the-dimitrescu-seamstress:
the-dimitrescu-seamstress:
-ALCINA-
Like her eldest daughter, the countess’s thoughts were also upon the eyes of the spymistress. They were closed as she rested there upon the couch in Alcina’s sitting room and the woman had only recently truly fallen asleep. The Dimitrescu matriarch observed from where she was sitting on the couch across from her, close enough that she could see the subtle movements behind the eyelids that betrayed dream-ridden slumber. If it were not for the conversation the pair had concluded only three hours prior this would have been a perfect opportunity to see it done. It would have only taken a moment….
There had been numerous “perfect opportunities” presented in the past that were not taken for some reason or another- an upturn in health that was negligible, a holiday or ceremony that such a dreary deed would darken, harvest season, there needed to be a casket, somewhere to place the casket, a dress to interr her in.
The delays were justified now. Not born of a sentimentality that the countess would vehemently deny but of a subconscious knowing that something was not right. It was beyond merely a suspicion, or a theory; Valya had presented proof.
It made her blood boil that someone would dare think to insult her in such a way and it took more willpower than she cared to admit to not round up every laundress who so much as breathed near Valya’s bed sheets until the wretched little viper was found. No one executed the staff in her wing without her approval. Alcina had certainly not approved the gradual poisoning of her spymistress.
There is a knock upon the sitting room door shortly before the seamstress’s voice announces her arrival. Petran is not particularly loud, but even so Valya opens her eyes.
The woman figuratively sleeps with one eye open, of course she wakes.
“You will wait.” Alcina addresses the seamstress with an order, not a request. Valya had already risen from the couch into a seated position and was simply watching, waiting for a cue. As tempting as it were to send her from the room given the nature of Petran’s delivery it undoubtedly would reveal what nature of garments she had completed more than if Alcina simply let her remain.
Still… the spymistress’s foxberry red gown was slightly sleep rumpled and her long black hair wasn’t quite as orderly as the woman typically presented it. Certainly Alcina had faith that Valya could make herself presentable enough if given a moment, she would not embarrass the woman by forcing her to make a first impression upon someone- even just a seamstress- in such a state.
It was enough of an excuse for Alcina to dismiss her further into her chambers, without arousing much suspicion.
“Can you sit at the vanity?” The countess asked, despite knowing that the answer would always be ‘yes’ unless the woman physically could not rise to her feet. Even then she would give it a valiant effort unless it would guarantee an undignified fall. With a nod, the dark-haired woman rose carefully and left the room, no indication of her being at death’s door earlier in the month aside from a subtle wince that was not masked in time. The pain must be worse than the spymistress let on.
“You may enter.” Her tone implied a sort of bored annoyance, as if this were a completely routine delivery that had arrived later in the day than arranged. “I was expecting you earlier and now you interrupt a scheduled appointment.”
Hopefully that would be enough for her to understand that speaking freely about the project was not permitted. Mortals could be dense, yes, though no one lasted as long as this seamstress did by being a complete imbecile.
Those three words were absolute and unquestionable. Magda quietly nodded at the closed door, though she did not verbally say a thing. Instead, she simply took a step or two back and to the side of the door and waited, standing at attention and ready to enter when called. This was a procedure the seamstress was used to, though it didn’t always happen. Sometimes she would knock and enter immediately, other times she would be made to wait for however long Alcina wished. It didn’t matter how heavy the garment bag was, she would not lay it down or allow it to droop onto the floor. This was a lesson in patience and obedience, one that Magda learned rather quickly early on. Truthfully, this denial of entry allowed her quiet time to center and mentally calm herself.
In the moment of quiet, Magda did hear Alcina utter a question. The words weren’t loud enough to make out, but the tone was conversational. Someone else was in the room with her, but exactly who, the seamstress couldn’t say. Not that it was any of her business. The soft click of a door closing from within meant that the visitor or companion was not intended to be seen or likely even known about.
That was another thing Magda was educated on when she first started; if the Countess had no intention of acknowledging something obvious, you did not inquire, even if it was as blatant as hearing two voices in a room and seeing only one person when you entered. As far as Magda was concerned, Alcina was currently alone and had been since she knocked.
