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They were good paragraphs x) I've done it too though, so all you really need to look at is the speech o___o.
If Caspa had been induced or convinced to lay bare her deepest beliefs and her most secret heart, she might have inspired as much amazement or curiosity as the outlandish Toronto faith-followers from his past. Perhaps the difference with her to most devout or spiritually centred persons was her objectivity. She was perfectly able to set aside that part of her character, finding it enough to merely know the truth was there within, ready to guide her actions if a significant moment should call for such. There were certain customs that she did observe, but very few. One was her self-denial, but that was something she had embraced more than her teachings said was strictly necessary. Admittedly it had been implied that the further down this road one travelled, the more holy you became. Of course, even considering this, Caspa would not be so egotistical to treat her faith as a system designed to better her as an individual, and each action taken by the book another point scored next to her name. No, instead, she believed that self-improvement was just one way to show respect for and pay homage to that which she believed in, that which was greater than herself. On a more basic level, she believed it did build her endurance and stamina, which were both necessary for survival for such a weakling dog as herself in a world of - she imagined - rampaging hostile luperci and savage wild beasts. There was clearly a more spiritual aspect as well, though, for such practices as denying herself possessions that were anything more than purely functional, or clothing in any other shade than black, or killing live meat. She knew that with enough time spent living this way, and also keeping her soul and mind as clear and whole as she possibly could, there would come a time when she might transcend her current personality and become ready to follow a divine calling. This was not a privilege ascribed to everybody, though, but the waiting without certainty was just another ordeal to survive through.
Caspa rarely discussed the inner world, partly due to knowing she was not yet qualified to instruct or even inform others of her path in any detail, and partly because she had nobody to talk through such matters with anyway. But now, it seemed with their few simple comments about luck and magic, they were touching close to the surface and her ear twitched in what could have been a nervous tic or a simple reaction to a far-distant noise - it was hard to know. Strelein had an unusual take on magic, but when she thought hard about it, it seemed like he was right. Magic - what some people thought was magic - was usually just a mixture of random coincidence, suggestibility and their own desire for there to be a supernatural explanation. It was not for her to deny the existence of another world, one which souls and ideas and things that were nothing to do with physical reality came from. But this was a realm that was closed to the earthbound, and for good reason. Caspa did not think that creativity was a manifestation of spiritual power. She was all for art, artists and artisans, as a way to affect other's state of mind, provide teachings, or useful objects and functions. For simple amusement or pleasure, though, she did not believe there was any worth. Such a thing was only a distraction from the reality of suffering, which it was necessary to learn to bear. The longer you avoided distress, painting over the gaps, the worse it would be eventually. It should be everybody's desire to purge their minds and souls of any negative influence, and not to squash it down and ignore it. She accepted that few were ready to follow this, the best approach life, but perhaps some day she would to learn to teach her way in a manner that could show others the path.
"Your shiny objects would probably look beautiful even if you arranged them by flinging them up in the air and letting them fall," she finally said, her convoluted thoughts giving her voice a rather distant tone. "But I am sure you have the skill to arrange a spiral or two, even so." She could see the evidence of his craftsmanship all around her, a boudoir of talent that quite overwhelmed her eyes, which liked simple things to look upon. It was only by concentrating and narrowing them into pin-prick tunnels of black that she could manage to pick out individual works in order to admire the flair and attention to detail. She was already considering the bag she would make for him. She would have to make it strong and durable, because she rather thought matching his aesthetics would be a mountain to climb and a challenge indeed. But she could work leather, and would create something seamlessly waterproof and as well-padded as a womb to protect the alcohol she would also provide, despite his modesty. The shape of it could even fit the bottle, as they were mostly standardised in size. The hard part would be the finishing touch; the colouring and etching into the surface that most true pieces of craft were crowned with. How to sum up the fascinating tailor in one simple design would be another challenge, at least for Caspa, whose tendency to over-think and her hours spent alone thinking almost as a hobby - for she had little else - would never allow her to settle for something vague or irrelevant.
The box he gestured for her to look inside was full of still more bafflingly sparkling objects that made her brain fizz as she tried to look at the beads and trinkets with her usual intense scrutiny, but hardly knew where to start; it became easier when she let her eyes blur a little and took in the entire contents as a whole, skimming over them much more easily. "I think they will look good." Colour was another thing that daunted her, perhaps one of the reasons she dressed only ever in black. The coat was dark purple, so a bright selection of colours would easily stand out, but which? A rainbow kaleidoscope might be too much; perhaps one in particular should be focused upon. One of the main colours in Terra's coat was red, and she had no consciousness of which hues might clash and which would be harmonious, so she glanced back at the tailor with the words "It is in your hands, of course, but what do you think might be a good colour for the patterns? Do you think perhaps red?" She only then realised how grateful she was that she had come here with a purpose, and her months of skirting around the scent of Strelein had paid off with no encounters whatsoever. Until now, but they had plenty to talk about, so so far she had managed to keep herself distracted from the strange anxiety he had arisen in her before. She was a master at mind-control - but only her own, of course - so found it perfectly easy to let that disturbing memory drift away, consciousness filling once more with only coats and colours, stitches and sequins and types of leather best for constructing bottle-carriers.
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