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artesano occupation. charmingtown. fluid dating.
#1
Location: DCG, Charmingtown, Market Center, Sala de Flores Date: Fluid; Late December (28th-31st) - Early January (1st-3rd) Time: Early afternoon NPCs: - WC: 476

"O, jebem ti-!" The coil fell apart in her hands, wet pine needles scattering across her lap and the damp rag laid upon it. One of the Chosen bent over in the waist, put her elbows upon her knees and her face in her hands, then let out a long, loud, aggravated groan of a misery best known by Sisyphus at the top of his hill, watching the boulder roll down and away from him. 

This was supposed to be a simple task - or, at least, simpler than regular basket weaving! She even had enough confidence to feel smug as she gathered the longest and cleanest needles she could find under the snow and moist, earthy muck beneath it, thinking her idea brilliant and creative. After all, was it not finally time for her to find good and proper work that'll see her contributing to the Gang in a way far more material than simple bookkeeping? Did she not pick this particular project because she had the knowledge - albeit vague and muddled by memory - to execute it? So often did she watch her relatives chat away as they bent and interwove sticks to form sturdy baskets. It all seemed so easy to her from that time up to about two hours ago, so logical and simple. And to instead of rough sticks use pine needless to make smaller, but easier to craft containers, well, surely that would only lead to easier and quicker work?

Јок.

The dog woman dragged her fingers down her face, pulling down skin and showing sensitive pink eyeflesh. Perhaps it was about time she realised her own worthlessness. Guilt had been gnawing at her since the birthday party, when she was absolutely showered with gifts, all made and picked with such care and attention that it made her misty-eyed to think about even now. She did not deserve such things, especially not after her public promise to be Ashen in soul and heart - a title she was woefully unfit for, what with her slothfulness, clumsiness and general lack of any life skills of value. This, most recent failure, only further cemented her conviction that she was lesser than her "peers". Sometimes, she wondered what fate God had intended for her, and if she had already veered irrevocable off course.

Cent sighed. Not wishing to look at her failure any longer, the šarplaninac looked up and down the street. She was seated on the steps of her front porch, as it was not too awful a day today, with just enough light not to hinder her work and discourage miscreants from making a ruckus at the saloon, just a few doors down from her home. Still, in that moment, with quite a bit of guilt, she ached for a distraction from her own frustrations. Won't God have mercy upon her now?

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#2
It was during one of the first days of arriving in Charmingtown that Tallulah grew restless. Having been accepted by the folks here to cross their border, wear their proverbial color, she was told her movements would be confined to this hub. As she looked up and down the near-empty streets, she cursed a little to herself. Rusty walked at a slow pace with her as the dog hybrid looked for somewhere to hitch him. It seemed like everyone had their horse in Charmingtown and was also in an establishment. Staving off the cold, probably. She could go to the Ugly Coyote - a place she hadn't been in yet - but resisted drinking at this hour.

Only when someone swore rather loudly did she look. She looked up, seeing a woman of brown hues. There was something in her lap, and she appeared frustrated. "You okay, ma'am?" Tallulah asked as the pair drew near. Rusty was a polite but large horse, so he kept at least two steps behind Tallulah so as not to knock anything over. He appeared interested in the needles on the stranger's lap, eyes dancing with curiosity. She noticed too. A gentle frown replaced her own curiosity. Ah, the frustration of not doing a perfect job the first time! "name's Tallulah Colt" she added, giving a nod of her head "I'm new here. Like, just joined a day ago."

A weak chuckle escaped her lips. "And this is Rusty" she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the huge horse "anything we can help you with, ma'am?" She offered this freely, a warm smile showing a bit of her white teeth. Tallulah hadn't ever been one for 'women's work', aka weaving or sewing, but she could try. That's what was important. Trying. Pa never asked her to do such things so this was the first time.
(309) | tagging cent - jan 3rd
#3
Location: DCG, Charmingtown, Market Center, Sala de Flores Date: January 3rd Time: Early afternoon NPCs: - WC: 692

So engrossed was she in internally pleading with the Lord to grant her a distraction from her failures, that the woman's approach startled her. The rag and needles threatened to fall off her lap and the brown woman hastily kept them from doing so, slipping in another "Jebem ti-" as she did it.

Despite her initial annoyance, Cent managed to fix a smile on her face, purely out of habit so deeply rooted it almost became instinct. "'S alright dear, jes' me havin' a crumb o' trouble wi' this doohickey o' mine." 

As her eyes travelled along the stranger's form, including her well-kept mount, the smile grew warm and sincere.

