a thousand uses

Thread Prompt

POSTED: Thu Feb 14, 2019 7:10 am

OOC: Find a way to utilize some lovely deer skins in the Court, be it personal or not. - Come laugh at Paloma trying her hand at something new!

IC:
The skin was laid out before the woman, who sat cross-legged on the cold floor of the village’s designated crafting studio. There were rough-hewn benches around the studio which might have made for a more formal picture in seating the Court’s second-in-command but she found herself more comfortable on the floor. Paloma’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, her brow furrowed. For once the woman’s frown wasn’t due to a dour mood or trouble within the Court (although it had been a little too quiet ever since Cidro had returned, injured, and Palo was still eager to give his attacker their comeuppance).

It was concentration which marred the Chasseresse du Vent’s pale brow. The Court had a healthy supply of deerskin, tanned and ready to be crafted into useful items, and while Paloma was not much of a crafter she could think of small things to fashion from supple leather.

Top of her list were sheaths and quivers for the Court’s various communal weaponry, pouches for herbs and small meals of dried fruit and meat. These items would not use a great deal of the hides and Palo would much rather try and fail to craft these smaller goods than she would embark on a project of a greater scale and then discover she was unable to finish it.

In her hand was a blade that Halcón, as the craftsman of the family, had assured her would be able to penetrate the hide. The blade was twirled in the dog’s nimble fingers a couple of times before being placed against the skin with a certainty Paloma was good at portraying to others. Often that certainty wasn’t mirrored within but how badly could this go, really? She was unlikely to injure herself with the blade, no matter how green she was to crafting, and it would be only a small portion of a hide wasted if her plans dissolved entirely.

Still, she was unused to creating with her hands and her first score marks were made with a tentativeness only she could feel. It was a sensation she hated and she let out a small huff as she lifted the blade away from the markings she’d made in charcoal.

[385]

POSTED: Fri Feb 15, 2019 1:28 am

like amateurs in love's charade

Hey! Whatcha doin’? a voice piped, one that was obviously unaware that the packmate inside the studio was doing meticulous work with a fine, sharp blade. Though, upon quick inspection, one would also find that the voice belonged to one particular Courtier who, even if she knew of the delicate work, would probably be boisterous and loud anyway. It was just Moon Moon’s nature, and anyone who spent any time around her at all would know that.

Now that her children were growing older, with the two daughters from her youngest litter now old enough to shift and wander the court on their own, Moon was thirsty for an occupation. It seemed that even though while she was a mother she always looked to dodge and duck out of her maternal duties, Moon found that she missed being busy and needed all the time now that the mantle of motherhood was slowly chipping away like an old crust. There was no longer any need to slip out of the family’s subterranean home and hide away from Mads and the rest. Without such a purpose, she had veritably nothing to do with herself now.

And this fact left Cour des Miracles with an idle Moon Moon. This was not a good omen.

A week of laying around the house being lazy as ever was enough for the excitable Damaichu, so now she had taken to calling on her pack mates at random times, and at very random and inconvenient hours. Luckily, a chat with her father, Keylo, had clued her in a little bit about how it wasn’t the best idea to stomp into Kaly’s house like it was her own, and so, at least for a little while, Moon managed to be a little more conscientious.

So that was why Moon was barging into the studio now, poking her nose across the threshold and blurting excitedly at the Chasser-whatchamacallit inside. The white woman proffered a toothy grin before inviting herself further into the studio. Moon usually wandered empty-handed, but today had a linen satchel with many stains on it slung across her form. So what’cha up to? she asked again, because apparently half a second was too much time to take to respond. Aqua eyes that nearly matched Paloma’s in shade and intensity flicked to the sharp tool in the woman’s hand, and she gaped her excitement. Are ya killin’ it dead? I mean, are ya a sewer? (She meant seamstress or tailor.) Can ya show me how ta do that? In a flash Moon was upon Paloma and groping for the knife, as though she herself was the expert prepared to show Paloma a thing or two. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.

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