A dainty knock taps three times against the door in a bid to get his friends attention. Knocking is purely a formality, he's certain it would be no surprise that someone stood at the door or who it happened to be.
Since commissioning a tailor for Hythlodaeus' new garb, he found himself missing a key component of the garb itself - the measurements! It served as an excellent excuse to make his way to his friends domicile to spend time with him. Surely the gift would make for a welcome surprise, Amaurotine's so seldom received personal gifts like it.
For the moment he would wait for an answer, the crease on his brow habitually pressed into a disapproving scowl.
Whereas his frown would deepen upon most people opening the door, in this case his expression brightens ever-so-slightly to meet his friends smile.
"As a matter of fact, I would." He slithers past on his way to the interior of the room. This place has similar accommodations to his own, it seems, and he finds a somewhat familiar chair where he may perch and wait for tea. "You seem none the worse for wear following our recent harrowing ordeal."
He says it as if it should be obvious that he's fine. Following his friend he sweeps past him to the kitchen area, and comes back with two mugs of hot tea.
"There we are. Now then, why the surprise visit? Just to see me? Or is there something else you wanted from me?"
As though he would so readily admit to the latter.
Emet-Selch takes the hot tea, crosses his legs, and rests it on his lap while it steeps and cools. "Must I always have some intent?" He asks as though the mere thought of being predictable is offensive. "But yes, as it so happens, there is something I intended to speak to you about."
A dainty sip is taken from the mug of tea. "After our ordeal the other day, I thought it beneficial to acquire clothing that would allow you to blend in with the natives. So as to prevent you from being accosted by any more guards. Do you agree?"
"I would not call them 'unsuitable', as such..." His expression dims. Calling their attire anything of the sort would never occur to him.
"Those who dwell here are not our people. Where we sought to focus our efforts on the betterment of the star, they celebrate vainglorious displays of power and wealth. Given our robes do not represent those selfsame values, it is nigh contemptable that they are able to so much as look upon them, let alone find them wanting in any way." It's all grumbled with venomous disapproval. "Nay. I am merely making the suggestion so that they will not further accost you or provide you with some ill-suited alternative as they did a few nights ago. At least until we manage to find our way home again."
"I see." He sets his hands in his lap, looking down at them as he thinks on it. Displays of power and wealth... such things are foreign to Hythlodaeus, who only knew their world. And of course he has noticed that nobody here dresses alike, and has even decided to forego his mask to better fit in, but now... he must truly give up his robes, too?
Sighing, he looks up to Emet-Selch and smiles slightly.
"If you believe it to be best, I will not argue it. I suppose if it will stop others from looking at me strangely, it's a good idea."
"Think of it as a temporary arrangement; A façade to ensure our safety while dealing with these incredibly flawed concepts." Thinking of it that way always helped him bear it. He knows better than anyone that it can seem so incredibly uncomfortable at first.
His expression perks up just a little in order to seem reassuring. "Perhaps you would like a hand in approving its final design?"
"I know nothing of what attire looks good, you know this." He chuckles, reaching for his tea.
"Perhaps for this first design, you should simply do what you feel is best. I am sure I will have ample opportunity to pick out other options somewhere in the future. That said, I ask that it at least be a dark colour. I'm not quite ready for neons, you understand."
He grins- he's seen plenty of clothing around here that pops in the light and he doesn't want that.
"As is so happens, I've brought a design with me. I simply require the measurements and it shall be so." It's almost as though he anticipated such a response! He certainly did know this, but giving the option never hurt.
He reaches into the breast pocket of his garb and withdraws two folded pieces of parchment. Inside would be the two designs he worked on with a seamstress: a black cloak with a white ombre color and simple design and a black mid-length jacket, a button up jacket, and trousers to go underneath it. Practical yet illustrious - and remarkably restrained given Emet-Selch's tastes.
The paper is held out between two fingers for Hythlodaeus to take and examine. "Here. See what you make of it."
"Goodness, you were ready with those designs!" He can't help but to laugh as he takes the parchment and looks over the garb he's suggesting.
"Let's see... hmm. I like the addition of the cloak. The rest is extremely foreign to me, admittedly. I suppose there's naught to do but to try it all on once it is made!"
He notes the revealing cheat area but says nothing. Maybe that's just the fashion. Either way, he sees you, Emet-Selch.
"And you need my measurements, you say? Very well."
Setting his cup back down he hands the designs back.
See him? He's done nothing out of the ordinary with this design. Nothing at all.
