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Isabella’s head tilted at the cheetafaun’s explaination. “...someone just wisked the smell away? Convenient.” Really, it was. Ever try to get skunk musk off? Bad odors had a way of lingering forever, sometimes.

“Yes. I am in need of clothes. A hooded robe, loose. And a tabard to wear with it... both need to be loose. And made from this:” Isabella held up the scraps of cloth she carried, offering them toward the shopkeeper as she had their first meeting. Black velvet. Silk. Luxurious in its softness.

“Trim it with silver. Embroider magic looking runes. They do not need to be real, but they should be elaborate. It.... it is about appearances. I just need to maintain a certain look. I need to look like what people expect of a dark sorceress for hire.”

Outside, Lucky, the well traveled and hard used donkey, offered a glance toward the next customer. It stomped a foot twice, then quickly returned to nibbling at the grass outside the shop.

It was the foot stomp that caught Isabella’s attention. Lucky was a good mount. Jaded by experience perhaps, but loyal. She had never taught the animal to warn of new arrivals... it was just something it did.

Isabella cocked her head to the side slightly, listening even before the new arrival to the shop announced themselves. She focused on Lady Forest again. “Will you be able to make the ‘duds’ as you call them?”

"Aye, and after all m'effort t' 'andle it..."

The cheetahfaun takes out a spare sheet of parchment and a fine piece of charcoal. As Isabella dictates, the shopkeep makes notes. She looks up only when the velvet is offered, and her clawed fingers reach out with care to handle the fabric.

"Ayup, I think m'usband has somethin'... like that?"

Lauren is no longer looking to Isabella. Her eyes have, in seconds, jerked to the woman's side to eyeball Stubbs. The twinkle of the door enchantment doesn't sound so lovely to her own ears.

Thank goodness the man voices his attentions--that immediately serves to put Lauren at ease. She doesn't exactly appreciate soldiers coming in anymore--even foreign ones.

"...uh. Right! Aye, well, I don't make the clothes," she remembers to carry on her conversation. "Tha' falls t' m'usband--"

"You called, dear?"

The shopkeep jerks her shoulders in surprise as her other half makes his presense known behind her, from that wee hallway leading to the back rooms.


Sir Forest is a man in his late thirties who looks like life has knocked him around a deal, but he still came out the better for it.

Lean in frame and no longer able of taking anyone in a physical fight, he has a noticeable favoritism to his left leg, offset by a heavy oak cane.

But he still looks impeccable despite physical failings, with red hair neatly cut; and a green and copper vest & tunic with black breeches that one might kill for. All lovingly crafted, fitted, and sewn. It's safe to say he made those fancy duds right in the shop.


"Good morning to you both," the man greets Isabella and Stubbs. His voice is soft and warm. "I take it I have my work cut out for me?"

Lauren playfully whaps the notes she took against Draconus' chest for his perusal and nods to Isabella. "This lady's first up, Drac'. Got quite a set t' put yer skills t' th' test."

Her attention returns to Stubbs: "And wha' might need fixin', sir?"

The look the woman behind the counter gave him was not lost on the mercenary, and part of him regretted showing up in full gear.

'Good job Stubbs... way to look imposing...' he thought to himself. He KNEW he shoulda left his weapons in his room... now he no doubt looked like a barbarian.

The appearance of the woman's husband surprised him, the man looked like he had gone around the world and come back again. But his clothes showed that he lived a comfortable lifestyle, not surprising considering the state of the store itself. It had a homely feeling to it, reminding the merc of the Mom and Pop stores back in New York. If it wasn't for the woman's obvious, though understandable, weariness of him, he'd probably feel quite comfortable.

Plus the smell of pastries.... those were still making him hungry....

As he approached the counter, reaching into his bag to produce his ruined clothes, he noticed the other customer glance at him as well. And although he tried his best to not make it look like he was eyeing her up, he found the woman to be quite fascinating. No doubt this was the owner of the donkey, and if his appearance told the medic anything, is that this woman had been around the bend quite a few times. She was attractive as well, distractingly so even... The merc immediately tore his eyes away, he hoped she didn't notice.

What he also noticed, as he got to the counter, was how the customer smelled... She smelled like a graveyard. Automatically, his thoughts brought him to his father's funeral, and all the lovely memories that brought up... He quickly buried the thoughts.

He turned to the owner behind the counter, laid his ruined clothes on the counter, and tried his best to hide his New York accent... Then again, his voice was somewhat muffled by his gas mask.

