the frivolous courtier he appeared. He’d seen the brand and quickly picked up on her unspoken intentions. Wynterleaf pressed her lips together, as he watched her expectantly, it was clear that if she was to get any answers from the other elf, it was not going to be cheap.

She withdrew the parchment from her pocket and turned it toward Vincen. “It needs to match this.

The elf took the paper from her hand and angled the symbol toward the window to get a better look. Though his expression remained much the same, Eddellyn saw his nostrils flare on a sharp inhale before he masked it and handed her back the drawing. He schooled his features into a look of regret, as he said, “My apologies, madam. I just remembered I’m booked through until the end of the month. There is nothing I can do to help you at this time.

The words were new but the response was no different than the others she’d shown the emblem. Except, unlike the others, for the first time she didn’t believe the words. She pressed, “Would you like to check your schedule again? I’m willing to pay twenty-five percent over your normal rate.

That was surely a fair amount of gold for the bit of information she sought but Vincen held firm. “Sorry, you might be able to find someone else to help you with what you need. Now, if you will excuse me, madam, I was just getting ready to close for the day.

Eddellyn pushed the paper back into her pocket, exchanging it for a handful of coins. Dropping them onto the counter, she said, “Thank you for your time Mr. Chemaux. Should you find yourself with some availability, please send word addressed to ‘Wynterleaf’ at The Tree and Tankard.

The tailor nodded politely but said nothing more as she left the shop, the door closing behind her with a decisive click.

Perhaps it really was time for her to reconsider her course of action.

 

[OOC: to The Central Street]


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

Eddellyn Wynterleaf

[OOC: from The Central Street]

The bell of the Lavish Hand tinkled as Wynterleaf entered the shop later that afternoon, bringing with it a sense of deja vu. The door had not yet fully closed behind her, when the slender form of Vincen Chemaux appeared at her elbow and made a small sketch of a bow in greeting. Today he was dressed in verdant green trousers and his silk shirt was a violent shade of lavender embroidered with a silvery starscape. The outfit as a whole should have been off-putting but it was so finely made and detailed that the overall effect was stunning.

Vincen greeted her with a warm flair, as if she had been his patron for years instead of having only meet once the day prior.

Holding back her amusement, Wynterleaf greeted him with an inclination of her head. “Mr Chemaux, I’m happy to learn that you’ve found time to accommodate me in your schedule.

The tailor solicitously moved to the side to allow her move further into the store and he silently filled the space behind her. An audible click of the door lock sliding into place behind her had Eddellyn looking over her shoulder at Vincen in question.

To allow a bit of privacy.” He explained as he led her back toward an curtained alcove, heavy folds of red velvet creating a separation between the shop’s general area and a small, private sitting area.

Two armchairs flanked a low table covered with swatches of fabric, fashion plates and various sewing implements. Wynterleaf eyed the set up warily but she had no objections to observing the pretense of sitting down with the tailor to discuss a new outfit. She removed her cloak and dropped it over the back of the chair before she sank down into plush cushions of the seat.

Vincen flitted around the shop a moment, stopping a couple different shelves, before he joined her in alcove with a swath of royal blue folded his over his arm. She watched as with a practiced flick he shook out the length of fabric letting the lustrous weave spill over the entire table in a cascade of silk the color of the evening sky. At first glance, she had assumed the fabric was an uncut bolt of material but as it spread out before her, she realized the yards of fabric was in fact a completed gown.

Pleased with his display, Vincen looked up at the elven woman from beneath his golden lashes with a satisfied grin. “Yer gown, madam.

Wynterleaf stared at his expectant face before glancing at the gown, her mind searching for an appropriate reaction. With a deep inhale of air, she  made the decision to go along with Vincen’s posturing for the moment. She leaned forward in her chair and ran her fingers over the shiny blue folds, the rough callouses of her skin snagging at the fine threads, the gown much more delicate than her usual tastes.

It's a very fine dress,” she commented in a neutral tone, giving no indication of admiration or impatience. “I admit that I’m surprised you had something ready-made.” She was not going to mention it would need a proper fitting, as she had no intention of ever wearing the garment.

And the other thing I was looking for, to go with the gown?” she asked.

Of course, they are right here, a pair of black satin gloves.” The tailor pulled the accessories from under the gown and as he concentrated on displaying the gloves lengthwise over the gown, he murmured sotto voce, “You will find the second glove has been been tailored specifically for your needs.

Eddellyn was mildly taken aback, surprised that Vincen had even noted her disability during their brief interaction the day prior. This attention to detail merited another moment of her time to look at his craftmanship. Her eyes passed briefly over the gown once again before she pulled the gloves closer for inspection. Indeed, it was as the tailor said and one glove had been shortened and shaped to mold over the stump of her arm. A beat of emotion at the simple consideration vibrated in the region where her heart might have been.

