slip stitch with broken strings

Strelein von Rosnete · 01-22-2012, 11:42 PM

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1017
You can totally skip the paragraphs with no dialog xD I just wanted to fart out some words xD

Once upon a time, Strel had been a young pup aimlessly exploring ruins of human towns. The young pup would wander into these derelict houses and poke through the things that were crumbling all around him. At first, it had been strange things that he found, things without names or an identity in his head. First he found the books, moldy and reeking with age and rot. He left them were they lay, spines broken, pages torn, and turning to a mustard yellow color. They never interested him from the start; they just smelled like too many dried leaves rotting after a heavy autumn fall. Underneath a flat piece of a drywall, the pup found himself a bunch of scratched up yellow pencils. A few had their inner grey cores exposed, broken, or missing. He had fumbled with a small piece between his teeth and managed to scribble on the drywall. It had cracked where he wrote on it and the lead left grey marks on his teeth accompanied with a resoundingly bitter taste on his tongue. He had fumbled through falling houses to find mysterious objects from a race lost to the face of the world. All they had left them were the remains of their long lost lives.

That young pup had first bumbled onto the magazines, yellowed with time and moist conditions. They showed the women in crazy outfits, but also in pretty dresses, men in suits, vests, polo shirts, and other things. He found that he liked the way the humans looked, and knew that he could too look like that. He wanted to copy them, those old designers, long since dead and buried - if they had been fortunate enough to receive such a thing. His eyes were caught on shining gold and silver on their necks, wrists, even in their ears. More searches found him the jewelry box, filled with necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings, and things that sparkled in the light. They were untarnished, mostly, as the box kept them out of the sun, wind, and rain. Dragging it, he had managed to hide it away in his pack lands, though soon was discovered. The leader, vain and haughty, ordered the young Strelein to hand over the box and no harm would come to him. After refusing once, the male was beaten lightly and forced to give away the box. Thankfully, he knew that his alpha was a bastard, eager only to look after himself and his get, and had hidden a few things. He still wore that bangle on his wrist, and remembered why he never returned home, where two legs were the devil's get and his talents would be seen as a gift from hell acquired in an orgy of sin.

Pulled away from his memories, both good and bad, Strel looked at Caspa lightly. He smiled lightly at the woman, waving away her subtle compliments. "Perhaps the randomness itself will make it an artful work? Since it should be random. Isn't magic creating something from the randomness of life?" he said gently, wondering what kind of magic tricks these two people would make. Would they pull things out of thin air or would they make things disappear? Strel did not understand the occult or the divine. They were unknowns to him and it was better off that way. There were those out there who put all of their life's work into their beliefs. What a waste of time and life, especially when their lives were so short to begin with. Who would do such a thing?

In Toronto, the Dauphin had encountered many people of various beliefs. There were a few pagans who believed in the all mighty earth mother who controlled every living thing and was the guiding light for them. They were mostly spiritual and devoted to the preservation of the earth, and very respectful the creatures they killed for their meat. Some did not even eat meat unless they were there for the kill and it was properly thanked for its sacrifice. Others were devout of old human religions, like the ones that came from Europe on the great boats salvaged by the canines there. Others still took on stranger religions that made no sense, following a cult leader. Some, like Strel, did not believe either and disregarded the stories of their ancestors. Strel's loss of religious care came only from his dislike for his pack, which praised the stories of old. He remembered them still, but disregarded them entirely.

"Not enough?" he asked in surprise, wondering what on earth she thought would be an adequate price to pay for this sort of thing. "I would hardly feel in the right asking for more. I was worried I'd be asking too much." He looked at her with a level or surprise and respect, marveling at this woman's sense of fairness. Often, he knew he was asking for far too little when more ought to be given, despite wanting to ask for more. But now he was unsure of what to ask for, especially since Caspa seemed terribly set on making the payment fair. "Really, I'd be fine with just the sacks. Really. "

Caspa finished the drawing and the male looked at it as she hefted it up. Narrowing his eyes briefly, he imagined the coat with so many pockets and he could hardly believe it. Though, the coat was definitely something big and hefty. "I think if I had to sew through the entire coat it'd be fine. Though if I can avoid sewing through it I will. It will decrease cloth puckering," He had made that mistake once, though now knew quite better. "But it should be okay." Turning around, he pulled out a small wooden box. The joint creaked as the lid opened, though inside were many sheared off sequins as well as smaller glass beads. Setting it on the table, he gestured at it for Caspa. "These are some things I tore off old clothes, as well as found. I think it'll work, yes?"

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