01-13-2010, 10:23 PM
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sorry for the inconvenience, Alaine D:
Were the redhead in any form of sensibility, he would have pouted at the woman and told her off for laughing at his pain. He would reprimand her, sniffling at in the meanwhile. What a little pup this man was whenever something pierced his flesh or happened to leave a light cut beneath the layer of thick winter fur. Strelein was thankful that he had taken up sewing instead of anything particularly dangerous. Like cliff diving, or carpentry, or cooking. One dealt with heights, which he was afraid of. One dealt with heavy, thumb-hurting objects. And one dealt mostly with fire and knives. It seemed all the things that sound fun and exciting were nothing but a maelstrom of danger for the lanky male. All of those he could not do anyway; his inability to swim well in the ocean made the first hard; his inability to constantly hammer or saw without gaining aching limbs and deep splinters made the second hard; fire and the overall heat of it, while pleasant, was a constant threat for burns. Strel was useful in only a few things, but at least he could do them.
"But I am no jackrabbit, Madam," he countered, grinning lopsidedly at her. His fingers trembled as the woman brought them away from the wound, not so very grave as it seemed. She did not react in terror-filled shock, though she did seem entertained by the rather large amount of caterwauling he was doing. Alaine seemed experience in this enough to give him a smile to help reassure him, and reassured he was. There seemed to be confidence in her face and her motions, though where she got such a thing he did not know. Strelein cocked his head at the new woman, watching her facial expressions with mild interest. "Why would they? Your first name is pretty enough to let us poor folk forget about the last one. Besides, winter is horribly cold," he added, knowing full well how blatantly obvious it was that in the winter months, it was far chillier than the summer.
At the sound of the fabric ripping, Strel winced. The garment had been old, he had seen, but the treatment was rather harsh. Sure it was dirty, but that was no reason to simply rip it into strands! "Now why would you do that?" he cried, eyes widening in shock at her. There were plenty of useless scraps of cloth on the table, but he supposed he had not mentioned it to her so she would not have known. He huffed, mimicking her as he crossed his arms like a child denied of a treat.
"Oh yes, I sew. Those aren't some voodoo needles in my oh so dainty foot." Strel sighed, hoping that the needles could be washed of blood. It had not been terribly hard to find the packet of them, but he was not sure how easy it would be to find more if these were ruined completely. "See I was making this gift for a friend of mine, new friend. And I wanted to give him a gift for the - OW!" he cried out, having not noticed her really getting ready to yank out one of the cursed metallic needles. He hissed out the air that remained in his lungs, shaking his head slightly. "Please tell me that was all of them," he forced his upper lip to quiver at his words, a dramatic expression with no real matching emotion to go with it.
sorry for the inconvenience, Alaine D:
Were the redhead in any form of sensibility, he would have pouted at the woman and told her off for laughing at his pain. He would reprimand her, sniffling at in the meanwhile. What a little pup this man was whenever something pierced his flesh or happened to leave a light cut beneath the layer of thick winter fur. Strelein was thankful that he had taken up sewing instead of anything particularly dangerous. Like cliff diving, or carpentry, or cooking. One dealt with heights, which he was afraid of. One dealt with heavy, thumb-hurting objects. And one dealt mostly with fire and knives. It seemed all the things that sound fun and exciting were nothing but a maelstrom of danger for the lanky male. All of those he could not do anyway; his inability to swim well in the ocean made the first hard; his inability to constantly hammer or saw without gaining aching limbs and deep splinters made the second hard; fire and the overall heat of it, while pleasant, was a constant threat for burns. Strel was useful in only a few things, but at least he could do them.
"But I am no jackrabbit, Madam," he countered, grinning lopsidedly at her. His fingers trembled as the woman brought them away from the wound, not so very grave as it seemed. She did not react in terror-filled shock, though she did seem entertained by the rather large amount of caterwauling he was doing. Alaine seemed experience in this enough to give him a smile to help reassure him, and reassured he was. There seemed to be confidence in her face and her motions, though where she got such a thing he did not know. Strelein cocked his head at the new woman, watching her facial expressions with mild interest. "Why would they? Your first name is pretty enough to let us poor folk forget about the last one. Besides, winter is horribly cold," he added, knowing full well how blatantly obvious it was that in the winter months, it was far chillier than the summer.
At the sound of the fabric ripping, Strel winced. The garment had been old, he had seen, but the treatment was rather harsh. Sure it was dirty, but that was no reason to simply rip it into strands! "Now why would you do that?" he cried, eyes widening in shock at her. There were plenty of useless scraps of cloth on the table, but he supposed he had not mentioned it to her so she would not have known. He huffed, mimicking her as he crossed his arms like a child denied of a treat.
"Oh yes, I sew. Those aren't some voodoo needles in my oh so dainty foot." Strel sighed, hoping that the needles could be washed of blood. It had not been terribly hard to find the packet of them, but he was not sure how easy it would be to find more if these were ruined completely. "See I was making this gift for a friend of mine, new friend. And I wanted to give him a gift for the - OW!" he cried out, having not noticed her really getting ready to yank out one of the cursed metallic needles. He hissed out the air that remained in his lungs, shaking his head slightly. "Please tell me that was all of them," he forced his upper lip to quiver at his words, a dramatic expression with no real matching emotion to go with it.