She'd gotten quite good at discerning coyote blood in a dog-faced individual, and could see it in the fine lines of this woman's visage and the petiteness of her build. But the Dog was strong in her markings, outlines and most pronounced features; her flopped ears, well-furred cheeks and proud, high forehead. Immediately Cent found her appealing, the feeling enhanced by the subtle envy she felt at the sight of her properly proportioned curves, bright coat and tamed hair. In contrast, the El Elegido looked a lumbering, fat bear someone had stuck a dirt brown mop to. 

The pretty stranger gave her name and rank, as well as her equine's. "Tallulah..." Cent tasted the name in her maw, appraising it, adding a touch of Slavic to it. Then, she nodded, finding it pleasing. "'S a real pretty name, Miss Colt." 

Her turn for introductions. "M Cent od Pepela." The new surname came forth in crisp Serbia amidst the drawl she forced. "Ahm part o' whatchu'd call the Upper Echelon o' th' Gang, but it ain't hard to climb up to mah rank if ya work hard." Keep it humble, Cenče.

And now this fresh Unkindled offered to help her. Truly, what an eager individual! Cent divined that she'd do just fine in the Gang. Her smile never left her face, but now it showed her own teeth as well, less white and neat than the other woman's.

"Oh that'd be jus' a delight!" The brunette scooted over to the side, as to give Miss Colt some space on the steps. "Come, sit 'ere, yuh can tie Rusty to th' railin', he ain't a trasher, ah hope?" 

"Naw, what we got 'ere's a lil' project o' mine." She showed her the rag of needles. "Ah wanna be one o' the Gang's artisans, we call me "artesanos" cuz we got Spanish roots thanks t' our Rey 'n' all, but ya can't jus' turn inta that jus' ovahnight. Needs some provin' be done first." Her dark finger wagged as if teaching a pup. "These thangs are gon' turn inta a basket if ah jes' manage to figure out how t' bind 'em. So far ah got em wet n clean, then ah made a thread wi' horsehair and tied it 'bout 'ere." A claw extended to point at the exact spot on a cluster she picked up. "Then ah-- Well, lemme jus' show ya."

Cent did the first steps as described, and continued to speak as she worked "Then ah wrap th' thread up, but leave 'bout, well, ah guess it would be 'bout two inches your measure. Then ah bend it in half, see, then ah get this needle 'n' ah start... a-stitchin'..." It took some focus to pass the needle from one side of the coil to the other. "N see why ahm doin' that 's to make a base fo' the lil' basket, ah already got it in mah mind's eye and ah know 's gon' take a while but-- ah dangnabbit there it goes again."

The coil fell apart in her hands. Surprisingly, she felt less agitated by this than before, likely because she now had another to show to how ridiculous this idea was.

"Naw, may be that mah paws'es too rough fo' such detail work, so why dontcha try, Miss Colt? Ah see on yuh real feminine fingers."

OOC: -
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#4
"Why, thank ya kindly."

Tallulah was a humble woman, and would not blush or stumble over someone's easy compliment. She kept her smile polite and gave a nod to the other Luperci, who introduced herself as Cent. There was a brief introduction as well to her rank, proclaiming that if Tallulah worked hard she could also climb. Cent scooted over and she joined the woman, making sure her long skirt didn't hitch when sitting. She should switch to her leather pants later, especially in the cold.

"It's mighty fine to meet you, Cent od Pepela" she added politely, switching her blue eyes to interest instead of formality when the woman began to explain her craft. A basket was being made if only Cent could figure out how to bind it. "maybe some tree sap could bind it..." she felt herself speak, wondering as the basket fell apart in Cent's hands again. It was sticky and clean, clear too. But the suggestion didn't need to be made true; she was just speaking out the first thing she thought of.

"Oh," she gave a gentle start when Cent prompted her to try "are ya sure?" she looked sheepish before accepting the materials "I've never been one to weave anything..." she warned, beginning to try and follow the steps the woman showed her earlier. If Tallulah won the battle, she would be still humble about it. If she lost, if it came apart like with Cent... she looked a bit disappointed - yet - she was not entirely surprised. Her fingers tried to keep up with the steps.

Managing to bind it very briefly, it soon came apart. "Oh" she could not help but chuckle a bit "see? I ain't much for an artisan." But the words were light, joking. Amused. She prompted Cent to try again, so she could watch and learn. Rusty looked on with his easy-going half-lids, having been hitched where Cent told Tallulah to hitch him. He looked briefly interested before going back to normal - it wasn't like he could shift and learn anyway.
(343) | tagging cent - jan 3rd


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