“My apologies, Countess,” she said upon entering. “I… it won’t happen again.” Her tired mind had started to make an excuse, but it was quickly shuttered. Alcina did not need excuses. Not right now. Knowing there was a third individual potentially listening, Magda kept her explanation generic and vague. “Everything was tailored to your specifications and completed with the usual eye for detail, though there was a bit more hand-sewing than I initially expected, hence the delay. Would you like the garment bag anywhere specific or shall I open it for your appraisal?”
To look or not. Again it was a question of how to make her choice not suspicious to her unseen audience. The dress itself was not questionable, however in combination with the shroud- even a fool like Heisenberg would be able interpret what it meant. What it could mean. While the spymistress was still in pitiful health at least she was able to walk now. There was a possibility that she might recover to a degree that her continued existence could be justified by utility and not…-
No, it would be best not to examine the result now. There was not the time at the moment, but it was certain to be plentiful enough later. As plentiful as time could be with her busy schedule.
The countess sighed; bored, exhausted. At least Magdalena had the good sense not to waste her time with excuses. Unless it was the result of her also being poisoned, Alcina did not care, and even then it would only be because it might hint at the culprit. It would also be a nuisance to find another seamstress on such short notice. Capable help was difficult to acquire and keep alive. The staff had a natural talent for dying. It came part and parcel with being mortal.
“I do not have time to discuss mistakes as I have company.” There is another person here for goodness sake. “I trust that will not be a necessity?” Her sharp gaze moved from where it rested upon the black garment bag to fix back upon the seamstress’s eyes for emphasis.
It had better not be necessary.
The sigh… If there was one thing Magda dreaded most, it was a sigh coming from Alcina. It could mean so many different things, but all of them were usually bad for the seamstress. Was there a last minute change, the wrong fabric used, perhaps the drape or cut was wrong. Did she want the entirety of the project scrapped? Was the person in question no longer dying or planning to be executed? Had this actually been a test of obedience, seeing what Magda would or wouldn’t sew for her, or had this just been a game nobles sometimes played on their staff?
Her professionalism kept any and all negative expressions off Magda’s face as the Countess spoke, but inside she felt tired and used, her exhaustion flooding back.
“Of course, Countess,” she stated with a bow. “This all can be reviewed at a later time in my workshop. At your own leisure and convenience, naturally. I will leave you to your business.” Knowing better than to linger, Magda quickly and quietly backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. Not turning her back to Alcina might have been a bit much, but she was not taking any chances with a lack of formality.
It wasn’t until she had returned to her workshop and laid the garment bag across her table that Magda let out the breath she was holding, sank to her knees and rested her forehead against the table’s edge. She sat like that for a few quiet moments before standing once more and taking the garment bag to her personal closet, hanging it up there. If Alcina wanted it to be a secret project through and through, that was the only place she knew prying eyes wouldn’t find it.
It wasn’t until this was done that Magda removed her shoes, undid the buttons at her cuffs and collar, and finally stopped to recognize Bela who was there in her workspace.
“Hi…” she said weakly. The look on her face is one of tiredness and relief, but also of worry and defeat. She wanted to just run into Bela’s arms, needing some sort of comfort, but she knew how improper that would be. So Magda settled for collapsing into her most comfortable chair. “So you have an agreeable disposition towards me?” she asked with a smile and slight chuckle.
It was shortly after Bela had taken a seat that Magda had returned from her delivery- or what was meant to be a delivery. The garment bag was still in her hands and just from a quick once over the mutant woman could tell that it was not empty. Her carefully drawn brown eyebrows flicked upwards, a flash of expression before evening itself out into something neutral and pleasant.
"Agreeable enough." A small, demure smile. “As you can see, nothing has been moved,”
Why does she still have the dress? Did Mama not like it? Or could she not find her?
Oh how she wanted to know, but focusing on it might be rather…. Bela had not come to Magda’s workshop to pry into her mother's business after all… She came to learn what had kept her shut away and to hopefully spend time in her company.
In a way, this did impact their blossoming…. romance, as utterly terrifying of a word that was in this household. The drawback of being immortal was existing beyond the beauty of everything else. Everything was so achingly fragile.
What happened? What happened? What happened?
No visible injury had been inflicted, so it could not have gone too horrendously. Mama was not always the most forgiving of utter failure- in fact, she almost never was.
