A pair of skilled hands carried the deep purple coat upstairs from the dinning room studio. The black smudge had been painstakingly removed with a clean cotton cloth and clear water. It had taken a long time to dry, as the hotel was cold this winter and it had taken a fire to dry the wet spots from the coats exterior. It had dried spot free, though any spots remaining on the coat would have been difficult to see, especially in dim lighting, or at night. There was no way that the coat would keep the marks of the mess Caspa had accidentally made. While she had been right about the contrast, the Dauphin figured he had enough black cloth to make permanent shapes and background fixtures on their coat of glittering sequins and bead work. Once inside the room, the Dauphin shut the door, though not enough to close it fully. A small crack was visible still.

The coat was gently spread out on the nest the man and his mate called a bed. It looked strange, billowing out on a bed, flat as an open book and almost alive without someone inside of the sleeves to give it shape and motion. It was inside up, the dark cloth inside showing itself like an eager lover to the tailor. In the man's other hand was a small pouch with dark and light thread, a small packet of needles, and the decorations that he would need. He set it on the bed, on the empty space where the coat did not touch the furs and blankets. Strel would have loved to curl up under a small layer of blankets, after tossing aside all the trappings of work and duty aside, of course. He would have loved to enjoy the bed's comfort with his mate, to bask in their combined body heat and friction. He would have loved to toss away his job, his rank, everything to simply lay there and enjoy his mate's stamina and affections. But life was not always so sweet as to give one everything they longed for. How he knew it; he merely needed to be reminded of it.

With a grumble, the Dauphin moved away from his comfortable, and inviting, bed to the doorway dividing this room from the next. The doorknob was cold to his touch, and the room was cold too. A lavender pair of eyes glanced at the window where the dark deep navy curtains were pulled open to let in the morning lightly. Ice coated the outside of the panes of glass, where cold winds blew mixed with inward bound sea fog. Both sides of this peninsula were filled with salty water and the fog could be thick as smoke sometimes. The mixture did not go well together, and the panes also had a small lick of salt on them, as they were fairly close to the ocean and her cliff faces, beaches, and shores. Looking away, the man had a look of mild distaste on his countenance. Cold was bearable and easily so, though it was an unfortunate thing when he wanted to enjoy basking in sunlight. This light was white-blue to the Dauphin, and he wanted the white-gold light of the summer months where the sun shined bright.

The door was thrown open with a wrenching motion, the door hinges squeaking bloody murder as the wood clanked against the wall. Strel ignored the door's complaints as he rushed into the room in a flurry of motions. Coat hangers clattered against the shelving backs and each other as the man moved past them. Everything rustled as the breeze the man created moved over them. They were still settling into their silence when he sped past in the other direction, setting them to clinking again. The door was shut with a quick slam, and the clothes inside were still rattling in the aftermath of the man's rapid rush.

The tailor smoothly laid down a black square of discarded cloth, which would be used for decorating and accentuating the dark purple and white detailing work. Tucked under his arm was a second pouch, decidedly smaller than the first, though he picked up the larger one and pulled out a small little box from its depths. With a click, the box was opened and the silver sequins revealed themselves to his eager eyes, glittering lightly in the winter sunshine. The sequins tumbled from the box as an easy hand had tipped their container over a black scrap of cloth, the better to see the silver sequins. Shutting the box when only half the sequins had fallen out, the Dauphin pulled the small pouch from the crook of his elbow. It was tied with twine, which was pulled open with a quick movement of his practiced fingers. This pouch was full of clear and white glass and plastic beads poured onto the cloth, joining the large and small sequins in a puddle of the pure color. A second piece cloth, though decidedly larger than this, was set in a tumble upon the coat.

