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[R20, Mid-Morning] A Tailored Tale To Tell (Tristaan, Tjen, Eirlys, open)
There was something that Sarinah had noticed when it came to children, something she had never fully understood till Kieran was born.
They grew.
Like weeds.
Constantly.
To say that Kieran had more clothes than herself and Tristaan combined was no exaggeration. Hand-me-downs, cheap picks from stalls along the road, even one or two nicer outfits. He was a well stocked child, but it seemed more often than not, ninety nine percent of his wardrobe had shrunk. Or more to the point he had grown, almost overnight.
Standing in front of the youngster, the brunette witch pursed her lips thoughtfully, hands on hips and a slight frown on her brow. The dark haired boy looked back at her with a cheeky dimpled grin before toddling off to find something to play with. His breeches were far to short in the leg, and the tunic top he wore didn't quite cover his belly.
"I ent sure he can wear this anymore." She said, turning to Tristaan with a shake of her head and pointing out the other pieces of clothing strewn across their bed.
"Or this, this...this...definitly not this..." Picking up a tiny one piece cotton suit, the woman smiled a little sadly. Their baby was growing up, he wouldn't be a baby for long. Soon he'd be a young boy and after that a young man. Tears came unbidden to her rich chocolate eyes and the wick laughed at her emotional breakdown over a piece of clothing. Ola told her it was the hormones, but it didn't make it any less frustrating.
"He's practically burstin' at th' seams!" Sarinah said, folding the little suit up and snuggling it to her chest.
They grew.
Like weeds.
Constantly.
To say that Kieran had more clothes than herself and Tristaan combined was no exaggeration. Hand-me-downs, cheap picks from stalls along the road, even one or two nicer outfits. He was a well stocked child, but it seemed more often than not, ninety nine percent of his wardrobe had shrunk. Or more to the point he had grown, almost overnight.
Standing in front of the youngster, the brunette witch pursed her lips thoughtfully, hands on hips and a slight frown on her brow. The dark haired boy looked back at her with a cheeky dimpled grin before toddling off to find something to play with. His breeches were far to short in the leg, and the tunic top he wore didn't quite cover his belly.
"I ent sure he can wear this anymore." She said, turning to Tristaan with a shake of her head and pointing out the other pieces of clothing strewn across their bed.
"Or this, this...this...definitly not this..." Picking up a tiny one piece cotton suit, the woman smiled a little sadly. Their baby was growing up, he wouldn't be a baby for long. Soon he'd be a young boy and after that a young man. Tears came unbidden to her rich chocolate eyes and the wick laughed at her emotional breakdown over a piece of clothing. Ola told her it was the hormones, but it didn't make it any less frustrating.
"He's practically burstin' at th' seams!" Sarinah said, folding the little suit up and snuggling it to her chest.
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The dark-haired passive eyed the boy and his current state of dress with a wry smile, as helpless from holding the boch back from growing as he was against his wife’s nostalgic, hormonal tears, “Oes, ent much t’stop ‘im, either, th’way he eats these days. ‘Sides, he’ll be a young kov ‘fore y’know’t, puttin’ holes in his knees an’ makin’ a mess o’--”
He paused, knowing full well he was speaking as a grown man who still ended up utterly ruining his clothes without much warning. He’d already done enough damage to his wardrobe since he and his friends had found themselves in the business of helping refugees move. He wasn’t sure a single pair of pants existed unscathed at the moment. Chagrined, Tristaan could only roll his shoulders with a shrug, “We’ve got a bit o’spare ging t’fix that.”
He snatched up Kieran, producing some giggles, “An’ I think I’ve heard a name’r two that ent too far from here, near th’Bazaar.”
The passive admittedly hadn’t taken too much time to thoroughly explore the sprawling expanse of Thul’Ka outside of Onzur’s Bazaar and Little Anaxas. He’d been a few places, mostly out of curiosity and with his fami in tow, but it was still hard to feel welcome in a place so different full of people who already had opinions about their homeland. It was sometimes just as hard to feel welcome among refugees, so high ran the tensions in the small corner of the city they’d crammed themselves into to escape the bloodshed at home.
He was holding their son upside down now, much to the boy’s amusement, though obviously addressing Sarinah with a smile, “Did’ja wanna go? It ent gettin’ any cooler outside.”
Glancing back to her little fami, the olive skinned witch walked over and tickled the upside down Kieran and kissed his exposed belly, much to the delight of the already giggling boy. It was true, they all needed a few new clothes. Her short linen dresses were already starting to become tighter around her slowly growing bump, and soon they would become to short. There had been some maternity suitable clothing in the market, Ola had told her.
"Oes, I suppose y'right. Would be benny t'get out o'the house together. Ent th'heat bothers me anyway." She said with a grin before turning away to the door looking for her slip-on sandals. Truly, the heat bothered her. Like a thick blanket of burning air thrown all around her, wrapping tight and smothering in its heaviness. Yet, the witch refused to let it get to her, or at least today.
Returning to Tristaan's side, Sarinah grinned at Kieran and put on an animated voice.
"Y'wanna go see th'market hama? Oes?"
The wick boy laughed and managed to nod his head eagerly, aware that the market held many things he wanted to touch and marvel at. Had he known such a trip would eventualy require trying on clothes, he most likely would have refused, but Kieran was still too young to think that far ahead or anticipate those kinds of terrible things.
Tristaan righted his son to toss him over a shoulder playfully, unable to keep a smirk from creasing into his aristocratic features as Sarinah made claims to her immunity from the heat. He opened his mouth to argue, to chide her, but thought it best not to do so. He put his lips to better use with a kiss, free hand ushering his witch of a wife toward the door with a teasing squeeze of her backside, as if to say he knew she wasn't entirely telling the truth,
"Oes," he laughed, "Let's all go an' brave th'lovely Mugrobi weather as fami."
While the passive didn't entirely know where he was going, he knew the the general area where the tailors' shop he'd been told about was. After spending the past several months moving refugees and their belongings with those he now called his friends, he knew most of Little Anaxas by heart. All of the shaded alley ways and secret courtyards that held a hint of greenery were some of his favorite pathways, which he was happy to share with Sarinah and his son, pausing to let the boy splash in a fountain along the way. Needless to say, he did his best to make their walk as pleasant as possible, despite the oppressive heat that seemed to even cling tightly to the shade.
The tailor shop was just near the Bazaar proper, with its sign that read the Rahidk name on it in Estuan. Tristaan would never had known what he was looking for if the signage had been in Mugrobi. Kieran was on his shoulders, out of trouble and unable to escape for the moment, and so he let Sarinah open the door for them as he ducked inside, looking for someone to smile at in greeting, even with toddler fingers curled too tightly into his hair.