Emet-Selch sets his own cup down before retrieving a wound ribbon with some notches marked on it. This should work well enough to get the lengths they needed. "Go on then, stand up and we'll measure one at a time." He gets to his feet with a grunt that is often brought on by the curse of old age.
"Arms spread apart first." He holds his own hands out a little further apart in a low-effort demonstration.
"Your own demonstration of 'enthusiasm' works just as well, thank you." He says with a disapproving purse to his lips.
So he would proceed to measure as he needs, pausing to write down the number after each section; Wingspan, length of torso, wrist size, even around his chest and waist. He goes to write the last number and lingers to look over the rest of what he needs before they continue.
"I can't very well measure the rest over your robes." He looks up. "I'll need you to open the front of your robe, unless you'd rather take the rest of these measurements yourself." It's such a nonchalant-sounding quest given its contents. Proper length/width of legs and inseam would be difficult to take over such bulky robes though!
At least it was custom to wear garbs underneath. Usually.
"Oh my," he giggles, then shrugs. "Well, when you ask me so nicely to disrobe, who am I to say no? But perhaps next time, a nice dinner wouldn't go amiss."
He undoes his robe without much preamble, and luckily he is wearing his podea underneath. No shirt, though, as Emet-Selch might have suspected.
"Better?" He smiles innocently as he places his hands on his hips to keep his robes out of the way.
"Mmm." Oh, such a thing would have flustered him to no end in the days of yore! Fortunately, time has steeled him against such remarks - and he's even learned to return a playful remark on occasion. The comment merely gets a good-natured smirk (as opposed to a grumble) as he approaches and begins to take measurements in earnest. First, he slips the measure around his friends neck and pinches it with two fingers in front.
"'Next time'," Emet-Selch pulls on it a fraction as though it were a leash. "he says, as though anticipating this will be a regular occurrence?" He lets the question hang for a moment before slipping the ribbon off to write down the number.
Arching an eyebrow at the tug, he finds complete and utter joy in the fact that Emet-Selch didn't shy away from the subject at hand. No, instead he's even joking with him! Beaming, Hythlodaeus leans in a little as the ribbon is removed.
"Will it not be, old friend? Disappointing! Imagine the possibilities. Streaking through Limbo together! Free as a bird!"
He laughs- no, he wouldn't do that, but the thought is hilarious.
"Though I rather imagine for you it would be more of a crawl." Age seems to have taken its toll on Emet-Selch, and yes, he's going to poke fun. "Ah, but luckily for me, your visage is still as handsome as ever."
"Are you implying that I am decrepit?" Emet-Selch complains in reply. Now is probably the most ill-timed moment for him to kneel down in an effort to get a measurement from the hip to the ankle as kneeling takes an effort all on its own. Alas, he does so with a grunt of effort.
Emet-Selch puts a hand to his back now that he has won the battle of kneeling. He sighs. "Not that you're wrong - This body has known better days." He glares, "But flattery on the back of an insult is not flattery at all." He takes the measurement and then quickly moves to the next.
"Flattery, insults... can't we simply call it the truth and move on?"
His smile softens somewhat as Emet-Selch kneels. "I'm quite sure you could still destroy me with a snap of your fingers, anyway. Who needs a fit body with such magicks at one's fingertips?"
There there, Emet-Selch. You're still a force to be reckoned with!
"When will this outfit be ready, anyhow? I'd love to dazzle you with it."
"It will be done when it is done and not a moment sooner." The most political answer.
Emet-Selch finishes a few more measurements and writes them down accordingly. Now he has to undergo the dreaded task of...standing again. He braces a hand on his knee and pushes up with a grunt. So unpleasant with these aged knees.
He sighs at his own physical limitations. "You would be surprised what perks sturdy body can yield. The lack of pain, the boundless energy, the endurance." He turns his head and gives his friend a dark smile, briefly pausing to admire the person before him. "All gifts that frailty so readily takes away."
A hand gestured towards Hythlodaeus attire. "Anyroad, your measurements are done. You may make yourself decent again."
The most boring answer, yes. He leans in to help Emet-Selch up, and smirks a little at the mention of endurance. He can't help but to feel the other man's eyes on him most keenly, and his heart jumps a little. Rather than let himself get carried away though, he simply begins to close his robes with a shrug.
"I suppose, never having a weakened physical form, I wouldn't understand. If you would like me to attempt to heal what ails you, however... well, I'm sure your back could use it, if nothing else."
An excuse to put his hands on his dear friend? Perhaps, but he truly does want to help, too. He hates to see him in pain.
Emet-Selch arches an eyebrow at him. It's a curious offer given how Hythlodaeus usually shirks action onto others under the guise of being 'less qualified'.
