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He had been moping, but he would never call it that. He called it his tired lazing about pretending everything was fine and dandy. But Strel was definitely not as cheery as he could have been. There was little to do, since the snowstorm had set things into perspective for some, and the demand for new pieces of work was a little limited for him. Not that he minded, he did not like being swamped with work, but he did enjoy being busy to keep his hands working and his mind preoccupied. But the redhead was staying away from the booze cruises he had been prone to taking. Noss had demonstrated his not so thrilled attitude about the drinking and it was not something Strel really wanted to do in the middle of the day. He needed other distractions. Other drugs were probably the choice. But he just sort of wallowed that day rather than seek someone to supply him.
Strel was leaning out of one of the downstairs windows, feeling the cold wind ruffle his mane into tangles. He ignored it, looking blankly at the snowed ground below him. Ear twitching, he looked off into the distance, craning his neck a tad as he heard the call somewhere on the borders. Brows furrowing, Strel heard it was for him, the request ringing in his head as he slipped out of the window and back into the hotel. It seemed like that one leader wanted him for something, and he complied. Stopping in his studio, he took his jacket. While unnecessary, the leather covering was something he coveted as something his vanity demanded.
By the time he got the borders, time had slipped by. It took much longer than the tailor thought it would, but he had not been rushing all that much to tell the truth. The entire time had been spent looking at the path ahead and only thinking of putting one foot in front of the other. So the moment he saw Shawchert before him, the redheaded man bowed his head slightly in respect, and apologized. "I'm sorry for the delay." He gave no explanation to his delay, and stood a few feet from the man. "Is there something you needed?"
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