01-10-2010, 01:06 AM
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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.
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.