19 Ymiden 714
“What in Illaren’s name are you doing?”
“Sewing, er… Trying to.”
“Looks like a disaster to me.”
Yeva looked up from where she sat crisscrossed on the floor, a stern look of exasperation flashing towards her brother, “Were you going to contribute anything helpful, or just make snide comments for no reason?”
From the other room, a man’s voice boomed, “Petyr, stop patronizing your sister!”
Petyr rolled his eyes, scoffing as he pulled away from the door with mutterings of disbelief. Yeva stuck her tongue out, smirking while his footsteps fading down the hall of their family home and refocused her attention to the scattered blueprints before her. When she had met with a seamstress selling her wares at market, she had been thrilled. Everything was supposed to be self-contained in the kit: threads and needles, buttons and clasps. She had even advised Yeva on the fabric choice, describing the differences in material and how it was important to consider the form and function of a garment before purchasing for creation.
She had only ever practiced her stitches; Making a whole garment was daunting but somehow thrilling. And the sheer detail the seamstress had gone into creating the packet was phenomenal! She had never seen anything like it.
Inside the envelope was an instructional packet, hand written in perfect print lettering. There was a key with a variety of dashed, dotted and straight lines, each with a label beside them, as well as some triangles signifying something called notches. Yeva flipped through the papers, not quite sure those were. The others were fairly straight forward after a moment of study - button holes, for instance.
“Momma,” Yeva shouted, struggling with a bundle of fabric, half spread upon the worn floor, half bunched in her hands, “Can you come here for a moment?”
“What’s wrong?” Hestia called, hands on hips when she peeked into the girl’s room. Spotting the madness, she chuckled in good nature, “What have you gotten yourself into, sweet girl?”
Yeva huffed, “I’m gonna make a dress, but I need help.”
Hestia was a skilled sewer, having made most of her children’s clothes over the arcs, and even more impressive embroidery artist. She laughed again, nodding in interest, “Alright, let me get dinner on the stove and I’ll help.”
“Wait! Is this the selvage?”
“Hm?” Hestia paused mid-turn, waving a hand, “See that band? It’s where it came off the loom, the threads are tighter there. Fold the fabric, right sides together and I’ll be right back."
Yeva flipped the fabric. The right side of the fabric must have been the side the looked right. Pretty simple so far.
She was reaching for the collection of delicate tissue paper, when her mother came back in, measuring tape in hand, “Alright, stand up and let me get a good look at you.”
“Right now?”
”It’s your dress, isn’t it?”
“I mean…” Yeva hadn’t even been fully convinced she could make a dress by following a pattern, so if they took her actual measurements it would feel real and so would the failure, “Yes, I suppose so.”
“What material is this?” Hestia asked, reaching out to run her hand across the texture, and then answered her own question,“Ah, cotton. Good.”
Yeva mimicked her mother, smoothing the cerulean blue cloth, “Good?”
“Yes, it’s easier to work with… More than a silk, chiffon or woven knit.”
“Oh.”
“More than anything, you should always look or think about the piece you’re creating and what its purpose is. This dress here is knee length, so it would fit the warmer seasons. In Saun, you don’t want to be caught in leather, do you?”
Her mother was smiling, causing images of sweaty limbs trapped inside armor to play in her mind. From the smell of some of the Lightening Knights in the taverns after a long day patrolling the city, Yeva knew exactly what her mother meant. She could still smell the musk.
“Now, come here, and hold your arms out. I want to get your busts and waist measured,” Hestia paused to look around scrap paper and a pencil. In Yeva’s room, alongside the books, pots of ink, and endless notebooks, there was a loose sheet and pen on the table, which she grabbed began to make her notations.
Hestia talked through her administrations, showing Yeva the proper places to lay the measuring guide across the different points of her body and manipulated her daughter as she saw fit. Yeva didn't seem to mind so much, using the time to ask her mother questions about the pattern piece, "Momma, how did you become a seamstress?"
"Well, my mother taught me."
"Do you like it? Sewing?"
"Hmm," the older woman plucked a needle from between her teeth and began to stab it through the fabric, "I do."
