You muster up what sense you've got and stop gawking like some toddler staring at the wind chimes in a stupor. You were taught better than that and with a flush of embarrassment you clear your throat and speak your request.

"Lady Earest, a cloak of you can grant me one. My teacher has told me the Ladies are served by the fluttering people of the valleys and I would really like something to wear that's majestic and cool and...." You cough again, getting your excitement under control. Today has been a swing of emotions and it's hard to reign it all in for this enormous gift. "And I think it would be an excellent thing to wear to mark my coming of age."

With the raising of her eyebrow, Lady Earest tilts her head a little and stares at you a bit, then steps to walk around you, giving you a look over with all the curiosity of someone perusing a shop for something they like. She circles once, twice, then steps away and looks at you again.

"A fine silver tongue this one's got, huh, Oranya? Barely halfway into his second decade and he's got the kind of words that probably sweep even the glittering fairies off their feet of they'd land on something solid. Nice. Keep him away from the Aerites would you? I don't want him getting dragged off to their parties."

"Lot of good that'll do, he's probably gonna be their pact made consort the damn minute he speaks."

"Ooh and wouldn't that be an adventure, all gilded and golden and hauled off to their bedr--"

"Alright, alright, enough of that, he's not even sixteen yet and I bet he'll be a world of trouble for the courts once he's done with his training at twenty."

"Mmm, yes. Indeed. Anyways, a cloak? A taste for fashion. Good." Earest seems a bit pleased with herself for some reason you don't fully understand but she circles her arm again and....wow.

She produces one of the finest cloaks you've seen. Its shimmering to the eyes and entirely made of the most beautifully white feathers probably any man has laid his eyes on. She holds it out to you expectantly and you reach out to receive it....

And no sooner has your hand so much as brushed the fabric when it flashes a horribly bright light that half blinds you and causes you to let out a small yelp. Damn it you forgot all about how Foci made from the spirits will conform to humans.

In the end when you finally blink the spots out of your vision, your feathered cloak has shifted into something large and, thinking up a word on the spot, kingly? Courtley? It looks fancy you'll give it that.

"Whoa."

Earest and your teacher look at each other with a grin. Maybe some kind of joke was there but you don't know for sure and you can't quite be up to guess at the moment.

Cont