This is my passion - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: This is my passion (/showthread.php?tid=9295) |
- Strelein von Rosnete - 01-10-2010 [html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v368/ ... able-1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> 1070 A bit on the long side, though I think that's fine! Also, if a leader of the pack doesn't like that I've taken up a room in the hotel, please tell me so I can change it. A room on the first floor of the hotel had been taken over. It had housed a nice, once nice actually, dinner table, which had been dusty once and covered with old piles of dishes and a few assorted books. Those, the redhead had taken to another room and unceremonious dumped into another room, forsaking the half empty bookshelf to let the stuff lie on the floor. His discretion only pertained to putting the plates down gently in a cloud of dust as the stuff escaped the confines between the pages of the book as well as between two tomes. He'd found a rag to clean off the debris off the table and to clean the room. This room would be Strelein von Rosnete's work room and he needed it to be spic and span or else there would be dirty clothing made. Now that would be bad workmanship. No one would want clothes made specially for them with marks and streaks already on it, as though it had been returned and then sold again at a cheaper price. That would simply never do; Strel did not have a reputation yet for his craftsmanship, and to start out with a negative one would ruin him from the start. Now the room had organized piles of work in progress as well as scraps of cloth and bits of old human clothing. A full pile of shirts sat on the floor in the corner, all of them the same color. Upright against one wall was a full bolt of blue cloth which would need a good wash since there were stains of time and dust on its surface. He would wash it when it wasn't so cold, most likely leaving there for a few months until the weather grew warmer. Boiling a vat of water seemed a bit too difficult to bother with, especially since it was so much easier to just use the cloth scraps he found. On the old, brass chandelier decorated with silver and brass filigree hung ribbons and a strip of cloth embedded with needles found in Halifax. They were attached to the chandelier to the little loops where once plastic gems hung with fishing hooks simply because it was easier. There were metal chains of large paperclips, on which the bobbins of thread hung within easy reach, organized by color families. He did not want to clutter up the room with big pieces of furniture, so he had utilized the things already there to the best of his ability. The wallpaper was a bit outdated, red and gold roses gilded with a faux silver foil running up and down the walls in a pattern all the way around the room. It was peeling in a few places as well and there were water stains here and there. But overall it was a good room with two big windows with recently fixed panes to provide strong light during the day. It would be best in the morning as it faced east and sunshine drenched the room with a fine golden winter light. They were always kept clean and clear as well, to maximize the potential light on the large chair that stood by the glass. That was where Strelein sat, absorbed in a piece he was working on as a trade for Rurik in exchange for more drink, or even just as a gift for the first bottle of alcohol. Scissors lay on the table where the remains of a pair of synthetic pants lay. In his hands was a strange combination of jean material and the synthetic black. Everything from the belt down to halfway down the thigh was made of the jeans, which had been half tatters when they had been discovered. Now they were a more stylish, or so Strel thought, pair without the ragged edges of the pants remaining. Strel delicately sewed the second, and final, leg. The material he sewed in with a silver thread, thinking the gray wolf would appreciate the homage to his fur color. The reason for the material was simply because Strel had not worked with almost full length pant legs, having always stopped at the knee or above on his own pairs. When giving the pair to the man, he planned to have some scissors, a needle, and thread to do some alterations on the spot. Biting off the string, the redhead shook out the garment and observed what needed to be fixed right then and there. Nothing seemed out of place and the stitching seemed neat albeit a bit decorative. A grin was plastered on his face as he stood, draping the thing on the chair gently, reveling at the way it turned out. The violet eyes set in his head gazed at the garment a final time before turning to face the table of supplies. The bobbin he stuck on the proper paperclip on the black to white chain of paperclips. Then, reaching up to jab the needle into the cloth strip, he managed to get it unhooked from the chandelier. It fell with an audible clunk on the edge of the table before slipping off table's edge onto the hardwood flooring with a second thunk. "Damnit," he mumbled, bending over to pick it up. The moment it was in his hand, he shot his head up, hitting the edge of the table. Strelein yelped out loud, dropping the needles at once. He practically howled, crying as the bruise that had formed a few days past formed on his noggin throbbed in pain from being struck. Tears welled in his eyes as he tried to move over a bit. Now he cried out, rather loudly as he felt a few needles stick themselves into his foot when he trod the cloth. This time he did let out a howl, gently lowering him down on the ground by the window, head back against the window sill. Leg pulled up, Strel crossed it across his raised knee. The needles had come free of the cloth, digging into the pads of his feet. There were five of them there, stuck rather deep considering they were thin and small. Strel was not sure whether or not he could pull them out on his own after trying to pull a single one out. It stung as he pulled at it and he stopped immediately, tears welling up further in his eyes. - Alaine Winters - 01-10-2010 [html] OOC: :] Yay! You didn't specify a time of day, so I hope you don't mind that I did XP