“Sewing, er… Trying to.”
“Looks like a disaster to me.”
Yeva looked up from where she sat crisscrossed on the floor, a stern look of exasperation flashing towards her brother, “Were you going to contribute anything helpful, or just make snide comments for no reason?”
From the other room, a man’s voice boomed, “Petyr, stop patronizing your sister!”
Petyr rolled his eyes, scoffing as he pulled away from the door with mutterings of disbelief. Yeva stuck her tongue out, smirking while his footsteps fading down the hall of their family home and refocused her attention to the scattered blueprints before her. When she had met with a seamstress selling her wares at market, she had been thrilled. Everything was supposed to be self-contained in the kit: threads and needles, buttons and clasps. She had even advised Yeva on the fabric choice, describing the differences in material and how it was important to consider the form and function of a garment before purchasing for creation.
She had only ever practiced her stitches; Making a whole garment was daunting but somehow thrilling. And the sheer detail the seamstress had gone into creating the packet was phenomenal! She had never seen anything like it.
Inside the envelope was an instructional packet, hand written in perfect print lettering. There was a key with a variety of dashed, dotted and straight lines, each with a label beside them, as well as some triangles signifying something called notches. Yeva flipped through the papers, not quite sure those were. The others were fairly straight forward after a moment of study - button holes, for instance.
“Momma,” Yeva shouted, struggling with a bundle of fabric, half spread upon the worn floor, half bunched in her hands, “Can you come here for a moment?”
“What’s wrong?” Hestia called, hands on hips when she peeked into the girl’s room. Spotting the madness, she chuckled in good nature, “What have you gotten yourself into, sweet girl?”
Yeva huffed, “I’m gonna make a dress, but I need help.”
Hestia was a skilled sewer, having made most of her children’s clothes over the arcs, and even more impressive embroidery artist. She laughed again, nodding in interest, “Alright, let me get dinner on the stove and I’ll help.”
“Wait! Is this the selvage?”
“Hm?” Hestia paused mid-turn, waving a hand, “See that band? It’s where it came off the loom, the threads are tighter there. Fold the fabric, right sides together and I’ll be right back."
Yeva flipped the fabric. The right side of the fabric must have been the side the looked right. Pretty simple so far.
She was reaching for the collection of delicate tissue paper, when her mother came back in, measuring tape in hand, “Alright, stand up and let me get a good look at you.”
“Right now?”
”It’s your dress, isn’t it?”
“I mean…” Yeva hadn’t even been fully convinced she could make a dress by following a pattern, so if they took her actual measurements it would feel real and so would the failure, “Yes, I suppose so.”
“What material is this?” Hestia asked, reaching out to run her hand across the texture, and then answered her own question,“Ah, cotton. Good.”
Yeva mimicked her mother, smoothing the cerulean blue cloth, “Good?”
“Yes, it’s easier to work with… More than a silk, chiffon or woven knit.”
“Oh.”
“More than anything, you should always look or think about the piece you’re creating and what its purpose is. This dress here is knee length, so it would fit the warmer seasons. In Saun, you don’t want to be caught in leather, do you?”
Her mother was smiling, causing images of sweaty limbs trapped inside armor to play in her mind. From the smell of some of the Lightening Knights in the taverns after a long day patrolling the city, Yeva knew exactly what her mother meant. She could still smell the musk.
“Now, come here, and hold your arms out. I want to get your busts and waist measured,” Hestia paused to look around scrap paper and a pencil. In Yeva’s room, alongside the books, pots of ink, and endless notebooks, there was a loose sheet and pen on the table, which she grabbed began to make her notations.
Hestia talked through her administrations, showing Yeva the proper places to lay the measuring guide across the different points of her body and manipulated her daughter as she saw fit. Yeva didn't seem to mind so much, using the time to ask her mother questions about the pattern piece, "Momma, how did you become a seamstress?"
"Well, my mother taught me."
"Do you like it? Sewing?"
"Hmm," the older woman plucked a needle from between her teeth and began to stab it through the fabric, "I do."
