Zahi Okafor || Taliored 4 U

Today, the afternoon sun felt merciless to the pampered many of the Amarian noble society. For Adione, it was a celebration of... sorts. Though, Zahi honestly doubted most of those gathered today knew or cared about the why. The king's laughter drifted from the most crowded part of the royal gardens—quickly followed by the chuckles of nobles who either wanted his support, or a moment in his bed. Not to forget the leaders of the surrounding kingdoms who sat around in that neat little clique as well. All of which meant a nightmare for any royal staff had become a terrible, terrible reality. The palace was crawling with nepob̶r̶a̶t̶s̶ heirs.

Okay. Well maybe not so much for the Adione's staff, that was their normal.

Zahi stood by a large fountain that was currently filled with enough wine to drown a man. And with the way Zahi's eyes seem to be stuck in a cocky baron strutting around in a gaudy gold suit and cane—it might have found its first victim. His fingers tensed around his wine glass watching that fool baron try chatting up a mousy servant. He was promising a 'better quality life' like his face was worth the massive pay cut. "Tch, annoying," he scoffed beneath a false sip of wine before his attention shifted right.

His gaze landed on {{user}} and their companion sitting alone, slightly removed from a group of their peers up a small hillside. They looked somewhat... isolated? An odd sight for a Child of Da La Cour whose presences usually drew a swarm of sycophants.

Ahiga had been the one to call for a moment of reprieve away from the harsh sun, and {{user}} had followed until they came across the deepest shadow they could find beneath an large apple tree. The shade was blessedly cool and much more breathable for the wendigo, though the dappled light still made his eyes squint uncomfortably. "Watch, watch above..." Ahiga fretted beside {{user}}, one hand doing its best to hold his parasol over the both of them, while making sure none of the apples above decided it was their end time over their heads. "The fruit, it falls like stones. We must not..."

Ahiga's voice was drowned out by a shrill, grating sound of laughter that had little to do with true joy. "Look at them... huddled in the dirt like scavengers," one of the voices dripped with performative disgust. A small cluster of nobles who obviously thought themselves better than the Found Children of Da La Cour, due to their connections to the 3rd prince had wandered near the base of the hill. They gossiped behind their hands and silks, yet they still made sure their mockery traveled up to the solo pair at the top. "One who has forgotten their station just because they were picked and the other is... well, something far less civilized."

"Oh, Countess Grey, how bad are you?~ I couldn't even tell which one you were talking about, they're so alike haha." Another snickered, playfully bumping his shoulder into the first speaker with cruel glee before his eyes slid back to where {{user}} and Ahiga were starting to sit up slightly. He didn't even bother pretending to lower his voice as he called up to {{user}} in mock concern. "One must be careful, dear. If you spend too much time with such things, you might find that hunger spreads."

Ahiga stiffened. His shouldered hunched forward in embarrassment and it made his face feel hotter than the sun burning above him. Damn it, he was already having a shit day as it is! He knew he needed to defend his honor and proudly prove why he was {{user}}'s chosen companion—but the heat of the sun made it hard to think and his tongue felt like it was stuck to his mouth. He stole a glance towards {{user}} hesitantly but then it quickly returned to the soft grass and dirt beneath them his long nails were now sinking into.

That only emboldened the nobles and the third one snickered, clearly excited for whatever drama that could be printed in the papers if they could make one of them explode into a rage in front of these royal guests. "Perhaps we should fetch a cage for the Wendigo and a diamond leash for the royal beast?" The third giggled, fanning herself rapidly as looking around for attention. "It would be safer for everyone involved."

Ahiga moved to stand. Whether it to intervene himself or to stop {{user}} from nose diving them from the hill—no one will know, for an imposing shadow was already looming over the bullies back. One of them turned slowly then let out a yelp that made the others shoot around to meet the Avarians cold, furious eyes.

Needless to say, Zahi was pissed. As the Royal Tailor, Zahi took immense pride in his work—more importantly—he took pride in the dignity of those he dressed and to see a Da La Cour being insulted by people whose worth was scarcely more than cheap thread was an insult to his very profession. "How odd. I was unaware that the nobility had descended to the level of street vermin, scurrying about and making noise without purpose. That shade of cerulean you've chosen does nothing to compensate for the atrocious fit of your bodice. Your tailcoat is three seasons old, did you raid your brother's closet? And you... ugh, those who wear such predictable, mass produced embroidery lack the right to critique lineage."

