When the focus of all three tailors turned to her, Jazelle looked to them and backed away a step, unsure if she had crossed some line, had said something to draw their suspicion and ire. Her hands ever in her muff, she gripped her butterfly knife tightly, unsure what to expect from them.
	She inhaled when the woman spoke first, then could not help but give a quite sigh of relief when she realized they were only angry at her lack of recognition of them.
	With no little effort, she bit back a snide remark at their arrogant pride, mostly because she had no idea if they had magic of their own or not they could use against her if she annoyed them, but snorted when one of them called Sunder ‘darling.’
	“Okay, okay,” she said with a smirk, her voice about as mocking as the hand she raised as if in defeat as they all shared a gloating stare. “You’re the masters of fashion here. Got it,” as she said the last, she snapped her fingers and pointed at them in one smooth motion.
	Her attention turned with the tailors’ to Priscilla, glad for her interruption to get the trio back on track. She glanced to the three to see their reaction to how she addressed them, expecting them to puff up egotistically again, but instead, they got to work. Jazelle's smirk deepened as the three went to various areas of the room, finding amusement in how they scurried about. She warily watched the first of them return and head to her, a tailor’s measuring tape in hand.
	Jazelle let them take her measurements, feeling awkward as she stood there, being positioned as they needed. Once they finished, she hesitantly followed one of them to a closet door, hanging back slightly and trying to get a look at what was inside before the man pulled it open.
	He ducked inside, then reappeared long enough to toss a couple robes at her. 
	Jazelle pulled her hands from her muff and just managed to catch the partially folded garments, before he threw another, followed by a few more. She stacked them quickly, trying to avoid dropping them, both hands forced out of her pocket and away from the security of her knife.
	The last thing he threw out to her, this time apparently actually aiming, were two pairs of shoes. They landed on top of the pile of clothes, making the stack teeter precariously.
	With the sleeve of the robe on the bottom of the pile draping toward the floor, the tailors ushered Priscilla and her from the room, giving the older girl an odd-looking backpack.
	“Yep,” Jazelle mumbled to the woman that followed them out, her focus more on keeping from dropping the stack of robes.
	Alas, she jumped at the clang of the door closing behind them, and the shoes and top couple robes toppled to the floor.
	She scowled down at them, glaring as if just her stare would make them jump obediently back to the top of the pile.
	“Great,” she mumbled both to Priscilla’s comment, and at the garments.
	When Priscilla headed down the hall, Jazelle hastily knelt and messily tossed the garments and shoes onto her pile and hurried after the girl, trying to not trip on the fabric that hung down toward her feet. She paused, realizing that now the hall stretched in front of them, instead of to either side. She tried to think if they had left through a different door, but was certain they had entered and exited through the same one.
	“Man, this place is freaky,” she muttered to herself, then quickly caught up with Priscilla to avoid being left behind if the halls decided to change.
	She followed inches from Priscilla, doing a double take once when she saw two servants exit through the same door, the room beyond changing each time.
	[i]I rest my case,[/i] she thought, looking over her shoulder at the door as they passed. All the same, curiosity nagged at her, wanting to know how that happened, whether it was the halls that changed, or the rooms.
	When they reached the courtyard, at last giving her an idea of how many stories Sunder’s home was, she nearly ran into Priscilla when she turned to face her.
	The shoes and garments threatened to fall again when Jazelle halted, and she moved a hand to steady it. Another sleeve of the bottom robe draped downward to join the first.
	“Uh,” Jazelle raised an eyebrow at Priscilla's question, her eyes flicking between the servant girl and the pile of clothes. “Dumping these off somewhere would be nice... How the freak do you navigate those halls?” She jerked her head back toward the door they had exited through. “It’s worse than a maze! I mean, at least mazes stay consistent...” [i]Or do they, here?[/i] “Well, in my neck of the woods, they did.”