Out of Character: this stems from this thread! This is open to all, but read through that thread first. Thanks! 
It's early morning in Glenveil, Lorlexia, just barely past seven-thirty--the river born city is coming alive under the warm rays of early summer. In its eastern district in particular, on a certain wide street, a cluster of homes forming a single estate are jump starting their day.
One building of particular note is painted green as a tundra woodland. It was once a humble home, with a living space downstairs and a loft bedroom up.
Its thick oak door is wide open, and its large windows laid bare for all to see--mannequins sit in them, dressed in lively clothes of all makes and colors. Just beyond them are shelves full of every day items.
This is Out of the Forests Shoppe - General Goods and Tailor, and from 7:30 in the morning to 6 in the evening, it's open for business to everyone!
It's early morning in Glenveil, Lorlexia, just barely past seven-thirty--the river born city is coming alive under the warm rays of early summer. In its eastern district in particular, on a certain wide street, a cluster of homes forming a single estate are jump starting their day.
One building of particular note is painted green as a tundra woodland. It was once a humble home, with a living space downstairs and a loft bedroom up.
Its thick oak door is wide open, and its large windows laid bare for all to see--mannequins sit in them, dressed in lively clothes of all makes and colors. Just beyond them are shelves full of every day items.
This is Out of the Forests Shoppe - General Goods and Tailor, and from 7:30 in the morning to 6 in the evening, it's open for business to everyone!
The smell came first. It always did, announcing her presence. Well, not always, but certainly every time she returned from an... adventure. The unpleasant odor of death, and decay. It not only clung to her, it led her by about a dozen feet, like an invisible aura. More, if one had a keen nose.
At least it was early, and the section of town was not particularly busy... that was really the most annoying thing about her affliction. The less than favorable reactions to the smell... once she made the mistake of entering a town around midday. The heat made it so much worse. Six people in that crowd vomited. And a dog. A personal best.
She rode down the road on a donkey. Horses didn’t take well to her. Never did. Never would. Impossible to ride. They were the smart ones, judging by the state of the stocky beast of burden. It was beyond bedraggled looking. It’s body was a patchwork of scar tissue. But it was something beyond that. Something intangible. It was the way the creature walked. The way it carried itself and it’s rider. This was an animal that had seen some shit.
As the two traveled the road, the rider studied the buildings. After a moment, she slowly steered the animal from the road toward one of the houses. The green one. The donkey slowed to a stop out front, and it’s rider dismounted.
Almost as soon as she landed, the figure fell against her mount in a fit of racking coughs. They sounded wet, and unhealthy. It only lasted a moment, and she righted herself, a hand rising to wipe her mouth. She casually shook it to her side, flinging a few droplets of black ichor onto the ground.
She rummaged in a saddlebag, and pulled out a crumpled ball of black fabric. She turned and started walking slowly toward the shop.
The woman looked worse than the donkey. Her skin was pale, almost lifeless looking. She kept her head down, watch the ground as she walked, mostly to cause her long hair to hang down over her face. It was thin, and lacked the luster of health hair. It did little to hide the crater where her left cheek used to be, or the pale and retracted gums over mouth within. Other than that... she would have been a reasonably attractive woman, if she didn’t look like the walking dead.
Her clothes were about what one expected of a wandering adventurer, dark leather pants, simple shirt. All of it having seen better days. The outfit hung off her body, giving the impression that she’d lost a substantial amount of weight.
She stopped outside the open door, and called out. “Are you open? I need a tailor.” Her voice was a strange, raspy whisper, yet managed to carry like someone speaking normally. It wasn’t that she could not enter, but rather, she did not want to. To bring the smell in... It seemed... impolite. “I have coin.”
Isabella Cotton, Sorceress, had arrived.
At least it was early, and the section of town was not particularly busy... that was really the most annoying thing about her affliction. The less than favorable reactions to the smell... once she made the mistake of entering a town around midday. The heat made it so much worse. Six people in that crowd vomited. And a dog. A personal best.
She rode down the road on a donkey. Horses didn’t take well to her. Never did. Never would. Impossible to ride. They were the smart ones, judging by the state of the stocky beast of burden. It was beyond bedraggled looking. It’s body was a patchwork of scar tissue. But it was something beyond that. Something intangible. It was the way the creature walked. The way it carried itself and it’s rider. This was an animal that had seen some shit.
