Light marks on the fabric rolled across the table outlined the future cuts that were to be made. With the size of the pieces she would need, she considered using the long table in the main room, but this one in the shop would suffice for one at a time. After all, if there was one thing about Aeonid, he was large. Though she considered herself a little above average when it came to women’s heights, he was still nearly a foot taller than her and was no thin birch tree. She’d had to stretch her arms to reach around him during the measuring for the shirts.
Another thing he was is open. Completely open, she thought, walking into the main room for some tea. As she crossed out the threshold of the shop, her steps immediately became more languid and she rolled her neck, rubbing a sore spot. Though, it was a good kind of sore, the kind that comes from being hard at fulfilling work. Some lavender would help as well, and soon the fragrant smell of the tea had her relaxing. In the break from her work, she allowed her mind to wander. Those open and those closed…
She had been meaning to find Deorda with dress designs when she ran into Aeglorond instead. Apparently, she had just missed the bar matron, but she would keep trying. And Aeglorond made curious company. Succinct and concise, not one to be wordy or share much. It was almost a game to her to see what she could learn of him, which was very little. That which he was not brief on, he was closed about completely, his secrets hidden and well-guarded under a stoic exterior. It was a good way to keep things closed and walled off, but it meant that conversation ran dry quickly.
Narys spoke longer and more freely. She was plain about her thoughts, never dancing around her meaning. And she was open on much; there was little she wished to hide. Yet, there was something there. The woman often had a look about her, something on her mind that would burden her. At times, she would see the carefree Narys, the snarky red-head that didn’t feel the need to hold up to anyone’s standards. But that could change in an instant, the mention of an instance or even a theme could send her back, hiding and veiled.
Then there was Aeonid. When she had first come intending to measure him, they had ended up in pleasant conversation. How quickly all his past poured out, his present thoughts and feelings, his potential plans and hopes. And other comments that were quite a bit more frank than she was used to. It was both refreshing and made her pause. There were some things he’d said, that he’d done, that made the self-preservation instinct in her want to flinch away, to tell her that he was dangerous. Perhaps he might have been, once, maybe even still. And there were other things, deeper revelations of the wounds of the past that broke her heart and opened her toward him. His pain was in the open, physically so when she managed to come by the next day and do the actual measuring.
How strange…
How strange, she thought, going back into her shop a second cup in hand, that it is as if society expects a certain amount of things be closed off, demands it even. That in sensible company, to speak truly openly could make people uncomfortable. Perhaps, she mused unemotionally in the green walls, because it reveals the fears with in a person or the things they revile.
She preferred to speak plainly, and she didn’t exactly hide, but she wasn’t so open that she put everything she was on display all the time. A few secrets she kept to protect herself, others were merely veiled so as to be found if searched for, and most things were open to all the world
She wasn’t quite like Narys and she wasn’t quite like Aeo, and neither was exactly like the other. Though, they were very similar, and could relate to each other. Their openness and honesty with each other was such that when she had looked between them after she had finished measuring Aeonid, though he towered over Narys even more than he did herself, as a great oak over a deer in its shade, those two seemed to have equal footing. She knew then there was something she was not privy to, making a polite exit to leave the two of them to speak.
As she held up the cutout of the first piece, she wasn’t thinking about how she might feel about that; she didn’t feel personally in her shop, didn’t allow it. But there was one thing she was sure of: she was going to need more of the thread that matched the dark iron grey of the cloth. Without it, she couldn’t go much further so she grabbed her scissors, tucking them into the hidden pocket she had sewn into her dress, picked up her coin purse and headed to the front door. Her posture immediately slackened and a relaxed smile came to her face. Perhaps she would try going to the Prancing Pony again that evening while she was in town, now that she was somewhat more established and knew a few faces.