Wynterleaf arranged the gloves one over the other and folded them in half but continued to hold them on her lap. She locked eyes with the tailor, “Is that everything?


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
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Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

Vincen Chemaux, Proprietor of the Lavish Hand (npc)

The edges of Vincen’s mouth quivered, the only evidence of discomfort at the direct question posed from Wynterleaf. He pressed his shoulders back into his chair and loosely steepled his fingers together over his stomach as he measured his response.

Yes, I supposed you would be less interested in the goods I can offer. It is a shame that my skill cannot be appreciated as it deserves.” He lamented with a sad shake of his head. “To business it is then! But I want to preface by saying that my decision to share this information with you was not made lightly. The people you seek hold great influence in Liathildor and if it were known that I helped you, it could jeopardize my livelihood.

Having stated the stakes, he began his explanation.

Officially, the Liathildor seat of power is the Citadel of the Order of Light but the real rulers of Greyhaven operate from a hidden location somewhere in the Kingdom Bridgeways, outside of the city proper. The emblem you showed me belongs to members of that sect, the Mystics of Greyhaven.

As if anticipating questions from the elven woman at this point, Vincen raised a hand to forestall her. He was intent on relaying all his knowledge on the matter at once.

While I don’t know their location myself, I can point you in a direction that may lead to more information. One the noble families that live in the Bridgeways is the Syltamuls; an affluent pair, the couple is well known for their excessive lifestyle and their powerful connections. If there is indeed a hidden fortress belonging to the Mystics in the Bridgeways, they would know where to find it and how to gain entry.

As luck would have it, I’ve heard there is to be a grand fete at the Syltamul Estate to be held in honor of their current… house guest.” Vincen broke from his practiced recitation and leaned forward to impart in a salacious tone, “If truth be known, they wish to show off their newest bedmate to the neighborhood, a rather enigmatic male - who’s neither Uman nor of Elven birth but Other! And if my sources are accurate in their description of the male, he's one I’d be eager to meet firsthand myself.

The golden haired elf paused to imagine the prestige it would bring his shop if he could clothe such a exotic creature. Perhaps if Wynterleaf was successful in her endeavors the opportunity would not even be needed. Which reminded Vincen of the price he had settled on.

Easing back into the armchair, he finished by saying, “It should be an easy matter to secure an invitation to the party, allowing you to gather more information about the Mystics in any way you see fit. And all I require in payment is a blank piece of parchment marked with the unbroken seal of the Syltamul estate.

The wax seal that is used on all private correspondence,” he clarified. “A task I believe you to be well suited for.


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

Eddellyn Wynterleaf

Wynterleaf perched motionless on the edge of the chair for a long moment after Vincen finished speaking. Her eyes were stormy grey as she stared unfocused at the opposite wall, her mind busy cataloging everything he had said. With his confirmation of who the amulet belonged to and a direction on where to find them, a clearer path to the wizards and their hidden weapon was laid out before her. She had spent weeks of traveling from one side of Ufaeria to the other, dead-end inquiries, dangerous rendezvous, only to find the most precise information within the comfortably plush confines of a clothing shop. Although, she would be the first to admit Mr Chemaux was more than a talented tailor, his true worth seeming to be in the information he brokered.

She considered the fact he had even provided the detail that the nobles who could provide the most exact means to find the Mystics were soon to throw a party. If the Syltamul's were indeed hosting an event, it would provide the perfect opportunity for her to gain access to the estate with little questions asked.

It was all a bit unexpected and too easy after following a trail for so long with only vague descriptions and whispered hearsay. Eddellyn at least had the presence of mind to consider if Vincen was setting her up for his own nefarious plots. However, it was his requested form of payment that gave her pause and raised his credibility in her eyes. Oddly enough, she could appreciate the thread of honesty in someone who sought the means to forge documents.

That is an abundance of intelligence that you have provided for me Mr Chemaux. Almost as much as I’ve gathered to date.” Wynterleaf let a small amount of satisfaction soften her features, the dark arches of her brows no longer pulled as sharply across her forehead. “What you ask for payment is no small favor either. While I cannot promise I will be able to execute your request, it's a fair payment and one I will do my best to fulfill.

A handclasp to seal our bargain,” she said, reaching across to grasp the tailor’s slender hand.

Vincen seemed pleased enough with the agreement and clapped his hand together sharply before he sprung to his feet. Without so much as a word, he scooped up the blue dress heedlessly and disappeared behind the curtain.

Wynterleaf shot a bemused look in the direction of his departure and when he was gone for more than several minutes, she assumed their business was concluded. She never truly had any interest in purchasing a gown, let alone putting one on and attending a house party thrown by hedonistic nobles. So, she felt no curiosity about what the tailor would do with the dress next; it was ready-made, so she assumed it would go back onto the shelf for the next customer. Conversely, she still hadn’t relinquished the gloves and without any hesitation, she tucked them neatly into a pouch belted at her waist. Impractical as it was to own satin gloves, she appreciated the thought Vincen had put into customizing them for her and was loathe to part with them.