As the two traveled the road, the rider studied the buildings. After a moment, she slowly steered the animal from the road toward one of the houses. The green one. The donkey slowed to a stop out front, and it’s rider dismounted.
Almost as soon as she landed, the figure fell against her mount in a fit of racking coughs. They sounded wet, and unhealthy. It only lasted a moment, and she righted herself, a hand rising to wipe her mouth. She casually shook it to her side, flinging a few droplets of black ichor onto the ground.
She rummaged in a saddlebag, and pulled out a crumpled ball of black fabric. She turned and started walking slowly toward the shop.
The woman looked worse than the donkey. Her skin was pale, almost lifeless looking. She kept her head down, watch the ground as she walked, mostly to cause her long hair to hang down over her face. It was thin, and lacked the luster of health hair. It did little to hide the crater where her left cheek used to be, or the pale and retracted gums over mouth within. Other than that... she would have been a reasonably attractive woman, if she didn’t look like the walking dead.
Her clothes were about what one expected of a wandering adventurer, dark leather pants, simple shirt. All of it having seen better days. The outfit hung off her body, giving the impression that she’d lost a substantial amount of weight.
She stopped outside the open door, and called out. “Are you open? I need a tailor.” Her voice was a strange, raspy whisper, yet managed to carry like someone speaking normally. It wasn’t that she could not enter, but rather, she did not want to. To bring the smell in... It seemed... impolite. “I have coin.”
Isabella Cotton, Sorceress, had arrived.
The voice helps to alert the shop's owner to her first customer, but Isabella's call is also accompanied by a light chime upon her approach--the chime of a bell that doesn't physically exist. It twinkles merrily through the building, in sharp contrast to both voice and smell.
It isn't even a quarter of a minute before the owner emerges from a room with an 'employees only' sign--to be frank, it is the smell that has brought her to the front, but she has to maintain a straight face for politeness sake.
The owner is young, not even thirty years, with sun-kissed skin and long brown hair partially braided. Her hourglass figure is relatively human, if a bit fuller from child bearing--it's also relative in the sense that her lower half is distinctly feline in structure. She's wearing a simple but pretty red tunic, tucked into a pair of leather breeches dyed ivory white. No shoes, because who needs them when you have two perfectly good footpaws?
Her feline eyes are green and alert.
Her human nose is surprisingly keen.
Her feline ears are perked.
And she's all smiles (full of fangs) in spite of the smell.
But wow, it is a struggle.
"Aye, g'morning!" Lauren greets Isabella. Regret and death smells settle in. "...you, uh...normally I'd invite ya right in, b'cause we are indeed open..."
The smile falls away into a look of concern.
"...but are y'sure y'don't need an inn?"
It isn't even a quarter of a minute before the owner emerges from a room with an 'employees only' sign--to be frank, it is the smell that has brought her to the front, but she has to maintain a straight face for politeness sake.
The owner is young, not even thirty years, with sun-kissed skin and long brown hair partially braided. Her hourglass figure is relatively human, if a bit fuller from child bearing--it's also relative in the sense that her lower half is distinctly feline in structure. She's wearing a simple but pretty red tunic, tucked into a pair of leather breeches dyed ivory white. No shoes, because who needs them when you have two perfectly good footpaws?
Her feline eyes are green and alert.
Her human nose is surprisingly keen.
Her feline ears are perked.
And she's all smiles (full of fangs) in spite of the smell.
But wow, it is a struggle.
"Aye, g'morning!" Lauren greets Isabella. Regret and death smells settle in. "...you, uh...normally I'd invite ya right in, b'cause we are indeed open..."
The smile falls away into a look of concern.
"...but are y'sure y'don't need an inn?"
Isabella tilts her head up as the shops proprietor comes out to greet her. She hadn’t told her to leave, so that was good. Some people did, for obvious reasons. And the smile was a welcome change. In fact her whole forced non-reaction to the smell was.
She looked the owner over, slowly. For a combination of things really. This day and age, one could never be too cautious about things. Murderers gotta pay bills too, right? On the other side, there would be a day where Izzie didn’t smell and look like a rotting corpse, so gotta keep an eye out for prospective dates.
