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The Seamstresses
*Kipfel!* Ira hissed as he flew in low, following the trail Löwenherzchen had left for him to follow. It had been a very faint trail, but they believed it was for the best, and Kip would have suspected had Löwen been gone long enough to make a more distinct one.
*Kipfel!* he called again. *Oh, lover, where art thou?*
Suddenly, Ira caught sight of Löwen, motioning for Ira to follow. He did follow.
Down beneath the roots of a tree, Kipfel had dug himself a shallow lodging. It looked like a rather tight fit for him to get in and out of the roots, and Löwen rolled its beady black eyes at Ira, who nodded, understanding that Kipfel was being positively unreasonable.
*Oh, there you are,* Ira said, affecting more cheer than he felt. *Come on, then, out you go, Oh Prince of Brooding.*
*Don't you give me that line,* Kipfel snarled, not moving an inch.
*Well then. Out, you curmudgeonly old badger!*
*I'm not old!* Kip protested.
*You've said yourself you're older than all of us put together.* Ira wrinkled up his forehead with concern. *Well, then? Out!*
*No!* Kip replied, and tried to kick dirt at Ira, but only succeeded at jamming his back foot against the roots of the tree.
*Got yourself in a bit of a tight spot, have you, Kip?*
*Shut up, you great blue canary!*
*Oh, do stop with the insults. They sting so hard.*
*Here I thought the well-read one was supposed to be good at words.*
*I am. That's why I'm allowed to apply them badly in an ironic sense.*
*Just go away, I'.*
*I don't think so.*
*Why not?*
*You mean, besides because you're being a grand ass?*
Kipfel glared at him from under the tree roots.
*So, tell me,* Ira continued to egg him, *how long have you been stuck down there?*
*I'm not stuck!*
*Yes, just like I'm not your lover and friend.*
Kip growled and didn't say anything. And he turned his back to Ira.
*Oh, come on, there's no shame in being stuck. I'll just have to help you get out, is all. If you ask nicely.*
*I'm not asking for your help becuase I'm not stuck! Tirival Hend, believe me once in a while, will you?*
Ira smirked because Kip couldn't see. *Fine,* he said. *You're not stuck. Come on out, then.*
*No.*
*Well why not?*
*Because you'll make me go back.*
Ira was a little shocked. *Well of course I'll make you go back! Some of us like you, heavens forbid, and some of us miss you, don't ruddy know why, and some of us don't like flying out miles away from town to visit you.*
*I don't want to. Not until it's over.*
*Kip...* Ira sighed. *I thought we went through this. Annabel's not yours anymore than Tor is mine. ... Actually, she's probably more yours than Tor is mine, but you still can't have her forever.*
*I know that!* Kip snapped.
*Well then, I don't see the problem. Come back to us.*
Kip didn't say anything.
*Please?* Ira tried.
*I don't trust myself,* Kip said at length. *I want it all to be perfect for her. I want it to be whatever she always hoped. But I keep screwing it up.*
*Yes, well, kidnapping the groom and threatening to kill him because you think he'll make Nabel unhappy is definitely a way to 'screw it up'. And it doesn't take your mother to know that.*
*I. Can't. Help. It. I look at him, and I think how unhappy she'll be. I don't want my Nabel unhappy. She's been unhappy for too long.*
*Well she's bleeding unhappy without you there. Besides, she has some people that you need to threaten to make sure this all runs smoothly.*
*Don't lie to me, I'. It's better for everyone if I just stay here.*
*Oh, yes! Do! Stay there. Wallow in your self-pity and very-stuck-ness! Make us all have a nasty summer waiting for you to come back! Smashing idea, Kip! Simply marvelous!*
*Ira--*
*No. Don't say anything. Don't say a bleeding word. You want alone? You can have alone. I'm not coming back to try again, Kip.*
Kip wriggled himself out from under the tree roots, and Ira was already to the treetops. *IRA, YOU GREAT BLUE BUZZARD!* Kip shouted after him. *GET BACK HERE!*
Ira circled a moment, then banked back towards the town.
Kip sighed down at Löwen. *I really screwed up this time, didn't I?* he asked.
Löwen nudged Kip's thoughts with an I told you so.
***
"Ira, it's been a week. Where is he?" Annabel asked as the two of them walked and flew out on the docks to meet a ship who had sent a message for her.
*I told him that I wasn't coming back. If he wants to be an ass about it, let him. There's no sense in upsetting the rest of us. I get the feeling that's just what he wants, anyway.*
Annabel sighed and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her trousers. They passed a gaggle of women who were chittering very excitedly over something in the middle of them.
"Oh! E-Excuse me, young lad!" one of them called, waving right at Annabel. "Have you seen uh... Miss Annabel Lee?"
Nabel and Ira exchanged a very odd look.
*And which Annabel Lee would that be, madams?* Ira asked before Annabel could shout that she did not look like a man at all and would the old trollops put their glasses on!