[/html] - Strelein von Rosnete - 01-10-2010 [html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v368/ ... able-1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> 524 It was actually sometime in the early afternoon since they have no electric light. Or electricity :o. Strelein whined, trying to examine the needles further, testing each one with a slight jab. Naturally it seemed like all five were embedded as deep as the first, which meant it hurt enough to warrant a grunt of pain. He held his foot, trying to find a way to limit the blood flow. Blood beaded where the heads of the needles were. One or two ran down his foot and dripped onto the hardwood flooring. Strel bit at his lip, feeling his hands shaking at the pain. Now how did this happen? What had driven him to not look where he was walking, let along leave the needles on the ground where he could very clearly step on them? There was no use at crying over spilled milk, but this spilled milk hurt badly. Glancing up at the words though blurry eyes, Strel blinked to see more clearly who it was. Once he could make out the woman, for now he saw it was a she, he noted the stains on her shirt. Probably blood. Putting it out of his mind, he listened to her question. He absently shook his head, knowing fully well that she probably had to say that. They always did. His parents always did whenever he fell or tripped, even if they knew what was wrong with him. The woman could plainly see what it was that pained him so, so he deigned not even answer her question. Looking back down at the blood drops on the floor and the streams on his pads, Strel winced as he shifted his body a bit, jostling the needles with his thumb. "I'm not about to get much worse," he confirmed, though he let out a whine. Strel moved his head back against the wall, head spinning a bit. Pain was a big enemy of Strel's. He always hated getting hurt once he became an 'adult'. Or, rather, adult aged. Even now he tried to minimize his risk of pain. That was probably why he sewed and plucked at a string instrument instead of doing something like woodworking or horseback riding. Quite a weakling was the redhead. So here he sat among his cloth, bobbins, and needles. Grimacing briefly, Strel gave a weak smile at Alaine. "I don't really think I can get up and walk away now, unless I plan to run away from you on one foot." He waved her over, hoping she would help him soon, since he really did not want to have those silvery needles stuck in his pad any longer. Better to get rid of the pain rather than wait for him to get used to it and then feel it all over again when they were pulled. "I'm Strel by the way, miss." It was a rather strange way of getting to know someone new; have them help him heal. Of course the accident had been his own stupid error, but that was beside the point. To think he did not know this woman who was in his own pack, and from the looks of it, stayed in the hotel as well. How was that possible? - Alaine Winters - 01-12-2010 [html] OOC: Edited my last post XD <3
[/html] - Strelein von Rosnete - 01-13-2010 [html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v368/ ... able-1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> 586 sorry for the inconvenience, Alaine D: Were the redhead in any form of sensibility, he would have pouted at the woman and told her off for laughing at his pain. He would reprimand her, sniffling at in the meanwhile. What a little pup this man was whenever something pierced his flesh or happened to leave a light cut beneath the layer of thick winter fur. Strelein was thankful that he had taken up sewing instead of anything particularly dangerous. Like cliff diving, or carpentry, or cooking. One dealt with heights, which he was afraid of. One dealt with heavy, thumb-hurting objects. And one dealt mostly with fire and knives. It seemed all the things that sound fun and exciting were nothing but a maelstrom of danger for the lanky male. All of those he could not do anyway; his inability to swim well in the ocean made the first hard; his inability to constantly hammer or saw without gaining aching limbs and deep splinters made the second hard; fire and the overall heat of it, while pleasant, was a constant threat for burns. Strel was useful in only a few things, but at least he could do them. "But I am no jackrabbit, Madam," he countered, grinning lopsidedly at her. His fingers trembled as the woman brought them away from the wound, not so very grave as it seemed. She did not react in terror-filled shock, though she did seem entertained by the rather large amount of caterwauling he was doing. Alaine seemed experience in this enough to give him a smile to help reassure him, and reassured he was. There seemed to be confidence in her face and her motions, though where she got such a thing he did not know. Strelein cocked his head at the new woman, watching her facial