slip stitch with broken strings

Strelein von Rosnete · 01-01-2012, 05:33 PM

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527
thank you for your patience <3

Strelein had found a respite from all the problems and burdens of leadership for the day, knowing that he was not needed for business. Things were quiet as winter had come and packs found their meat stores swelling as the herds passed through and game was plentiful. Their own stocks were full and filling. Granted, their times of hunger had, historically, been in the summer, when hunting was harder and the prey much stronger. Yet with all the skills they had acquired over the years of the mutation, they could supply themselves better. Traps, ranged weapons, fishing, and other methods made finding meat an easy thing. The only trouble was the effort needed to set traps or to wait for fish. Regardless, the bolstered stock of meat would do good in the summer and keep them all fed and happy. The pack was small, the numbers lowered as new packs came and took them away. Others left, unsatisfied. Strel was worried, for they were getting to be so few. Hopefully, this winter would bring fresh blood to the kingdom of misfits.

He heard someone speak, and the man ignored it. He had gone upstairs to his store rooms to make alterations to one of his first shirts. Rather, the tailor wanted to rip the shirt apart and use the cloth for another piece of his. He wanted a new vest, and the cloth color of the shirt would be useful in the lining of the vest as well as the side panels. It could always be added to create a wider outfit in case of weight or muscle gain. Not that he would really gain either. His figure was as trim, lithe, as ever and him gaining muscle would be a feat indeed. He rarely ran more than necessary, and whenever he felt the least bit pudgy he would go on a patrol of the interior border of the kingdom. There was plenty of exercise in that and in providing himself a meal.

All of that aside, Strel descended the stairs with his easy grace, old red shirt draped over his arm as he hummed some random tune to himself. The shirt had been gathering dust and he no longer wore it; it was an abomination of sewing and a waste of thread. Thankfully, it had been nothing more than an adapted old shirt rather than a blatant waste of uncut raw cloth.

At the bottom of the stairs, he saw that someone was waiting for him. Strel blinked at Caspa's back, wondering if she was the one calling earlier and if it was he whom she was seeking. "Ah, hello Caspa," he said calmly, standing behind her as she peered into his studio. "Looking for me?" Strel smiled at the woman as he skirted around her and laid the folded shirt over the back of one of the two chairs in the room. He faced her, hands delicately over his hips in a rather feminine manner. "I hope that man, Augustus, found you?" he added with a coy look in his eyes, wondering why that man had been so adamant in keeping her name quiet.

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