This... feline? tailor didn’t seem to set off any flags in either regard. No... this would be a strictly business call.
“Oh... I’ll be fine. I just need to find someone to eat.” She paused, thinking about her words, then quickly continued. “...WITH! Someone to eat with. At an inn. Yes.”
She smiles... because that was smooth, and completely not suspicious... and smiling is a natural body language sign for saying ‘I mean you no harm’. Honestly, her smile... loses some of that. It’s probably the missing cheek... or the teeth stained with black splatter from her coughing fits.
“...but I need a tailor first.” Izzie held up the small bundle of cloth. “My robes are... beyond my ability to repair...”
Holding it with both hands, she gave the balled up material a quick shake, and let it unfold. It... did not look like any sort of clothing. It is only about the size of a large towel. Stained, the edges torn and frayed, and the bottom seems burned. It is black. The one side most in tact is trimmed with silver, and features a string of arcane looking symbols done in some thick indigo colored embroidery.
“...I need replacements. Robe and tabard. Velvet. The softest you have. The runes and signs are...” Isabella pauses, then quickly lets go of it with one hand, bringing her arm up to cough into her elbow as another fit hits her. It lasts a moment, and once it passes, she just resumes talking. Like it isn’t a cause for concern... and there isn’t a black substance running out of her mouth in small rivulets.
“The runes and signs are fake... they just need to look magical... it... the appearance is what matters. They... need to scream out that I use magic. Oh... I need it to have a hood, of course. And pockets. Hidden pockets.”
She takes a single step closer, arm extended to better offer the scrap of fabric. For reference, if the tailor wants it. But that’s as close as she moves. She hadn’t been invited in after all. For perfectly understandable reasons.
“Can you do it?”
She looked the owner over, slowly. For a combination of things really. This day and age, one could never be too cautious about things. Murderers gotta pay bills too, right? On the other side, there would be a day where Izzie didn’t smell and look like a rotting corpse, so gotta keep an eye out for prospective dates.
This... feline? tailor didn’t seem to set off any flags in either regard. No... this would be a strictly business call.
“Oh... I’ll be fine. I just need to find someone to eat.” She paused, thinking about her words, then quickly continued. “...WITH! Someone to eat with. At an inn. Yes.”
She smiles... because that was smooth, and completely not suspicious... and smiling is a natural body language sign for saying ‘I mean you no harm’. Honestly, her smile... loses some of that. It’s probably the missing cheek... or the teeth stained with black splatter from her coughing fits.
“...but I need a tailor first.” Izzie held up the small bundle of cloth. “My robes are... beyond my ability to repair...”
Holding it with both hands, she gave the balled up material a quick shake, and let it unfold. It... did not look like any sort of clothing. It is only about the size of a large towel. Stained, the edges torn and frayed, and the bottom seems burned. It is black. The one side most in tact is trimmed with silver, and features a string of arcane looking symbols done in some thick indigo colored embroidery.
“...I need replacements. Robe and tabard. Velvet. The softest you have. The runes and signs are...” Isabella pauses, then quickly lets go of it with one hand, bringing her arm up to cough into her elbow as another fit hits her. It lasts a moment, and once it passes, she just resumes talking. Like it isn’t a cause for concern... and there isn’t a black substance running out of her mouth in small rivulets.
“The runes and signs are fake... they just need to look magical... it... the appearance is what matters. They... need to scream out that I use magic. Oh... I need it to have a hood, of course. And pockets. Hidden pockets.”
She takes a single step closer, arm extended to better offer the scrap of fabric. For reference, if the tailor wants it. But that’s as close as she moves. She hadn’t been invited in after all. For perfectly understandable reasons.
“Can you do it?”
The owner's brows lift up with keen interest at the slip of Isabella's tongue. Then her expression twists into bemusement, despite the smell still putting her off.
"I know someone ya'd get along wit' swimmingly," the cheetahfaun remarks, although she offers no further elaboration. She still hasn't invited the sorceress in yet, purposefully keeping her at door's length. However, she does step around the counter to inspect both the customer and cloth.
"Th' work's probably doable. I'll 'ave t' talk t' m'usband. He makes the clothes..." She trails off, because there are more pressing matters lingering in the air.
"...'onestly ya look like ya need either a 'ealer or a fresh soul t' siphon," Lauren quips dryly. She has clearly seen some shit herself, given the blasé attitude towards Isabella's general appearance.