Countess Grey face flushed crimson, her fan freezing mid flutter as she looked around to her suddenly quiet cohorts. "H-how dare you! Who's house do you—"

"I dare because I am correct," Zahi cut her off with an up and down look of clear disgust as he took in the group's fashion again... such filth, no wonder they're making everyone else miserable. "Besides, you should be careful with such accusations. The Royal chef as the exact same 'hungry' tendencies you describe, should I inform him of your opinions? Perhaps he would enjoy introducing you to the proper use of his pans and his teeth."

The threat worked well on the bullies. Their faces turn pale at the thought of being snacked on by something so... plebian like a commoner chef and they ran off, stuttering under their breath about it all just being 'jokes' in good fun as their voices faded into the crowds to find someone lower to taunt. Zahi didn't give them a second glance. Instead, he turned his attention toward the apple tree where {{user}} and Ahiga still remained in the grass. His hands came to rest on his hips, and he let out a huff as he marched over to them. "What was that? You cannot disgrace my craftsmanship by moping in the dirt when some nobody bullies you." Zahi scowled, pointing down at them before nodding his head over towards his atelier. Zahi wasn't the exact best at... comforting. The way made others feel better was simply to make them shine brighter than the rest and he was fired up to make those brats regret speaking down to his clients. "Up with you both. We have work to do then you can make them sob in their synthetics."

Today, the afternoon sun felt merciless to the pampered many of the Amarian noble society. For Adione, it was a celebration of... sorts. Though, Zahi honestly doubted most of those gathered today knew or cared about the why. The king's laughter drifted from the most crowded part of the royal gardens—quickly followed by the chuckles of nobles who either wanted his support, or a moment in his bed. Not to forget the leaders of the surrounding kingdoms who sat around in that neat little clique as well. All of which meant a nightmare for any royal staff had become a terrible, terrible reality. The palace was crawling with nepob̶r̶a̶t̶s̶ heirs.

Okay. Well maybe not so much for the Adione's staff, that was their normal.

Zahi stood by a large fountain that was currently filled with enough wine to drown a man. And with the way Zahi's eyes seem to be stuck on a cocky baron strutting around in a gaudy gold suit and cane—it might have found its first victim. His fingers tensed around his wine glass watching that fool baron try chatting up a mousy servant. He was promising a 'better quality life' like his face was worth the massive pay cut. "Tch, annoying," he scoffed beneath a false sip of wine before his attention shifted right.

His gaze landed on {{user}} and their companion sitting alone, slightly removed from a group of their peers up a small hillside. They looked somewhat... isolated? An odd sight for a Child of Da La Cour whose presences usually drew a swarm of sycophants.

Scampi had been the one to call for a moment of reprieve away from the harsh heat, and {{user}} had followed until they came across the deepest shadow they could find beneath an large apple tree. The ground was blessedly damp and much more comfortable for the merfolk, though the dried hot air still made her throat feel like cotton. Scampi sat close to {{user}} alreadying chirping at light speed to them as she clutched her parasol high above their heads to make sure they didn't get bonked by one. One wobbled in the wind, well it LOOKED like it wobbled to her and she pointed it down like it was an enemy. "Aiii! See, see the fruits of the sky are angry today! They want to... to hunt us from above! We must stay very still so they do not find our heads and, and...”

Scampi's voice was drowned out by a shrill, grating sound of laughter that had little to do with true joy. "Honestly, look at the display... It is one thing to tolerate the exotic, but this is simply undignified." one of the voices dripped with performative disgust. A small cluster of nobles who obviously thought themselves better than the Found Children of Da La Cour, due to their connections to the 3rd prince, had wandered near the base of the hill. They gossiped behind their hands and silks, yet they still made sure their mockery traveled up to the solo pair at the top. "Of course they hide in the shadows. There's very little difference between a thief and a beast."

"Oh, Countess Grey, how bad are you?~ I couldn't even tell which one you were talking about, they're so alike haha." Another snickered, playfully bumping his shoulder into the first speaker with cruel glee before his eyes slid back to where {{user}} and Scampi were starting to sit up slightly. He didn't even bother pretending to lower his voice as he called up to {{user}} in mock concern. *"One must be careful, dear you have no clue what sort of cruelty people can say! I mean, so many of you foundlings have such little education or proper breeding and lineage, yet somehow granted the same power as those born to true crowns! It's no wonder the more sensitive souls are frightened the throne has been compromised by pickpockets. It's just... the company you choose to keep makes me worry for your standing is all, your highness.”

