Vai—like any other morning—had set up shop early in anticipation for the day. Before the sun had even risen, they had started bringing today's stock to the disassembled parts of their little stand. They set it up every day in the same spot, marked with a wood stake with a string of blue-yellow feathers draped over it that they would replace every few days after closing their stall. It wasn't totally permanent, nor was it as gaudy as some of the merchants that would come in decorated head to toe with some of the most bodacious and ostentatious articles of clothing and accessories that they'd ever seen, capitalizing on their apparent exoticism to appeal to foreigners. They could respect the fact that this brought in more resources for their villages, but Vai couldn't help but cringe just a bit at how eager some would be to buy a simple stone mortar and pestle just because someone said it was authentic. Gullible foreigners and their islanding daydreams, they supposed.
They put their stand up in place, settling their short stool behind a modest stand made of wood and palm to shade them from the sun, as well as a small table-like area to display their wares. They laid out some of their newest sarongs and wraps, waistcloths and loincloths, colorfully-dyed barkcloth for one's own creations and grass skirts that made satisfying swishing sounds whenever they moved them. On hooks they hung necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and armlets decorated with beads they bought after meticulously inspecting each of them, and with feathers, shells, and bones that they examined with the same intensity. What would matter if they didn't go presenting their best everyday, right? If they were going to do something, they were going to do it well.
The day passed by sluggishly—not much business today, it seemed. Vai spent most of their time sitting and waiting while stringing shells and beads onto new pieces of jewelry, setting aside a few of the most colorful ones to give to some of the children in their village. There was a fleet of ships approaching in the horizon and a small group of locals coming down by the side, though—their idleness might not be kept for long. They eyed the ships first, shifting nervously in their seat, jagged wings twitching with uncertainty (which sent a pinprick of pain up their spine), before looking to the locals, then back to the ships before keeping their eyes resolutely down on their hands and what they were doing. Whatever might come would roll over and pass like a wave. Only temporary, only temporary.
The last time Hadrian had to cross the sea on foot, it put him out of commission for a time so long, he was yet to hear a word that could describe it. This was a notable improvement. There was a certain degree of novelty to simply not being a part of something important enough to provoke world-changing spells.
He walked out of the sea onto the land a few days after the ship he was on sank. Hadrian hadn't bothered to pour the remaining water out of his armour - he was willing to let it trickle out as he walked. The helmet was unfortunately lost in the sea - the depths were dark and murky, there was no way he could recover it.
That incident forced Hadrian to fall back on reconnaissance. What little he knew of this new world was not enough to tell where he was, let alone categorize the place into either enemy territory where his nature would have him attacked on the spot, or the rest.
It was a small shame to the former soldier that he didn't get to carry out any of his prior first engagement plans. Familiar with the land-bound denizens of Le'raana, Hadrian was taken completely by surprise when a colourful, winged local descended upon him from above and launched into a volley of questions. They were pointing a weapon at him, but it was a good sign - it was a natural reaction to an armed trespasser, and the possibility of being let go peacefully still remained.
The next few questions were asked in an accented version of a language Hadrian knew. Happy to have found a way to communicate before he was judged hostile, he answered the questions concerning his identity (Hadrian, a traveler), his objective (no ill intentions) and if he was here alone (he was). That seemed to be enough for the guard, who lowered their spear and let him pass. The local was even willing to give the soldier directions to the nearest town.
The town turned out to be quite large and populated mostly by the winged folk similar to the guard that got the drop on Hadrian earlier. The streets were shadowed less by buildings or trees and more by the people casually flying around. The soldier watched as someone push past the cascade of beads in what he assumed to be a second floor window and take flight. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed that only a few buildings had doors on the ground level. It was possible that some could be located on another side, but it would be both unnecessary for a flying folk and a strategic disadvantage.
Some of the locals chose to walk, rather than fly, and mingle with the wingless foreigners - probably traders and travelers. Hadrian spotted a few carrying weapons, and while their gazes followed his bones, Hadrian was neither approached nor followed - as much as he could tell.
He wandered into what appeared to be trade district. Both locals and travelers traded small shells for goods. Huh, so it was a currency after all. Back when Hadrian pretended to be just another hired blade, someone paid him with small shells. The soldier found it suspicious, but other fighters accepted them without a word, so he kept his silence. And now he's reached this strange land where shells were used for payment. He didn't know what to think about it - usually he was paid with small pieces of metal.
Hadrian lacked most mortal needs such as food or sleep, which left him rarely in need to purchase anything. However, his pouch has was getting heavy, and money was meant to be spent. He should take advantage of this market.
He glanced around, before finally making up his mind. Several weapons caught his eye, but he decided against trying them out. Their construction was interesting, and there was value in learning new fighting styles, but he would rather not have to rely on a blade he hasn't mastered. The fabrics seemed to be a better investment. A cloak with a hood could hide him when need arose, and would engender less suspicion than a full set of armour - armour that he could conceal under the cloak anyway.
Hadrian headed in the direction of a nearby weaver's stall, decorated with various fabrics and manned by one of the locals. Unlike the others, the person behind the stall didn't have a pair of large wings shadowing their shoulders. "Good afternoon" he opened with a greeting. "Might I peruse the cloaks offered here?"