She would have exited the shop then, without waiting for the tailor to return, but no sooner had she stood to leave than the other elf reappeared from behind the curtain.

You may think it’s not to your taste but you may find a need yet for the garment,” he said as he presented her with a tidy bundle wrapped in beige muslin and tied with brown twine.

Wynterleaf reluctantly accepted the package from Vincen. “Thank you for your efforts. All of them. I will follow through with your suggestion to search the Kingdom Bridgeways within the next day or so. But if in the meantime you think of anything else, you know how to contact me.

The tailor tipped his head forward in acknowledgment and for the first time since meeting him, he was suddenly serious, his whiskey colored eyes no longer sparkling with subdued mirth. “If I may add, madam… Please remain cautious. The Mystics control everything in Greyhaven and perhaps all of Ufaeria. They are not to be trifled with.

Eddellyn took his warning in stride and offered a mirthless laugh, her mouth twisted wryly to one side. Just before she opened the front door of the Hand, she paused and turned back to lift her right arm high enough to draw his attention. “My thanks Mr Chameux but no one understands the dangers of wizards more than I.

 

[OOC: to the Central Street]


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 438
Journey starter  
 

┠ DAETH

Inside the The Lavish Hand

═ ✽ ═

[OOC: Daeth & The Syltamuls From The Horse & Carriage Causeway (The Foreign Quarter)]

═ ✽ ═

[NPC's]

Spoiler
Lord Callon Syltamul
Lord Travion Winterlow(Elf Noble) 4

Spoiler
Lady Amarice ap Nudd-Syltamul

Lady Amarice apNudd Syltamul 1Lady Amarice apNudd Syltamul 3

═ ✽ ═

Sometime around mid afternoon a nondescript clarence carriage drawn by a pair of coal black stallions, stopped parallel to The Central Street and drew up outside of the colorful storefront of The Lavish Hand's.  The horses and carriage pulled off alongside the Causeway, out of the way of main traffic, and after taking a minute to make sure the horses were settled and unlikely to bolt,  the driver hopped down from his seat and moved quickly to open the carriage door. 

The coachman doffed his cap and gave a short bow at his waist as the three figures emerged from the carriage and entered the shop.

Daeth pushed open the door to the The Lavish Hand, noting the tinkling chime of the bell as he stepped aside and held the door open for Callon and Amarice.  The Elf Lord and Lady swept into the shop with the forwardness and confidence that he'd come to expect from not just all the Bridgeways Nobles, but the Syltamuls in particular.  He paused a moment as he let the door swing shut behind them, and took an appreciative look as the Lord and Lady walked on ahead of him.  

He smirked. 

What was it that Alandra Minx, the Madam of Alandra's Fine Men in the City of Haven, had once said to him? Besides trying to convince him to become one of her said 'Fine Men', that is. Of course,  Daeth wasn't a totally unreasonable person - he'd given her arguments due consideration.  Hells, a few times she'd almost managed to convince him! 

A faint and somewhat cryptic grin briefly flickered across his face. Ms. Minx had certainly made some compelling arguments, so to speak.  She'd been a very talented orator; it didn't hurt that she had a naturally persuasive figurecharacter.  Daeth shook his head to clear his thoughts; he hadn't been to Haven (debauched city that it was) in a long, long time.  He did, however, remember what Alandra had said to him.  

With the fluid, alien grace of something instinctively predatory, he padded over to Lord and Lady Syltamul.  Callon paused and turned as Daeth came up behind the two Elves, and was unresistant when he snagged an arm around the young Elf Lord's waist.  He did the same to Amarice, smiling inwardly at how easily they yielded when he pulled them in close.  He leaned down between them and spoke to the pair, his tone coy.

"Mea provocare Dryadales," Daeth crooned in a low, hushed voice.  "As somebody once told me, 'I hate to see you leave, but oh, how I do love to watch you go'." He gave each of them a pinch, laughing when Amarice swatted at him with a silvery giggle.  He then turned his head and caught a glint in Callon's eye.  A slow, predatory smile spread across his features as he leaned down towards the other man, when he suddenly heard the sharp click of footsteps approaching from the back of the shop.   

Daeth let his arms fall away. He straightened, taking a moment to tug the bandana wrapped loosely around his neck, up over the lower half of his face to obscure his identity. Only his bright, amethyst colored eyes could be seen, which, he supposed, was the point: keep his identity wrapped in mystery to enhance the impact of the later "reveal".  He made sure the half-mask cover was secure, then took a half-step back from the Elven nobles.  

