Painted Beads and Threaded Feathers [OPEN!]

[allthekingsmen]

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.

[quaggan]

 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?"

[allthekingsmen]

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?"

[quaggan]

 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."

[allthekingsmen]

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."

[quaggan]

 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?

[allthekingsmen]

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?"

[quaggan]

 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."

[allthekingsmen]

"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."

[quaggan]

 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.

[allthekingsmen]

"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.

[quaggan]

 "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.

[allthekingsmen]

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?"

[quaggan]

 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.

[allthekingsmen]

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."

[quaggan]

 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."

[allthekingsmen]

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?"

[quaggan]

 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.

[allthekingsmen]

"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?"

[quaggan]

 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.