"I don't like t' turn down prospective customers, but I own an' run this shop wit' th' same sharp wit tha' kept me alive when I was a young adventurous kidden; unless I know what yer spittin' up an' why ya reek o' death, I'm not sure m'usband an' I would b' keen on doin' business."
She eyes the other woman with a sharp stare. Tattered ladies with missing cheeks who cast magic don't come into Lauren's shop often--she has a right to be wary.
"I know someone ya'd get along wit' swimmingly," the cheetahfaun remarks, although she offers no further elaboration. She still hasn't invited the sorceress in yet, purposefully keeping her at door's length. However, she does step around the counter to inspect both the customer and cloth.
"Th' work's probably doable. I'll 'ave t' talk t' m'usband. He makes the clothes..." She trails off, because there are more pressing matters lingering in the air.
"...'onestly ya look like ya need either a 'ealer or a fresh soul t' siphon," Lauren quips dryly. She has clearly seen some shit herself, given the blasé attitude towards Isabella's general appearance.
"I don't like t' turn down prospective customers, but I own an' run this shop wit' th' same sharp wit tha' kept me alive when I was a young adventurous kidden; unless I know what yer spittin' up an' why ya reek o' death, I'm not sure m'usband an' I would b' keen on doin' business."
She eyes the other woman with a sharp stare. Tattered ladies with missing cheeks who cast magic don't come into Lauren's shop often--she has a right to be wary.
Isabella’s eyes widen at the soul siphoning joke, then her expression quickly returns to one if forced neutrality as she realizes it was supposed to be a joke. She stands there a moment in complete silence, considering her options. Her arm holding the cloth slowly lowers.
Her failure to maintain a poker face likely revealed how close to the truth the store owner was. So there really wasn’t much point to hide it... but one also had to be careful how to frame the situation. People typically did not appreciate the exact nature of things... but, then... this cat woman seemed less... judgmental.
Izzie sighs.
“Magic... magic is energy, right? Fundamentally. All magic... it comes from somewhere. You learn how to tap into it... how to harness it... some study their whole lives to discover it. Others are gifted it from their gods. And some even sing and dance with the energy of performance... Some... like me... we’re born to it... different ways, but it’s there in our blood... Magic... it’s life.”
Almost as if on cue, another small cough comes, prompting her to turn her head toward her shoulder to avoid coughing into the open doorway. With it comes a little more of the black slime.
“I don’t know what I’m spitting up.” She reaches up, and wipes her mouth, to look at some of the... ooze? She rubs it between her fingers.
“I think it’s my blood? ...things kinda break down and mix together... it would taste horrible, I’m sure, but my tongue always stops tasting first... small blessings, right?” She smiles slightly as her gaze looks back toward the woman, her hand dropping to wipe itself off on her pants.
“At least nothing chunky is coming up today... I smell like death, because my body swings like a pendulum between live and dead... never fully one or the other... The more magic I cast, the bigger toll it takes on my body... but, I’ll be right as rain in a day or two. Promise.”
Oh, there’s more to it than that. Most certainly on the ‘how’ part, at least. But she hardly sees a reason to go and spell it out. Energy has to come from somewhere, right? Or someone.
“Will that suffice? Or... should I go find another tailor?” Her tone is even, and non-hostile. She completely understands the situation after all. Woman smells and looks like a rotting corpse, is coughing up god knows what, and may or may not be contributing to the city’s violent crime statistics in the next 48 hours. That all certainly falls under reasons to refuse service.
Her failure to maintain a poker face likely revealed how close to the truth the store owner was. So there really wasn’t much point to hide it... but one also had to be careful how to frame the situation. People typically did not appreciate the exact nature of things... but, then... this cat woman seemed less... judgmental.
Izzie sighs.
“Magic... magic is energy, right? Fundamentally. All magic... it comes from somewhere. You learn how to tap into it... how to harness it... some study their whole lives to discover it. Others are gifted it from their gods. And some even sing and dance with the energy of performance... Some... like me... we’re born to it... different ways, but it’s there in our blood... Magic... it’s life.”
Almost as if on cue, another small cough comes, prompting her to turn her head toward her shoulder to avoid coughing into the open doorway. With it comes a little more of the black slime.