Daeth looked up when Vincen Chemaux, the proprietor of The Lavish Hand made his entrance.  He watched quietly as Vincen’s tall, svelte figure emerged from somewhere near the back of the shop, absently noting the avant-garde and upscale quality of his outfit.  His violet eyes were vivid with intensity and interest, almost glowing in the interior of the shop as he silently studied the golden-haired Elf.  

═ ✽ ═ 

Spoiler
(OOC: 1/2 - continued in next post)
I split the original longer post into 2 parts for ease of reading. The post would've been close 1200-1400 words, so splitting it seemed to be the better option to make it less confusing and to make sure any details aren't lost in a wall of text.

TOM-CAT (Must Read): Teleskela - Kiana Beach Battle (3/3) - ★★Try Again - ★★Powder Keg - Soft, soft - Imprint - ★★Stupid Little Tom-Cat
DAETH (top 3): Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - ★★Sensing Death
RISQUÉ (most recent): ★★Fun with Fisticuffs!
──────────────────
[ ☆ = favorite / ★★= extra fave]


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 438
Journey starter  

┠ DAETH 

Inside The Lavish Hand

═ ✽ ═

[NPC's]

Spoiler
Lord Callon Syltamul
Lord Travion Winterlow(Elf Noble) 4
Spoiler
Lady Amarice ap Nudd-Syltamul
Lady Amarice apNudd Syltamul 1Lady Amarice apNudd Syltamul 3

═ ✽ ═

At the arrival of the esteemed Vincen Chemaux, Lord Callon Syltamul immediately moved forward. He stopped before the tailor and gave Vincen a polite, though a generally pleasant smile, before reaching out to give the posh Elf's hand a firm shake.  He inclined his head in acknowledgment.  

"My dearest Monsieur Chemaux," said Callon, his voice a polished mezzo voce.  "That your reputation precedes you," he paused, his leaf green eyes sweeping over the shop in an all- encompassing glance.  "Is not unwarranted," he finished, looking back to Vincen.

The Elf Lord paused as he suddenly seemed to realize something, and a faintly embarrassed look crossed his face.  "Forgive my manners, Monsieur Chemaux," he apologized.  He actually sounded like he meant it, though whether or not that was really true…one's guess was as good as the next.  

"I know of you, but have yet to introduce myself," he continued, with a small twist of his lips.  "Again, please forgive my oversight."  Callon hoped he sounded sufficiently contrite.  All the same, he drew himself straighter, his posture somehow intimating his noble bearing.  "Allow me to formally introduce myself: I am Lord Callon of House Syltamul."  He gave a small bow at the waist that was all at once nominal yet proper. 

"Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Chemaux," Callon finished. His mellisonant tone was brushed with muted warmth, which helped to round out the stiff edges of decorum and make his words feel friendlier and more casual.  He turned and held his hand out to Amarice.  

Amarice gracefully inclined her head in the avowal of Callon's unspoken entreaty, affixing a beatific smile to her lips as she looked first upon him, then Vincen. Her bearing was statuesque as she walked to Callon and delicately took his outstretched hand, glancing up at him through her lashes as she played the part of the devoted wife, no trace of guile upon her winsome face. 

She favored him with a charming smile as he folded her hand within his own and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.  They briefly locked eyes, silently communicating in the half-seconds between breaths, before Callon gave her fingers a quick squeeze and released her hand.  Amarice smoothly stepped up as he turned back to Vincen, upon whom she bestowed a small smile, before sweeping down into a shallow, demure curtsey. 

"Before any more of my manners run away from me,” said Callon, with a slight chuckle. “May I also introduce to you my Lady Wife,” he indicated to Amarice with an exaggerated gesture.  “The inestimable Lady Amarice ap-Nudd Syltamul.” 

Amarice moved forward and offered her hand to Vincen, palm down.  “It is an honor to meet you, Vincen,” she said in a clear, musical voice.  “I am most impressed by what I’ve seen so far, and as my Lord implied, you come highly recommended.”  The smile she gave Vincen was genuine.

She took a small step back and paused, gathering her thoughts.  “That is the reason for our visit to your shop.  My husband had his maidservant drop off a letter to you a few days ago, with our wishes for a costume to be made for our upcoming ball." Amarice paused to give Vincen a moment to process everything so far.  Once she saw the remembrance in his eyes, she continued.

"We thought to simply wait for it to be complete, but it is very important to us that the costume fits and meets our specific....expectations.”  She emphasized the last word as she turned to Callon, giving him a meaningful look.

Callon smoothly continued the narrative.  “Yes, as my Lady has expressed, we would like for the outfit to have,” he paused, searching for the right words.  “We’d like the outfit to have the right fit in order to highlight and flatter the figure."  As he spoke, he made some sort of vague outline in the air with his hands.

