School Supplies.

[Caethras Maur]

Caethras chose not to acknowledge the Khajiit at all, nor even his gold-armored emissary whose cheeks reddened as she stepped back into the company of the Justiciars, but considered the entire court as he took his place before the Jarl's throne.

"Lady Elisif," Caethras said in a voice like poisoned honey, "the Thalmor extend their warmest greetings of peace and friendship to you and your court. We grieve for the unrest that troubles your lands and your people, and for the untimely death of High King Torygg, the rightful ruler of Skyrim. We will not rest as long as his murderer, Ulfric Stormcloak, runs free, nor while lawless rebels continue to sow discord and destruction in his name. On that, you have my personal assurance."

Elisif sobered at the mention of her husband's death, and where she had delighted in Clark's spells and Calloway's handiwork just moments before, she now appeared stiff and uncomfortable on her throne. "We are gladdened by the friendship of the Thalmor," she said, "but General Tullius and his legions are already pursuing the High King's murderer."

"A task which I have no doubt the good general and his men are pursuing with the utmost of Imperial efficiency," Caethras replied. "I know better than most how dogged a bloodhound Tullius may be. But he is a soldier. He is trained to counter threats from without, not from within. When Ulfric betrayed Torygg, he was an honored guest of the court."

Caethras's pale, blue eyes slid momentarily toward the tawny Khajiit before he continued.

"And following this heinous crime, one of your own guards knowingly allowed the murderer to escape. We are troubled, My Lady, that Ulfric should have confederates so close to your own person."

"Roggvir acted alone and in haste," Falk Firebeard protested. "The full measure of his guilt will be determined at his trial, and not before."

"Does the Jarl allow her steward to speak for her?" Caethras asked.

"I trust my advisers to speak the truth," Elisif replied. "There is no evidence that the guard in question has any connection to Ulfric or his rebellion."

"Evidence will not present itself unsought," the elven warrior said. "The Thalmor wish to examine Roggvir for ourselves."

An outcry arose from the court, from both Nords and Imperials alike. Little could unite the rival factions of Solitude like an exercise of Thalmor authority.

"You can't possibly consider handing one of our own to the Dominion!" Erikur bellowed.

"We don't need the Thalmor interfering with our investigation," Legate Rikke countered.

"Order! Order!" Falk roared. "Ladies and gentlemen, please!"

As the chaos died away, Elisif fixed Caethras with an unwavering glare. "Roggvir's fate will be ours to determine," she said. "We do not need the assistance of the Thalmor in this matter."

"With respect, Lady Elisif," Caethras replied, "this matter concerns not only your Hold but the peace of Skyrim and the integrity of the White-Gold Concordat itself. If Roggvir is found to be a person of interest in the affairs of Aldmeri security, the Thalmor Embassy may order you to hand him over to us. I hope to avoid such unpleasantness. We could interrogate him here, in the dungeons of Castle Dour, with an Imperial representative present, should you desire it. Otherwise I fear the issue will be taken out of your hands entirely."

"I appreciate your candor," Elisif said. "But until such time as that order arrives, my answer is 'no.' Our justice for our people."

Nods and murmurs of approbation rose from all around the court; a few applauded before they were quieted by a cautioning glance from Falk Firebeard.

"Did you have any other business to discuss with us, Lord Maur?" Elisif asked.

"Not today, Lady Jarl," Caethras replied.

"Then, please, enjoy the hospitality of my court before returning to your lodging. And please excuse me; this talk has made me weary. Falk?"

Lady Elisif rose from her throne, and, with her steward and housecarl, disappeared into the private quarters of the Blue Palace.

[Clark]

Clark's every attempt to check out was thwarted by Caethras' voice. During a pause in his speech, Clark could think about something, anything. But when the Dark Elf spoke, it shattered the young mage's train of thought like maces shatter bone. It was jarring, and Clark didn't like it. When at last Caethras left, Clark let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"I am very glad they're gone!" Clark said to Calloway. "Just being around those guys is bone-chilling!"