Sitting his lean form before the bed and on the form, the Dauphin and tailor crossed his legs beneath him and rolled up his sleeves. From the leather pouch he pulled a pair of scissors and the small packet of his precious needles. They were set before him. Though as the man reached for the marked up black cloth he remembered something. Rising, with a light groan as his knees complained mildly. He was getting old if his knees were starting to complain at all. In a drawer in his dresser, he pulled out a bottle that he had found outside of his door. It was filled with wine and was unopened. It also smelled faintly of Caspa, so the Dauphin knew that the bottle was a gift from her. She had been adamant about paying him for the coat and the price he set did not seem fair to the woman. He was sure this would not be the end of the flow of alcohol and he had yet to receive his payment. Not that he minded; he had only lined the cloth for the pockets.

Ripping open the bottle's wrappings, the man tore out the cork and spat it across the room. It clanked as it hit the closed door to the hallway, which clicked completely shut. With another groan, the man sat himself on the floor again, bottle in hand and the other keeping him stable as he settled into his position. The bottle was pressed against the bed to keep him from knocking it over in a flurry. Strel reached for the cloth and pulled it into his lap. The scissors were cold in his fingers as he branded it, like a weapon. It was his weapon, wasn't it? He could do battle with his scissors if he had to. A set of needles could be lethal too, stuck in the correct place with enough force. If the right vein was severed or punctured, death would be quick but certainly not painless as they bled from within. The Dauphin threw these macabre thoughts to the wind, the dark thoughts vapid to this day.

The scissors cut out the rough shapes, all circular to some extent with a flat end before the shape could finish its curvature. However, the sizes varied from large to small. They piled up slowly beside his thigh as the metal scissors made their snipping noises and clanked against each other dully. Eyes focused, the man finished his shearing and, with a gentle thud, set the heavy pair of scissors before him. Deft fingers pulled out a long needle from the packet and a black thread bobbin. It was a matte color, suited for discrete sewing as well as sewing dark materials and interior pockets. Tongue sticking out the side of his mouth and eyes scrunched up, Strel managed to thread the needle and pull a substantial length of thread from the thick bobbin. The scissors snapped again to split the long thread from the body. It was a matter of moments for the man to sew a hem on all the pocket cloth pieces. He had measured out the semi-ovals exactly to allow all the pockets to have a hem to keep them from fraying too much.

Once all the pieces had their hems, the man took a long gulp of the wine; it was not strong but it had a good flavor to it. It would not get him inebriated, though the bottle might give him a pleasant buzz to dull the day and the doldrums of sewing for hours. Strel gave a satisfied sigh and licked drops of wine from his muzzle as he rose with the bottle in hand. It was set on the dresser before he returned to pick up the pockets from the ground. The scissors, needle packet, and thread all followed. They were placed beside the sequins and beads. Out of his own vest pocket he pulled out a rather heavily folded rectangle of yellowed sketch paper. With careful fingers, he unfolded it and eyed the basic drawing. It was just the coat spread open with pockets marked where they needed to go. No letters were anywhere on the sketch, as the man could barely write his own name let alone anything else.

Strel pressed it flat atop the sequins as he arranged all the large pockets on the interior sides of the coat. Once they were all laid out, the man added more thread to his needle, again with eyes scrunched up and tongue jutting out. Now, he could enjoy the comfort of his bed as he was supposed to. The coat was slid into his lap, keeping a side of the coat close to him. The first pocket was hard; he had to fold it over in such a way that he had a hem inside to keep it from fraying outside. It was hard, though thankfully the coat's inner lining was detached from the outer purple material. Once he had managed to get that first pocket on, he could establish a rhythm to get the next ones on the side done. They were finished quickly, one after the other. Soon he had the second side finished. Then it was time to get the pockets for the sleeves sewn in, and they were trickier. Their shapes were different for they had a different requirement and use.