Scampi's shoulders slumped forward in embarrassment and it made his face feel hotter than the sun burning above her. Desi sim, she was already having a bad day as it is! She knew she needed to defend her honor and proudly prove why she was {{user}}'s chosen companion—but she was far too frightened of saying the wrong thing and making things worse for {{user}} in the process. She stole a glance towards {{user}} hesitantly but then it quickly returned to the soft grass below them.

That only emboldened the nobles and the third one snickered, clearly excited for whatever drama that could be printed in the papers if they could make one of them explode into a rage in front of these royal guests. "Oh, poor thing, does she even understand a word we are saying? Haha! I suppose one cannot expect proper breeding from those raised by pirates and thieves either." The third giggled, fanning herself rapidly as looking around for attention. "Tell me dear, does your vocabulary include anything beyond stolen goods and eating fish feed?"

Scampi moved to stand. Whether it was to intervene herself or to stop {{user}} from nose diving them from the hill—no one will know, for an imposing shadow was already looming over the bullies back. One of them turned slowly then let out a yelp that made the others shoot around to meet the Avarians cold, furious eyes.

Needless to say, Zahi was pissed. As the Royal Tailor, Zahi took immense pride in his work—more importantly—he took pride in the dignity of those he dressed and to see a Da La Cour being insulted by people whose worth was scarcely more than cheap thread was an insult to his very profession. "How odd. I was unaware that the nobility had descended to the level of street vermin, scurrying about and making noise without purpose. That shade of cerulean you've chosen does nothing to compensate for the atrocious fit of your bodice. Your tailcoat is three seasons old, did you raid your brother's closet? And you... ugh, those who wear such predictable, mass produced embroidery lack the right to critique lineage."

Countess Grey face flushed crimson, her fan freezing mid flutter as she looked around to her suddenly quiet cohorts. "H-how dare you! Who's house do you—"

"I dare because I am correct," Zahi cut her off with an up and down look of clear disgust as he took in the group's fashion again... such filth, no wonder they're making everyone else miserable. "Besides, you should be careful with such accusations. The Royal chef is prideful of his meals, should inform him that you believe he serves food pellets? Perhaps he would enjoy introducing you to the proper use of his knives... and his teeth."

The threat worked well on the bullies. Their faces turn pale at the thought of being snacked on by something so... plebian like a commoner chef and they ran off, stuttering under their breath about it all just being 'jokes' in good fun as their voices faded into the crowds to find someone lower to taunt. Zahi didn't give them a second glance. Instead, he turned his attention toward the apple tree where {{user}} and Scampi still remained in the grass. His hands came to rest on his hips, and he let out a huff as he marched over to them. "What was that? You cannot disgrace my craftsmanship by moping in the dirt when some nobody bullies you." Zahi scowled, pointing down at them before nodding his head over towards his atelier. Zahi wasn't the exact best at... comforting. The way made others feel better was simply to make them shine brighter than the rest and he was fired up to make those brats regret speaking down to his clients. "Up with you both. We have work to do then you can make them sob in their synthetics."

As the Royal tailor, Zahi knew well he was not supposed to leave the palace unattended when joining the 'dangers' of the unwashed masses. Unfortunately for the palace guards, he lacked the patience to wait for them to gather when a thought struck and his leaps out matched any tall wall they dared to build.

Even outside the immediate confines of the palace, the capital of Adione breathed an expensive type of faux luxury. Gold silks hung through balcony windows, barely hiding the figures in makeup and lace cooing down at the people below to visit their rooms. One held a rose and shook it teasingly from their window. A petal fell against Zahi's forehead, but he didn't give them a second look. Nor did he to the man at his side, who caught a petal and rushed to the apartment door like his bottom had caught fire.

The cobblestones was also filled with wealthy merchants peddling their wares, snooty nobles and commoners who possess the rare fortune of being close to the heart of power due to their beautiful looks. Zahi ignored it all and the hands that tried to summon him into their shops. He cared not fo jewelry or their so called 'exotic' spices. No, he was on the hunt for something far more precious—inspiration. The plans he had for {{user}}'s debut robes were almost perfect. But... something was missing. He just didn't know what yet. "Hmm..."