[Calloway Sharr]

Calloway waited for the last of the Thalmor to be out of earshot before he spoke, and chose his words carefully. "Well, there goes what could have been a really lovely sale."

Crossing his arms, the lanky tailor huffed as he leaned against the wall. "There I was, making a brilliant pitch, and then those jackboots had to show up. Not only that, they completely killed the mood. You had done a perfect job of warming up the crowd, and I could tell that the Jarl was deeply into my work, and then we have to talk about death and interrogations. Let me tell you, nothing takes a woman's mind off of a dress than interrogations. Pirates? No, still want a lovely dress. Plague? No, you might want to be found wearing something gorgeous. Famine? Well, a good dress can always be taken in. But Interrogations? Forget fashion, all you really want is a nice piece of pie. Or maybe a sweet roll. And you certainly don't want to drip either of those on your favorite gown, let me tell you!"

Behind him, Calloway's tail whipped back and forth in frustration, his golden eyes narrowing as he waxed ridiculous about what had been done to his sales pitch. "And if I can't get the Jarl of Solitude to buy from me, then who in this Divine-forsaken land would? It's a top-down market, son, it always is!"

[Clark]

Clark nodded absently. Already his mind was far away to spellbooks, Elisif's discomfort, and the Aldmeri Dominion. He wanted to study.

"Well, Calloway, I'm sorry you didn't sell your dress. But I'm sure later, when the Lady Jarl has had an opportunity to refresh herself and consult her court, she may return to what you were doing before the Altmer arrived." Clark looked off towards Sybille's rooms where she did her magecraft. "I think I'm going to go attempt some research."

Without waiting for Calloway to say good-bye, the student meandered into Sybille's room, found a book, then read in the corner. Having spent a great deal of his childhood reading, the Breton veritably devoured the first three volumes of the history of the Empire, but his restlessness remained.

"Sybille, teach me a spell."

The unnaturally young-looking and exceptionally prickly mage looked at the young man with unusual patience and nodded. "Very well, I will teach you a spell. From what school would you like to learn your spell?"

Clark shrugged.

"Well, here are the spellbooks I have with me. Look through them, and we'll go over it together."

Clark leafed through the tomes with bright, excited eyes--every inch the child in the sweetshop.

[Calloway Sharr]

Like any party where the star host left before the night was over, the court of the Blue Palace fell into small clusters of people trying to start conversation, yet failing in sad, subdued manner. And unlike a good party, there wasn't any food.

If I were a Jarl, I'd always have food in my court. He thought to himself. People just don't understand the importance of a good spread. Food keeps people around, keeps them in your good graces; they can talk about the food when there's nothing else to talk about, until an actual subject comes up. That, and nobody leaves to go get dinner, saying they'll be back, but they don't come back.

But, Calloway didn't have much longer to think as two of the ladies of the court approached him, interested in his work, and more so in the strange carpetbag he had which seemed to hold more than it should be visibly able to. A smile coming to his face, the Khjajiit greeted the two Nord women with a sweeping bow and kisses to the backs of their hands, then proceeded to speak at great length about his skills and the variety of styles he could offer, while ignoring the subject of the bag entirely. In little time, more members of the court were drawn to him and the tailor flourished with an audience once more. Garments were produced from his bag, for both men and women. this time, none so ostentatious as the Starlight Walk, or his own rather loud suit of pale yellow, with its tight trousers. He spoke of fabrics soft as the down of a baby chick, yet strong as leather, of styles and cuts that would entice and arouse anyone's partner, or attract the one they had always desired. He went on at length of the need for personal style, how clothing should reflect the woman or man who wore it, not make them feel out of place. All of it was practiced patter, leaving gaps for someone to ask a question at the right moment, and distracting with a new style when someone was about to ask something he did not wish to answer. In the span of an hour, Calloway sold several items from his pre-made stock, promising to properly fit them to their new owners the following day. So good was his sales pitch, that those gathered even managed to forget he was a Khajiit.