expressions with mild interest. "Why would they? Your first name is pretty enough to let us poor folk forget about the last one. Besides, winter is horribly cold," he added, knowing full well how blatantly obvious it was that in the winter months, it was far chillier than the summer. At the sound of the fabric ripping, Strel winced. The garment had been old, he had seen, but the treatment was rather harsh. Sure it was dirty, but that was no reason to simply rip it into strands! "Now why would you do that?" he cried, eyes widening in shock at her. There were plenty of useless scraps of cloth on the table, but he supposed he had not mentioned it to her so she would not have known. He huffed, mimicking her as he crossed his arms like a child denied of a treat. "Oh yes, I sew. Those aren't some voodoo needles in my oh so dainty foot." Strel sighed, hoping that the needles could be washed of blood. It had not been terribly hard to find the packet of them, but he was not sure how easy it would be to find more if these were ruined completely. "See I was making this gift for a friend of mine, new friend. And I wanted to give him a gift for the - OW!" he cried out, having not noticed her really getting ready to yank out one of the cursed metallic needles. He hissed out the air that remained in his lungs, shaking his head slightly. "Please tell me that was all of them," he forced his upper lip to quiver at his words, a dramatic expression with no real matching emotion to go with it. - Alaine Winters - 01-13-2010 [html] OOC: bah, not a problem, dear! <3
[/html] - Strelein von Rosnete - 01-14-2010 [html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v368/ ... able-1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> 589 The pained look on this face slowly faded away, back to a slightly more relaxed kind of stare. Sure, it was hard to call it relaxed when he had needles sticking out of his paw pad like some freaky pincushion or a porcupine. There was praise to be given to the woman, her skills as a healer were absolutely divine from his position. The way she tried to sooth the irritation and the tension in his foot muscles was something the greener healers would have not thought about. Back in Michigan, he would have had all the needles yanked out at once and told to go stand in some water, though the objects piercing his foot would probably not be needles since such things were forbidden. Had he gotten caught with them stuck in a foot, he would have easily been demoted for a short time as punishment for fiddling with the 'monsters' ' toys. Shrugging slightly at the recommendation that was really a request, Strelein answered, "Like I said, I can't really go anywhere. I just have to scream and bear it." Honestly, how was he supposed to grin and bear this? As though he were enjoying the pain the removal brought with it? He was no masochist, pain was not a pleasure for the redhead. Strel let his hands fall to the ground like some old, limp doll's. If one had not known any better, or had looked in from behind Alaine's back, they would have thought she were drugging up the male or that he had smoked a little too much reefer. Strelein wondered what the kind woman thought of him, whining and moaning like a little pup that fell off a big rock. He supposed there was little he could about that; he was on mind reader or hypnotist. "I met him very recently, but he was very kind to me. He gave me a free bottle of vodka for our King Jac." Strel smiled happily at the mention of Rurik. The guy really was quite nice and the redhead could not help but consider him a newly made friend that would surely be there for a long time, seven years old as he was. "I wanted to return the favor. And of course then I decided to be stupid and hit myself, then step on some pointy objects, and then fall on my ass. I guess an average day then?" Batting his eyes like a flirtatious female at Alaine, he asked, "So how was your day?" About to speak again to offer the woman his skills for hire when the said woman yanked out more needles. Strel grunted as he scrunched his eyes, swallowing another yelping noise of pain. He let out a sharp breath of air, shaking his head slightly, hair passing over his eyes briefly. Fingers moved the bangs back to the side to keep him from seeing the world in a grainy red. " I do - excuse me -often enough. Daily if I'm able to. I can make you something, for sure would you want it." Strel beamed proudly at the material strewn about the room in a rather disorganized organized manner. He cocked his head, lavender eyes falling on the plastic measuring tape on the table, a loop of it swinging off the edge of the table slowly. "If I don't pass out, I can measure you now for whatever it is you want. And your services right now more than pay for some piece of cloth and thread concoction." - Alaine Winters - 01-18-2010 [html] ooc:
