(124-08-14) Pantaloons
Summary: Sal visits Orsino's shop, this time as a customer herself.
Date: Sept. 4/2017
Related: Rope Tricks

The door to the dressmaker's shop opens so early in the day that it might seem like somebody was camped out waiting the for very moment that Orsino unlocked the door for customers — or else knows his routine with exact specificity. It's Sal, and when she slips her way inside, it's the first time she's been back since picking up the boy's mended clothes, and so it's been awhile; unlike most of Orsino's clients, she doesn't have a wide wardrobe in constant need of updating. In fact, she's wearing the same beat-up peasant attire she usually wears. She has a taut-mouthed expression as she peeks her head in and looks this way and that; it could easily turn into a wince or one of her cocky smiles, but she just hasn't made up her mind which before she calls out, "Orsinoooo…"

Orsino is brisk about his business in opening the shop. Orsino has a cloak wrapped around him against the autumn chill. He goes to start the fire, careful not to get soot on his garments. He is just concluding this business when he hears the door open and Sal comes inside. He looks up, but seems happy to see Sal however unexpected she may be in these rather early hours. "Ah, good morning," he says. None of the seamstresses are yet in evidence, but it is still early, only a little past dawn.

Sal places a palm on her belt, waves her other hand out to the side, and gives Orsino a flourishing bow, as though it is his great honour to greet her — all, of course, absolutely a joke. "First customer of the day? Do I get a prize?" she says, grinning. "There was a bakery in Braavos used t' hand out the first bun of the day to the first person through the door — 'til folks started catchin' on 'n' started clawin' each others' eyes out." She squints. This greeting took a darker turn than she planned.

Orsino grins at Sal, mustache accentuating the smile. "You do if you like," he says. "I was about to warm some bread and butter, will you join me?" He doesn't seem to mind the story of consumer violence.

She shrugs, with her shoulders as much as her expression, and strolls toward Orsino — presumably in the direction of bread and butter. "I have a job for ya," she says casually. "Or Ser Loryn does, but I reckon this one's mine as much as his."

"What is it, then?" Orsino asks, taking a cloth off of a plate of bread and butter that he must have brought downstairs with him. He has a rack over the fire in the fireplace where food may be warmed, so he cuts two slices of bread and places them on that rack, carefully. Then he sits at the small table near the fireplace and gestures at the other chair. "Well, do tell me about it," he invites.

Sal sits on the offered chair, drawing her knees up with her heels on the edge of the seat. It only takes her a second to recall that this chair is nicer than the ones she's used to, and she plops her feet back on the floor like a proper person, albeit loudly. "I'm puttin' together a show for the Whimsy." Though there's a hint of pride in the statement, it's subtle — only made more obvious by her smirk. It's remarkably quick to vanish, though, once she shrugs dismissively and says, "Acrobatics 'n' shit. I'll need some kinda costume. Then once I can train some people up, they'll need costumes too."

Orsino does not seem distressed by Sal's use of the chair. It is at least not upholstered, though it is finished well. "You are?" he replies. "How exciting. I'd like to come and see it, but of course I'd be delighted to costume it. Let's see, what are you thinking? Something in which all movements are possible, I expect."

"Yeah," Sal agrees, leaning ahead with her elbows on her knees so she can gesture more emphatically over the table. "But the trick is it's gotta be made outta somethin' sturdy so it can stand up against wear 'n' tear. I dunno what it should look like, if I'm bein' honest. I don't have a … theme or anythin' like that. I just need somethin' to start out with, y'know?"

"We could use a thick fabric," Orsino says for his opening proposal, "But with cuts at the joints, as under the arm of a man's doublet in some fashions. Can you imagine what I mean?"

"Mm," Sal murmurs in understanding, nodding along, straight into the knuckles she's propped up under her chin for a moment. She rolls her eyes up toward the ceiling and narrows them, considering. "I bet that'd work… y'ever made this kinda nonsense before?"

"I haven't," Orsino acknowledges. "How much time do we have? If there is some time remaining, I would suggest making one costume that you might test and see if it is good for acrobatics, and then making the others to match." He gets up, holding the plate, and uses tongs to retrieve the warmed bread. Apparently he intends to share his plate and knife with Sal, since he doesn't fetch more. He butters one piece of the bread and leaves the knife on the plate.