Another half hour went by, and slowly his pitch wound down. Masterful as he was at his craft, Calloway could only keep up a sales pitch for so long, especially on an empty stomach. Taking down the names and addresses of those he would need to fit the following day, Calloway packed up his carpetbag and bid the court a good night, as he required dinner. Clark remained vanished somewhere, and as much as Calloway did not wish to bother him if he were busy, he also didn't want to go getting himself in trouble for ditching his "valet" for the sake of a meal.

The Blue Palace was a lovely place, but unfortunately it was also a large one, so Calloway quickly became lost, winding up in areas he shouldn't have been and more than once being escorted back to the main courtroom by the palace guards. At long last, his sensitive ears picked up a familiar voice, and Calloway peeked his head into the doorway of Sybille's private room.

"Terribly sorry, is the young wizard Clark in here?" Calloway asked, even though he'd heard Clark's voice.

[Clark]

Clark held the latent power of a Detect Life spell in his hand. He raised the hand to eye level and cast the spell. Everyone in the Blue Palace glowed faintly--even the ones behind walls. He knew exactly where everyone was, if not what they were doing.

In the other hand, he held a Detect Dead spell. Every time he cast it, nothing really happened. Once, he could have sworn he saw a flicker just outside the door to the Pelaguis Wing, but couldn't be sure. He had cast both spells every ten minutes or so for the last hour.

"I see living people and dead people!"

Clark shook out the spells. "Is it time to go?"

[Calloway Sharr]

Calloway took a moment to study the rooom for scorch marks, ice blasts, or other such signs of magic, but was relieved to find none upon the floors, furniture or walls. Opening the door futher so that he may fully stand in it, the Khajiit replied, "Not if you're not ready. The Jarl is still in seclusion, and I've rather exhausted my salesmanship for the evening, though."

He looked to Sybille for a bit, studying the court mage's robes, and found them ill-fitting and simply the wrong color. Were he better at enchanging, he would have to go into the mage robe business, someday, to save so many of these magical fashion-inepts from looking like they were wearing a some form of overwrought dressing gown instead of proper robes. Maybe something with a high collar, or perhaps Akavarri sleeves...

Snapping himself back to reality - a visible process on his face - Calloway continued, "Also, I don't know about you, but I've not yet had dinner, and I don't entirely know my way around this town. Wondered if you had any suggestions."

[Clark]

"The Winking Skeever," the mage immediately replied.

Clark thanked Sybille for the lesson and left with Calloway. "Directly back the way we came, right across from the Ravishing Raiment. Corpulus runs a great place, despite the odd name. He named his inn after his pet! Can you imagine, a skeever for a pet, let alone naming your inn for it?" Clark laughed. "I have never seen such in my life, and I've been almost everywhere!"

[Calloway Sharr]

"Winking... Skeever?" Calloway said, his face twisted in unsure repulsion. "That's seriously its name?"

The Khajiit could see it was true, and that Clark was actually recommending it. Taking a deep breath, he sighed and nodded. "Well then, the Winking Skeever it is," he announced, tugging at the base of his jacket. "I don't know about you, but I've been ready for dinner for hours."

With a brief stop to inform the guards where he was going, Calloway took to the main road back toward the gates, and found Solitude to be a very different place by night. In the light, so many of the homes had looked light and cheerfull, but in the dark, illuminated by torchlight, they appeared as oppressive, forbidding castles and fortresses, each looming over those who dared to walk the streets. Guards came out in pairs, by night, a testament to security, but Calloway was unafraid. His step light, his boots making little noise upon the cobblestones, the Khajiit made his way back to the market district, and toward the ill-sounding "Winking Skeever."

Sure enough, there was the wretched name emblazoned upon the tavern's wooden sign, boasting proudly of the apparent lunacy of the owner, but as he had seen no other taverns in Solitude, Calloway swallowed his pride and entered through the front door.

Or at least he would have, had a large Imperial not stepped in his way. "Where do you think you're going, cat? The boy can come in, but not you. It'd disturb the guests."