[/html] - Strelein von Rosnete - 01-18-2010 [html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v368/ ... wtable.png); background-position: top-center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> 587 yes indeed. Strel would be a fainter. xD The woman seemed quite excited about the fact that the male could sew. He gave her a questioning look, wondering why on earth her reaction's magnitude was what it was. Then he shrugged, fully aware that they were making a trade off here with the redhead still being in a rather vulnerable position. She was the healer helping him out, and he was the crybaby with needles in his foot. Some would say the woman would have persuaded him to make her clothing in exchange for her services. But now that was just his imagination running away with him. Strel could probably have been a very strange writer had he the ability to read and write. Speaking English was all find and dandy, but reading those letters they wrote everywhere was harder to manage. Strel did give her a kind looking, realizing that she probably did not often get a chance to get herself something terribly nice. It was hard to find good stuff in the city sometimes, especially in the clothing department. Strel knew, he looked. Custom made was the way to go, which was one of the reasons he did what he did. The unique body shapes of a Luperci were different from the human's, and fitting shirts was sometimes hard. Dresses, pants, and skirts tended to be easier by a lot, but the redhead still stood by his belief. Besides, if he did not, what kind of job could he possibly have anywhere? Clothing would have been a chore and a bother rather than an enjoyable occupation. "Sure could, it wouldn't be too much of a struggle I bet. I don't work in leather," he laughed, feeling a bit dizzy. The blood loss was minimal, but he still did not feel to be the top of his game. With a final yank, the needles were gone and Strel relaxed, grinning like some fool. Now that was not too terrible now that he thought about it. Well, he was just glad that the whole ordeal was over and done with so he could stop degrading himself in the eyes of another member of Cours des Miracles. What a shameful image he presented to her, whining and pouting like a puppy. "Oh thank you, Miss Alaine." He was truly grateful. Had she not been around, he would have moped for an hour or so before, dejected, he would have pulled them out himself and only moped for a bit longer. The woman ran off and returned, rather quickly, to get an ointment of some sort for the redhead's pinprick puncture wounds. He mumbled some thanks as the bandages went over the coating of the medication. Strel smiled at her as he took her her hand, most of his weight going to his good paw. "Good thing I don't plan on running anytime soon, eh?" Strel leaned against the table for some support, hand reaching for the measuring tape. Then, tape in hand, he took a scrap of burlap and a charcoal crayon. Edge of the measuring tape in hand, he dropped it, letting the other end curl on the floor. "Since you're here, I might as well get your size, eh?" Strel lifted it up the tape so the metal tipped end was barely touching the floor. The numbers were revealed to be going from one on the floor, to the ten feet in his hands. "Height please," he asked, rather pleasantly. "While we're at it, what's your preferred color, or what color would you like?" - Alaine Winters - 01-30-2010 [html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j19/S ... eTable.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> ooc : table by Meghann~ <3 Poor Strel XD
- Strelein von Rosnete - 01-30-2010 [html] http://i261.photobucket.com/albums/ii73 ... nequin.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> 676 This is when my retardation with fashion shines through like a flashlight through cheesecloth. Also, apologizes for the pp here ><; Strel blinked absently at the collie-woman for a moment, before he realized his rudeness. It was hard to remember that most people did not need to be measured on a regular basis and would have no need to really know how tall they were and how much they weighed. The latter was significantly less important to the redhead than the height, which he needed if he wanted to do this right. Sighing, he closed the distance between them and stuck the measuring tape beside the woman to note her height. While this pained his foot slightly, he managed, wincing only once and then forcing a smile to break through it like the sun decimates a wispy cloud in the sky. Squinting at the numbers, unsteady with a shaking hand, the redhead managed to pick out the height for the woman. Taking a quick step on his good foot, the chevalier jotted down the number on the burlap scrap of cloth. It took a few going overs to get a good enough, clear enough number down. The handwriting was sloppy and the lines were rough from the texture of the surface they were written on. Strel could not read or write, so writing numbers was almost like trying to teach himself to read English. Thankfully, numbers were merciful to him; they were easy to understand. Turning a steady gaze onto the young Cour des Miracles woman, Strel paused, the measuring tape bunched up in his hand in loops. "I'm going to tell you right now, my hands may go in the direction of something you would rather I keep my hands ten feet away from, but don't worry," he said softly, sensing her nervousness. It was to be expected of her, since she had asked if being measured hurt. The redhead chucked at that thought, letting the tape unfurl once more, though halfway now. "I won't do anything to you that you will not like. I just need to put this tape around your waist, hips, shoulders, arms, legs, and your bust. The last one may be the most awkward one." The chevalier tried to smile kindly, hoping this was not already alarming her. Most women would be bothered by a man touching her anywhere near her breasts. He just needed to let her know from the start that his hands were not going to go wandering. Breasts were not for playing with. That was an unpleasant thought for the man and he suppressed a shudder at it. Gross. Swallowing in apprehension over how Alaine would take this, Strel