“I don’t know what I’m spitting up.” She reaches up, and wipes her mouth, to look at some of the... ooze? She rubs it between her fingers.
“I think it’s my blood? ...things kinda break down and mix together... it would taste horrible, I’m sure, but my tongue always stops tasting first... small blessings, right?” She smiles slightly as her gaze looks back toward the woman, her hand dropping to wipe itself off on her pants.
“At least nothing chunky is coming up today... I smell like death, because my body swings like a pendulum between live and dead... never fully one or the other... The more magic I cast, the bigger toll it takes on my body... but, I’ll be right as rain in a day or two. Promise.”
Oh, there’s more to it than that. Most certainly on the ‘how’ part, at least. But she hardly sees a reason to go and spell it out. Energy has to come from somewhere, right? Or someone.
“Will that suffice? Or... should I go find another tailor?” Her tone is even, and non-hostile. She completely understands the situation after all. Woman smells and looks like a rotting corpse, is coughing up god knows what, and may or may not be contributing to the city’s violent crime statistics in the next 48 hours. That all certainly falls under reasons to refuse service.
The cheetahfaun listens to Isabella's explanation with great patience and steeled nerves....until finally, near the end, she has to retreat towards the counter. The whole experience is proving overwhelming.
"Eurk! Sorry, sorry, it's a bit much in th' nose...!" She eeks out an apology and covers the lower half of her face.
"Look, I'll tell ya wha'. I-I've dealt wit' m'fair share o' undeath b'fore, just not s'damn potent. If ya... if..." Lauren trails off and holds up a hand to signal she's not done. Nausea is setting in.
It takes a hot moment for the owner to recollect herself and not retch.
"If ya can guarantee tha' promise, fine, come back when yer properly alive again. Otherwise I can't have ya stinkin' up m'shop and bein' near m'family."
"Eurk! Sorry, sorry, it's a bit much in th' nose...!" She eeks out an apology and covers the lower half of her face.
"Look, I'll tell ya wha'. I-I've dealt wit' m'fair share o' undeath b'fore, just not s'damn potent. If ya... if..." Lauren trails off and holds up a hand to signal she's not done. Nausea is setting in.
It takes a hot moment for the owner to recollect herself and not retch.
"If ya can guarantee tha' promise, fine, come back when yer properly alive again. Otherwise I can't have ya stinkin' up m'shop and bein' near m'family."
Isabella simply stood there, watching and listening. “No need to apologize...” She backs away from the door a couple steps, thinking it might help.
“...you’re actually handling it quite well. And to be honest, I’ve smelled worse... mid day during summer... That really helps the whole festering thing...”
She starts balling up the scrap of fabric again.
“But, As you wish. I’ll come back... when I’m more presentable. Oh. Lemons. Or citrus fruit. It takes the smell off. Sometimes... it lingers on people. Which... if it does, my apologies. Uh... Have a pleasant day?”
Isabella turns, considering things finished for now. No reason to linger, and possibly make the poor woman vomit. She walks back toward the donkey, which has been picking at the grass in the yard this whole time. The creature briefly looks up at her, then resumes it’s slow foraging. She returns the remains of her robe to the saddle bag.
She pulls herself up into the saddle, and taking the reins loosely in hand. She pats the animal on the neck, “Come on, Lucky. Time to find someone for dinner.”
With a gentle nudge of her heels, the two start back toward the road, and ultimately the rest of the town beyond. The smell lessening, and starting to dissipate as they leave.
“...you’re actually handling it quite well. And to be honest, I’ve smelled worse... mid day during summer... That really helps the whole festering thing...”
She starts balling up the scrap of fabric again.
“But, As you wish. I’ll come back... when I’m more presentable. Oh. Lemons. Or citrus fruit. It takes the smell off. Sometimes... it lingers on people. Which... if it does, my apologies. Uh... Have a pleasant day?”
Isabella turns, considering things finished for now. No reason to linger, and possibly make the poor woman vomit. She walks back toward the donkey, which has been picking at the grass in the yard this whole time. The creature briefly looks up at her, then resumes it’s slow foraging. She returns the remains of her robe to the saddle bag.
She pulls herself up into the saddle, and taking the reins loosely in hand. She pats the animal on the neck, “Come on, Lucky. Time to find someone for dinner.”