He resigns to the chair that he had been sitting in previously and sighs, rolling his neck to one side to loosen a tight muscle. "Attempt all you like, the magic fades before long." Not that he is actually expecting his friend to follow through with the offer given his middle-of-the-road answer.
Perhaps it is unusual, but Emet-Selch should know that Hythlodaeus has only ever wanted to help more than anything. And to see his friend suffer is unacceptable to him.
"Where does it hurt the most?"
He sweeps over to Emet-Selch, noting the way he rolls his neck.
"Perhaps the magic will fade, but some relief for a time is better than none at all, surely? And I can always do it again."
"Aren't we insistent." Emet-Selch observes with a faint sigh. Though such a description could work for any time Hythlodaeus wanted anything - reasonably so, given his own aptitude for refusing everything outright.
He looks with a frown to the room in front of them while he mentally ranks each problem in order. There are, unfortunately, so many that warrant it in their own right. Emet-Selch resigns without much fuss. "The shoulders are the culprit for the worst pain. It has been so for many years, especially during the cold winter months." He admits.
It made it especially biting during cold nights in Garlemald. Unfortunate that he would arrive in this city during the dead of winter.
Of which he lets Hythlodaeus do as he wishes. Emet-Selch event tilts his chin upward to make unfastening the cape a little less troublesome. "Mayhap even more fussy. You know how unwieldy these creatives can be, you can never quite predict what they will do." He teases, though he doesn't sound entirely appalled at the idea either way.
Once the tie is undone, he shrugs the fur so that it slumps around his forearms like a makeshift boa. It leaves the black robe undeath it that is much more thin and formfitting. "There. Is that more to your liking, or are their other 'demands' that remain unmet?"
"Oh, well if it's that fussy you may have to show me how to put it on and take it off again."
He laughs, amused.
"No, I think this is just fine. Give me a moment..."
Heavens, he hopes this works. He leans in and places both hands on Emet-Selch's shoulders, before kneading his fingers into them in a massaging motion. As he does so his healing magic gets to work, his palms glowing softly as he works on relieving Emet-Selch of some of the tension in his neck and shoulders. It came with the weight of carrying their people's hopes and dreams for millennia, no doubt.
"How does this feel?"
His brow furrows as he concentrates. He's... no expert masseur by any means but his fingers have a knack for finding the places that hold the most tension. It's there that he kneads, presses and rubs, all while his healing magic does what his fingers cannot.
This is not a luxury he afforded himself during life, but judging by all the knots and tense muscles that his friend has to work on, it has been sorely needed for many years.
That initial skepticism fades while his friend begins to free him of tension and pain that's worn him down for an age. It is not long before he looks like putty in a proverbial sculptors hands; Emet-Selch lets his eyes fall close, his head leans back, and the scowl eases as his friend is left to do as he would.
The success will be even more evident in his reply as he doesn't seem to grasp Hythlodaeus' question amid being so relaxed. "Mmm?" He mutters. "Come again...?"
Maybe that would serve as an answer all on its own.
Grinning, Hythlodaeus only intensifies his efforts.
"No, never mind. Just relax."
He does have to rest his knee on the chair as he leans in closer to get more of Emet-Selch's back, but soon enough he gives his friend's shoulders one last, affectionate squeeze before he pulls away.
"There. That should feel better for you- and if you wish to nap in my chair, you are quite welcome to do so, of course."
Being healed in such a way is so delightfully relaxing that he nearly nods off. His body hums as each neglected muscle and old wound is artfully knit back into health, and with it comes an unusual feeling of ease that he'd only been able to achieve with deepest sleep.
The only way to tell that he is awake at all is that his eyes crack open to look at Hythlodaeus when finally he pulls away. Emet-Selch gives him the most pitiful frown of disappointment, accompanied by a small sigh -- Truly the testament to how much he enjoyed it.
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Since commissioning a tailor for Hythlodaeus' new garb, he found himself missing a key component of the garb itself - the measurements! It served as an excellent excuse to make his way to his friends domicile to spend time with him. Surely the gift would make for a welcome surprise, Amaurotine's so seldom received personal gifts like it.
For the moment he would wait for an answer, the crease on his brow habitually pressed into a disapproving scowl.
( Attire! )
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"Emet-Selch. What a wonderful surprise!"
He gestures for him to come in.
"Make yourself at home. I was just making some tea. Would you like a cup?"
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"As a matter of fact, I would." He slithers past on his way to the interior of the room. This place has similar accommodations to his own, it seems, and he finds a somewhat familiar chair where he may perch and wait for tea. "You seem none the worse for wear following our recent harrowing ordeal."