Vai had moved onto weaving a rope after exhausting their little basket of decorative shells, keeping one end pinched between two toes as they worked on the other, thickly cording the sections of twine into something more durable. Weaving rope would certainly be a more time-eating task, but maybe that's what they needed right now—something to consume their time, make the day go faster. Not a lot of people seemed to be hungry for clothing or jewelry right now, anyway; they could at least make something useful and sturdy while the sun made its journey across the sky, right?
Conversation around them seemed to pick up, however, after some sort of rumored 'commotion' from somewhere a little farther away. None of the words seemed to squarely stand in either the negative or positive, making whatever happened there seemingly neutral; maybe a crate full of ruined supplies washed ashore? Maybe a bottle with a message in a language no one knew, or a locket with a picture of a non-islander? The gossip faintly filtered down the market, both in their language and foreigners' own, and they quietly listened in on the chatter as they put themself to work.
"A walking suit of bones," one woman said to her friend, munching on a piece of ripe fruit in her hand. "The warriors say that it walked out of the sea."
"Out of the sea?" her friend remarked dryly, sounding disbelieving as xe pulled xer hair back over xer shoulder. "What, did it have fins?"
"Fins, 'e?!" the woman lightly smacked her friend on the arm, some of the sticky juice from her snack sticking to xer skin. "It was wearing armor! How would we know?"
"Auî!" her friend exclaimed, not really hurt but wanting to play along. Xe titted xer tongue, wiping the juice off xer skin with a light sigh. "Okay, okay, calm down."
Vai giggled to themself under their breath, pulling the rope taught as they started to tie the end closed. Though it wasn't especially long, it was strong, and they were proud of their work. Reaching for the knife at their belt, they intended on cutting the extra wispy strands of twine off the end—
"Good afternoon," a masculine voice sounded from somewhere in the front-above him. "Might I peruse the cloaks offered here?"
Vai jolted in his seat a bit, quickly pulling his knife-grabbing hand back to his chest with an empty palm so that he didn't accidentally stab the person at his stall, though his eyes stayed on the ground. This person spoke with the Trader's Tongue—an outsider, then, and wildly unfamiliar. He fidgeted, releasing the bottom end of the rope from his toes and digging the appendages into the sand, instead, warm and dry. He cleared his throat, slowly looking up. "Ah, um, good af—auê!"
He let out a high-pitched yelp as he almost fell back out of his seat, his black-brown eyes meeting empty sockets rather than another set of organs. His wings fanning out and ruffling in shock, his look of surprise quickly crumbled into one of intense pain, dropping the rope from his grip as one of his hands grabbed the stool to stabilize himself and the other went to his back, carefully pressing against where his feathers attached to his skin. He stifled a tight groan, instead looking back to the stranger with confusion in his eyes, the blatant, one-word question of How? clear in his gaze.
He looked on in silence for a moment before hurriedly remembering his manners, clearing his throat again (more out of awkwardness than actual need to clear his throat) and standing with an intense heat on his face, his rope laying in the sand rather uselessly. Smoothing out his sarong, he nervously looked back to the foreigner's face, now looking down instead of up. "Sor-Sorry—" he inwardly cringed at his inability to truly form those rhotic 'r's, "—You want... a cloaks... mister?"
Hadrian had time to get used to this kind of response. As long as people were not attacking him, he was content to wait for them to get used to the idea of conversing with a skeleton. He stood still, arms at the sides and unmoving - it was best not to be mistaken for reaching for a weapon. There were guards around, and he was outnumbered.
He could not help but notice that the surprise seemed to have a physical effect on the unfortunate tailor. Now that he was close enough, he saw that the weaver was not truly flightless, there appeared to be a much smaller pair of wings attached to his lower back. It appeared inconvenient and uncomfortable.
Hadrian had a small advantage over the living with a functional pair of eyeballs. Neither his skull nor his empty eye sockets betrayed a hint of what he was looking at or thinking about, letting him stare at people with impunity. But time was not what he came here to spend. Perhaps his objective would be better served if he moved on and found a store less taken by his appearance.
His mind was about to be made up when the unfortunate weaver collected himself. His voice carried an accent, but not so heavy that Hadrian could not understand. Good. "Yes, please." he confirmed. "If no cloak available matches my size, I can pay more to have one altered."
Vai chewed on the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood, eyes darting across the foreigner's form—shorter than he was, and clad in an almost-complete set of armor that exposed bone where skin should have been. Well, if should was the right word to use—maybe he was a magic skeleton that never had skin in the first place, so actually having skin and organs would be out of place. He shouldn't be too quick to judge. That was how rudeness and misunderstandings came to be, which was evident in his less-than-pleasant reaction. Vai felt as though he should apologize again, but he didn't want to take any more of the man's time than he already did uselessly flailing about.
He pushed a stray lock of hair away from his face awkwardly, bobbing his head in time with the foreigner's words. "Ah, okay. Um, how to say..."
He took in a shallow breath, fighting to keep his eyes on where the foreigner's own eyes should have might have could have been. "...Yoreiq is a very hot place. Our stores does not carry cloaks, at least in the way you know them. We have what you might call capes, but those are not for sale to most publics. The people that have cloak with hoods are usually made of thick material that is not good for Yoreiq, and get very damaged from the salt water. No good."
He trailed off, darting his eyes to the side where some of his pre-woven fabrics laid. "But for pay, I can make anything you need me to, if you tell me how it looks like and how it works. I can promise good quality and good looks. If you do not like it, it is free."
Shifting the angle of his skull slightly, Hadrian glanced around at the passers-by. True to the weaver's words, no cloaked figures wandered the streets or traversed the skies. The closest equivalent of the garments they favoured were long, flowing robes worn by a few locals.