The gaggle chuckled, and one of them put on her glasses. "Why... The bride, of course!" she laughed.
*Well, then. Miss Nabel, do you think maybe we should show them the bride?* Ira couldn't hold back a smirk.
"Miss Nabel?" one of the women asked.
Annabel muttered under her breath, "I do not look like a man!"
*I believe they called you 'young lad.' So maybe more a very tall, very prepubescent boy.*
"Watch it, or you'll get a shiner, I'."
*Naturally,* Ira replied and kept his big head shut while Annabel tackled the women on the docks.
She drew a deep breath, trying to keep an unsettling amount of anger from overspilling. She fixed herself with a smile and asked, "May I help you, ladies?"
"As we said, we're looking for the bride, and--"
"You are most definitely looking at her," Annabel told them with deadly certainty. Her eyes had narrowed, and she was thinking very certainly of pushing those old dowdies into the water and walking away.
The women laughed. "Now, don't be silly! Certainly you're one of those women who fancy ... well... women!"
Annabel reached out to grab one of the ladies by the collar, but Ira's bladed tail swung in between the two of them. *Ah ah ah,* Ira cautioned. *Play nice, Miss Nabel.*
"Naturally," Annabel said between gritted teeth. "Maybe you'd rather play with the groom then, eh?"
"Most certainly not!" the ladies replied. Some of them laughed. "What good would we do, fitting him for the wedding dress, anyway?"
Annabel glared heavily at all of them. She had done well, so far, in dispatching all the other seamstresses that wanted to tie her up in some outrageous fashion statement with bells and bows and probably a few whistles if she looked hard enough.
"Well, that won't be necessary in any event," Nabel replied at length. She took a deep breath and nodded to Ira. "I've already got my wedding dress, and I won't be needing any help from you ladies at all."
"Don't be silly, dear. We received a very urgent message from a man on this very island that said you were indeed lacking one."
"A man, eh?"
"Most assuredly."
"What was the man's name?"
"A... what was his name again, Martina?"
One of the women pulled a letter from her handbag and unfolded it. She put on her reading glasses. "A Mister Kypfull."
"Let me see that," Annabel snapped and snatched the letter from the woman. She read it over and growled. "Ho, Kip, you're a deadman," she muttered, and one of the women snatched the letter back before Nabel could start tearing it to bits.
"You know this man?"
"That man is a dragon. My most estranged and missing bondmate."
*And my most assinine mate,* Ira chimed in. *You ladies perhaps had best seek work elsewhere. Perhaps somewhere that won't involve whole city blocks blowing up with the wrath of the bride.*
"Well, we can't do that. We were threatened to do this and be very well paid for it, or suffer... how did that wording go, Martina?"
"A more painful and terrifying death than anything your silk-sodden brains could possibly imagine, I believe, ma'am."
"Of course, of course."
Annabel was shaking her head. "Oh, he is so dead," she growled, and a pair of brilliant blue wings opened up from her back.
As Nabel took to the sky to find Kip quickly and help him on his way to death, Ira turned to the ladies. *Well, since he put it that way, and even I would pay good money to see Miss Nabel in a dress, maybe you should come this way.*
The seamstresses hurried after Ira, lugging heavy cases of random things. "I don't believe we caught your name, there!" Martina called after him.
*Ira,* was the easy reply. *Step lively, now, and watch for anything that looks dangerous falling towards your head.*
***
"What I don't understand is why she has such short hair!"
*Well, she's growing it in.*
"In!? I would have surely thought she was keeping it short!"
*Well, she used to have no hair at all.*
"How curious..."
*Our Nabel may be a bit 'curious', but she's a very nice girl. Though she is a bit too much like her bondmate sometimes: rash, irresponsible, uncouth. We love both of them very much, though.*
Suddenly, the door opened, and Annabel walked in, didn't bother to acknowledge the seamstresses sitting around her kitchen table, which had been shoved to one side, or the ones setting up mirrors and a pedastol. She slammed the door behind her and pulled off her shirt and threw it at Ira, who caught it inches from his head. She stormed upstairs, and didn't bother coming downstairs again.
Ira cleared his throat politely. *More tea, Edith?*
"Yes, please." Ira filled her cup with a precision and dexterity learned from Tor. Edith sighed and stared at the ceiling. "I imagine it will be very difficult taking her measurements if she's always storming about."
*Most unfortunately, we don't have a very good way of keeping her in one place for very long.* Ira sipped tea from a cup and sighed. *Perhaps I should try to get her down here?*
"No," Martina said. "We all saw how she came in. Let's let her cool off first. She's probably hopping mad."
*As you ladies will it.* Ira bobbed his head.
"So tell us more about our bride to be..."
"Yes, do tell us! And this curious Kipfel of hers."
