This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Worldbuilding Prompt #884 - Making Clothes.
Enjoy !
Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio
"So are you going to be finished in time, Master Drinnel ?"
The ASP officer stood in the middle of the workshop, his body language clearly conveying extreme impatience, combined with a certain level of anxiety.
Looking up from his desk, the ancient tailor's expression was a mix of disdain and irritation; an artist at the peak of his profession interrupted by an uncomprehending clod.
"That's the third time you've asked, Major. This is an incredibly delicate process, and your constant badgering doesn't help. It will be finished when it's finished. Pass the quicksilver thread, Vallav."
His last statement was to one of his assistants, who hastily picked up a clear container which contained a tangle of pearly metallic twine which shifted and moved as if it was alive.
Drinnel took the box and hooked it up to a machine mounted on the worktable, feeding the end of the thread into it.
The gizmo rolled across the fabric on the table, following the path the tailor laid down with a light-pointer. As it did, the thread merged with the fabric, remaining visible but fusing to it with a strange wriggling motion.
Silence filled the workshop, broken only by the quiet whirring of the machines and Drinnel's tuneless humming under his breath. It helped him concentrate, although wasn't even aware he was doing it. It drove his assistants crazy, but he was far too important for them to say anything. Not to mention that his temper was infamous.
Time ticked away, and the ASP major's face was taking on an increasingly stressed grey pallor. If he was late, the best he could hope for would be reassignment as third in command of an interrogation dome on an airless prison moon.
Finally, an interminable time later, Drinnel looked up and said simply, "It's finished."
The garment he held up ready to pack into it's box was a wonder. It looked more like smooth flowing liquid metal rather than cloth, shimmering chrome-like silver shading to brownish copper at the edges.
As he slid it into it's plain brown box, the major's expression gradually changed to one of relief. "I really hope Her Ladyship likes it."
Drinnel just bowed, with the satisfied expression of an artist confident in his work.
Several hours later, the Imperial Proimhat Palace was lit up and the Ball was getting thoroughly underway.
The floor of the Queen Maelia Great Hall was already busy with nobles and dignitaries from across the Empire and it's allies. Pairs and small knots of guests milled around, making small talk and exchanging polite greetings. Everyone was dressed up for the occasion; glittering full dress uniforms and lavish ballgowns filled the room.
At the top of the broad staircase down to the floor a pair of captains of the Dragoons Yregnant, one from each of the two regiments, the most senior Guard units in the whole Empire, took it in turns to announce new arrivals.
The announcement came. "Torsisch-Trikailen Shjon Niebane, and ASP-Kailen the Lady Kandra Gynzdor."
Faces turned upward to look; the two were known to be a power couple, not formally in a relationship but usually accompanying each other to formal events.
General Niebane was dressed in a relatively sombre manner, a charcoal grey uniform and matching cape with a scarlet lining, the only colour coming from a pair of golden epaulettes and the small golden disc of a single medal on his chest. It was the Order of Arg-Hoz; no other medal was required.
Lady Kandra, on the other hand, drew gasps from the assembled guests. Most of the ladies instantly recognised Master Drinnel's work.
The ballgown's chrome-like surface shimmered and flowed, reflecting the room's lights in a dazzling display like a mirror.
From neck to waist it fitted like a second skin, clinging to every detail of Lady Kandra's perfect figure (she worked hard to keep it that way) and cut low at the front to reveal just enough skin to be shocking without being indecent. Then it flowed into a skirt which moved as if it was alive, floating in an invisible breeze, with feint copper-coloured silhouettes of dancers flitting across the bright metallic surface.
The huge grin on her face said it all. She'd wanted to make an impression, and it was clear that she'd achieved her goal. She'd make sure Master Drinnel knew how proud he should be of his masterpiece.
Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio - it's about as close as the AI could get to the picture I had in my head. Not perfect and not shimmery enough, but close....