With a gentle nudge of her heels, the two start back toward the road, and ultimately the rest of the town beyond. The smell lessening, and starting to dissipate as they leave.
The next customer is just as alarming, but you can't tell it from a mile away. They come in on foot, walking happily, with a skip in their step. They also have on a cloak that shields their face, both with shade, and with obscuring magic. He's in human form, but even that form is a bit... alarming. He'd hate to scare anyone on accident. As he reaches the shop, he knocks on the door, rapping quietly.
"Ello?" A voice, sweet and gentle, emits from under the cloak. It's male... probably. But it makes you feel ever so slightly dizzy. You barely notice it, though... And something pushes at you to ignore it. "I think you're open, but my internal clock is kind of bad, so I'm just checking!"The voice rings.
"Ello?" A voice, sweet and gentle, emits from under the cloak. It's male... probably. But it makes you feel ever so slightly dizzy. You barely notice it, though... And something pushes at you to ignore it. "I think you're open, but my internal clock is kind of bad, so I'm just checking!"The voice rings.
In the scant few seconds between Isabella's departure and Alderbert's entrance, the shop keep has scurried in a hurry to grab various items: lemon juice, Maiden's Flock (a pretty bundle of white flowers with a strong sweet scent), and some incense.
"G-good mornin'! Please d' excuse th' scent, we're just settin' up--" Lauren stops in her tracks in the tiny hallway linking store to tailor workshop.
She bites back the urge to utter a curse--and to grab her husband. "Ah..."
c'mon, think! It is a customer!
"What can I... do for ya?" she inquires curiously of the fellow now taking up her doorway. A dizziness settles in as she speaks, but the faun chalks it up to the death smell she's up against.
"G-good mornin'! Please d' excuse th' scent, we're just settin' up--" Lauren stops in her tracks in the tiny hallway linking store to tailor workshop.
She bites back the urge to utter a curse--and to grab her husband. "Ah..."
c'mon, think! It is a customer!
"What can I... do for ya?" she inquires curiously of the fellow now taking up her doorway. A dizziness settles in as she speaks, but the faun chalks it up to the death smell she's up against.
G pokes his head in and looks around before entering the room with a stumble, he had his hoodie over his right arm as he took a breather then sitting on the floor with a sigh "howdy, you have no clue how much magic i just used to get here" he says with a relived tone in his voice to finally be here as it was a tired tone aswell
As she awaits a response, Lauren turns her critical gaze upon the youn man entering her shop.
"Nah, I don't know," she answers G's magical remark. "There a reason I should care?"
Maybe she should get Draconus...
"Nah, I don't know," she answers G's magical remark. "There a reason I should care?"
Maybe she should get Draconus...
Now does he take notice of the scent, and he tilts his head. "Oh! You could have simply asked!" With a snap of his fingers, the scent is gone, but the scent of flowers is not. "There we are! Anyway." He takes the cloak off his head. Paper white skin is revealed, with lilac hair standing in all directions. there are strange runes circling his neck, in a deep, royal purple color. He has three eyes. "Excuse my appearance! This is the closest I can get to mortal appearances! Anyway, I am in need of paper, ink, and also, I need a tailor. My clothes, unfortunately, are getting quite tight on me." he explains, n his cheerful, sweet voice, as he steps in.
The cheetahfaun looks back to Alderbert quizzically.
"Could o' asked wha'--"
The lack of the deathsmell gets her attention...and renders her previous actions moot. Lauren stares sharply at the 'man' as she slips the lemon juice and incense under the counter.
That stare only grows more intense while the fellow reveals his appearance. Hoo boy... the faun has seen her fair share of oddities, but this is pushing the envelope.
"Right... Draconus! We 'ave customers!" Lauren calls out to her husband; her voice has a faint pitch of unease. It's more of a warning to him than simple information.
"I will be there in just a moment!" a voice answers from down the hallway.
Back to Alderbert: "If ya need writin' supplies, all o' that is on th' far wall. Ya can pick out wha' ya need an' meet me at th' counter t' pay, then ya can speak wit' m'usband regardin' clothin'."
Inkwells of assorted colors, quills of many feathers, and stacks of paper sit alongside blank books on oak wood shelving. Everything is labeled and priced:
And if he's interested...