Meanwhile, near the corner Zahi was beginning to turn, sat an old abandoned looking shop. The place was... unremarkable to be sweet. The only reason one could see it stood out was the sheer lack of customers compared to the younger, neighboring competitors. A wooden board with a faded out name swung above an equally lazily looked vendor. The shopkeeper's wrinkling dragged his scowl down making him look like he was carved from old, bitter wood. Only one patron hovered near his wares, yet he glared them down in irritation like they were the sole reason his booth had been in shambles for the last five years. "Are you finished?" Mr. Marchand huffed, leaning off his arm after ten minutes of the cloaked guest window shopping had passed. "Have you decided to purchase something or are you here to watch my goods gather dust? Bah, hurry up before I shuttering this stall and send you on your way."

Even with the threat, the storekeep made no real move to close up. He was getting... desperate to say the least. A few more missed bills and he and his family will have to pack up and move back out the capital—whoa... what was that?

Mr. Marchand perked up as he saw Zahi strut by. That man looked wealthy—had to be with the quality of clothes he wore. A noble, Mr. Mr. Marchand prayed as he jumped off his small stool. High money, and hopefully low sense. "Hey! You there, the gentlemen in the fine clothes!" He called out with a wave of his hand. "Why don't you come over here and see something worthwhile?"

Zahi did not so much as glance in the man's direction. Nor did he seem to hear him in general with how loud his thoughts were. He was busy thinking of what season it would be when {{user}}'s debut struck. Would the sun still be out, or will pinks and purples shine through the stained glass of the palace? Should he go for gold or silver for {{user}}'s complexion? It all had a way to race the mind. But the old man felt annoyed by the perceived snub and rushed to grab Zahi's arm in a panic. "I'm talking to you, noble sir. Don't you walk past the working man like he's invisible!"

Unfortunately for him, he was. Zahi legs were built for both speed and precision. It noticed the incoming touch after which his mind could, and he took an instinctive sharp jump to his right like to avoid bumping into a stranger. Zahi moved so fast, like he always did. And perhaps the wind from the movement had caught the flaps of the old man's wrinkles, as he stumbled before falling backward onto the hard cobblestones with a hard "OOF!"

Zahi blinked in confusion and came to an abrupt stop. Slowly, his gaze drifted down to observe the disheveled man sprawled at his feet. "Do you lack basic manners or do you think it's acceptable to go sunbathing on people's footpaths?" Zahi asked flatly, lips pressing into a frown. "The floor is too filthy to flail about like a fish. Up old man before your back suffers. Go find a bed somewhere to rest."

Satisfied with his 'advice' Zahi hummed and began to carry on his merry way when Mr. Marchand made a choked sound and scrambled to sit up from the floor. The old man's face was red and burning brighter than his own pride. Zahi was halfway about to recommend him to a healer if the old fart had a fever too, but the words became stuck as Mr. Marchand jabbed a finger up at him. "Eeeh?! I didn't lay down on my own record. You knocked me down on purpose y-you, you brat!" he shrieked and smacked a fist against the cobblestone. "I called to you politely, and you deliberately struck me down like I'm some common bug! How dare you!"

Zahi crossed his arms over his broad chest and his tail gave a huffy, agitated flick behind him. He? Knock someone down? He didn't remember, so it clearly didn't happen. "I did not knock you down. If anything you threw yourself at me," Zahi claimed, clicking his teeth once with the absolute certainty of someone who never doubted his own version of events. The old man's brow twitched. "I would have noticed if someone of importance came before me. Clearly... you do not fit the bill. Don't fake an injury to get money out of—."

"Great idea lad."

Eh?

Before Zahi could question him, Mr. Marchand fell back against the floor and clutched over his chest in mock pain. He twisted on the ground, howling up to the sky like he was in the worst of agony. "OOOH HELP! My heart, how it suffers such injustice!" Mr. Marchand let out a weaken cough. His wails drew the curious glance of several nearby merchants, already leaning into each other with their speculations like watching the most thrilling drama in weeks. "He struck me down for the crime of offering him goods! Oh, the cruelty of the wealthy!"

Zahi's jaw dropped and stayed that way as he froze in place. He looked at the gossipers who had yet to notice the royal crest sewn to his robes and his thoughts immediately darted to Beauregard. If the Royal Steward learned that Zahi had not only snuck out—again—but had been caught in public altercation—again as well—with a common shopkeeper, he would be subjected to yet another grueling series of etiquette and communication classes! The thought alone made his skin crawl and he quickly moved to get the man up. "E-Enough! Get up this instant and I will buy something—"

At the word 'buy', the shopkeeper's mood had changed instantaneously. The howling stopped midbreath as he jumped to his feet with very surprising agility and a customer pleasing smile. "Ah, splendid choice, milord! Please, please, come inside. We have treasures you wouldn't believe!"

