Post by Elspeth Cameron on Sept 19, 2017 4:22:13 GMT -5
"No, no, no! The primroses go above the evergreen!" Elspeth called out to the boy who, perched on a ladder, draped the swatches of her special fabrics on the rectangular hangers built into the walls of the large, roomy, covered stall she'd rented at the Bordelaix Markets. They were nothing compared to the enormous stall that sold Cameron wares located closer to Orchid Quarter, but the location was much more fashionable, and many of those who catered to the kind of clientele Elspeth wished to collect for herself as well had their stores and stalls here.
Granted, she had only just began setting up shop, so to say, but she had already seen the passers-by eyeing her fabrics appreciatively. She was especially proud of the pieces the boy was putting on display right now, a collection of brocades with plant motives. It sounded ordinary, but despite the familiarity of motive, they were anything but. The colours were more vibrant and the thread finer than anyone else could offer, both of which allowed for a more realistic design, making the plants look almost painted on. They were was, even just at a glance, high-quality fabrics, the kind that could easily be made into the loveliest garments by any half-decent seamstress - the kind that the people she wished to sell it to would not even ask for the price of.
Not that she intended to rob them; oh, no. She would earn both her money and her reputation fairly.
But neither did she intend to sell herself short.
Across from the plant collection, the swatches with geometric patterns were already arranged to her satisfaction - another seemingly safe choice that stood out by exceptional quality and the delicate complexity of the designs - while, between them, hung fabrics that combined the two motives in interesting ways, creating rolling scrolls of grills threaded with ivies of leaves and flowers.
Inside, the bolts have already been arranged, with more sample swatches, but these were more... experimental. Rather than replaying patterns and combinations of patterns, these swatches told stories. One had motives of a deer hunt; another, of a garden with songbirds; another yet, of unicorns frolicking in the woods, no tree and no beast appearing twice on the entire bolt.
Some designs were created with pleasantly contrasting colours, sometimes in combinations that sounded awful on paper but, when put together to her instructions, complemented each other marvellously. Some, however, were of the shades that ran along the same lines - or even the shades of the same colours - producing less flash without sparring any luxury, for the kind of people who felt more comfortable in softer colours. Some bolts were all done in the same colour and same shade, the patterns on them only visible due to combination of contrasting threads - matte against shimmer, thick against thin. And, finally, there was the rare bolt of fabrics made of filé thread in shimmering shades of gold, silver, and bronze, some as fine as gauze and others luxuriously heavy, positioned so they would glitter amongst other bolts like stars, and only to be taken out for those who could appreciate and afford them.
Elspeth had thought of everything... or, at least, she had hoped she did. This, everything that she'd been doing now, was in itself only an experiment, a test-run to see if she could actually run such a high-profile operation. And she hoped, despite the fear of failure that sometimes woke her up at night, that she would prove successful. For, if she had proof of success, she could go to her uncle with something more than a dream, and perhaps sway him to her way of thinking. Marlowe did well for itself, very well, indeed, but it could do so much better!
"Would you, please, be careful?" she chastised the boy, brought back from her thoughts to the here and now by his sheer incompetence. "Here," she approached him and took the corner he was having trouble with. "Alright, now, when I pull, you raise it so it doesn't run across the bar," she instructed the boy. "This fabric is very delicate, and I'd rather not have to put you in debt for ruining it before you even start working." The boy, who had only just begun his apprenticeship under the tradesman Elspeth hired to run the day-to-day operations at the stall, gulped at the thought of his future profits being forfeit before he'd even had a chance to earn them, and finally began to take his task seriously.
Moments later, they were finally done, and Elspeth took a step back to survey the results.
She presumed she'd be satisfied enough... but she didn't have the opportunity, for she did not look where she was stepping - and, unfortunately, stepped on someone's food in the process.