This variant of Yoreiq fashion would not work. They seemed rather loose and probably comfortable to wear, though that aspect was irrelevant to the dead. The openings of these robes were large and wide, exposing a lot of skin. Perhaps Hadrian could just gather all this fabric and wrap it around himself - no, this sounded troublesome, and unnecessary. Better to stick with the cloak.
"Yes. Thank you" Hadrian responded. How could he explain cloaks? Talking was not one of his strengths, and he was even less confident about using this world's language. "A cloak is... it is worn to protect from the outside. Rain and cold. It hangs on the shoulders and is closed with a pin. Some have..." what was the word for these tunnels of fabric around people's arms again?
A ghastly little chill ran up Vai's spine as he watched the foreigner's head shift (the teeth, most of all, disturbed him. He'd get used to him eventually, he was sure, but for now, walking skeletons were still wildly unfamiliar territory). He shifted his stance, fiddling with his fingers as he darted his eyes back down to the fabrics he had. Was the foreigner displeased? Surprised? Confused? He couldn't quite tell as of yet.
"Of course," he murmured in reply, giving a slight nod. To better see his body language, if any, he lifted his gaze back up a bit. He listened closely, trying his best to envision the garment in his head. "Rain and cold... closed with a pin..."
He let out a little puff of air through his nose, shutting his eyes for a moment to visualize it better—he knew it was a common garment in colder places, from what Kaleo had told him of the far northerners and their many furs and leathers. He frowned slightly when the foreigner stopped, though, and suggested: "Fur? Hood? Sleeves?"
Giving up on words alone, Hadrian extended one arm and passed the fingerbones of his other hand across the length of the metal armour shielding it. He avoided touching the plate - he wasn't keen on drawing additional attention by making noise. "These. Sleeves?" He would have to remember the word. He might have need of it later.
He would rather not have to rely on his ability to describe clothes, he was not raised to be a fashion critic. He crouched down, pulling a gauntlet off his hand. Pressing the tip of a finger bone into the dirt, he quickly sketched a small cloaked figure. "Looks like that."
"Ah, yes!" Vai nodded in confirmation, flashing a wide smile of satisfaction. He recognized that type of arm covering, however rare it might be where he made his home. "But with cloth, 'ea? I do not know how to use metal. We... does not have that, either. But I can weave thick, if you want more protection but also more hotness."
He leaned over his little counter to watch the foreigner draw something into the dirt, less perturbed with his skeletal hand than he thought he'd be. He bummed lowly under his breath in thought, clicking his tongue as he considered just how much cloth he would have to weave to cover his new client. He leaned back to look him over, flitting his eyes up and down and up again, factoring in the contours of his skull and how many layers he might require. "Okay. I... can do that. I can start now, close shop early so you can get your cloak fast."
No metal. "Acknowledged" Hadrian agreed. He was willing to have the pin made out of whatever material the locals used for hard tools, or just get something once he visited a place with metalworks. "With cloth."
"No heavy needed" he quickly added. He did not know a lot about weaving, just that it was the craft that made clothes. This entire conversation proved how little he knew about the world - not just the language or attitude towards the undead, but also about these mundane matters that were obvious and natural to the living.
He might not have known anything about clothes, save for how to wear them, but he knew the meaning of time. "Do I leave now and return later?" he asked. His presence did not appear to be necessary for the further steps, and, judging from the weaver's earlier reaction to him, might even cause disruption.
"Ack-now-ledged," Vai murmured to himself, just underneath his breath. A new word to add to his lexicon, if he could pick apart its root and stick it to what would make sense within the context of the situation. It would be good to get in pronunciation practice, too. He nodded. "I will make it with cloths I have already, to be quick. The best leafs."
He tilted his head a little at the foreigner's swift words (assuming he would return to his home after finishing his business in Yoreiq, he might want something warmer, since it was likely colder there than here. Perhaps he just... didn't feel temperature, though. After all, he had no skin to feel the chill), but nodded along, anyway. All he had to do was make it quick, make it sturdy, and make it beautiful, not say anything that wasn't welcome.
He hummed a bit in thought at the foreigner's new question, eyes darting back to the cloth in front of him. He started to gather them in his arms to pack away again—one of his biggest finished pieces was back at home, which would surely fit his client well around the body. He bent down to pick up his discarded rope, shaking the sand off of it awkwardly as he scrapped up a response. "Um... you can, yes. But do you have a place to go?" Hospitality was good, right? "And could be helpful if you could stand for measuring? Only a little, if it does not bother," he added the last part a bit hurriedly—it would definitely be easier to map out his dimensions if he were physically there, as well as add designs he liked best, but he didn't want to push too hard.
"It does not bother" Hadrian repeated in acknowledgement. The idea of measuring hadn't occurred to him, but it seemed a part of the process, and it would be best if he stayed at least for that part.
He was not in need for a place to stay - his enchanted bones needed no rest, no shelter, and would be able to keep moving. He suspected this question should have been addressed at the flesh-and-blood clientele whose mortal bodies required constant maintenance. So the only response he gave was a small shrug he picked up from being around people of this time. His clavicle bone rattled against the shoulderplate.
"What do I do?" he asked.
Vai let out a quiet breath of relief. "Good. Good, good, good," he didn't want to inconvenience the man, after all. "Thank you."