"Good Morning to you. I just need a patch job on this set... I uhh... had a run in with a dagger. I-I washed the blood out though! So... that's not an issue!"

'Crap... real smooth Doc... this is what happens when you get nervous around a pretty woman.' he once again thought to himself.

Isabella looked over the cheetahfaun’s husband. He seemed the summary of life as an adventurer, and the aftermath it brought. She considered herself a moment, wondering if she too would find herself the same one day... or if another fate awaited her. Not all those that wander came home again, after all.

From the way Lady Forest spoke, it seemed he would be the one dealing with her now, and she shifted a few steps in his direction, allowing the mercenary more room to speak to the Lady of the shop.

“Salutations. My name is Isabella... I was explaining to your wife I require replacement robes... well, a hooded robe and tabard combination.”

She offered the same shreds of fabric to him that she had already presented to Lauren.

“It needs to be something... luxurious. Something that befits a dark sorceress. People have expectations. I cannot disappoint.” She smiled slightly.

The smile was more because of the mercenary. She had noticed his... attention to her. She always did, when people looked. It served her well... sometimes a pretty smile could wreak more damage than the deadliest of spells. But the smile came from the brief shift in his body language. Her unique scent tended to do that. It brought unpleasant memories... Isabella wondered if he would have been so interested a couple days ago? People so often missed the key point that the bad came with the good.

Everything has a price.

As Stubbs approaches the counter, the pastries come into view... in the employees only office.

Oh, what a tease!

"Tore up yer clothes, eh? Tha's simple enough," the shopkeep notes. She leans over the counter a bit to eye him, making sure that it isn't the clothes he's currently wearing--just in case she had missed the first time.

"If ya'd like, I d' 'ave fresh sets in stock, too," she adds like a dutiful merchant, "unless yer fond o' your current ones."

Meanwhile Draconus leads the lady down the hallway to his workspace.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Isabella," Draconus greets her in kind. "I am Sir Draconus Forest--word that however you like." He reviews the details Lauren thrust upon him, confirming what his new customer would like to own.

He smiles brightly to himself. "Well, this is certainly do-able." His free hand reaches over to take the cloth. Although it is of no consequence, Isabella may get to catch sight of the wooden prosthetic that makes up his right index finger, alongside an old burn at the center of the palm. He holds the cloth up for inspection as he limps into the room at the end of the hall.

Spacious and well lit by large backyard windows and sconces, the work room houses crates of well-labeled fabrics, mannequins half-dressed...

And the tailor's pride & joy, besides his children. A large oak and copper work table, rounded, and enlaid in dragons and roses. It already has a piece laid out--a simple crimson vest with pewter buttons.

"I have plenty of velvet and silk fabrics from the needs of my other clientele, hopefully suitable for the need to put on airs."

And he doesn't mean the crypt smell finally filling his nose!

Try as he might, Stubbs couldn't stop his eyes from glancing at a certain area of Isabella as she walked away with the shopkeeper's husband.

'Lordy lordy, it hasn't been THAT long has it? I usually have better self-control than this.' he thought to himself.

He regarded the shopkeeper.

"I appreciate the offer, but unfortunately I need my clothes to stick out a bit. Plus, as you can see... the pattern is a bit unique."

He indicated the numerous crosses that adorned his clothes and armor, as well as the black and white camouflage pattern. And while the clothes on the counter didn't exactly look it thanks to how torn up they were (his attempt at washing all the blood out the other day didn't exactly help the damage), they were an exact copy of what he was currently wearing.

"Believe it or not... I'm actually a Doctor, so I need my clothes to announce it. Its kinda my fault for not thinking of bringing more than two sets." He said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassed. It only now occurred to the mercenary that the first aid symbol probably wasn't even common in this world....

The sight of the pastries in the employees only office almost brought a tear to the merc's eye... but he tried his best to control his hunger.

Isabella quietly followed the tailor,, unaware of the mercenary’s wandering eye. Not that she would have minded, even if she had... people tended to look. She attributed it partly to the practiced sashay of her hips as she walked... but mostly to the leather pants. Everybody looks good from behind in leather pants. Truth be told, it was also a reason why she missed her sorceress robes; It made it easier to go unnoticed.

“Well, If it’s my choice, Sir Forest it is... it seems only fitting to use one’s title when addressing them.”

