Genesis 032
Jan. 10th, 2006 01:59 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Fashion Item
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ Genesis 032. Narine's one of the recently-designed healers. This is when she was back in Ni-Aneka, before she became a healer.
~ ~ ~
Narine grinned at her reflection in the mirror, experimentally pursing her lips and putting on her best sexy face. She grinned again and skipped out of the room, snatching her coin purse on the way.
“Bye, Mama!” she called into what her family had come to call the design room, “I’ll be back some time around—Mother?”
She froze at the doorframe, peering curiously into the room, a deep and potentially disgusted frown on her face. “Mother?” she tried again, “Is that lace? Please, for the love of the goddesses, tell me that isn’t lace.”
Her mother looked up from her sketching. “It’s lace.”
“Oh, please, Mama, you didn’t get sucked in by some more ‘nice Llayans down by the markets’ again, did you?”
The older woman half-glared at her daughter, then returned to her sketching. “No, Narine, I didn’t. I’ll have you know, lace was quite a feature at your cousin’s hrai-dani.” She glanced up briefly, looking out from under her brow at her daughter. “You would have seen for yourself, if you had been in the slightest bit interested.”
Narine rolled her eyes and wandered over to where her mother was seated at the large desk by the window. “That’s not the point: lace?” She peered at a few of the sketches scattered over the table, all attempting to use lace in some fashionable style, all with large black crosses drawn through them.
“Mama, they’re all too Llayan,” Narine pointed out, frowning at one of the sketches in particular.
“I know that.” Her frustration was directed at herself rather than her daughter, and she abruptly dragged a cross through the design she had been working on.
Narine drew a fresh sheet of parchment and took a stick of charcoal from the box on the desk, then began a quick sketch. “Stop trying to use the lace as decoration, Mama,” she explained as she worked, “it won’t work. Llayans work in layers, so they kind of just flop the lace over top to make another layer and add interest, or something.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” her mother mumbled, peering over Narine’s arm as the stick of charcoal scratched over the paper.
“Well stop it,” Narine continued firmly, “What in Lin’s sweet name is a Raykinian going to want with layers? If we were going to use it at all, it’d be as ventilation.” She scribbled a bit on her sketch to signify where the lace was—in a kind of corkscrew fashion starting from the back, working over the stomach and flaying out around the left leg. “I see it in red, maybe a bit of gold in the lace.” She dropped the charcoal back in the box and took the towel from her mother’s lap to clean her hands.
Her mother was shaking her head and smiling. “Oh Narine, what am I going to do when you leave?”
Narine bent down and kissed her mother on the forehead. “You’ll be fine, Mama. I’ll visit, promise.”
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ Genesis 032. Narine's one of the recently-designed healers. This is when she was back in Ni-Aneka, before she became a healer.
Narine grinned at her reflection in the mirror, experimentally pursing her lips and putting on her best sexy face. She grinned again and skipped out of the room, snatching her coin purse on the way.
“Bye, Mama!” she called into what her family had come to call the design room, “I’ll be back some time around—Mother?”
She froze at the doorframe, peering curiously into the room, a deep and potentially disgusted frown on her face. “Mother?” she tried again, “Is that lace? Please, for the love of the goddesses, tell me that isn’t lace.”
Her mother looked up from her sketching. “It’s lace.”
“Oh, please, Mama, you didn’t get sucked in by some more ‘nice Llayans down by the markets’ again, did you?”
The older woman half-glared at her daughter, then returned to her sketching. “No, Narine, I didn’t. I’ll have you know, lace was quite a feature at your cousin’s hrai-dani.” She glanced up briefly, looking out from under her brow at her daughter. “You would have seen for yourself, if you had been in the slightest bit interested.”
Narine rolled her eyes and wandered over to where her mother was seated at the large desk by the window. “That’s not the point: lace?” She peered at a few of the sketches scattered over the table, all attempting to use lace in some fashionable style, all with large black crosses drawn through them.
“Mama, they’re all too Llayan,” Narine pointed out, frowning at one of the sketches in particular.
“I know that.” Her frustration was directed at herself rather than her daughter, and she abruptly dragged a cross through the design she had been working on.
Narine drew a fresh sheet of parchment and took a stick of charcoal from the box on the desk, then began a quick sketch. “Stop trying to use the lace as decoration, Mama,” she explained as she worked, “it won’t work. Llayans work in layers, so they kind of just flop the lace over top to make another layer and add interest, or something.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” her mother mumbled, peering over Narine’s arm as the stick of charcoal scratched over the paper.
“Well stop it,” Narine continued firmly, “What in Lin’s sweet name is a Raykinian going to want with layers? If we were going to use it at all, it’d be as ventilation.” She scribbled a bit on her sketch to signify where the lace was—in a kind of corkscrew fashion starting from the back, working over the stomach and flaying out around the left leg. “I see it in red, maybe a bit of gold in the lace.” She dropped the charcoal back in the box and took the towel from her mother’s lap to clean her hands.
Her mother was shaking her head and smiling. “Oh Narine, what am I going to do when you leave?”
Narine bent down and kissed her mother on the forehead. “You’ll be fine, Mama. I’ll visit, promise.”
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 07:35 am (UTC)but it isn't stripping Lynnlitano subject
Date: 2006-01-09 07:41 am (UTC)