He dropped the items in his hand to a large woven basket at his feet, used his arm to push the items on the table into another. He reached up to the top of his stand, pulling down the string of feathers that marked his spot, and carefully placed it atop the stake planted into the sand. He could disassemble his stand later—it wasn't like it was pretty enough for people to want to steal the items, anyway. He stacked his baskets atop his stool, holding it by the legs as he pressed his inventory to his chest, hoping they wouldn't fall over.
"Ah... you..." he trailed off, balancing his things precariously for a moment before tucking the highest basket beneath his chin, pressing down. He glanced to the foreigner, taking a little shuffle further behind his stand. He lifted one foot, balancing on the other to awkwardly gesture for the man to come behind the stand. He could explain the more detailed parts of the process once they actual got to a location better suited for this. "Follow me?"
This did not look like the best way to transport cargo. Hadrian acknowledged that mortals were sometimes better suited than the undead for the task, but this was not such an instance. Unless it was something so delicate and fragile that it should not be held by untrained hands, he should assist.
"Can I help?" he asked, pointing to the baskets. "I'm strong, and I don't tire." He wasn't just bragging - his undying bones were enchanted with empowering spells, and have already withstood the weight of a glacier. He could move some baskets.
Vai looked between his client and the items in his arms, then back to his client, then back to his things. "Um..."
It would be terribly rude of him to accept, right? His client was a guest on Yoreiq, and shouldn't be lifting a finger for something like this. Vai was fine with lugging a few things back to the more village-like parts of Ainu by himself; he did it everyday, after all (though his fellow early-risers sometimes would offer a hand and fly some of his most awkwardly large items to his stand if they had time, which was much appreciated). Despite that, he also knew that carrying all this back at the same time would be hard on his back and would cause the pain in his wings to flare up. Would he rather be completely wiped out by the time he got to where he needed to be, or would he rather hand the foreigner a basket?
He shifted a bit closer to his client, shuffling the topmost basket towards him. "Okay, if you want."
Only after making his offer did Hadrian realize how suspicious it sounded. He was a stranger here, one that already got leery looks from the locals and guard forces alike. From what little he picked up on the weaver's body language, it was clear that he was not a fighter himself and already was having trouble carrying everything. It would naturally look like an opportunity for stealing.
He was about to take the offer back, when the weaver acquiesced. Hadrian's surprise did not show - he had no face to properly expressed. The soldier took the basket, wrapping one armoured arm around it. Its weight was not of concern. "Lead the way."
Vai let out a quiet sigh of relief when the foreigner took the basket, seeming to have no troubles nor complaints with it. He shuffled back towards the route to the open patio meant for small social gatherings and communal activities. At this time of day, with the market in full swing and the sun high in the sky, it wasn't likely that there would be many people around, if at all—any other weavers would be either selling their goods or working in their own homes. Vai would normally be doing the same, but bringing someone he just met to his home was... not smart, especially since he hadn't cleaned up properly or set out cushions to sit on. "Thank you."
He kept his pace steady, but careful, glancing behind him to make sure that the foreigner didn't lose his way. "So... does you have a name?"
Hadrian followed, keeping an eye on the traffic. His grip on the basket was firm, and he doubted he'd drop it even if bumped into. The possibility of thieves and pickpockets was something he learned to account for in this world. He was yet to notice any attempts here on the isle, but he was more inclined to assume the fault in his scouting capacities than the absence of crime.
Hadrian fell into step behind the weaver, matching his pace. It was slower than the marching speed he was used to, but he was trained to accommodate. The focus of his attention was well divided, and he reacted quickly to the question. "I am Hadrian". He repeated the name just as he first heard it so long ago he had no words to describe, sound for sound.
"Hadrian," Vai murmured under his breath, testing the syllables on his tongue. Rhythmically, purposefully, with the softness of hospitality, stitching each consonant and vowel together to flow on his tongue. He wouldn't want to mispronounce it—that would be terribly rude—and he found it a little easier to say as he switched to repeating it in his head. "My name is Vaiura," he responded in kind, "but called Vai."
He stepped to the more finely-pounded dirt path that lead to the patio's entrance. "Are you from the north?"
Some of the spellwork done on him at his creation endowed Hadrian with a compass-like enchantment that allowed him to orient himself better when on the field. As he was not meant to be a navigator, this was the extent of his ability, and he was forced to re-learn the lay of this new land completely. He quickly recalled the ship he was traveling on as he prepared an answer.
"I'm from the continent" he responded. "The ship sank." He took a step to the side to avoid bumping into a gaggle of children that erupted from behind a nearby building.
Vai smiled at the children, a few of them giving waves and chirping hellos that ruffled their feathers with happiness. One boy chattered at Vai in the Yoreiqi tongue, casting a glance to the strange figure next to him whilst his friends were distracted by a few tricks done by another, before following them to the market.
At Hadrian's words, though, he frowned a little, shifting the items in his hands as he stepped onto the elevated platform of the patio, brushing a strip of green leaf away with one bare foot, "That is sad. Your ship? Are you captain?"
"Not mine ship. I was traveler. Passenger" Hadrian quickly added, recalling the word used to describe his position. He followed Vai onto the patio, immediately scanning the new locale. It looked rather open and not very defensible.
His grasp on the basket hasn't shifted since he first picked it up. Hadrian had no muscles that needed rest and no skin that could be chafed by prolonged contact. He noticed that he was drawing far less attention there - people were busy with their own activities and stared less.