"We decided that a direct consultation would be the best possible way to ensure our wishes are met.”  Callon had to work to keep the anticipation from showing on his face as he continued.  “As I’m sure you may have guessed from the rough measurements that were included with the letter that was sent, the costume we have commissioned is not for us.” A little bit of excitement crept into his voice, despite himself.  “It is for our current...guest.”

Both Callon and Amarice stepped aside, giving Vincen a full, unobstructed view of Daeth's half-masked figure. 

For his part, Daeth remained where he was, only lifting his eyes to look directly at Vincen as he casually slipped his hands into the pockets of his open jacket. He assumed a careless slouch, the loose tilt of his hips and thoughtless angle of his body drawing attention to the long line of his torso and lean taper of his waist. In subtle contrast, the stretch of his shirt and drape of the jacket, seemed to emphasize the solid span of his chest and shoulders.  

Daeth can admit without conceit that he cut a striking figure, and with the black neckerchief pulled up to around the lower half of his face, one that was doubtlessly also shrouded in an air of mystery.   He knew perfectly well how he presented himself and how he was meant to be seen.  He knew (and didn't care) that he was meant to be on display, that he was meant to be objectified, to be wanted

Ultimately, he was relaxed and utterly uncaring of the attention, comfortable with the scrutiny.

He winked at Vincen, raising  shoulder in an expressive shrug that said, Ah, Nobles right? At least they're nice to look at.  Or something to that effect; Daeth's shrugs said a lot, but what that was, wasn't always clear. 

He left the coat on for now - he wanted to see if M.Chemaux was the bossy type.

═ ✽ ═

Spoiler
[OOC: 2/2 - Feel free to have a fitting in the middle of the shop, LOL (open for more)]
Ok, so I stopped there, lol, because I realized I should give Vincen a chance to answer and interact, eh? If it's not clear (it's probably not) Callon & Amarice are having a grand ol' time putting on a show for M.Chemaux.  Daeth will react and interact with Vincen in a response post.

In the meantime, like the title says, feel free to take Daeth's measurements, whatever is needed to make sure everything fits perfectly. You know Daeth, he'll go along with almost anything.  If you decide that Vincen wouild rather take some measurements in the back for privacy, you can have him follow him there.  Anyhow, sorry this took so long to get posted!!

TOM-CAT (Must Read): Teleskela - Kiana Beach Battle (3/3) - ★★Try Again - ★★Powder Keg - Soft, soft - Imprint - ★★Stupid Little Tom-Cat
DAETH (top 3): Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - ★★Sensing Death
RISQUÉ (most recent): ★★Fun with Fisticuffs!
──────────────────
[ ☆ = favorite / ★★= extra fave]


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

Vincen Chemaux

Proprietor of the Lavish Hand (npc)

Vincen had expected the remainder of his day to be uneventful as he worked on a selection of 'nearly made' items, clothing that could be adapted and quickly fitted to the wearer. There were also a few custom requests on his backlog that he wanted to see to completion while he wasn't swamped with the everyday tasks.

There was no extra help employed at The Lavish Hand, Vincen oversaw everything himself, from choosing the fabulous fabrics to the meticulous record-keeping. He had a knack for designing the garments, knowing exactly the right amount of detail and embellishment the attire needed to suit the clothes and its' wearer. His most satisfied patrons praised his creations and their magickally perfect fit, not knowing that he used actual magick to shape the outfit to their measurements.

It wasn’t a skill that he relied upon often, it was both taxing and expensive, so only his more affluent customers could afford to be so perfectly fitted in a short amount of time - even if they didn’t know the truth of what they were paying for. But there were times he took an interest in someone or was inspired by their request, and he would extend his abilities to create the perfect fit. Which on meeting the elven lady the day previous, he was struck by her somber demeanor and saw it as a perfect settings for one of his creations.

At the sound of a carriage pulling up in front of his shop, he set down his needle and thread and craned his neck toward the window in interest, curious to get a glimpse of who had arrived. A coachman opened the door to the vehicle to let out three finely turned-out figures and it was immediately obvious that they were not from the middle-class. Vincen knew they would appreciate a bit of dramatic flair, so without wasting a breath he withdrew behind the curtained partition.

He allowed the trio a moment to peruse the main room before he pushed back the curtain in a wide sweep of his arm.

Well met! My Lady. My Lords. Welcome to The Lavish Hand,” Vincen said in a clear and ringing voice and a flick of his wrists.

Both the elven lord and lady had fine features and the regal bearing that spoke of generations of inherited nobility; these were elves of distinction, regardless they traveled in an unmarked carriage but Vincen suspected that was part of the allure they were trying to cultivate. He knew that many in the area would have taken note of their arrival and gossip likely already spreading through the Quarter. He would not be surprised if a small gathering of lookie-loos formed outside his shop in the hope of catching a glimpse of the occupants.

