Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five - The Patrician's Armor

Patrice scanned us all up and down, then crossed one wing over his chest so that he could poke his chin with the other’s talon. “First, we need to work out the coordinations,” he said.

I looked around, searching for a clue as to what he meant. The room, the very well hidden room, had a bunch of cloth bolts and some mannequins with nothing on, and a few sewing machines with big foot-pedals, but nothing that clarified what he meant.

Rosaline nodded as if she knew exactly what he was talking about. “Of course. But you’ll have to give me a moment.”

“Oh?” Patrice asked, one eyebrow rising.

Rosaline turned towards Awen, Awen whose face was only just recovering from its burst of redness earlier. “So, Miss Bristlecone, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the ball?”

“A-ahwa?”

Rosaline smiled, but even a cursory inspection showed that the harpy was actually rather nervous. Her talons were fiddling with the sides of her pants and she was shifting her weight from side to side. Even her smile had a bit of a wobble in it.

Awen turned towards me, watery eyes filled with uncertainty. “If you want,” I said simply. Any more than that and I’d be pushing her one way or the other.

“I... Miss Albatross... Rosaline. I’m just me,” Awen said. “I’m nothing special, not like my friends. But if you want, then--” She paused, a smile so big and happy spreading across her face that I was sure it was making her cheeks pinch painfully. “Then I’d love to be your date.”

I clapped my hands together and only just held back the urge to hug Awen because Rosaline was already mid-glomp.

“So, that’s two dresses which must compliment each other,” Patrice said. He wasn’t entirely unmoved by the scene, not judging by his secretive little smile. “And what about you, Miss Bunch, Miss Albatross?”

I looked away from where Awen was holding back giggles as Rosaline nuzzled the top of her head. “Ah, um. I’m going with Amaryllis as friends,” I said.

“Oh, are you now?” Amaryllis asked. “What if I have a beau to bring with me?”

“She doesn’t have a beau,” I told Patrice. “That’s why we’re going together.”

Amaryllis huffed in protest, but it was a ‘you’re right but I don’t want to admit it’ huff’ so I decided it was safe to ignore it.

“So the second set needs to be complimentary, but not so much so that any fancy bird will be afraid of asking any of you onto the dance floor,” he said.

I hadn’t considered that. “Sounds good,” I said. “Can my dress be blue?”

Patrice tilted his head to the side. “I could work some highlights in.” He nodded. “We’ll start with you then!”

What followed was a moment that felt kind of magical. Patrice pulled me to the side and circled around me, his wings folded at the small of his back and his head bobbing up and down like a chicken looking for grain.

He nodded, then flicked a wing out to the side, sending a heavy gust of wind flying across the room. The girls squeaked and I ducked a bit as a bolt of cloth flew out of the side and smacked into Patrice’s waiting talons. “Let’s start from the ground up. I’m afraid you’ll need to see someone else for proper footwear. I don’t have the talent for such things, but Rosaline knows a few who can provide, I’m certain.”

“Shoe shopping sounds nice,” I said.

“Oh, it will be!” Rosaline cheered. “I know all the best places.”

Patrice moved off to one side and deftly unfolded a partition that stood up to neck-height. “Go stand behind that, I’ll be passing you some clothes,” he said

“You don’t need to take my measurements?” I asked.

“I’ve looked at you, haven’t I?” he asked.

Shrugging, I stepped behind the folding half wall and stood on my tippy-toes so that I could see Patrice at work. He barely paused as bolts of cloth flowed towards him. He cut apart and shaped the cloth with quick swipes of his talons and soon a needle with a long string of thread behind it was snaking through the air and sowing things together without him even looking.

“Whoa,” I said. “That’s incredible!” I said.

Patrice stood a bit taller at the compliment. “I’ve gotten my main class past its second evolution. Let me tell you, young Miss, being a tailor in a dungeon is not as safe as it sounds.”

“Wow!” I said. “That’s really impressive. Is your second class tailoring-related?” I asked.

“Wind Mage, actually,” he said. “Makes manipulating cloth easier and gives me some offensive options.”

“Most tailors here level through practice,” Amaryllis said.

He scoffed. “Most aren’t as good as I am. Try these on.” With a flick, all of the cloth came together and folded itself in midair only to land with a thump atop his hands all neatly pressed. He passed it to me over the edge of the half-wall.

I got undressed in a hurry, then put the things he’d given me on one at a time.

In the end, I was left standing in a tightly-fit pair of grey-black slacks, a bright blue blouse and a jacket.

“The mirror is on the wall over there,” Patrice said while pointing off to the side.

I stepped out from behind the half-wall and skipped over to a full length mirror hanging off one wall. The Broccoli in the reflection looked... older. The outfit reminded me less of a ball gown and a lot more of a business woman’s suit. It was all tight in places that made other places look more curvy and yet had sharp edges over the shoulders and sides that made it look tough.