Vai nodded his head in understanding, leaning down to set the things in his hand on the ground. He turned and reached his arms out to take the basket in Hadrian's hands. "Still, is very sad. You had friends on ship? Things you like?"
Even if his appearance was peculiar, Vai was sure that Hadrian had someone. A friend, a family member, an employer or someone in the same line of business as he was, even a pet or a precious keepsake that he had lost in the wreck—no one was truly alone in the world. There must be a tether to life, right?
Hadrian handed over the basket, still puzzled at the question. "The ship was built good" he remarked. He'd never seen one that large during the time of conquest; his unit never participated in marine warfare and once they've arrived at a port, it would have already been stripped of any vessels.
As the weaver was settling down, Hadrian glanced towards the position of the sun. His armour produced a sizeable shadow, and he was not certain if it was desired or not. "Do you need light?" he asked, moving away.
Vai's lips shifted to a slightly-deeper frown, taking the basket into both hands. "Ship was... beautiful?" he questioned, pulling out his largest piece of cloth from there before setting the basket down with the others. He shook out the cloth, brows still drawn together in thought. 'Built good' could mean many things, but to Vai, if something was built well, it must've been exceptionally gorgeous.
He shook his head slightly. He'd worked in the dark before—certainly darker than this—so light wasn't necessarily needed, but it was definitely welcome. "If you like dark, I can work in dark," he said, then lifted his cloth a little higher, shifting his thoughts to the cloak. "Can I touch armor?"
This weaver had a way of asking difficult questions. What did 'beautiful' mean? What was beauty? Hadrian was a soldier, not a philosopher, and had no idea what to make of it.
The input on his position was vague, but he could work with it. He was about to stand by, when the other question reached him. "Yes" he responded, moving closer. "Tell me when to move" he stood ready to rotate or make other parts of his armour accessible.
The lack of an answer made something in Vai's stomach a little antsy (did he upset him? Was his question disrespectful, strange, or did Hadrian consider his own unreleased answer to be unwanted?), in all honesty, but told himself it was nothing. Silence wasn't a bad thing.
He spread out the cloth, its length far longer than Hadrian was wide—from a vague eyeing, there was more than enough material to cover his entire body, even if the rest of him was as wide as his armored shoulders, so he considered it acceptable as he folded it back up. Reaching out a tentative hand and giving a little nod at Hadrian's answer, he laid it flat on the front part of the armor, centered near the top as he moved it across the each shoulder, muttering measurements under his breath. He did so for each arm, then kneeling down for a bit to measure to Hadrian's knees. Standing back up, measurements briefly memorized, he cleared his throat. "I have enough for body—you want hood, yes? Can I touch head?"
Hadrian stood by as the weaver took measurements. With neither breath to move his chest nor life to spark at his nerves, he remained still as a statue.
"Tell me if need to move" he added. Staying still, he tried to pick up on the whispered numbers - the local metric system was valuable information. The weaver didn't seem to be using any instruments, just making an observation and judging by his own measure. It spoke of experience and skill in his craft.
Vai appreciated Hadrian's rigid stance—he hadn't noticed up until now, but having breathing subjects with beating hearts and throats that needed to swallow and cough could make a bit of a hassle when measuring—of course, it was part of the fun, and feeling the life thrumming beneath someone's skin was special. But this was special in its own way, he supposed, and was thankful for his patience. "Still is good. No worrying."
He very hesitantly held his hand over Hadrian's head, not touching the bone of his skull but carefully hovering over it. The hood should be bigger than his head, anyway, enough to cast shadow over his face. After finishing, he pulled his hand away and stepped back, committing it all to memory. He flexed his stiff hand, moving it back to flexibility. "Moving is good now," he said, relaxing his posture. His wings fluttered with the movement of his spine. He added, "Lots of Yoreiqi measures with body—easy to learn."
Hadrian took the weaver's words as the indication that the measuring process was over. He did not need to move, and remained on stand by as time passed. He did, however, pay attention - it was important to learn about measures of the world. He might have to make use of them later. This system, founded upon the body, felt familiar for some reason.
Vai knelt down to shuffle through his woven fabrics, looking through the finer and coarser cloths. "You want color?" he asked, lifting up a small sample with purple zig-zags running through it. "I can make black, purple, brown... some colors is expensive, though."
He straightened up, turning his face to Hadrian. "I have never made cloak before, so if you stay and tell how parts should look and work, it would be good, but Yoreiq is beautiful place—if you want to go somewhere, that is good, too."
Hadrian was capable of recognizing colour - the necromancer who raised him found it important that their soldiers were just as capable as navigating the battlefield as the living would. The use of colours to denote specific units seemed to have survived, too convenient not to be repeated. He'd overheard some people discussing codes of arms or such, that seemed to operate on a similar principle.
"Brown. Please." It sounded like an inexpensive colour to make, and one that wouldn't draw attention. He caught the suggestion, and that gave him more food for thought. Reconnaissance would be useful, but he could just as well familiarize himself with the island terrain after he had the cloak made. "I can stay."
Vai nodded at Hadrian's request, though his lips twitched downward in disappointment for a slight moment before resetting to a mildly polite line. He was excited to work on something new, and had a mind full of ideas for fun patterns and colors, but he wouldn't go against his customers' requests if his life were on the line. "Dark? Light is better for sun, if you will be in Yoreiq for long times."