The youthful looking lord introduced themselves as Lord and Lady Syltamul and Vincen’s smile grew wider in genuine pleasure, his teeth flashing with his grin. He'd heard enough about the stunning beauty of the powerful nobles and was not surprised to see the reports were not exaggerated.

Vincen laughed out loud, the sound a rich timbre, more charmed than he would admit at their introductions.

He returned Lord Syltamul’s greeting with a smart bow of his own, dipping his head a bit lower out of deference to the other’s higher status. “The pleasure is mine, Lord Callon. I am humbled that you have taken the time to come to my shop to consult with me personally.

He turned to the Lady Amarice and lightly grasped her hand, as he bent his right leg slightly behind his left and dipped into a low bow. Not quite kissing the back of her hand but close enough to inhale the delicate fragrance of her perfume.

It is my utmost honor, m’lady to receive your patronage.


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

Vincen Chemaux

Proprietor of the Lavish Hand (npc)

Vincen released the lady’s hand and straightened, aware that the third member of their party had yet to be introduced, so he kept his amber gaze trained on the face of Lord Callon. “Your letter did indeed arrive several days past and I have come up with some fine options for your perusal. Everything was made approximate to the measurements you provided but as you wisely surmised, accurate measurements and a final fitting would still be required.

Vincen turned, at last, to openly assess the guest the Syltamuls had brought with them. Masked as he was, there was no denying the masculine energy the figure gave off nor was there any way to hide the vibrant and unusual color of his eyes. Mr Chemaux had once seen a similar color on a Drow but this tall figure was otherwise opposite in every aspect to a dark elf. It seemed that rumors were perhaps true, the guest the Syltamuls had ensconced at their estate was indeed ‘Other’ and undoubtedly, or at least in part, the reason for the nobles' in-person appearance in the city just days ahead of their ball.

Because what was the point of hosting a masquerade after all, if not to have it the subject of conversation both before and after the event?

If I may,” he said, as he circled the figure carefully posed in a casual slouch, appearing bored with the shopping excursion and at the same time, that he indulged the whim of the Syltamuls.

Vincen stepped closer to the male, not yet touching, and circled around a couple of times, his lips pursed in thought as he made a few sketching motions in the act of taking a few mental notes. And it was just an act. Vincen was less interested in the exact detail of measurements - his magicks would see the outfit fit perfectly without them - than he was in trying to determine exact the origins of the mystery male. He noted each inhale of breath, the flex of muscle and the heavy-lidded stare but there was nothing to give away who this person was.

Vincen, at last, stopped face-to-face with the stranger and tapped his lips with a forefinger before he grinned cheekily, “Would you mind sir if I take a few measurements?

The tailor didn’t bother to wait for an answer in the affirmative, the Lord and Lady had after all explicitly said that was the exact reason they were in his shop. Vincen pulled a length of red ribbon marked with gold numbers from a vest pocket and moved to stand behind the male once more. He placed the tape at one shoulder and ran it down the length of one arm and then quickly adjusted the end down toward his waist, pausing nearly imperceptibly over the shoulder blades before moving down to the taut backside. Vincen tapped at the man's arms, to get him to hold them out from his sides and then took the tape to wrap it around the man’s trim waist, his arms circling from behind.

"Hmm.. how delicious!" Vincen winked at Lady Amarice. The stranger was corded with muscle, no hint of anything resembling fat; this was someone that was used to physical activity, in more ways than just behind bedroom doors. Though he had no sexual interest in the male, he was not above admiring the powerful physique, plus he recognized the group expected at least one comment of appreciation of the man's body.

He stepped, returning his measuring tape to his pocket, and said, “If you allow me a moment, I will bring out what I've created for you… er, and your guest.

He disappeared behind the curtain a moment and quickly reappeared with several items carefully folded over his arm. In the manner of someone laying out delicate glasswork, he laid them out over the shop’s central table. When he stepped back there was a single pair of trousers, folded neatly at the end, black and made of a soft brushed fabric that could have been suede but without the stiffness of the material.

Next, he presented a selection of three jackets. The first was a burgundy velvet trimmed at the open collar and cuffs with gold brocade, it had a swallowtail split in the back, accented with gold rope. The second was a black silk velvet, the high collar embroidered in black and hand-carved buttons adorning the front.

My Lady Amarice, if you would indulge me, I also have a third option available although it doesn’t quite align with your commission.” Vincen smoothed a hand over the last coat, a deep indigo so dark to appear nearly black until in the direct light. It too had a high collar and black embroidery but was longer in length than the other two and had no fastenings in the front. “Made of the finest Liathlidorian wool, I felt that such a rare and luxurious material would only be best appreciated when modeled on a male of fine physique.

"But I will leave the choice to you," he said, as he waited expectantly.