Mortified, Elspeth turned around quickly and began to apologize. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my lady!" she said to the young woman she'd unwittingly injured. "I'm afraid my attention is all over the place today and... please forgive me. I simply wasn't looking where I was going," she smiled sheepishly, obviously sorry for the mishap. She had no idea whom she was speaking to, but she had looked wealthy and important, and Elspeth hoped the woman would not be one of those prickly, petty people who would make a big deal out of such a small accident.
Maricela Sandoval
Granted, she had only just began setting up shop, so to say, but she had already seen the passers-by eyeing her fabrics appreciatively. She was especially proud of the pieces the boy was putting on display right now, a collection of brocades with plant motives. It sounded ordinary, but despite the familiarity of motive, they were anything but. The colours were more vibrant and the thread finer than anyone else could offer, both of which allowed for a more realistic design, making the plants look almost painted on. They were was, even just at a glance, high-quality fabrics, the kind that could easily be made into the loveliest garments by any half-decent seamstress - the kind that the people she wished to sell it to would not even ask for the price of.
Not that she intended to rob them; oh, no. She would earn both her money and her reputation fairly.
But neither did she intend to sell herself short.
Across from the plant collection, the swatches with geometric patterns were already arranged to her satisfaction - another seemingly safe choice that stood out by exceptional quality and the delicate complexity of the designs - while, between them, hung fabrics that combined the two motives in interesting ways, creating rolling scrolls of grills threaded with ivies of leaves and flowers.
Inside, the bolts have already been arranged, with more sample swatches, but these were more... experimental. Rather than replaying patterns and combinations of patterns, these swatches told stories. One had motives of a deer hunt; another, of a garden with songbirds; another yet, of unicorns frolicking in the woods, no tree and no beast appearing twice on the entire bolt.
Some designs were created with pleasantly contrasting colours, sometimes in combinations that sounded awful on paper but, when put together to her instructions, complemented each other marvellously. Some, however, were of the shades that ran along the same lines - or even the shades of the same colours - producing less flash without sparring any luxury, for the kind of people who felt more comfortable in softer colours. Some bolts were all done in the same colour and same shade, the patterns on them only visible due to combination of contrasting threads - matte against shimmer, thick against thin. And, finally, there was the rare bolt of fabrics made of filé thread in shimmering shades of gold, silver, and bronze, some as fine as gauze and others luxuriously heavy, positioned so they would glitter amongst other bolts like stars, and only to be taken out for those who could appreciate and afford them.
Elspeth had thought of everything... or, at least, she had hoped she did. This, everything that she'd been doing now, was in itself only an experiment, a test-run to see if she could actually run such a high-profile operation. And she hoped, despite the fear of failure that sometimes woke her up at night, that she would prove successful. For, if she had proof of success, she could go to her uncle with something more than a dream, and perhaps sway him to her way of thinking. Marlowe did well for itself, very well, indeed, but it could do so much better!
"Would you, please, be careful?" she chastised the boy, brought back from her thoughts to the here and now by his sheer incompetence. "Here," she approached him and took the corner he was having trouble with. "Alright, now, when I pull, you raise it so it doesn't run across the bar," she instructed the boy. "This fabric is very delicate, and I'd rather not have to put you in debt for ruining it before you even start working." The boy, who had only just begun his apprenticeship under the tradesman Elspeth hired to run the day-to-day operations at the stall, gulped at the thought of his future profits being forfeit before he'd even had a chance to earn them, and finally began to take his task seriously.
Moments later, they were finally done, and Elspeth took a step back to survey the results.
She presumed she'd be satisfied enough... but she didn't have the opportunity, for she did not look where she was stepping - and, unfortunately, stepped on someone's food in the process.
Mortified, Elspeth turned around quickly and began to apologize. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my lady!" she said to the young woman she'd unwittingly injured. "I'm afraid my attention is all over the place today and... please forgive me. I simply wasn't looking where I was going," she smiled sheepishly, obviously sorry for the mishap. She had no idea whom she was speaking to, but she had looked wealthy and important, and Elspeth hoped the woman would not be one of those prickly, petty people who would make a big deal out of such a small accident.
Maricela Sandoval