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He says it as if it should be obvious that he's fine. Following his friend he sweeps past him to the kitchen area, and comes back with two mugs of hot tea.
"There we are. Now then, why the surprise visit? Just to see me? Or is there something else you wanted from me?"
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Emet-Selch takes the hot tea, crosses his legs, and rests it on his lap while it steeps and cools. "Must I always have some intent?" He asks as though the mere thought of being predictable is offensive. "But yes, as it so happens, there is something I intended to speak to you about."
A dainty sip is taken from the mug of tea. "After our ordeal the other day, I thought it beneficial to acquire clothing that would allow you to blend in with the natives. So as to prevent you from being accosted by any more guards. Do you agree?"
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Hythlodaeus knows it all too well. His expression turns to one of hesitant curiosity at Emet-Selch's proposed plan, however.
"Ah. My robes are not suitable?"
He had swanned around quite easily during the ball, but it was mostly thanks to alcohol, false bravado and other strange effects.
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"Those who dwell here are not our people. Where we sought to focus our efforts on the betterment of the star, they celebrate vainglorious displays of power and wealth. Given our robes do not represent those selfsame values, it is nigh contemptable that they are able to so much as look upon them, let alone find them wanting in any way." It's all grumbled with venomous disapproval. "Nay. I am merely making the suggestion so that they will not further accost you or provide you with some ill-suited alternative as they did a few nights ago. At least until we manage to find our way home again."
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Sighing, he looks up to Emet-Selch and smiles slightly.
"If you believe it to be best, I will not argue it. I suppose if it will stop others from looking at me strangely, it's a good idea."
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His expression perks up just a little in order to seem reassuring. "Perhaps you would like a hand in approving its final design?"
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"Perhaps for this first design, you should simply do what you feel is best. I am sure I will have ample opportunity to pick out other options somewhere in the future. That said, I ask that it at least be a dark colour. I'm not quite ready for neons, you understand."
He grins- he's seen plenty of clothing around here that pops in the light and he doesn't want that.
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He reaches into the breast pocket of his garb and withdraws two folded pieces of parchment. Inside would be the two designs he worked on with a seamstress: a black cloak with a white ombre color and simple design and a black mid-length jacket, a button up jacket, and trousers to go underneath it. Practical yet illustrious - and remarkably restrained given Emet-Selch's tastes.
The paper is held out between two fingers for Hythlodaeus to take and examine. "Here. See what you make of it."
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"Let's see... hmm. I like the addition of the cloak. The rest is extremely foreign to me, admittedly. I suppose there's naught to do but to try it all on once it is made!"
He notes the revealing cheat area but says nothing. Maybe that's just the fashion. Either way, he sees you, Emet-Selch.
"And you need my measurements, you say? Very well."
Setting his cup back down he hands the designs back.
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Emet-Selch sets his own cup down before retrieving a wound ribbon with some notches marked on it. This should work well enough to get the lengths they needed. "Go on then, stand up and we'll measure one at a time." He gets to his feet with a grunt that is often brought on by the curse of old age.
"Arms spread apart first." He holds his own hands out a little further apart in a low-effort demonstration.
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"Like this?" He stands with his arms outstretched. The low effort example did get a chuckle from him, though.
"Or should I be less enthusiastic?" He moves to mimic Emet-Selch's demonstration.
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So he would proceed to measure as he needs, pausing to write down the number after each section; Wingspan, length of torso, wrist size, even around his chest and waist. He goes to write the last number and lingers to look over the rest of what he needs before they continue.
"I can't very well measure the rest over your robes." He looks up. "I'll need you to open the front of your robe, unless you'd rather take the rest of these measurements yourself." It's such a nonchalant-sounding quest given its contents. Proper length/width of legs and inseam would be difficult to take over such bulky robes though!
At least it was custom to wear garbs underneath. Usually.
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He undoes his robe without much preamble, and luckily he is wearing his podea underneath. No shirt, though, as Emet-Selch might have suspected.
"Better?" He smiles innocently as he places his hands on his hips to keep his robes out of the way.
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"'Next time'," Emet-Selch pulls on it a fraction as though it were a leash. "he says, as though anticipating this will be a regular occurrence?" He lets the question hang for a moment before slipping the ribbon off to write down the number.
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"Will it not be, old friend? Disappointing! Imagine the possibilities. Streaking through Limbo together! Free as a bird!"
He laughs- no, he wouldn't do that, but the thought is hilarious.