She made no mention of the tailor’s... physical peculiarities when to took the cloth. Isabella wasn’t exactly in a place to judge or comment when it came to... adventure related differences.

Following her host into the workroom, she took a moment to look around the room at the various things left out.

“Oh... Did I mention pockets? Hidden pockets are most always useful. Or those with openings that also let you reach through to the garment a layer below?”

She tapped one of the pockets on her thigh... though it jingles slightly with coin as she does, the gesture was meant solely to illustrate about where she meant to reach.

The shopkeep holds up the ruined set to inspect them.

"Huh," she huffs, more to herself than him. "I didn't know followers o' Xelrol were so...pronounced. Wha's yer b'ing a doctor got t' d' wit' th' Sword?"

Clearly there's a cultural difference at work behind the significance of the crosses, but the shopkeep asks the question out of genuine curiosity.

The tailor grabs a pair of light, backed chairs from a small table against one wall. He accidentally crinkles the notes in the process.

"We can construct both types, if you would like?"

Draconus sets the seats up at his work table as he thinks out loud. A hand sweeps invitingly to one chair, then in the same swoop, slides the vest to the side so there's space for the planning of Isabella's new piece.

Automatically the mention of some random deity already had Stubbs confused. It was no surprise of course, having only arrived in this world a few days ago he hadn't been able to look up too much of the local customs... including deities or faith. He'll just have to play it by ear evidently.

"Xelrol? Oh, you'll have to excuse me ma'am... I'm not from around here. I'm from a rather... far away land..." he said, rather offhandedly. He tried to think of the best way of explaining his profession.

"I am what we call a Combat Medic. I'm capable of both fighting and healing. The crosses," He indicated the symbols all over his uniform again, "are called first aid symbols where I come. They're a universal sign of healing. Its why I need to stick out more... so soldiers know where to find me and get healed if they're injured. And if I run into the enemy..."

He indicated the weapons on his back... the ones he SHOULD have left in his room. Especially the Super Nailgun, the thing was bulky enough on a battlefield... why he brought it with him on a casual day could only be chalked up to old habits.

"... I can handle myself. Its why I took the job that landed my clothes in such a sorry state. Sorry if I caused you any confusion, I haven't exactly been here long enough to learn the culture."

Isabella watched him retrieve the chairs. She sits when invited, and raises an eyebrow at the casual dismissal of the vest.

“Yes, well, that was why I brought both types up. Just because I have to look a certain part doesn’t mean I can make things a bit functional...” Her posture in the chair is excellent at first. Then it dawns on her that she doesn’t the act. Her body relaxes, and she slouches down.

“I’ll be honest... I’m not terribly picky... I figure you are the tailor.... and know what does or does not work. I’m fine with leaving you as much creative freedom as possible. Aside from the guidelines I’ve offered, I’m fairly open to suggestions.”

The shopkeep listens to Stubb's explanation; and finding it satisfactory, she just grins.

"So yer an off-worlder," she notes, nonplussed by her own observation. "Well, Mister Medic, I'm not unfamiliar wit' th' concept o' fightin' 'ealers." She gives the tattered outfit on the counter a tap. "So we can fix these up, easily enough. Should take about a couple day? Two at most? He's caught up with work."

Barring Isabella's robes, of course.

Draconus starts roughly sketching as she talks, nodding along to show he's paying attention. The paper is filled with a rough female figure, then the sketching of the primary robes. They run down past the calves, just shy of the ankles.

"I appreciate the freedom, but I can not go sticking Phoenix plumes onto it for the sake of creative liberties," he jokes as he then sketches out the tabard on top. It doesn't run quite as far as the robes, stopping past the knee. Pockets on both sides, and additional pockets on the robes.

The hood is sketched off to the side too; one version is wide and theatrical for dramatic effect, while the other follows the head and neck closely.

Stubbs let out a sigh of relief. It was a small surprise when she used the term "Off-worlder" to describe him, but it proved he had nothing to fear. He'd have to look more into that particular topic later though... Are there more people like him running around this place?

"Oh good... Let's just say not everyone likes the concept. One location I went to tried to burn me at the stake." he joked, chuckling a bit. That... that had not been a fun week. As it turns out, many people linked "technology" with "witchcraft"...
Who knew?

He went into thought for a moment... he'd have to be careful the next two days. Wouldn't want to ruin his current outfit.

'Right, no more melee combat. Next yutz to come at me is getting a face full of buckshot.'