It was tedious work, though the wine helped to ease his sore eyes and his fingers. He had managed to poke himself twice, though there had been a single drop of blood before the small prick closed. The pockets were sewn on, and he could hardly complain about that accomplishment. It truly was a feat, especially for him when his mind seemed to wander more and more lately. Was it a sign of his oncoming age or was it a desire to be rebellious as when he was younger. With a heavy sigh, he fell backward on the pile of cloth and was rewarded with a light dust puff. He stared at the ceiling, stained with time and he instantly looked away to the wall. It was painted so vibrantly and the colors had not waned even though it had been quite some time since it had been painted. Such a work of art, the man could hardly be more proud of his friend, Mati. She was a true artist, unlike him. He trudged through his sewing, even though it was something he loved.

Resigned, the Dauphin rose with another grumble. Today, he was just full of noises both annoyed and stubborn. He had to work. He had to do this. As much as he wanted to fall asleep where he was, he had other things to do today. This was only part of his schedule; the rest was patrolling and doing some routine things. He flipped the coat's flaps back and laid them flat. Pulling some of the scraps of black cloth from the floor - it had been a rather long reach and he had made some wonderful noises of effort - the man ripped apart the thinly held together shapes and laid some of them in the corner of the coat. The square angle tucked nicely in the edge. It was fate. Strel sewed it in with black thread to make it seem, from a distance, that the shape was attached completely to the coat without a single stitch.

Grabbing a rather small handful of sequins, he tossed them carelessly on the area. Adjusting them slightly here and there, he began to sew the shape together. It looked like a star burst of sorts, though the shape was obviously random. The sequins were stitched into the coat with a dark purple thread, as though to make it appear they had come from the coat itself. He had even added more thread stitches for a few areas to truly make the shape seem as though it had popped out of the coat naturally. He admired his worked before reaching back toward the small pile.

Deft fingers plucked a few clear beads and set them in the nooks left in the shape. He frowned. No, they would not work. The tailor placed them in a swirl flowing from the bottom of the burst shape and out. It worked just fine, though he intermixed clear with white. Choosing another needle, Strel threaded it with a light gold color, like honeysuckle mingling with sunflower. Attaching the beads to the coat, he was careful to stitch through the thicker outer material and not all the way through the inner; he did not want to risk sewing his precious pockets closed when he had worked so hard to make them work properly.

Tying off the swirl of beads, he added a few sequins to the end to give it a more swirling shape. Then, he took only the yellow thread and pressed the needle into the material. It passed through easily, as though it were swimming in nothing but dark, murky purple water. He created curvacious drops away from the swirl's head, as though it were a flower with petals flowing away from it. The color was bright and it stood out. However, this sort of embroidery had to be tight and close together or else it would look poor. Though, perhaps he ought to experiment with looser stitches to show more of the purple underneath. That was for later. He just wanted to get this small area done. There was plenty of room for experimentation on the back side of the coat and the sleeves too.

The door suddenly clicked, and the man looked up. Lavender hued eyes met the golden eyes of the gray man. Both looked silently at each other, then Strel cracked a smile and Noss let his own lips curl at the sight of his mate. Neither had been expecting the other. Noss had not seen the Dauphin in his studio and assumed he had disappeared on one of his endless rounds of the borders. It was clearly not the case as he approached the redheaded man clad in clothes. The tailor's arms were reaching out for his lover and mate, letting them bury themselves in his thick grey pelt. Noss said nothing, and pulled the man close. Not often were they affectionate, though the moments they had were completely enjoyable.

Strel smiled into the man's pelt and then heard the pitter-patter of rainfall. and looked away confused toward the source of the sound. With a gasp, he jerked in the man's grasp as he saw the beads and sequins fall of the bed and onto the hardwood flooring. He scrambled to the edge of the bed to salvage it, though found his body pulled back by the man. There was a hungry look in his eyes that the Dauphin could hardly ignore. He shot the door a glance and was glad to find it closed. Carefully, he pulled the coat out of his lap and slid it onto the floor. Duty could wait, couldn't it? Well, wasn't this another of his duties? Was he not a mate and was it not his duty to enjoy his mate's affection? Why, yes. Yes it was.

The coat could wait a little while. There was time.