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What Not to Wear: Neathy Edition
Topic Started: Aug 11 2017, 03:42 AM (284 Views)
Louis Ferdinand
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In one of the more quiet, upscale areas of Veilgarden, seemingly a world away from the raucous din of the district's (in)famous taverns, honey-dens, and brothes, Louis sat at a sidewalk cafe, smoking an unusually thin and elongated pipe and reading a small, plain looking book entitled A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder. The cafe was modeled to be a near perfect replica of the famous Café de la Paix of Paris, and it, along with the rest of the similarly themed neighborhood in which it was located, was a favorite gathering place for both artists and admirers of the Celestial school. It was also a preferred destination for some of the younger, more fashionable members of high society; those looking to escape the stifling confines of the Palace and experience the freedom offered by Veilgarden, but wary of getting too close to anything truly deviant or degenerate for fear that it might threaten their social standing. This, along with the area's general resemblance to Paris, attracted the presence of some of London's finest couturier houses, eager to market their tastefully radical creations to those whom, unlike the often chronically destitute Bohemians, actually had the income to spend on luxury fashion.

This was what brought Louis to the area. His protégé had made significant progress since he first met her, but she could only go so far without some significant additions to her wardrobe. London had certainly grown more accepting of nontraditional modes of dress since the Fall, but not so accepting that she could go on mimicking her father forever.
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Louis Ferdinand
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Louis was visibly shocked. Though he eminently preferred the Neath to the surface in practically every way, even his appreciation of its peculiarities could go only so far. Is Felicia's tragic inability to appreciate real baked goods something all the children of London will suffer? Will life be worth living when no one is left to enjoy Kaisersemmeln fresh out the oven, or—God forbid—the noble Strudel is entirely forgotten? Perhaps this was all a huge mistake. Perhaps he should have stayed in Vienna like his sister told him to.

"It should be right here..." Louis walked a few steps ahead of the group and stopped to look down a nearby intersection, where he found the building he was looking for. He then checked his own timepiece—an exquisite platinum ratwork pocketwatch, masterfully engraved with the initials T.C.A.—and gave Felicia a warm smile.

"Just in time. Are you ready?"
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Felicia Voight
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Felicia nodded, looking confused by Louis's earlier angst. "Yeah, sure. Let's go! How's my hair? Too messy?"
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Louis Ferdinand
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"Ah..." Louis, in a rare moment of awkwardness, hesitated for a moment. "Are you certain you're ready? If I may be allowed to ask, have you ever been to a traditional fitting? Because Monseigneur Sauveterre takes a very traditional approach to his art. More so than the those who established the traditions he follows."
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Felicia Voight
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Felicia snorted, looking away from Louis. She appeared to be reining in the urge to spit. "Course I haven't. Too toff. Even Father hates them. Never pushed me to go. An' before that, well. You wear what fits. Never mind where it came from. Or who. Whom? Anyways. No, never. So yeah, I'm ready. Ready as I'll get."

The anger was brittle, without real bite. Hiding nervousness?
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Louis Ferdinand
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"Of course. I apologize." Louis put a hand on Felicia's shoulder. "Just... Be prepared. For the remainder of the day, you will have every inch of your body examined and measured with a degree of thoroughness that, in any other situation, would give you reason to bring the Monseigneur to court on charges of indecency and assault. It will be painful, it will be tedious, and it will be humiliating." He grimaced in a way which suggested he had personal experience in this matter.

"But, trust me when I say that it will be worth it." Louis' expression lightened considerably. "Sauveterre is the greatest dressmaker in history. His grandmother was dressmaker at Versailles during the reign of Louis XVI, his mother at the court of George IV, and he is better than either of them. If you choose to wear one of his pieces to court, you will risk banishment for insulting Her Majesty by being better-dressed than even Her."
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Felicia Voight
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Felicia smirked, her eyes twinkling with glee now. "Really now? You promise? Because that...sounds hilarious. I'm ready when you are."
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Louis Ferdinand
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"I promise. Though I warn you, unfortunately it's not nearly as as amusing as it sounds... Trust me." Louis muttered something under his breath as he held the door open for Felicia and Élois.

Within was a vestibule, finely decorated in warm tones with various paintings and artifacts of the Occitan countryside, which had been repurposed as a waiting room. Across from a cluster of divans surrounding a coffee table, on which sat a catalogue of dress designs, was a desk, behind which sat a mousy receptionist, boredly playing with the leaves of a potted orchid—a real orchid—while sipping from a cup of coffee. As the trio entered, she barely acknowledged Louis and Élois' presence, but gave Felicia a lingering, slightly disdainful look before wordlessly rising from her chair and disappearing into the bowels of the building. Louis, meanwhile, took a seat on a corner divan and began looking through the catalogue while Élois, who barely managed to fit in the somewhat cramped room, stood beside him.
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Felicia Voight
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Felicia sauntered in, giving the receptionist a casually disdainful sniff, and avoided the chairs. Instead, she leaned against a wall, pulling her hat down over her eyes, a dark spot in the brightly-lit room. The orchid, however, drew a second look, and a curious wander over to check out the flower, examining it like some alien and bizarre thing.

"What's this? Some sorta surface plant?"
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Louis Ferdinand
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"It's an orchid. Specifically a... White Helleborine if I'm not mistaken. Or is it a Sword-leaved Helleborine?" Louis took a closer look at the flower. He reached a hand towards one of its leaves, but decided against touching it before he made contact. "Either way, they're widespread across much of Europe, the Near East, and as far east as Russia. Well, the White Helleborine is. The Sword-leaved Helleborine is found in Northern Africa and China as well... I think. Maybe it was the other way around, botany was never my strong point. My tutor for the subject was such a terrible bore; he would ramble for hours about the most minute and obscure elements of a plant's biological processes and the teleological implications of said processes with obsessive detail, while I just wanted to get to the watercolors."
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Felicia Voight
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Felicia snorted, eyeing it. "All them nations. Germany, Russia, America, France, Vienna. Always seems so unreal. Like people are making it up. The Neath is huge. They say the Surface's way bigger. Not sure I believe it. Whole Surface thing, I mean."

She crossed her arms, but she couldn't stop sneaking subtle glances at the plant, so beautiful and sunlit, so unlike the mushrooms and fungi she was used to.
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