He placed his sample back into his basket, taking one more moment to examine Hadrian's build before shuffling back and settling to sit on the ground, legs folded and feet tucked close to him. He pulled his basket closer, using his free hand to lightly pat the floor. "You can sit now. Be comfortable. First I will cut cloth into a good shape—but does you have questions? About Yoreiq? Or how to make the cloth?" Sitting in silence, working while another person watched would be awkward for himself, at least—whenever he worked, whether out at the market or sitting with other weavers, there was always noise.
"Dark" Hadrian confirmed. "Sun does not... hit me." It was one of the advantages of being undead. Extreme temperatures posed little threat to him - even fire would only singe his enchanted bones. It was a great advantage of undead - many woes of mortals, such as hunger or the environment, held no sway.
He was content with silence and waiting, but the weaver's offer was quite tempting. He would go on a reconnaissance of the island himself later, but having a local answer his questions was not something he could just pass by. "Yes. How to make cloth?" Hadrian was unlikely to pick up the particularities of local industries on his own, it was best to ask an expert.
But sun will hit your cloak, no? Vai thought to himself, though he nodded to Hadrian's decision. The way the sunlight would slowly bleach the cloak, itself, would be a bother to his own self—if he wanted something a certain color, especially a dark one, he'd take care in not letting it be sitting outside too much, but it seemed his customer wasn't extremely preoccupied with fashion. "Does you feel cool all the times, then?" he asked, cautiously curious. "Cold?"
His expression perked up, however, at Hadrian's latest question, clapping his hands together. "Oh! I would love to shows you—but takes long times," he started out rather excited, but quickly trailed into sheepishness. He reached next to him to pull out a long roll of tied, dried leaves, then a vaguely rectangular mallet, showing the items to Hadrian. "We weave with this leaf, but for our big cloths, we take barks from the tree, soak in the sea, and hit them with the ike. Want to touch?"
Hadrian shook his head - a gesture that he learned in this time signified a denial. He performed it by slightly rotating his skull atop his spine, several times before settling in its previous forward-facing position. There were some rudimentary enchantments on him that allowed him to estimate temperature - a late-campaign addition by some necromancer officers who wanted their troops to be able to take stock of the battlefield more completely.
He listened intently to the explanation, memorizing what he could. If fabrics were of plant origin, they were most likely unique to the island. The distance between it and the mainland seemed vast and took a long time to cross by ship, so it was unlikely that any seeds could make it across the sea.
"Touch the fabric? The... ike?"
Vai watched the way his skull moved, eyes following the movements. He'd seen bones laid out in the sun before—almost all of them animal bones, bleached white from exposure to the elements or still with tiny bits of flesh stuck to certain parts, but he'd seen more humanoid skulls before, too. Of course, though, none of them moved. This was sort of an educational experience for him, he supposed, being able to see the way bones moved without skin... then remembered he was staring.
He cast his gaze away with an apologetic half-smile, moving to take another item from the basket he had, "At least you will not shiver."
"Ike is what we hit cloth with," he explained slowly, hefting it in his hand, turning the ridged side so that Hadrian could see. "Make texture, too. Cloth is nicer to touch, and less heavy," he said, using his other hand to nudge a sample closer to him.
Shiver. Hadrian had seen people shiver, and came to a conclusion it was a good thing he and other skeletons didn't. The noise it would make! Forget any attempt at a covert approach.
He cautiously poked a cloth sample. He was aware that his ability to touch things was far inferior to the sense the living were equipped with - that was where the efforts of the necromancers who raised him ended. Still, it would be impolite not to react.
"Is all cloth made from that?" he asked. "All cloth in the island?"
"All best cloth," Vai nodded affirmatively, a slight tinge of pride in his tone. Despite how many people lived on Yoreiq and how many clothes would have to be made to sustain them all, he couldn't help but sing in the joy that the trees still stood tall, the work was still passionate, and the clothes were always beautiful. "Make for decoration, too. Gift. Very importance."
He pulled the cloth back and put the work-irrelevant items to the side—far away enough so that they wouldn't block him, but close enough for Hadrian to pick them up and examine them if he so pleased. "This is piece that will help make your cloak," he said, scooching back a little more to make room. He'd be sure to run it through the dying process again to make sure it was dark enough for Hadrian's satisfaction, but otherwise, it was the perfect size to make into the hood. "Use the wet root to stick... connect? Make two become one."
"Is it the same tree like the homes?" Hadrian gestured to a few buildings around the open space the weaver selected for his work. Construction was relevant to his purpose - understanding it was important for urban warfare and siege tactics.
"Yes, we have lots—use the tree for everything," Vai confirmed, rummaging through one basket to pull out a brown-surrounded, white root and a small, hollowed gourd-container full of water. "Is strong and can hold the homes, but can bend when there is strong wind. Very hard to break. Gives wood, fruit, oil, wax, medicine, wine... most useful."
Hadrian committed every function to his memory. He was quite impressed with all the ways the islanders were using the local flora. As undead, most of these were not of immediate use to him, but it was possible a less direct application would present itself. He could no longer rely on the weapons and wagons of the old world, he would be surprised if anything but the bare principles of warfare was still applicable.
"One tree for all? Do you use other trees?" he asked. He would have to pay more attention to the flora of the isles.
"Hmm... is like: one tree family, many tree children," Vai attempted to put into words. He was never especially studious regarding plants and their uses besides what he needed to know in the basics and regarding his trade, so he was lost on the intricacies, but nevertheless tried his best to show a foreigner what his home was like. "One tree has the hard fruit; the other has soft. One can make good oil and nets, and the other tree has big leaves that are good to keep away the sun. All are siblings, and look very close. We use every part of everything."