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 4 months ago
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Journey starter  

┠ DAETH

Death Angel & Bearer of the Mark

═ ✽ ═

 

Daeth had hung back as, at long last, the esteemed proprietor of The Lavish Hand swept into the front of the shop to greet them. Vincen Chemaux.  After all, every step of this trip, from the timing of their visit to the pieces of his outfit, had been meticulously planned out. 

 

Amarice and Callon had deliberated over his clothing, choosing his pants, shirt, and fitted jacket with painstaking care. They'd pointedly dressed him from head to toe in muted shades of black and gray. Each article of clothing was designed to flaunt and display his physique to maximum effect, and the subdued color palette chosen to maintain plausible deniability against such flagrancy. 

 

Witnessing the Syltamul's manufacture the details of what was, in essence, a publicity stunt, in such a deft and exacting manner, was a marvel of pure, cold-blooded, pragmatism. 

 

Daeth went along with their plan, not because he cared about such things, or even because he admired the way they schemed as if planning battle strategies; he was truly indifferent to it all.  No, he ultimately agreed to play nice and go along with Callon and Amarice's plan, because he knew that he could later hold his complicity over each of their pretty heads.

 

He'd discovered that the young Lord and the lovely Lady Syltamul absolutely could not stomach when someone had any sort of collateral over them, no matter how trivial or ridiculous.  They both would become exceedingly vexed, flustered into a state of static shock, and thereupon submissive, pliable - something which Daeth greatly enjoyed.  

 

He reaped immense pleasure in making the usually poised and in-control Syltamuls (and Elves in general) hot, flushed, and bothered under the collar; be it from irritation or otherwise.  That combined with restraint and denial (of wants, of stimuli, of attention) and they both - Callon especially - would sooner or later beg oh so sweetly

 

As Callon and Amarice had moved forward to greet Monsieur Chemaux, Daeth caught and held Vincen's eyes with his own.  For the briefest of moments, he allowed the near-full weight of his intense, violet-colored gaze to settle and look directly into Vincen's own; there was a subtle shift, his rich purple irises growing more vivid until they looked almost magenta in the filtered light of the shop.  

 

Daeth unashamedly (purposefully) studied M.Chemaux, drinking in every detail: the slight curl to his golden hair; the refined poise of his svelte build; the slight twist of his wrist when he clasped Callon's hand in both of his, cosmopolitan airs, his manner of speech.  He gave Vincen a perfunctory once-over when the tailor had come to take his measurements,the sweep of his gaze like the phantom caress of fingertips delicately skimmed across the inner wrist; there, but not.  All said, he played his part, but increasingly he found his attention turned inwards as he experienced a growing twinge in a distant part of his mind.  

 

Death.  Not the usual, slow meander of death that he constantly felt, either.  This was different; this was an aggregate of death, the caress of it against his core distant, yet acute.  There were no two ways about it; he knew death as intimately as one knows the feel of their breath as it expanded the walls of their lungs. And that was exactly what he was feeling: Death. It pressed its shape into the marrow of his bones, leaving an impression that was both black and syrupy, yet exquisitely vivid, poignant, and entirely unique. It pushed into the edges of his mind like the sluggish melt of hot tar seeping down into cracks in a road, and slowly filtered through a hairline fracture in the seal of his otherwise airtight control.  

 

And underneath the intimately familiar sensation which stretched like a membrane to choke the air from his lungs, was something else entirely; something he couldn’t really discern, except for in broad strokes of color and sense bled together like paints spilled across a canvas.  He could almost feel the shape underneath the heavy layers of decayed skin and the crumble of hollowed out bones, could almost feel the tremor of a great, barely constrained rage vibrate in his teeth.  He can barely feel it scrape against the back of his throat, the taste of it heady and bitter under his tongue as it - whatever it was - seethed and roiled, straining against the blackness which surrounded it, bound it.  The Brand didn’t so much as ache, so he knew that whatever the shrouded presence was, it wasn’t demonic, and yet...there was a sense of the familiar about it in the way of something kindred.  Could it be the Riders, finally resurrected and once more coming for him? It would make his thoughts of War make more sense, but as he briefly closed his eyes, purposefully seeking the taste of the anomaly held within the tight fist of death, he knew it wasn’t War, or Pestilence, or even Famine.  It was something else entirely.

 

Daeth abruptly knew that he needed to strengthen the wards at the Syltamul’s estate, to make sure the Game was wound tightly and intricately, that his maze was laid down as precisely as possible.  That much death, that close to him, would only act like a clarion call for something demonic to come and find him.  It was a mistake to even take this short outing.  Luckily for him, nobody had seemed to notice his momentary lapse; Daeth pulled down the scarf about the lower half of his face, sucking a slow, quiet breath into his lungs.  It didn’t take much to block himself off from the agglomeration of death and something else that he felt pressed against his essence beyond the direction of Bridgeways.  He stepped to the side of the shop for a moment, at least to avoid driving either Callon, Americe, or Vincen to insanity under the weight of his unguarded gaze; he suddenly felt too raw and not entirely in control of himself.