*Well...* Ira began, blushing a little at being the center of attention. *It started a good long time ago...*
***
Finally Annabel had come downstairs for dinner. She was fresh and changed and very annoyed to find a mass of seamstresses waiting for her with Ira and dinner already cooking for what looked like a whole army. Of course she tried to balk and shoo everyone out, but the seamstresses insisted, and at length she found herself standing very still and very annoyed on a pedastol in front of three silvered mirrors.
"There. Measurements done. Now hold still a bit longer, and we'll talk colors."
One of the seamstresses opened a chest of fabrics. "Now, would you like white, champagne, pearl, or ivory?"
Annabel looked at all of them. "There's a difference?" she asked.
"Well yes, of course! And then you can wear velvet, satin, silk, chenille, lace, or--"
"Cotton," Annabel replied coldly.
The seamstresses laughed. "Don't be silly, darling! This is your wedding!"
"Exactly, and I see no point in being uncomfortable for it."
"But, Miss Annabel Lee, we were told to give you the very best! Cotton is what we make peasants' clothes from, and..."
The seamstresses were all silent and all looking in the direction of Annabel's pantry. Annabel turned to look at the dim-lit kitchen as a chicken slid off the counter and didn't fall all the way to the floor. It floated through the shadows, until finally a dark shape errupted into the candle-filled circle around the pedastol.
*You'll do well to give her what she wants,* Kipfel said.
Annabel stooped and grabbed a rolled up measuring tape and threw it at him. It bounced off his head and curled a bit around his horns. Löwenherzchen batted it free and then leapt to the ground to play with it.
*I deserved that,* Kipfel said lazily as he started eating the chicken.
"You deserved a brick at your head, Kipfel!" Annabel shouted, livid.
*Well. Possibly.*
"You are Kipfel?" one of the seamstresses asked the black.
*Most assuredly.*
"The one who sent for us?"
*Quite.*
"But......"
*Don't worry too much,* Kipfel told her. *Your head might explode. Just make the dress the way Nabel wants it done.*
"Well, we were ... um... just picking out colors."
*None of those 'white, off-white, opal, pearl, champagne,' choices. We've been through all of them, and they all look positively awful on her. She's too pale. Not colored right for them at all. They just wash her out.*
"You have a better suggestion, do you?" Annabel asked, hands on her hips.
*I do.*
"And what the devil's that?"
*The same color as your wings, of course.*
"My wings?" She blinked. "That's not right for weddings at all!"
*Well, you're not right for white. Try it and see. It's pale enough to pass for white in daylight, sometimes.*
The seamstress at the fabric trunk shook her head. "Nothing of that color in here," she said. "A very bright but pale blue, right?"
"It appears you're out of luck, Kip."
*Not quite.* He continued to pick at the chicken, making a great mess on the floor, but didn't seem to mind at all that almost everyone was staring at him. *You ladies usually bring older dresses with you to demonstrate cuts and styles, don't you?*
"Well. Yes..."
*Check in there.*
"I packed that trunk myself, and I tell you that--*
The seamstress was interrupted by a low, gutteral growl from Kipfel.
"Yes, of course, I'll check it..."
Annabel glared at Kip. "What are you doing?" she hissed.
*Making up for it. Now shut up and deal with it.*
"I found something!" Martina called. She held up a dancing gown with huge, puffy shoulders and a high neck. It was the proper shade of blue, but there was a bad stain on it, and it was obviously too short for Annabel. "We can definitely fix it. I don't think that stain's been worked at hard enough. And the high collar's not your look, Miss Annabel, and those sleeves have got to go..."
"That was my mother's dancing gown!" one of the seamstresses protested.
*And you will be handsomely compensated for the loss of such a piece of work,* Kipfel assured her. *If my lady Nabel agrees, of course.*
Annabel looked at it curiously. "Well..." she said. Martina held it up to Annabel from behind, folding in the neckline and the sleeves.
"We can do lacework!" Martina suggested. "And a set of petticoats to poof it out properly!"
"I don't know about that stain, though, Martina," another of the seamstresses said. "It's right in the front middle..."
"Well, if we can't get it out by scrubbing, we can just take it out with a neat little 'snip snip!'"
The seamstresses gasped.
"I think..." Annabel began.
*Yes?* Kip prompted her.
"I think..."
*Yes?* Ira joined in.
"I think I can do this..." Annabel told them all, nodding. "Martina, we run with your idea."
"EE!" Martina shouted and hugged Annabel from behind before jumping off the pedastol.
"But tomorrow. Tonight, I'm tired. Kip, be a dear and find the ladies lodgings?"
Kip made a face and obliged his bondmate. *This way, ladies.*
When they were all gone, Annabel threw her arms around Ira's neck and hugged him tight. "Oh, Ira!" she cried happily.
*Yes?* he asked.
Annabel's face darkened as she started blowing out some of the candles. "If he EVER does that to me again, I'm disembowling him," she threatened.
*So be it,* Ira laughed. *Good night, Miss Nabel.*
"Good night, Ira!"
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