He popped open the gourd, dabbing the white part of the root into the water carefully before firmly pressing the root to the cloth and smearing a few streaks of the sticky residue onto it, folding another piece over and applying some more. "Other plants, too. But I do not know as much as people who make medicine."
Hadrian listened. This society's reliance on the local flora has become even more pronounced - as was the limit of his knowledge. He fell silent and still, still watching the process closely, but no longer interrupting with questions. He would respond only when addressed and informed that it was complete.
Vai was appreciative for his quiet company—while he was well used to the hustle and bustle of the usual process, with all the other weavers and clothesmakers around him singing and talking and laughing, he enjoyed just being able to work with someone around overseeing the process without fuss. It was new, it was different, but it was welcome enough.
The process itself was lengthy, but he worked quick, occasionally getting up to grab another piece of cloth or root, but otherwise working steadfastly on the cloak. Soon enough, he was finished, and he let out a low sigh, casting his gaze over it to make sure there were no tears or smears, and straightened up where he sat, cracking his sore neck. "...Is finished, Hadrian. Can wait some more time to make darker, but if color is good now, then all is done."
Hadrian was roused from his vigil instantly. The finished piece met his expectations, and he was even more impressed with the weaver's skill when taking into consideration that he had no prior experience with making cloaks. The size was accurate, the colour fit within the set parametres. He cautiously picked it up. "May I try it on?" he asked. He wasn't sure if it was ready for use.
Vai smiled brightly (or as brightly as his exhaustion would allow him—let it be known that, even though he didn't necessarily do all the strenuous activity that hunters did, making clothing was still an arduous task), nodding. "Yes, try! Must see if cloak fits, if cloak is durable..."
From what Hadrian has observed, most clothing did not change that much over the course of ages. He requested a cloak due to the simplicity of its design, one that he was familiar with, saw donned and even worn himself on occasion. He cautiously moved his arms through the sleeves, pleased that the circumference accounted for the armour he was wearing. It would be a problem if he had to give up on protection for the sake of anonymity. He was not raised for infiltration.
He cautiously shrugged the cloak onto his shoulders and reached to pull the hood over his skull. It fit well and left sufficient space for him to wear a helmet underneath, if needed. With the cloak in place, Hadrian turned around a few times, then took several steps, observing the movement of the fabric.
Vai observed him closely, tilting his head this way and that and scooting one way or the other to check if any worrisome places tore, strained, or simply seemed to hang the wrong way—he believed that, over time, once the glue dried more and the fabric molded to the wearer, it'd get tougher and better, but if it wasn't good now, then it wouldn't satisfy him.
Returning to his original spot and posture, he hummed in contentment upon seeing that nothing seemed to be wrong. "Cloak feels good? Comfortable? Does you need me to add anything?"
There didn't appear to be any obstructions to his movement, as far as Hadrian could tell. He moved faster, then paused to examine the cloak for problems. None appeared. He glanced back at the weaver - he was the expert in the field, he would be able to notice flaws that Hadrian would miss.
"Cloak feels good" he confirmed. "No need to add anything."
Satisfied with the product, Hadrian reached for his money pouch and withdrew it. The enchantments on his bones did not aim to reproduce the sensitivity of mortal skin, making him unable to tell shell currency from coins by touch alone. He would have to count them out. He hoped that the weaver would be of assistance - his observance of some exchanges was inferior to a lifetime of working within the system. "How much do I owe you?" he repeated the line he's overheard in the markets.
"Good!" he chirped, clapping his hands together once. "If the cloak breaks, and you is still on Yoreiq, I will fix if you comes back."
At Hadrian's question, he thought for a moment, falling quiet. He didn't have much use for money except for when he needed to deal with the occasional foreign merchant, shell currency or not, but he did initially think of compensation—obviously, as he was running a business, no matter how small. Ordinarily, as this was something he usually wouldn't make, he'd ask for enough to fill his palm: enough, but not excessive. He had long fingers, but regular-sized palms for the average Yoreiqi person. His people's currency would find most use on their own lands. A fair price.
But didn't Hadrian mention earlier that his ship sank? To get another ship or hitch a ride in someone else's was expensive, no? And... to be honest, the opportunity of being able to craft something from the continent, for someone from the continent, was reward enough. Exciting, out of his comfort zone, and fun. He could make up any missing funds easily enough.
He clicked his tongue and shook his head, "Nothing. You keep the money. But you come back to my stand if you are on the Port again."
He started pulling what shells he could notice out of his pouch when the weaver spoke up. His words were unexpected enough that Hadrian stopped mid-movement, his armoured gauntlet still as it was closing around two shells. The disruption to the transaction was not something his limited knowledge and skill could smoothly see him through.
There must have been something he was missing. He pressed on. "I not know the customs of the island. Is the money not good?"
Vai teetered his head, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. "It... is good. For some things. Yoreiqi trade, but foreign people pay, and we will use it. But I do not want payment for this cloak."
He crossed his arms loosely, offering a small smile to Hadrian. "I learned how to make something new today. That is payment enough. And promise that I am your first weaver to see if you comes to the island again."
