there are so many ways to wear

Caspa Al-Fateh · 05-25-2011, 05:10 PM

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She'd managed a few days with a great rend in the lining of her home-made leather coat, but this morning when she'd donned the garment and stuck her arm through the hole instead of the sleeve for the umpteenth time, Caspa decided it was time to fix the mild irritation once and for all. The afternoon was already drawing on when she finally got around to the task. Making her way to her top-floor room she pulled out her leather-sewing roll, a piece of fabric with heavy-duty needles stuck through it, wrapped around two awls, beeswax, punchers, knives and a little mallet. Just a few moments of working on the floor had her gritting her teeth, frustrated at the lack of the workbench from home. But of course, she couldn't have carried that with her. She would just have to find a replacement of some kind to work on.

Shortly, coat over one arm and tools in the other hand, she found herself yet again braving the mysterious winding hallways of her new residence. The Chien Hotel. Only going into rooms with doors open, she found mostly uninhabited bedrooms. When she reached the kitchen, she was already overwhelmed enough that when she spotted a small bottle of unopened whiskey left out on top of a cupboard, she lifted it as she passed and spent a few more rooms fortifying her search with fiery swallows. Eventually the braid-headed girl nosed through a door-crack and spotted a cosy reception room, armchairs and a coffee table. She supposed it would have to do, and nestling her knees into a fire-side rug, spread out her tools on the low table, taking a further small swig before putting the quarter-empty bottle firmly aside and getting to work on the repair. There would not be long before dark, and she didn't really know about candles.

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Strelein von Rosnete · 05-26-2011, 02:06 AM

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300+
screw ipods and lack of spellcheck :/

The door was locked behind him as the redheaded man sat at his table. The fading light of day pouring into his room from the glass window, creating squares of dusty light on the edge of the large wooden table, and on the back wall. Strel ignored the brightness in his eyes, focusing solely on the rather small cloth in his hands. The needle he held was dwarfed by his fingers and he still worked with such a deftness and grace, one would mistake his stitches for a small, elegant lady. He finished his stitching and knotted the thread. A quick snip with his teeth and he had a cloth band in his grasp. Promptly, he unhooked the three pairs of clothing hooks and attached the embroidered band around his wrist. Finally he saw the sun setting, and stretched. It was time for a drink and a romp, if Noss was home yet, of course.

Strel picked up his bangle off the nail near the door, jamming it onto his other wrist. It got in the way more often than note, so it was easier to just keep the darn thing off in his studio. The moment he had left the studio/dining room, did the redheaded man pause with his cord door tie in his hands. Something clanked in the kitchen, and he did not recognize the scent. Tying quickly, the man slipped into the kitchen and found... No one. Strel furrowed his brow, scratching at the back of his head, disturbing the loose horse tail he had put his long hair into. "Who wa-" he began, idly staring out he kitchen door. But he was interrupted by sounds from the parlor. Who was it?

Slipping back into the hall and the to the parlor door, the tailor peeked in and saw someone plopped down by the coffee table, working on something in the fading light. "What are you doing? It's getting dark," he said plainly, clearly rolling his eyes mentally. Only if you wanted to lose your eyesight did you work in dim illumination.

Caspa Al-Fateh · 05-26-2011, 06:11 AM

your words are pretties enough already!

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When she'd driven the awl through a few times, she realised it was going to be a slower job than she'd planned. The leather had hardened from constant wear, and perhaps she should be oiling it first. But she'd made some stitches already, so it was too late now. Each one seemed a little harder, but she calmed her mind, counting breaths and remembering Alae and that peaceful sunset. Her patience was put sorely to the test when she looked up and realised dusk had come over the room like a curtain drawn closed and it was all but impossible to see where she was stabbing her needle.

She bent closely over the leather, forgetting her childhood lessons of eyesight preservation and deciding on a spot, drove the awl down hard. It skidded on the leather so she lifted herself onto her knees and drove down again. This time it pierced both hems and stuck fast upright in the table, but Caspa wasn't looking at this strange phenomenon, she was half-looking over her shoulder at the red-haired wolf who stood with poise in the entrance, watching her. She had never seen him before, but he was clearly an entrenched resident, vividly coloured, handsome, creamy-furred and looking at Caspa with what she imagined to be cool evaluation.

The braided mongrel gave an impatient grunt, directed at herself and the dim lighting, turning her attention to the awl and with a small amount of horror beginning to work it free of the table's now pock-marked wood. "I am nailing my jacket to this item of your furniture," she answered candidly, but her eyes were remorseful and the self-deprecation evident. She was caught out in her lie by the rolls of sinew-thread and other tools, so hopefully he wouldn't take her literally, although it was in fact what she had just done. The offending point came free and she laid it down safely. "I was about to stop the vandalism now anyway, please don't concern yourself." She swept her stuff into a bundle and stood up, seizing the whiskey as a final flourish. These dusty halls were vastly improved by a swig or two of the amber fluid. She supposed she'd be heading off alone to her room again, but this fellow with his suave voice and his adornments seemed interesting and she wondered how long her admittedly succinct conversational skills would be able to hold him.