Calloway took a step back, appalled, then looked down over himself before pouting his lower lip as he looked down his muzzle at the Imperial. "Now see here, my good man, but things are not as they appear. I am an Imperial, such as yourself, from the Imperial City, no less! I only look like this due to an unfortunate altercation with a mage who has cursed me under an illusion spell! As you can so plainly tell by my voice, and my dress, that I am not one of those filthy, flea-ridden thieves, and I demand you let me in, sir!"

The Imperial paused, standing slack-jawed as he studied the cat before him. Surely he looked as real as any Khajiit he'd ever seen, but this man was right. No Kajiit wore clothes like that, and none spoke with such clarity, nor so true an Imperial accent. Conflicted, he remained where he stood, but as Calloway was not backing down, the Imperial sighed and finally stepped aside. "My apologies," he said. "And, I hope that curse wears off soon. I can't imagine how horrible it must be to look like that."

"You get used to it after a while," Calloway spoke through thin lips, pushing on into the tavern, holding the door for Clark. So upset by the encounter, Calloway did not even notice the two Thalmor who sat outside, each with a cup of wine to enjoy with the impromptu show.

[Clark]

Clark grimaced when Calloway denied his own blood. Lying about what you were? Where you came from? It wasn't right. Clark's travelling as a child and the free-flow, accepting atmosphere of the College was different than the rest of Skyrim. Most of the suspicion and prejudice Clark got for being a mage was balanced out by the fact that no one wanted to upset him, for fear that he'd turn his powers on them. Skyrim's mages had a history of abusing their power, or making things go horribly wrong for those without mastery of the arcane arts. Magic was frightening, so he understood why people treated him with caution. But the Khajit? Maybe their way of speaking was odd, and perhaps they were shrewd and cunning, but that wasn't any real reason to hate an entire group of people.

Clark almost didn't notice when Calloway entered the Winking Skeever ahead of him until the door was nearly shut again. He grabbed it before it latched shut and let himself in. Of course, there was more staring. The novice mage stepped beside his Khajit companion and pointed out an empty table in the corner.

"How about there? Let me know what you want, and I'll order from Corpulus."

[Caethras Maur]

"Excuse me -- Mr. Sharr?"

A clear voice with an aristocratic accent emerged from the clamor of tankards, singing, and jokes of questionable taste that filled the Winking Skeever on any given night. Behind the Breton and the Khajiit had approached a slender Altmer woman in the armor of a Thalmor guard, but now she carried her winged helmet under one arm, revealing a gentle, ivory-hued face and flowing tresses of long, golden hair. Far from the arrogant disdain that Caethras had worn like a cloak, she seemed reserved, perhaps even nervous. Her slim, pale fingers curled and uncurled around the lip of her helmet.

"I saw you in the Blue Palace - that is, I held your dress for you. I'm sorry, I don't wish to bother you. I was only wondering if I might be able to see more of your work?"

[Calloway Sharr]

Calloway was reaching for his chair, ready to pull it out when she spoke. Ears perking, he turned around, but was not prepared for what he saw. The armor stood out first, causing the Khajiit to tense, but as he looked up to the Altmer's face, he relaxed. She was... strangely beautiful, and Calloway found himself smiling, then doubly so as she revealed she had been the one to hold his dress. Thalmor or not, she had sought him out for his work, and he would certainly oblige. The fact that she was also stunningly gorgeous and he knew only Clark in the area helped, too.

Pulling a chair out for her, Calloway took her helmet and placed it on the table, his bag down next to where he sat himself. "But of course, madame," he said, still smiling. "I hope I didn't cause any friction between yourself and your superior for that little stunt, but it really wouldn't have looked right had a man been holding that dress, you know."

Taking a quick moment to scan the menu, Calloway found the tavern's fare to be a notch or two above what he had expected to find, and made his selection in his head before speaking again. "I'm afraid you missed my friend's display, though. Clark, here, is a studying mage, and he put on a splendid exhibition of magic before I took the floor. Your superior officer really ought to be more punctual, next time. Never know what you'll miss if you show up late. Now, what manner of wear are you looking for, Miss....?"

His words had been smooth, motions refined, and his golden eyes sparkled in the light of the candle on the table. If a Khajiit could ever look suave, Calloway did so at that moment.

