Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
22.Feb.12, 11:54 PM
This was inappropriate.
The news that chores would be required hadn't been so bad. Naturally, Breccan assumed she'd find herself in the infirmary tent or whatever they had, stitching up the poor sods forced into menial labor. Her training was extremely practical, and more than that, useful. Of course she would be valued and her talent used.
Instead, this said she'd be making clothing. Making clothing? First of all, she hardly knew what that meant. Her birth, illegitimate as it was, meant she'd certainly never had to produce her own garments; they'd all simply appeared, like magic, and then been tailored to her frame. Was that what they expected her to do? Hem a skirt or tighten up a waistline. Inappropriate. They were not using her to her full potential, and there was nothing Breccan resented like being prevented from shining. Feeling like her opportunity to impress her new colleagues had been shot out of the sky, her trip to the craft hall was one overshadowed by a stormy frown. Inappropriate.
Worse, she was the first one there, apparently. After asking some potter or some-such which area was intended for tailors, she found herself with no one to surreptitiously watch and imitate. No, there was just fabric, and knives, and thread, and awls, and needlethorn. It was neatly enough arranged, but she had no idea what to do with it. In a very general way, she knew clothes were made of things sewn to other things, but...general knowledge and practical knowledge were two very different things. Why couldn't she just be gathering plants somewhere?
With a sigh, she settled herself to the ground, cross-legged. What would be simplest? Sleeves, probably. Examining her own clothing, she decided a sleeve was nothing more than a tube of fabric. So, all she had to do was cut a length, and stitch it into a tube. Stitching, at least, she was good at. Shards. This would be much easier if it weren't so necessary to convince the powers that be that she'd accepted her lot and was making the best of it, even growing happy to be here. Honesty, she reflected. Honesty was the way to go, and she couldn't take it. Just like she couldn't sit in the infirmary and dispense knowledge and numbweed. Instead, she was going to sew fabric-tubes. Tugging cloth towards herself, she cut off a generous length, threaded herself up a 'needle,' and got to stitching. Fine. If she had to to this, she'd do a fantastic job. In fact, she would do the best job, and this chore was the best.
The news that chores would be required hadn't been so bad. Naturally, Breccan assumed she'd find herself in the infirmary tent or whatever they had, stitching up the poor sods forced into menial labor. Her training was extremely practical, and more than that, useful. Of course she would be valued and her talent used.
Instead, this said she'd be making clothing. Making clothing? First of all, she hardly knew what that meant. Her birth, illegitimate as it was, meant she'd certainly never had to produce her own garments; they'd all simply appeared, like magic, and then been tailored to her frame. Was that what they expected her to do? Hem a skirt or tighten up a waistline. Inappropriate. They were not using her to her full potential, and there was nothing Breccan resented like being prevented from shining. Feeling like her opportunity to impress her new colleagues had been shot out of the sky, her trip to the craft hall was one overshadowed by a stormy frown. Inappropriate.
Worse, she was the first one there, apparently. After asking some potter or some-such which area was intended for tailors, she found herself with no one to surreptitiously watch and imitate. No, there was just fabric, and knives, and thread, and awls, and needlethorn. It was neatly enough arranged, but she had no idea what to do with it. In a very general way, she knew clothes were made of things sewn to other things, but...general knowledge and practical knowledge were two very different things. Why couldn't she just be gathering plants somewhere?
With a sigh, she settled herself to the ground, cross-legged. What would be simplest? Sleeves, probably. Examining her own clothing, she decided a sleeve was nothing more than a tube of fabric. So, all she had to do was cut a length, and stitch it into a tube. Stitching, at least, she was good at. Shards. This would be much easier if it weren't so necessary to convince the powers that be that she'd accepted her lot and was making the best of it, even growing happy to be here. Honesty, she reflected. Honesty was the way to go, and she couldn't take it. Just like she couldn't sit in the infirmary and dispense knowledge and numbweed. Instead, she was going to sew fabric-tubes. Tugging cloth towards herself, she cut off a generous length, threaded herself up a 'needle,' and got to stitching. Fine. If she had to to this, she'd do a fantastic job. In fact, she would do the best job, and this chore was the best.