"Though I rather imagine for you it would be more of a crawl." Age seems to have taken its toll on Emet-Selch, and yes, he's going to poke fun. "Ah, but luckily for me, your visage is still as handsome as ever."
Hythlodaeus stays winning.
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Emet-Selch puts a hand to his back now that he has won the battle of kneeling. He sighs. "Not that you're wrong - This body has known better days." He glares, "But flattery on the back of an insult is not flattery at all." He takes the measurement and then quickly moves to the next.
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His smile softens somewhat as Emet-Selch kneels. "I'm quite sure you could still destroy me with a snap of your fingers, anyway. Who needs a fit body with such magicks at one's fingertips?"
There there, Emet-Selch. You're still a force to be reckoned with!
"When will this outfit be ready, anyhow? I'd love to dazzle you with it."
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Emet-Selch finishes a few more measurements and writes them down accordingly. Now he has to undergo the dreaded task of...standing again. He braces a hand on his knee and pushes up with a grunt. So unpleasant with these aged knees.
He sighs at his own physical limitations. "You would be surprised what perks sturdy body can yield. The lack of pain, the boundless energy, the endurance." He turns his head and gives his friend a dark smile, briefly pausing to admire the person before him. "All gifts that frailty so readily takes away."
A hand gestured towards Hythlodaeus attire. "Anyroad, your measurements are done. You may make yourself decent again."
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"I suppose, never having a weakened physical form, I wouldn't understand. If you would like me to attempt to heal what ails you, however... well, I'm sure your back could use it, if nothing else."
An excuse to put his hands on his dear friend? Perhaps, but he truly does want to help, too. He hates to see him in pain.
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He resigns to the chair that he had been sitting in previously and sighs, rolling his neck to one side to loosen a tight muscle. "Attempt all you like, the magic fades before long." Not that he is actually expecting his friend to follow through with the offer given his middle-of-the-road answer.
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"Where does it hurt the most?"
He sweeps over to Emet-Selch, noting the way he rolls his neck.
"Perhaps the magic will fade, but some relief for a time is better than none at all, surely? And I can always do it again."
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He looks with a frown to the room in front of them while he mentally ranks each problem in order. There are, unfortunately, so many that warrant it in their own right. Emet-Selch resigns without much fuss. "The shoulders are the culprit for the worst pain. It has been so for many years, especially during the cold winter months." He admits.
It made it especially biting during cold nights in Garlemald. Unfortunate that he would arrive in this city during the dead of winter.
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He sets about fussing with the fastening to Emet-Selch's cape, whether he likes it or not.
"Will my new attire be this fiddly, I wonder...?"
He says it with a smile- if it is, it is. He's just happy that Emet-Selch wants to help him get more accustomed to different clothing.
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Once the tie is undone, he shrugs the fur so that it slumps around his forearms like a makeshift boa. It leaves the black robe undeath it that is much more thin and formfitting. "There. Is that more to your liking, or are their other 'demands' that remain unmet?"
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He laughs, amused.
"No, I think this is just fine. Give me a moment..."
Heavens, he hopes this works. He leans in and places both hands on Emet-Selch's shoulders, before kneading his fingers into them in a massaging motion. As he does so his healing magic gets to work, his palms glowing softly as he works on relieving Emet-Selch of some of the tension in his neck and shoulders. It came with the weight of carrying their people's hopes and dreams for millennia, no doubt.
"How does this feel?"
His brow furrows as he concentrates. He's... no expert masseur by any means but his fingers have a knack for finding the places that hold the most tension. It's there that he kneads, presses and rubs, all while his healing magic does what his fingers cannot.
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That initial skepticism fades while his friend begins to free him of tension and pain that's worn him down for an age. It is not long before he looks like putty in a proverbial sculptors hands; Emet-Selch lets his eyes fall close, his head leans back, and the scowl eases as his friend is left to do as he would.
The success will be even more evident in his reply as he doesn't seem to grasp Hythlodaeus' question amid being so relaxed. "Mmm?" He mutters. "Come again...?"
Maybe that would serve as an answer all on its own.
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"No, never mind. Just relax."
He does have to rest his knee on the chair as he leans in closer to get more of Emet-Selch's back, but soon enough he gives his friend's shoulders one last, affectionate squeeze before he pulls away.
"There. That should feel better for you- and if you wish to nap in my chair, you are quite welcome to do so, of course."
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The only way to tell that he is awake at all is that his eyes crack open to look at Hythlodaeus when finally he pulls away. Emet-Selch gives him the most pitiful frown of disappointment, accompanied by a small sigh -- Truly the testament to how much he enjoyed it.
It's mere moments before he dozes off in earnest.