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Immediately, the three dressmakers turn to you, so you have to assume that the moment has passed, and whatever transgressions you have made here have been forgiven - though the three of them are glaring at you now as well. In hushed tones, you speak first, though the unexpected embarrassment you have just been through makes your delivery much more stilted and choppy than you intended .
"I am sorry, Truly - if I ... I wasn't looking to cause anybody any problems here. It's just ... my father, he gave me the - he told me I could buy a dress and attend his wedding so long as I didn't do anything that could ... you know, could get back to him in a bad way. And ... I'm sorry, but, having a daughter so tall that she has to shop at a haberdashery, it ... people would see that, they'd talk about it - if it got back to him, it ..."
You pause to take a deep breath. Most times you are weaving lies like this, these 'intermissions' - presented as you needing a moment to compose yourself - are done so that you can actually take a minute to think ahead a bit. This time though, you actually do need the time to compose yourself. Just as you are about to start plotting out the next strands of your tall tale, one of the dressmakers starts to speak, and concerned about losing control of the conversation without fully making your point, you plunge back into it, without completely knowing where your tongue is going to take you.
"I'm already enough of an embarrassment as it is. You saw just now, with your own eyes ... please, don't make this ... <span class="mu-s">me</span>... any worse for him. Please."
One by one, you can see acceptance dawn over the dressmakers - and if their eyes weren't so full of pity for you right now you might even have started gloating to yourself. Still, you are at least feeling relieved, until -
"Well ... I suppose I'll have to clear this with Mistress Cassandra."
By the Horrors of the Heights, that bitch can vex you without even being in the room! You shift your weight as you try to obfuscate your fuming, and in the process irritate the rash on your leg from the Strange Incendiary. Fighting the urge to attempt to itch it - and to swear under your breath - you press on, feeding Marpessa all the things you think Cassandra will need or want to hear.
"Please, tell her I'll wait -"
The second those words are out of your mouth, you regret them. For you, right now, time is more valuable than talents ... but on the other hand, that kind of deference might be the only thing that gets you out of this situation.
