#Might be the closest I get to writing about Papa Leveilleur too

[starsandauras]

Prompt #12: Alterations

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge Prompt 12: Alterations (Extra Credit/Makeup Day)

“So I punched him!” Alisaie all but growled, swinging her arm for emphasis, only to wince as one of the pins in the shoulder of the pale colored fabric she wore poked her.

“As you should!” agreed Moenbryda, voice filtered through the speakers of Brigid’s streaming laptop. “Trying to lay his hands on your food like that.”

“Pray do not encourage my lady,” pled Urianger, off camera.

It was time for the monthly Dash call for a certain tier of Brigid’s UndrWritr subscribers, a chance for them all to socialize and enjoy themselves without her fellow streamers having to perform for a chat, and for everyone to spend time together as friends. It was often that Brigid would work on projects or do fittings during these calls, and this time it seemed one of these fittings centered on Alisaie. A folded pile of similarly pale fabric was set to the side, seemingly waiting to be worn by Alphinaud.

Brigid hummed softly around the pins held in her mouth. She was adjusting the fit of the pale fabric Alisaie wore, sighing softly as she tugged the back. “‘Tisnae as though she was punchin’ Alphinaud,” she pointed out, and the Elezen sitting in the corner with a book hummed in agreement.

“Is this the little snot from your fencing lessons?” Thancred asked, looking up from tuning his guitar.

Alisaie huffed, scowling. “Unfortunately,” she confirmed, and several people on the Dash call winced.

Estinien huffed as well, crossing his arms. “You should do more than punch him next time,” he said. At Aymeric’s silent head shake he added, “He won’t learn otherwise!”

“If we must plan vengeance can we please plan something that won’t get my sister expelled from her chosen sport?” Alphinaud asked, looking up from his book. His carbuncle purred softly and gently headbutted the side of a leg, earning some pets.

“Should have hit him with the pommel,” Alisaie grumbled.

“I’m thinkin’ you should be handin’ him his arse in a duel, meself,” added Brigid, gently laying her hands on Alisaie’s shoulders. “Turn with me,” she murmured softly, and Alisaie did as told, giving Brigid better access to her back. “Breathe in deep and then be lettin’ it all out.” Orders were followed as Brigid studied the give of the fabric. “Is it feelin’ tight ‘tall?”

Alisaie paused, then nodded. “Along the back and sides.”

Brigid nodded as well, collecting a seam ripper from her supplies. “Let’s be seein’ what’s needin’ lettin’ out then,” she said, coming around to Alisaie’s side. “Aye, seein’ some wrinkles ‘long the hips,” she confirmed, and started opening up the side seam. She soon reached the point where they smoothed out, and she did the same on the other side.

Alisaie frowned and repeated her breathing from earlier, shaking her head. “Still too tight up the back.” Brigid sighed softly.

“Slash and spread?” Y’shtola asked, looking up from her embroidery.

Brigid sighed again but nodded, reaching for her dressmakers shears. “‘Tis lookin’ like,” she agreed, and slowly cut her way up the center back, looking up and waiting for Alisaie’s nod. When she did Brigid set the shears to the side, picking up a length of the same pale fabric. “Bein’ glad I’m havin’ left over muslin.” She slid it under the edges of the cut, pinning it in place.

“I don’t believe this is one of your drafts,” mused Haurchefant, leaning his chin on his fist.

Brigid shook her head. “‘Tis bein’ a commercial pattern, nay havin’ time to be startin’ from the bodice and skirt blocks. And so ‘course ‘tis needin’ plenty of work. How’s your arms, lass?”

Alisaie flexed her arms and moved them about, emphasizing the shoulder. “I probably couldn’t fence in it, but it’s good enough.”

Brigid hummed and started taking pinches of fabric under her arms. “Are you bein’ sure? I can be raisin’ the arms-eye if you’re needin’ better movement.”

“How likely am I to need to fence in this dress?” Alisaie responded, voice flat.

“More likely than you think, dear sister,” Alphinaud pointed out, turning a page in his book. She huffed and shot him a glare.

“I’m raisin’ the arms-eye,” Brigid decided, pinning her pinches in place. “Maybe I should have ‘least been startin’ from the bodice block,” she murmured.

“I’ve missed the last couple of calls,” Ysayle soon spoke up, “what are you fitting Alisaie for, exactly?”

Both twins seemed to wilt, Alphinaud abandoning his book and his carbuncle crawling up into his lap and leaning against his chest.

“We’re being introduced to polite society,” he grumbled.

“I’m a bloody débutante,” Alisaie practically spat.

The Ishgardians promptly winced, as did Thancred and Y’shtola.

“How long ‘til you can be goin’ on the shelf, as they’re sayin’?” Brigid asked, turning Alisaie back and forth as she studied the mockup.

“Five years,” Alisaie grumbled. “Not soon enough.”

“If they don’t already consider you a spinster they’re more foolish than I thought,” Moenbryda added.

“Bloody Sharlayan upper class,” murmured Thancred. “I expected you’d both been gone so long they’d given up on all the coming out frippery.”

“I thought so too!” whined Alisaie, as Alphinaud buried his face in his carbuncle. “How long have we been in grad school? Since we were eighteen? And then Mother’s sending us an aethermail telling us to get ready and come back home because Father’s set the date and it’s been long enough and— argh!”

“Easy now lass, dinnae want you gettin’ poked ‘gain,” Brigid warned.

“Why are you even going then?” Estinien asked as Aymeric sipped his tea.

“Especially since it’s obvious how much you hate this,” added Lyse, finally speaking up.

The twins sighed again.

“Grandfather,” Alphinaud eventually said, voice muffled by the carbuncle. The carbuncle lifted a paw to pat at him.

“It’s important to him,” Alisaie added, looking down at the floor. “And it’s the only high society thing he’s ever asked of us.”

“And ‘tis why I’m makin’ an incredibly beautiful gown and strikin’ly handsome suit for these two, suitable for folks livin’ so high on the hog, but in cuts makin’ them all absolutely furious.” Brigid giggled. “Are you still wantin’ the skirt tear ‘way with the trousers on under?”

A glint came to Alisaie’s eye, and she grinned widely. “Black?” she asked, “With the flared ankle?”

The same glint came to Brigid’s eye, and she smirked. “With a red racin’ stripe down the outer seam,” she promised. “And a wee jacket in a tuxedo cut. Which we’re needin’ to fit next, so off you pop.”

“Lord Fuckface is going to be enraged,” Thancred said with as big a grin as Alisaie.

“Then my lord must needs deal with it, as the youth say,” Urianger commented, making Moenbryda burst out laughing.

“Oh, be sure to wear sunglasses!”