Trisana Chandler straightened her dress with a scowl, and adjusted her brass spectacles on her beaky nose. She looked up from rereading Quicksilver's Winds' Path for the tenth time or so.
"Niko, you know I hate parties. Do I honestly have…" She couldn't help but ask, even though she knew the answer.
It was bad enough being back in Ninver, the town of her birth, all too full of bad memories. Memories of her family, memories of one disappointment after another, one more person after another that didn't want her.
Not only to she have to socialize with a poxy, sycophantic lot of nobles, jumped-up merchants and mages who thought she got her mage's medallion through trickery or cheating, and treated her like someone who didn't know a thing, she had to wear the most horrid, frilly clothes imaginable. She cursed Sandry for sending her such a dress, and social customs that forced her to wear it out in public at least once.
Why couldn't she just stay in the room and read?
She normally gave not a whit about proper customs, but Sandry, nice though she was, would likely throw a tantrum if she found out that her gift had not been worn in public.
Of course, it would be a very proper, noble tantrum, consisting of mostly very dignified pouting and sulking, but Tris really did not want to deal with it. Oh yes, and she would somehow manage to stare down her nose at Tris, even though both her and her nose were rather small.
The outfit in question consisted of a well fitted dress in extremely fine russet red silk, covered in lace and intricate embroidery in green and gold threads, and came with a lot of even more lacey petticoats.
Niklaren Goldeye, her mentor and friend, sighed. "Tris, you know that we should attend at least one social function before we leave town. It would look dreadfully odd if we didn't."
Tris, looking at his clothes, knew that he was just saying that. He liked meeting with other mages to discuss things, and hadn't gotten tired of it even after weeks and weeks at the mages' conference back in the south, and he didn't mind dressing up.
He wore a sleeveless over-robe of heavily embroidered grey silk with jet buttons, green silk pants, a black velvet cloak, and a black silk shirt. His salt and pepper hair was combed neatly back, and he looked ever inch the great mage he was.
But silk! How in the world did Sandry think Tris liked silk! It was frilly, noble stuff, not worn by good respectable, down-to-earth merchant folk like her. Oh well. She would grit her teeth and bear it for a few hours at the very least.
Chime looked up from her perch on the windowsill digesting some natron and sand and cocked her head, voicing a question cry, like a knife gently tapping a glass goblet.
Glaki glanced up from the floor beside Little Bear and wilted visibly. She asked, tone fearful, "Tris, you're making the scary eyes again. You're sparking, too. Are you angry at…" Glaki hunched her shoulders. "Me?"
Tris blushed, and said in a soft tone, smiling. "No Glaki, of course not." She coughed, and continued more sharply. "Don't worry about me."
The toddler nodded gravely, then went back to stroking the dog that was bigger than she was.
She put her fingers to her lips and whistled, bringing her favourite breezes in through the open window. She might have to wear a stuffy outfit, but she refused to be hot.
"Fine, Niko. We might as well get this thing over with. Promise me I don't have to stay too long?" Tris said wearily.
Niko didn't reply, merely raised his salt and pepper eyebrows.
Tris groaned, then got up and stalked off to get her shoes. No matter what dresses she wore, her shoes would be sensible. There would be no lacy slippers for her.