pressed the tape to the front of her chest, from her collarbone down to her hipbones and then down to her kneecaps. That number joined the one of the woman's height. Now it was more of a matter of getting through this tedious process with accuracy and speed, so as to alleviate any tension and nervousness, clearly not from his own part. Measuring the arms, waist, and hips had been significantly easy, so those were finished first. Strel jotted the numbers down, next to a single letter for what they stood for. That much he could do, mostly from reading at tutorials on cloth design and crafting. The clothier simply used their abbreviation conventions for his and called it a day. "I need to measure under, over, and across your bust now, Miss Alaine." That was not a question. He skirted around her, ignoring the throbbing in his foot. He brought his lanky limbs between her arms and body, one hand holding onto the tape. In a quick moment he measured all three, noting the differences and committing them to temporary memory. When those joined the rest of the black charcoal marks on the burlap, the measuring device was careless dumped onto the table, looking as though it would become a knot. "Now that the messy part is over, I can start on the outfit for you. I hope you won't mind pink and a frock of sorts? Also, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable at all." - Alaine Winters - 01-30-2010 [html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j19/S ... eTable.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> ooc : don't worry, my own retardation would far outshine yours XD and thats alright, i never really mind a little bit of pp with other experienced RPers. i find it makes everything flow better :3
- Strelein von Rosnete - 01-30-2010 [html] http://i261.photobucket.com/albums/ii73 ... nequin.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> 658 I don't know about experienced, since it's 12 am for me right now. I just tried to give you enough room to work with xP; Strel gave the young woman a smug look, daintily brushing off a few stray threads that were too short to ever use again. The one who did not enjoy being complimented was most certainly going to find himself impaled somewhere. Or just grumpy, really. This was a skill in and of itself, accepting compliments without appearing vain, egotistical, or praise-hungry. It was easy to see that the redhead either needed more lessons at this or was simply not in the mood to be modest. As a designer of sorts, the duty was his to make any woman, or man, look the way they wanted to look or to find a way to raise their self esteem if by a few drops and teaspoons full at a time. The chevalier shrugged at Alaine, finally attempting to be a modest man. Naturally, he botched it the job, saying, "It's just something I know how to do." Normally, the redheaded man was far more polite than this, but the way the woman went about it, well, it could only aggravate his already massively bloated ego. Raising a fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat in a self-conscious manner. Eying the material on hand, he noted he had far too much sunshine yellow and not nearly enough floral pink to satisfy his needs. A search for ellusive petal soft color would be required if the whole summer dress would be of the color. Yet the gears in his mind whirled and clicked, piecing together a mental picture of the outfit on some nameless mannequin. Strelein fazed out, eyes half glazed over as his concentration wavered. The outfit would be a new project for him, something mightily massive and time consuming. Oh, the prospect of it was enough to make his blood race in the way that a hard and complicated sewing puzzle could do. Perhaps a bodice of a lovely coral color shifting into a butter squash skirt or something equally light for the next few seasons. Winter would not last forever and this woman seemed like she deserved a very pretty garment for the airy spring, the warm summer, and the nippy fall. All the stitches and patterns he would need seemed to flow through his mind's eye, one picture after the other. The issues he saw were decided on how to decorate it once the two parts were joined together into a uniform piece. Though this was probably the least important of his worries. Yes, he would need to go ahead and find a full, or almost full, bolt of cloth for the skirt part. In the very least. A good quality dress could not be made from the modified cloth of blouses. Finally, the chevalier remembered where he was and whom he was standing with. Sporting a sheepish grin, he ran a hand through his dyed red mane. "Please, I wish you wouldn't call me 'sir' like that. I'm not that old. I'm only two," he said, looking awkward at it. No one else referred to him like that to his very face. Maybe jokingly some would, but none treated the man as though he were truly a gentleman worthy of such a chivalrous mark. At least she too kept some professionalism about her, chiding the male as though he were a naughty pup not listening to his mother. Guilty look aside, Strelein nodded curtly, keeping to the table as support. "That sounds like an amazing idea. I swear, where do you come up with these things?" he joked lightly, trying to go slow enough on his feet that the woman would choose to lead the way. "And as for the dress, I'll be sure to bring it to you - you live here, right? - when I finish it." A twinkle in his eye betrayed his interest in the project. "But I hope that you won't mind my refusing you seeing it until the final fitting, mhm?" |