 

He realized why he's disturbed: He knows the feel of mass death pressing in on him, has felt the death farrago of battlefields and genocides as each one punched through him in sudden spikes, bright bursts of pain and euphoria that whited-out every sense.  What he'd felt had not been that.  What he’d felt was something that he hadn’t experienced in a terribly long time, not since he’d stopped reaping souls for his Father: the slow, unmistakable ache of a prolonged and sacrificial death.  He'd recognize the sensation anywhere, strained and sharp within the apex of his being, and ending with an intense flash of euphoria that was wholly separate from any other feeling.

 

And, loathe as he is to admit it, the brief touch of that achingly familiar sensation, was like tasting ambrosia again. 

 

Thankfully, while he’d been off brooding to one side of the shop, Callon and Amarice had finalized everything with Vincen.  He wasn’t surprised when they both went for the third option that M.Chemaux had presented; even he could appreciate the fineness of the fabric.  From the look of it, at least he’d be comfortable.  Daeth easily fell back into his role as Amarice came up to him and linked her arm through his.  Nothing showed on his face except for a somewhat crooked grin that promised he’d be collecting his dues, later.  Before they departed the shop, he turned back once to meet Vincen’s gaze, his face now fully unobstructed by the scarf.  He met the blonde-haired Elf’s gaze full-on, letting a bit of his true nature filter through his violet irises.  His lips suddenly curved up into a teasing grin and he passed a hand in front of his face, dispelling whatever the shopkeep might have thought he’d seen, though as ever there remained a dangerous edge to his smile, the corners of it sharp.

 

Then Daeth, along with the Syltamul’s, was gone, disappearing through the open door and into the long, slanting red-orange rays of the late afternoon sun.

 

[OOC: Daeth and Syltamul’s toThe Horse & Carriage Causeway: The Foreign Quarter]

@Wynterleaf

Spoiler
[OOC 2: Whoops...I lied about moving everying right away to the estate, I guess, heh]
I realized I had this mostly written, lol, and decided to just finish it and take it in a different direction.  If you want to write the aftermath of Daeth and the Syltamul's visit for Vincen, please do! You can have him send off the outfit or whatnot - maybe Eddellyn and Travion make their way there so dearest Trav can match you for the ball. (If he's still breathing without a dagger between his ribs by then, of course!)

TOM-CAT (Must Read): Teleskela - Kiana Beach Battle (3/3) - ★★Try Again - ★★Powder Keg - Soft, soft - Imprint - ★★Stupid Little Tom-Cat
DAETH (top 3): Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - ★★Sensing Death
RISQUÉ (most recent): ★★Fun with Fisticuffs!
──────────────────
[ ☆ = favorite / ★★= extra fave]


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 4 months ago
Posts: 45
 

Vincen Chemaux

Proprietor of the Lavish Hand (npc)

Vincen acted the part of a gracious host and proprietor while Lady and Lord Syltamul went over in detail the selection of fabrics and colors, fit, and accessories of the garments. If he noted that they did not consult at all with their guest he did not comment on it, simply following their lead in the interactions. After selection of all pieces had been settled, he assured the beautiful couple that the clothing was his priority to finish and would be ready in time for their grand masquerade a few days hence. When the time came for the group to depart, he had intended to promise delivery of the clothing to their estate personally and was, in fact, ready to do so, when the third member of their party turned toward him, his features fully revealed now that the scarf was lowered, and settled the full bore of his gaze on Vincen.

Vibrant heliotrope eyes met his own and held his gaze for the briefest of moments, the gaze feeling like it pierced the deepest layers of Vincen’s soul stripping his every thought bare. It was not a comfortable sensation and he found his heart hitching once, twice, before it began its steady thud again, though perhaps racing a bit faster than before and then the moment passed as if it never happened. Vincen took a steadying breath, his mind trying to make sense of what had just happened, and he caught the taunting curve of the man’s lips suggesting he knew how unsettled he had made Vincen.

At that moment, Vincen decided to have a trusted courier to make the delivery to the Syltamul Estate when the time came. It was best he remained well away from the sight of this creature that saw too much, made him feel to much, especially considering the task he had given the elf Wynterleaf. If she was indeed successful in retrieving the seal from the estate, he didn’t want there to be any connection back to him when the time came for him to follow through on his own plots. But having now, at last, met the enigmatic visitor staying at the Estate, he had his doubts that the elven lass would even be able to enter onto the grounds while the watchful presence of this otherworldly figure was in residence.

So, with a promise he would have the clothing delivered, he gave his goodbyes to the Syltamuls and their guest, bowing low as they departed the shop and then locking the door securely behind them, he slumped against the portal with a deep exhale.


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