"Two days is fine. I'm not particularly picky on how well it looks either. What will the price be? Also do I pay up front or on pickup? Either is fine of course."

“I suppose... plus I’d rather not have to come see you again, should the feather ignite... it’s... terribly inconvenient replacing these things.” She waves her hand toward the table, and the shreds of her last robe set.

She watches Sir Forest sketch, leaning in toward the table for a better view. “...Would you be able to extend them? I don’t mind the material touching the ground... prefer it even... makes things more mysterious when people cannot see my feet.”

She taps the sketch of the hood. The large, dramatic one. “This one, please... the hood is completely for effect... I rarely wear the robes outside of town anyway... they are... difficult to manage in combat or exploration.”

The shopkeep digs out another fresh sheet while Stubbs recounts his tale.

"'Ow terribly dreadful. Just keep yer weapons cooled while yer here." As in the shop, or town...?

"Should only b' four silver, relatively simply if tedious stitch work. Ya can pay on pickup." She writes down the amount, the work being performed, and the estimated time it will take. Then she draws out a line at the bottom and turns it to him.

"If it all looks agreeable, sign there." Lauren sets the quill in the inkwell and slides it over. "Keep it an' present it on th' day ya come in. I may not b' th' one workin' th' counter."

Draconus extends the robes and tabard to both be floor length, and then he lightly scribbles out the lesser hood. "Done and done. You will be amazing hapless royals in no time," the tailor lightly jokes.

He glances over at the notes and spots something about arcane symbols-- Noted from previous visit, as his wife wrote it. Then his golden gaze shifts to the cloth scrap for a clue.

"And you wanted arcane characters inscribed to it as well, yes?" he asks Isabella for a conformation.

Stubbs carefully read over the sheet, he learned long ago to always read over a contract in full before signing. He still missed that kidney... and that chunk of his liver... Who knew BLU had such a bizarre contract?

"It all looks perfectly acceptable to me ma'am." He signed the document with a neat flourish, then pockets the paper.

"Well I'll be back then. You don't mind if I browse a bit though? Oh, before I forget..."

He reached into his pack and pulled out a business card. It read: "Dr. Stubbs, Professional Mercenary and Medical Provider" as well as numerous ways to contact the merc, including magical ways.

"Here. Don't hesitate to contact me if you need any Medical assistance. House calls are free. Guaranteed arrival in under a day."

It was standard procedure to hand out the cards, even if it went in the trash SOMEONE is gonna find it.

Salvo Dal was walking along a main concourse, the hustle and bustle of Glenveil mostly ignored within his brisk stride.

He too was mostly ignored except for those that above his eyes did look.

After all, he seemed the average shaved man, short shorn auburn hair, eyes a dull green. His stomach was not pronounced, yet still firm and beer-fed. Thick flabby arms marched along with the step of legs.

Who now would notice a man wearing a rough cotton vest and well worn hempen trousers, patched here and there with wineskin and fishing rope? Yes, Salvo Dal looked perfectly normal.
Although there was the orb... squarely within a hole in his forehead, set above determined eyes, there whirled and danced a polychromatic blob of gas, a little chameleon sun that changed from red to rainbow to giraffe spot in no immediately perceivable pattern.

"I have to have to find a sewer and some silk. Wander here wander there, a gift to get a garb to gather and a snack to store. This town, this road this place oh what a bore! Let Festus come and the two unite. Let the bri-"

Salvo was torn from his manic little jolly song by the guffaw of a beggar. Sitting crossed legged, pan of coins balanced upon one knee, the geriatric man studied him amusedly. Might as well ask him, Salvo thought as he tossed a few golden nuggets into the bowl.

"Ho, oh wise road rat, can you direct me to the tailor of this town, the best constructor of clothing?"

It took some time for Salvo to locate the street described by the mendicant. Finally he found himself in front of a two storey building, garbed in tree green all over. The heavy door stood open.
This is it, Salvo thought.

Jabbing his thumbs into his belt, taking a good breath and arching his back he shouted: "Hullo, ye tailor and greetings! Salvo I am and this an emergency be! Can you aid me in a quick fashion, for not long now, a week I say, to a great cosmic event I must be under way!"

Pigeons flew from roofs, a cat skulked back into the shadows and Salvo, Salvo waited under the sky and upon the street, carts he had not seen swerving around him, irate whip-wielders cursing his madness.