[Caethras Maur]

"Oh, I don't mean to intrude--"

The Altmer looked down at the proffered seat and, not knowing what else to do, sat down. She glanced at the table setting before her and realized it had about ten fewer utensils than she was used to.

"Tannwyn," she said, coming back to herself. "Subcommander Alauriel Tannwyn of the Third Ring of... that... doesn't really matter. It's a pleasure to meet you both. I really hope this isn't a bother. It's just that I've never seen anything like that dress before, even on the Summerset Isles. I never thought I'd see something so beautiful in Skyrim, of all places. Er... no offense," she added in Clark's direction.

[Calloway Sharr]

"You'd be hard-pressed to find anything like it even in Morrowind," Calloway replied. "Unless, of course, it was other work I'd done for Altmer or Bosmer clients, that is."

Pulling his crystal spectacles from his jacket pocket, he straightened their fine-braided silver chain before placing them on the bridge of his muzzle, then opening his bag. "Now, I should warn you, a dress like that one - while absolutely stunning - does not come cheap, and, I don't mean to insult, but typically those in military service do not have overflowing coinpurses, so I presume you desire something a bit less grandiose, but no less original, is that correct Miss Tannwyn? And likely something you would be able to pack with you, as I take it your unit is often on the go? Off to somewhere else after Solitude, that is"

From his carpetbag, the Khajiit pulled a thick, leatherbound book with golden corner guards and a gold lock. A key was produced from his pocket, and the book's lock clicked open, allowing him to open it to reveal page after page of drawings. "This is but a small sample of what I can offer," he explained, "And, colors can always be changed, and items customized, so please don't feel you would be bound to one of these designs as they appear on the page. I do so enjoy custom work."

As he spoke, the waiter arrived, and Calloway ordered the night's special - horker loaf with mashed potatoes and a snowberry sauce - while allowing the Altmer and Clark to flip through the hand-drawn and watercolored pages of his womens' wear catalog, the design ranging from the conservative, to casual, to classy, though some were also risque, while others seemed downright lewd, yet had a certain charm to them.

[Clark]

Clark shrugged at Tannwyn's comment on Skyrim. Skyrim's beauty wasn't in the sunsets or flowers or trees--not in their appearance, anyway. Skyrim was a marvel for how it carried on (almost in spite of itself). The history of the Nords was fascinating. Their will to survive the cold of the land was their greatest strength. But, it seemed to Clark that that very ironclad will could manifest itself in some truly self-destructive ways. The current war between the Imperials and Stormcloaks stood testament to that.

He kept silent as the female elf and the tawny tailor talked. He glanced at the sketch book now and then. His view put the sketches on their sides. It was nearly all women's fashion. His mind worked quickly to try to notice the kinds of things he thought Calloway noticed when putting the items together: how the seams and lines guided the eyes. How the colors complemented each other. Clark rather enjoyed finding the patterns in things: it was what made him stand out from his peers on College excursions.

"So, would you use a darker color with these dresses to, uh, reinforce? No, um--" Clark swallowed a morsel of moist bread--"Make her hair--" he sighed. "More golden?"

[Calloway Sharr]

"Oh, you certainly could, Clark," Calloway agreed, "And your notice of that marks your keen observation." As he spoke, he rummaged through his bag once more, then pulled forth a bolt of blood-red crimson velvet a yard wide that would be the envy of any rose. "A deep red, would be ideal, making Miss Tannwyn's hair absolutely radiant, while also emphasizing the warmer tones in her skin. However," he slipped the bolt back into his bag and drew out a fold of pale, ice-blue satin, run through with the occasional thread of glittering silver to make it glisten and shine like glacial ice. "A cool tone, such as this, can add elegance to her form, without taking away from her lovely hair. Surely she already knows red to be her color, but this... this would allow her to stand out from her friends and competitors, elevating her through exclusivity in tone among those of her race. I would wager few Altmer could pull off such a look."