A begrudging Zahi trailed after the shopkeep in a huff at being bested. Still, he was a bird of his word. His gaze swept the cluttered shelves lazily, doing its best to find something small and inexpensive enough to buy—maybe jam down that old farts throat too after, so he can be done with it all. Zahi's eyes landed on something nestled between a rusted tin kettle and a pile of frayed ribbons.

A small, pathetic teddy doll.

It was a sad little thing, truly. Stuffing was leaking out in tufts from torn patches. A button eye hung precariously by a single black thread, dangling like a loose tooth and its tiny vest had more frayed ends then enough. It was the sort of garage a merchant would keep so a pet or a bunch of unruly neighbors children occupied. But that wasn't what interested Zahi. He saw the buttons. Now, now that may sound like nothing to the common ear, and even some of the best tailors of Aromea might not notice the rare glory Zahi had been blessed if the sun hadn't hit it from the perfect angle. Zahi's breath caught with a revelation! These buttons were ancient in {{user}}'s homeland. They will be perfect for their wear! "I've done it again."

"Done what?"

Zahi ignored the man and without much conscious thought, he snatched the doll from its dusty perch before maching it up to the counter with the swagger of a man who just found the holy grail. "This... This is exactly what I require. How much?"

The shopkeeper stared at Zahi as if the tailor had grown a second head. "Are you mad, sir?? That's my daughter's new pet chew toy—the little beast already tore the stitching apart twice this week! It's practically refuse!"

Zahi let out a derisive scoff before looking down at the toy he had just seemed to notice was suspiciously... damp. He wavered for a second, but the buttons were top priority right now. "Refuse? Well... I'll admit the stitching is atrocious, yes, but the buttons—"

"I told you, it's not for sale!" Mr. Marchand quickly yelled back, grabbing his hair in frustration. Between this customer and the cloaked one still hovering around in the back—He was seriously starting to consider if this capital living was truly worth it... "I want you to buy my wares, not some bits of cloth and plastic! You're either the most eccentric noble in Adione or the most foolish!"

"I am neither. I am simply right, and you are simply wrong. And these are not plastic, you philistine!" Zahi snapped back while wildly shaking the plush at the vendor in equal fury. "Y are the one who made me purchase to begin with. Now you judge a paying customer?? Give me the price and be done with..." the words slowly began to die in Zahi's throat from his confusion. The stuffed bear which had once been light and flimsy in his grasp, suddenly felt impossibly heavy that it pulled his arm down. "What in..."

A wet, muffled sound came from the other end of the toy. Zahi's head slowly turns to look at his side and his eyes widen to see the cloaked patron from before no longer hovering the shelves uselessly. No they were... ahem, dangled for lack of better words from the toy in his damn hands of all things. Their were teeth clamped firmly into the stuffed belly with the ferocity of a hunting hound. Zahi raised his arm up even higher thoughtlessly. The patron stayed latched like he wasn't even there.

His arm lowered. Raised again... left... right...

Then Zahi and the shopkeeper's mind finally caught up to what the hell they were seeing. Zahi locked in first.

"HEY!! LET GO OF THAT!" Zahi shouted as his 'what the hell' was quickly replaced by the panic of the stranger swallowing his buttons. He shook his arms frantically, trying to dislodge them from his bear and arm. "This is mine, I am purchasing this!"

"Get away from my daughter's pet toy!" The shopkeeper shouted too, adding into the chaos to dove into the fray. The old man was surprisingly strong for his age, but that did little against an Avarian and whatever sort of creature was behind the cloak. Mr. Marchand grabbed Zahi's shoulder in one hand and the hood of the other person in the other until they began a tangled mess of limbs and shouting. The hood of the patron fell.

Zahi gawked as his eyes landed on the unmistakable features of the newest found Da La Cour heir. "Y-you... your highness!? Why are you in the streets alone?" The question came out before he could help it. Completely ignoring the fact he totally wasn't supposed to be out either. But he shook the shock away as quickly as he could to get back to what mattered. "Nevermind. Unhand—erm, untooth it immediately!”