Inn 58

"I'd love that," Weft chirped. Actually, he was becoming quite shockingly animated, at least for a non-histrionic-fit occasion.

"That reminds me, in fact. Excuse me just a second --" Performing his typical noiseless fade, the assassin slipped behind the bar, felt around in a small bag stashed behind there and quickly returned with a woollen garment in grass-green. When he unfolded it, it turned out to be a very small woman's top, a sleeveless waistcoat knitted in a lace pattern with an open neck. Sunshine yellow crocheted flowers decorated the back in a diagonal sweep from the top of one shoulder down to the opposite hip.

"So yeah, Nico, I thought you might like this or something," Weft said, trying his best to sound indifferent. His best in this case was not incredibly adept. "Or not, I mean, no problem. Maybe useful for dusters."

"Thank you!" She stood and held it up for a moment before trying it on. to try it on. "That's pretty." It fit pretty well, but looked horrid with the orange-red shirt. Folding it again carefully, she said, "I think that might go with my other shirt."

"Good. You're welcome." Weft blushed a little, sat down again.

"I do quite like the cut," Argilla said, calmly emptying her cup. She was examining Nico with a faint smile. "My, my. It does look as though you, good brother, have no lack of skill. So, I need to ask -- how would you knit or crochet a skirt from silk?"

Weft's blush deepened at the compliment. "I prefer a blend if I'm knitting. Hollow spun winter silks work, or wool from the chevons some of these weird worlds have. Crochet, you're always going to need a lining underneath to prevent it being obscene, but that in itself leaves you free to go really delicate."

Leaning back, Argilla spun a strand of hair around her index finger and considered. "I must admit, shamefully, that I never learned any of maternal skills in that area. Now, if you were to ask me questions pertaining cooking, but... I am afraid needlework is not something I unfortunately did not pick up -- though goodness, I ought to have!"

Nico's eyebrows went up a bit - what had she been meaning to trade, then? -, but she kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

"Maternal skills? Oh, you mean clothes for children? Good work there. They ruin or outgrow them so fast you always have plenty of excuse to make more. Cooking, well, I have worked in a restaurant or two. Some reputable, some not. I remember bits and pieces from those, but these days it's mostly bad camp cooking. Chevons may have useful wool, but you try eating one without any rosemary or five-spice to be found anywhere." Weft's mouth perked in a long-suffering moue.

Her laughter chimed. "You have obviously grasped children's clothing as a concept; obsolete the following year, maybe even by next month, always wearing thin." Argilla grinned, leaned back and crossed her hands over her stomach.

Nico's curiosity kept niggling, so she asked Argilla, "So, what kind of work with needles do you do?"

"Ah." Her eyebrows became raised. Somewhat guardedly, she said, "Art. Patterns. I have an eye for patterns. The needles themselves are the pattern, and no thread is used. Why, if there is a pine tree nearby, I shall be glad to show you."

Argilla considered Nico for a while, pleasant smile on her face, but inwardly somewhat worried. Hm. Perceptive little thing.

Something niggled at Weft too, but he ignored it with ease born of long practice. "If you wouldn't mind. That sounds pretty," he said. Most anything Argilla said, and especially that laugh, sounded pretty. Definitely her father's daughter.

"Not at all. But please -- ah! Well, we need not necessarily even go outside, if there are any toothpicks...?" she glanced toward Wil.