"Ehh, there's time enough." Sal reaches ahead readily to slather butter on her piece of bread. "I still hafta nail down a routine while gettin' equipment together 'n' tryin' to find more candidates. As if there's a rich supply," she waves a hand — still butterknife-wielding — around, evidently indicating all of Oldtown. She grins, eyes a'sparkle."Then again, port city this size, there's gotta be a few more idiots like me willing to throw themselves through the air."

"Must be," Orsino agrees with warm amusement. "And if you wanted to attract some acrobats from farther off, you could perhaps offer a purse to the acrobat most loudly applauded by the crowd, to be judged by Ser Loryn or one of the Hightowers." He bites into his bread.

Sal bites into her bread and, at the same time, gives a barking laugh. She points at Orsino: good idea. "That's showy enough that Ser Fancy might put up the purse for it." She leans back in the chair. "I've got an allowance," she rolls her eyes a bit comically at the word, " — that'll cover the costumes, but I gotta stretch it for everythin' else, too."

"He might," Orsino agrees. "You should remind him that it will make him look quite something to have acrobats come from all over the land to compete for his approval. And that of his…wife, I believe he is married to a beautiful noblewoman? That usually helps these things." He chews over another bite of bread. "Worth a try, anyway."

"Well-liked, with a baby, too," Sal points out. She points at Orsino favourably again, this time with a half-gnawed hunk of bread. "You're on to somethin'," she says, grinning. "The mind of a business-man, eh?"

Orsino smiles at Sal. "I'm afraid it is in-born, incurable," he replies. "I am particularly good with other people's money." That's made to sound like a joke. "Especially when they have deep pockets, as I imagine Ser Loryn has. So the purse will save you much of the expense on other acrobats as you can pay each less to make the pot more. Leaving you with more for costumes, of course." He winks.

Sal's grin widens toothily as she looks on Orsino with amusement. "Yeh," she agrees, half a laugh. "Here's to makin' good use of deep pockets that aren't ours." She doesn't have a cup to lift, but she lifts the bread before chowing down on the last of the crust. "Oh," she remembers, mid-bite, scrunching up her face. "Another thing about the costume. Men around here get stupider — no offense — when they see a woman pitching around in clothes that ain't a skirt. I can't very well wear a skirt, but I'm not puttin' on a brothel show, neither."

Orsino nods decisively and finishes off his bread. "So what will you have?" he asks. "Pantaloons, perhaps? Or we could make something short and somewhat rigid to indicate the shape of a skirt. Or what do you have in mind, besides not a skirt and not not a skirt?"

With a brisk swipe of her hands together, dismissing crumbs, Sal then spreads her palms toward Orsino. She tugs her mouth down, uncertain; it springs right back up into a cheeky smirk. "You're the tailor," she says. "I dunno if I'm askin' you to do the impossible, but I did hear a little rumour you made a dress for the queen once, sooo…" Naturally, he should be able to do anything.

Orsino bows his head in the face of the flattery. "I'll make some sketches," he promises. "And you can choose what is tolerable to you."

"That's all I can ask," Sal responds, beaming — though she rolls her eyes in short succession. "Tolerable," she repeats, sniffing. "Make me sound like one've the fancy ladies who must come in 'ere," her particular accent abruptly changes into a rather seamless imitation of a generic proper noblewoman of the Reach. "Who simply can't tolerate nothing short of perfection." With a contrarily impish expression, she springs from the chair. "I'll get outta yer hair — before one've 'em comes in looking for their nice dress, hey? I'll come back 'round soon, take a peek at the sketches."

"You're a paying customer as much as they are," Orsino says. "So I'll seek to please you the same." He stands up with her. "Good, I'll be waiting for you," he says. "I hope that young lad isn't bursting out of his clothes yet."

"Give it a month," Sal replies, equal parts warmth and frustration in her voice in regards to the young lad. She's already to the door; she gives a quick wave and says, "Hey, thanks for the bread," before vanishing into the lane.

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