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Strelein von Rosnete · 06-02-2011, 10:23 PM

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300+
liesssssssss

Oh, was that all she was doing? The redheaded man nodded as though he fully understand. The tools arrayed on the table were definitely not for his trade; he was familiar with them but not practiced in them at all. They were big and bulky compared to the tools of his trade. Or were his things just too delicate in comparison? Maybe it was his imagination. Or perhaps there was just no way to compare the two of them.

Strel covered his grin with a hand, as subtly as he could, as he watched the woman try to pull the tool out of the wooden table. Well, at least he never had a problem trying to pull needles out of his dining table. Though he did have a problem when he first settled here; he had managed to get a needle stuck in the plaster wall, and probably deep into the wood - the needle had been a huge, thick burlap needle. Now he just used it a means to put bobbins on the wall while he used them. Thankfully it had been the wall with the window. Still, it had been more practical to use a very thin pole he had found. Point was, his tools were not like her's.

"Oh, no worries. Take your time pulling that thing from your material," he jibed, shrugging his shoulders. He sauntered into the room while the woman's back was turned, though she managed to pull her stuff together, take a drink, and then rise to face him before he could get to the couch. Sighing, he draped himself on the couch regardless, arm over the back and the other resting beside him. "Since it's a communal room, I'm sure no one will care if you leave holes in the old furniture. By all means, put some in the walls; we can hide treasure in the gaping holes." Strelein eyed the bottle she had taken a drink from. "What's that?"

Caspa Al-Fateh · 06-05-2011, 09:29 AM

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Her attention on keeping her stuff from falling out of her arms, picked up as it had been in rather a haphazard bundle, she didn't look at him as he spoke, alleviating her guilt for nailing the hole in the table. That was kind of him, she thought. He was not obliged to put a newcoming outsider at her ease. When she did look up, she found the other luperci draped casually on the couch, his vivid colours hardly muted by the failing near-sunset light, and asking her about the whisky. Even though she'd taken a few swigs already, it wasn't quite enough to remove all self-consciousness. He seemed easy and relaxed in his manner, and she wanted to show the same confidence, for one reason or another, wanting to make an impression on him. She looked down at the bottle as if checking its label, though she didn't need to, then raised her dark eyes up again with a short "Whisky." Pinning her tool roll to her side with a long-feathered elbow, she proffered the bottle in her free hand, for him to take if he wished. "What's your name? And... we have treasure?" she added on a surprised note.

Strelein von Rosnete · 06-19-2011, 03:58 PM

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I am rather awful at timely responses when my sleeping patterns get thrown off :/ so I'm sorry Dx

"Whiskey, eh?" he mimicked, eying the bottle with interest. He was partial to darker drinks, but his favorite was rum. Maybe it was just because he had first drunk with a pirate and that was what pirates drink. But vodka was not far behind, and that too came from the same man who introduced the drinking. And wine was nice now and then, especially the fruitier bouquets; the dry stuff was a little too dry for him. But for the redhead, it was always a mixed bag with wine as he could not read. Strel had learned to read very few things. He knew his name, the names of several alcoholic drinks, tools of his trade, and other small things, though the differences between wines was still complicated.

He took the drink from her hand, nodding at her in thanks as he sniffed at the bottle. It was nice, strong, and so he approved. Strel took a quick drink and then shook his head in satisfaction. "Good stuff. Good stuff." He offered the bottle back to the woman, knowing better than to hog the entire thing. "I'm Strel, I'm the resident tailor," he said, introducing himself. He had almost said "fairy" instead of tailor, though that seemed rather inappropriate for a meeting. Only a lot.

Strel rolled his eyes at the woman, grinning at her. "I dunno, we should find out. I meant it kind of in the more not literal sense."

Caspa Al-Fateh · 06-25-2011, 05:28 AM

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Strel was a tailor. It was the first sign she'd had that this place might still retain some of the original grandeur its name implied. Her heart sank when he explained he was not being literal, purely because she tended not to understand complicated metaphors and so forth and knew this by experience, but at least, she thought, this would be a chance to practice her comprehension. "I would have been more surprised if it had been true," she answered drily passing her eye over the dusty room, "Still, in truth I suppose a pack's best treasure is in its members." She meant well, meant to imply he seemed like a worthy sort with his tailoring skills and amiable nature, but it left a gap open for her to introduce herself and she had no good appellation to offer. In the end, she settled for "I'm Caspa... newcomer." And then swigged rather violently at the whisky bottle, embarrassed at her lack of title or role.