Removing his spectacles, Calloway pocketed them once more, but kept the fold of ice blue out on the table, clearly a trimming from a larger piece at one point. As a slight interruption, their food arrived, forcing Calloway to slide his sketchbook out of the way. for the moment. In it had been reflected most every race - even the orcs, often garbed in more severe styles with a sort of brutal beauty about them - save for the Khajiit. Imperial, Breton, Nord, Altmer, Dunmer, Bosmer, Argonian, Orc, all were displayed, the pinnacles of beauty by his own hand, but none of his own blood. True, this was just the womens' book, and there may be Khajiit in his the menswear line, as clearly he designed for himself, but their lack in this volume was evident.

Taking up his knife and fork, Calloway asked, "What would you see yourself in, Miss Tannwyn? Or, Clark, what would you find most appealing upon our guest?" Punctuating his question with a bite of horker loaf from his fork, the tailor quirked an eyebrow, finding the meat far more tender and subtly flavorful than he had expected of such a wretched looking beast.

[Clark]

Clark felt good about Calloway's compliment. As he considered the Khajit tailor's question, he realized he could only see the top half of Tannwyn's body. Not knowing how to look at her without making himself feel like a lecher, Clark focused on the elf woman's face. "What about her eyes?" he asked.

[Calloway Sharr]

Swallowing, Calloway washed down his mouthful with a sip of wine. "Personally, unless the eyes are a very striking blue, I tend to let a woman's eyes do their own talking. Make them a treasure for a man to discover once he begins speaking to her, not something that must be broadcast across the room. As blue are more difficult to hide, I may take those into account, but often I worry more about skin tone and hair than the eyes."

Cutting away another bite of horker, the Khajiit added, "Though, body shape and structure can make a difference, as some colors are better suited to certain physiques. As the lady is currently in plate armor, I would not deign to guess at what her shape may be, but instead suggest a private fitting at what point may be most convenient for her to be out of uniform."

[Caethras Maur]

Alauriel's large, golden-orange eyes moved from drawing to drawing with wonder and zeal, occasionally darting up to one man or the other as they discussed her fashion possibilities. She took a moment to play the brilliant fabric samples through her long, dexterous fingers and was sorry to see them disappear back into the tailor's prodigious carpet bag.

"A private fitting?" she said, surprised. "Oh, yes, of-- of course. We're stationed in Solitude for the time being, but I'll have to fine out the rota. Your work so beautiful, I'm not even sure where to begin. Something to remind me of the summer, perhaps... Where did you learn to do this? You're nothing like any Khajiit I've ever met."

[Calloway Sharr]

While it might not have been gentlemanly, Calloway worked at his meal with great speed, knowing half of his dinner time would be taken up by talking, and he was quite hungry. Still, his ettiquite was impeccible, and not a single crumb or drop fell upon his crisp, white shirt as he ate. Another drink of wine cleared his throat before he placed his cutlery down and replied.

"Well, I'm not exactly like any Khajiit I've met, either, though that isn't saying much, as I've had scant opportunities to really meet with my own race," he said. "I grew up in Cyrodiil, in the Imperial City, no less, in the aftermath of the Aldmeri Dominion's sacking of the city. I am in the understanding that my real parents were slaughtered outside the gates, and that I, but a mere infant at the time, was brought inside and left in a temple. My parents who raised me were Imperials, who could not have children of their own, and so they adopted me after finding me there, alone. My mother was a weaver and seamstress, and my father was a tailor, among other professions. I learned much of my craft from them, but even they said I had my own particular vision about style. I do credit much of my current ability with my experiences in such a metropolitan city, after the Empire took it back, of course. Many said I was lucky to have been too young to remember the war, but I know that without it, I would not be the man I am, today, and I certainly wouldn't be sitting here at a table with one as lovely as yourself, or my companion Clark, here."

After another drink of wine, Calloway added, "Clark is a mage, you know. And I'm given to the understanding that the Thalmor, among the Aldmeri, are more likely to enlist those of the magical arts. Perhaps the two of you may know some of the same spells. I've never been too good at magic, myself. Often make a right hash of things, so I stick to my needle and thread."