The pants had enough flow to them to be feminine, and the jacket emphasised a lot without showing anything. It also made my bum look great. I’d need to find a nice hat that went well with my ears sticking out above them, and some shoes, of course.

“Ohh, this is gorgeous,” I said.

“Of course it is, I made it,” Patrice said.

“It’s certainly unconventional,” Amaryllis said.

“Awa, I like it.”

I nodded along. “I like it too!” I ran my thumbs through the lapels. “People will think I’m an adult now.”

“Until you start talking,” Amaryllis said.

“I believe it’s your turn, Miss Albatross the younger,” Patrice said.

“Should I change back?” I asked.

Rosaline nodded from her spot hanging off of Awen. “Yup. Don’t want to ruin the big reveal by walking around the city in your new clothes.”

A quick change later and I had my awesome new sorta-dress tucked away in a bag that Patrice made from some scrap cloth with little more than a snap.

Then it was Amaryllis’ turn to get all dolled up. Patrice tsked as he moved around her, but he seemed to come to a decision soon enough. “Perhaps an evolution on the standard cockatiel dress?” he muttered. “Yes. That will do. Go off and get undressed, I must work.”

Amaryllis huffed and went off behind the partition for a bit while Patrice worked. It was a lot neater to see his work from up close, all the materials flowing into place just-so.

When he gave Amaryllis her dress it was with a satisfied smirk.

My best harpy friend stepped out a moment or two later, her talons tugging at the material clinging to her hips. I had never seen Amaryllis in something other than pants before. The way she described it, skirts were a no-go for harpies, but now she was in a very tight wrapped skirt that held her legs together and flowed down into a short train behind her.

The top kept that wrapped look, exposing one shoulder and a bit of her back without giving away too much. It was made of the same grey-black material as my suit, with the inner layer a bright blue that only showed when she walked and exposed some of her legs.

“Ohh,” I said. “You look very pretty!”

She leveled a look at me, then moved over to the mirror to twist this way and that. “It’s a bit girly,” she said.

“But you look nice,” I said. “Like a mature woman.”

“Are you saying that I’m not usually a mature woman?” she snapped right back.

“Exactly.”

Amaryllis huffed and puffed a bit, but Rosaline and Awen both assured her that she looked very good, and once her ego was smoothed over I could almost see her accepting how she looked in the mirror.

My harpy friend didn’t have the biggest self-image issues, not compared to some, but she did desperately want to be taken seriously, and that meant looking the part of someone capable.

But capable didn’t mean not pretty.

And then Patrice had both Rosaline and Awen step up. “I’ve made clothes for couples before,” he said while ignoring the way Awen ‘eeped’ at the word. “It is always a bit of a challenge. But a couple with mixed races is new. Miss Albatross, would you mind a more human-style dress?”

“Ohh, that would be nice,” Rosaline said. “I can just imagine all the nobly old ladies getting their feathers in a twist.”

“Indeed,” Patrice said with a dangerous smile. “I live for their scandalous disapproval. The more they squawk the more the younger generation flock to my new styles.”

He had some cords flow around the two girls for a bit, then he nodded. “We’ll go with some more muted colours, the sort that won’t flash too hard in the current fashion, but a style that is completely different. A nod to two origins.”

Rosaline nodded and Awen seemed to float along next to her.

When Patrice sent them both to the other side of the divider to undress I was afraid that Awen might faint, but Rosaline told her that she’d go first with an airy giggle before pushing Awen into my open arms.

“Are you okay?” I asked the shorter girl as I gave her a big happy hug.

“Awa,” Awen whispered. “I’m... I... I’m very happy, but I’m also.” she paused and pressed her hands to her tummy. “There’s a lot of turmoil inside. I don’t know.”

I hugged her harder. “You’ll be okay,” I said. “Take things one step at a time. And if you need to run away for a bit, we have a whole ship to ourselves now, right?”

“I don’t think I want to run from this,” Awen said.

The hug grew even tighter. Awen was just too precious, especially when Rosaline stepped out from behind the half-wall and she let out a little gasp.

Rosaline’s dress was very much classical. With a big hem and flowing skirts set in layers of beige and brown and soft whites. There was some lace there too, but not that much, just enough to draw the eye up and to her exposed shoulder.

“What do you think?” she asked as she spun around. “It’s a bit frumpier than what I’m used to, but it’s very... human-ish.”

“It’s beautiful,” Awen said with simple honesty.

Rosaline blushed happily and skipped over to the mirror to ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ at herself.

“Your turn?” I asked Awen.

“Um,” she said. “Mister Patrice, is it okay if I don’t try on the dress here? Please?”

The man had a gleam in his eye. “Most certainly,” he said. “But next time, you have to tell me what she thinks, alright?”

Awen nodded quickly.

Rosaline was a bit put out at not seeing Awen all prettied up, but she didn’t make too much of a fuss. Soon money changed talons and Patrice let us go with one final suggestion. “Make sure that all those snobby old ones know that it is Patrice who made the works of art you are wearing!”

***