Strelein von Rosnete · 06-25-2011, 03:48 PM

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000+
<3

The redhead winced at her first comment, though it was all in good, alcohol tainted, fun. "Surprised if we had treasure? Now that hurts. Clearly you've never looked into my closet or into my studio yet." It was a trove of nothing but clothes, cloth, and accessories. Though, honestly, it was nothing but a treasure to him. Caspa might not agree with it, but it was a treasure none the less. That and she probably did not see that one dresser drawer of his filled with bottles of booze found in Halifax and Lunenburg. And even a bottle of luperci design. That was definitely a treasure in this time now, with humans no longer producing.. anything.

But Strel did roll his eyes at the woman. It was rather corny, to say the least. And plenty of the members were no treasures. He had heard of one of them causing problems for others in the pack and out, but that was not worth mentioning. "Treasures? Sure. Some of us." He was rather wistful about it, too. He knew only about half, maybe, and the rest he heard of, knew their names vaguely, but had no face to them. "Newcomer? Never would have guessed," he quipped sarcastically, smiling at the new woman as she took a large drink from the bottle. "Don't hog that. Gimme some. Or if you'd rather I provide my own, we can go up to my room and grab one from my stocks." It would have been seen as a flirtation and an obvious invitation to his bed, but there would be no bed warming here. Not by Caspa at least.

Caspa Al-Fateh · 06-26-2011, 06:58 PM

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A pack's treasure might be in its members, but Caspa's opinion of treasure leaned more towards practical solidity. Walls, land, food, tools, she thought these kinds of things worthy. Looking at Strel, she could not begin to imagine the rest of his wardrobe - the clothes he wore were foreign looking to her and yet she could appreciate their style. Perhaps, they were not entirely practical, but when they looked so beautiful, she supposed there was no need. He was a creature she could hardly dare to imagine being. She imagined he dressed simply according to his taste, but her own garb was rigorously simple. She did not allow herself any small luxury, even to wear a garment that was not entirely necessary. The pendant was a badge of belief, the coat for warmth, and she owned no other clothes. They were like a spider and a butterfly, she thought, in superficial terms at least. Her long nose crinkled at the strange thought, and at the myriad of ways the analogy didn't hold up. Not least as she was unlikely to catch him in any web any time soon, with her unimpressive lack of couture and her plain-severe face, that scowled back at her out of any mirror she came across. It was her attention that was caught, and when he asked her up to his room, the self-possessed girl was taken aback, the butterfly no longer in the shape of the wolf in front of her but fluttering in her stomach. She was utterly determined not to show it. How ridiculous, she barely knew him. It had simply been too long since she'd spent time with others, she was nervous about her lack of social graces, and that was all. "I would be delighted to see, and drink, your treasures." Her answer was calm, and she pressed the bottle back into his hand with confidence before leading towards the door, "Here, have one for the road... well, the staircase, at least." She assumed that 'up' meant climbing that sweeping stairwell, which handily also led to her own eventual destination, so neither of them would be out of their way by much.

Strelein von Rosnete · 06-26-2011, 10:14 PM

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300+
I hope you don't mind the light pp.
the mural thread if you were interested

Strel had no idea what he had done, though he knew quite well how suggestive his suggestion had been in the first place. But he shrugged it off; the woman would figure it out soon enough. Besides, his room was a treasure trove besides. The booze was just the tip of the iceberg, and the clothes merely the bulk beneath the sea. But the mural painted on his walls was what sunk the Titanic. Mati had painted it for him so long ago, a marvel of post human canine talent. It was nothing short of a work of art and he was proud to have it in his room, decorating his walls in a style fitting him. It was bright, and vibrant, and it was the crowning jewel. And fortunately, the heart of the ocean was not going to be sinking any time soon.

Rising, the tailor smiled at the woman as he took the offered bottle from her hand. Taking a drink of it, he led her to the lobby stairs that would take them upstairs. They passed by the doors to his studio, the former dining room. "That's my studio. If you ever need something, and it's day, I'm usually in there." He jutted his bangled hand at the doors, ignoring it as it was shut and tied with rope. He really would need to ask someone who could read and write to get him a hanging notice that said off limits.

The man lead the way to his room, ignoring the creaking of the old floorboards beneath his feet. The door gave way under his hand and a light nudge, and the two of them were inside his brightly lit room. The curtains of winter, heavy and dark, were changed up to brighter, sheer yellow ones to let in more sunlight. Most of it fell on the wall painted vividly. Bee lining for the dresser, the redheaded man placed the drink atop, and then roughly pulled open the bottom drawer. "Alright, there we go. Take a look, see what treasures I've got. Mostly vodka, some Caribbean rum, got it traded special. Uhm.." Strel twisted a bottle around. "I think this is whiskey?" It said so on the label, but he was not terribly sure.

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