Hadrian could not dispute the sound idea behind the reasoning presented to him. Learning the new was one of the motivations that drove his present masterless existence, all in order to better move in the world and be of better service later on. And this solution would be beneficial, leaving him with more shells to make use of while on the island. The request was reasonable, even though Hadrian could not promise that he would return here within whatever the weaver's lifetime was. He was concerned about the cost and availability of materials used to make the cloak, but the weaver's words on the subject spoke of expertise that Hadrian lacked. He had to concede.
"I promise."
Vai's smile widened, moving his hands to his hips in an open, pleased gesture. "Good! I know you will keep your word," he said affirmatively, absolutely believing that if Hadrian ever did come back, he'd hold true to his promise. After all, this was probably one of the cheapest business transactions he'd ever done, and he was able to see how Yoreiqi clothesmaking was done.
Unable to find a way to touch their foreheads and noses together in the traditional fashion, as Hadrian was all bone and didn't really have a nose, Vai simply inclined his head in thanks and farewell. "One thousand thanks for coming to my stand. I can shows you back to the main market—most business is done, most likely, but it will be easy to find other things from there."
Hadrian took a moment to consider the offer. He didn't need to return to the market, but he's experienced enough trouble already in different towns when he crossed into spaces a walking skeleton was not welcome in. The guard he's encountered previously was already surprised to see him. It was best to avoid problems, especially since he was just here to do reconnaissance.
"Yes. Please."
Vai nodded simply, reaching up to pull one of his necklaces over his head, the shells clinking softly as he draped it over his belongings, marking them as his (because most everyone who lived around here could recognize his particular craftsmanship) before stepping around Hadrian and beckoning him to follow with a hand. "It will be just a simple walk."
Most people were either lugging back their things back to their homes or already sitting down for a meal and relaxation, some of the old men drinking palm wine out of even older bottles in shaded areas. No one would be paying much attention to Hadrian's strange appearance, most likely.
Hadrian's attention was piqued by the removal of the shell necklace. Was it heavy or cumbersome to wear? Such mortal sensations were no longer accessible to him. No - the weaver arranged the shells very carefully, taking time to put them where he wanted. It was a protective measure, he realised. There was probably a protective charm on it. This ritual must have been meant to secure what was left behind unsupervised. He took note - he couldn't recognize magical enchantment on his own, but should keep in mind what could be a trap.
He followed the weaver, his new cloak swishing around his metal greaves. This settlement seemed less populated at this hour, fewer people were walking the streets or flying overhead. It appeared that this civilisation, too, eschewed nocturnal activity. He would have to observe it more closely to be certain, of course.
"When is the market... open?" he questioned, just to make sure.
Vai noticed Hadrian's examination of his necklace, assuming that he had an interest in it. "...I can gets you a necklace if you wants, Hadrian?" he asked politely. He didn't really take him for a man who particularly enjoyed jewelry, but he was open to the prospect of him being one.
He walked smoothly down the well-known path, feeling the thin grasses change back to fine white-yellow sands as they approached, occasionally moving a hand behind him to steady the crooked wings behind his back whenever a particularly lumpy patch came up. Turning his head slightly to answer Hadrian's question, he thought for a moment before saying, "We start business very early—most people are selling when the sun rises, and then we stop and clean up when the sun leaves. Sometimes there are times for a meal in the middle of the day, if it is very slow or very hot. Some people sell food and wine at night, when it is very dark, after having their late day meal."
Hadrian shook his head at the suggestion - though he was animated through magic, he had no aptitude for the high art and suspected he would not be able to make use of many enchanted items.
*
Hadrian followed the weaver, though every now and then he turned his attention away to watch the streets. The shadows lengthened, and winged figures passed overhead. Hadrian looked up a few times, his vertebrae creaking as he did, but soon he stopped bothering. He was still getting used to accounting for flight-capable individuals, who seemed to populate this island. His gaze was drawn by the small, unique lanterns some of the civilians were hanging. It seemed that they, too, were constructed out of palm leaves, as he recognized the texture from rooftops and several other objects.
"Days always hot?" he asked. He didn't know if there was any seasonal variation to this island, and wasn't certain if he'd stay long enough to learn.
Vai thought for a moment, pulling his thick braid over his shoulder. While most Yoreiqi never needed to wear especially heavy clothing, it did get chilly at times—compared to other places, he wouldn't know, of course, but to him, there was a "cooler," if not "cold" season, at the very least. "Yes...? Most days is hot; all days is warm. It is more like: days are dry or wet."
He made his way to a common meeting spot, stopping a few paces away from a drowsy-looking sailor stumbling his way home. He gestured out to the rest of the market simply. "Here is the market again. Will you be fine?"
The weaver led Hadrian to familiar surroundings. Even in different light conditions and with many of the stalls already missing or being packed up, he was able to recognize the place. A different kind of people were now walking around, some hurrying to make the best of fading daylight, some followed a leisurely languid pace. Long shadows of locals flying overhead moved on the ground.
"Yes. Thank you."
Vai smiled brightly, inclining his head once more. Hadrian was odd-looking and certainly not the type of customer that he typically served, but it was a welcome—if initially-awkward—change from the usual. He enjoyed routine and felt most comfortable of all moving with the motions of everyday life, with all its patterns, but to be refreshed by someone new was nice, too, in a different way. He could see why his friend had left the island in search of new experiences. "Of course."
"I hope the cloak helps you," he said, taking a step back and angling his body away slightly. The setting sun reminded him that he should get something to eat before it became completely dark—one of his cousins was always cooking something. "If you comes back, I am always here."