"Could o' asked wha'--"
The lack of the deathsmell gets her attention...and renders her previous actions moot. Lauren stares sharply at the 'man' as she slips the lemon juice and incense under the counter.
That stare only grows more intense while the fellow reveals his appearance. Hoo boy... the faun has seen her fair share of oddities, but this is pushing the envelope.
"Right... Draconus! We 'ave customers!" Lauren calls out to her husband; her voice has a faint pitch of unease. It's more of a warning to him than simple information.
"I will be there in just a moment!" a voice answers from down the hallway.
Back to Alderbert: "If ya need writin' supplies, all o' that is on th' far wall. Ya can pick out wha' ya need an' meet me at th' counter t' pay, then ya can speak wit' m'usband regardin' clothin'."
Inkwells of assorted colors, quills of many feathers, and stacks of paper sit alongside blank books on oak wood shelving. Everything is labeled and priced:
Ink(black) for 4 silver
Ink(colored) for 6 silver
Paper in stacks of twenty sheets, for 7 copper per stack
Ink(colored) for 6 silver
Paper in stacks of twenty sheets, for 7 copper per stack
And if he's interested...
Quills for 4 copper to 2 silver depending on feather type--there are some gorgeous pieces amongst the stock
(Out of Character: Advancing the rp due to stagnantion. It is now open to all interested posters again.
If you're new to this role play, please see the first post of this thread!)
A couple of days have passed for the shop. Nothing uneventful happened, which was a thankful thing for the shop's owner!
The time was half past eight in the morning, and all that has happened so far is the baker stopping by with a fresh set of pastries. They fill the shop with a lovely, sweet scent that is sure to attract customers!
...that's what Lady Forest hopes, at any rate.
If you're new to this role play, please see the first post of this thread!)
A couple of days have passed for the shop. Nothing uneventful happened, which was a thankful thing for the shop's owner!
The time was half past eight in the morning, and all that has happened so far is the baker stopping by with a fresh set of pastries. They fill the shop with a lovely, sweet scent that is sure to attract customers!
...that's what Lady Forest hopes, at any rate.
A bedraggled donkey slowly plodded along the road, it’s hooves striking the road in a steady rhythm. It was in no rush, nor was it’s rider.
The two followed the wide road as it led them to the small cluster of houses. The rider directed her mount toward the tundra green home.
They come to a stop outside of it.
The donkey might look familiar... it’s scarred body and... unique demeanor were a hard combination to reproduce. Lucky, the donkey, had returned.
And more importantly, Isabella Cotton had too.
The rider swung herself out of the saddle with ease. This time, no body wracking cough came with her reaching the ground. The figure rummaged in her saddlebag, and pulled out some crumpled black material.
She turned slowly.... and could have been an entirely different person. Gone were the wounds from before. Even the associated rips and tears in her outfit were mended. The clothes fit her too... which meant she’d managed to gain her weight back in just a couple days. Her hair was thick, healthy looking... and pulled back to reveal her face. A face that was reasonably attractive without the missing cheek or black ichor oozing out.
She calmly walked to the open door of the store and knocked on it.
“Hello? I was asked to come back once I had cleaned up.” Her voice even sounded healthy; Alive.
She could smell the fresh pastries. They smelled delicious... and her arrival hadn’t overpowered it with anything. Which also meant the biggest, and perhaps most important thing of all: The smell was gone... mostly gone... if one got close enough, she still smelled faintly of death: Old death, dry bones and ancient crypts... not that of diseased and putrid rot.
The two followed the wide road as it led them to the small cluster of houses. The rider directed her mount toward the tundra green home.
They come to a stop outside of it.
The donkey might look familiar... it’s scarred body and... unique demeanor were a hard combination to reproduce. Lucky, the donkey, had returned.
And more importantly, Isabella Cotton had too.
The rider swung herself out of the saddle with ease. This time, no body wracking cough came with her reaching the ground. The figure rummaged in her saddlebag, and pulled out some crumpled black material.
She turned slowly.... and could have been an entirely different person. Gone were the wounds from before. Even the associated rips and tears in her outfit were mended. The clothes fit her too... which meant she’d managed to gain her weight back in just a couple days. Her hair was thick, healthy looking... and pulled back to reveal her face. A face that was reasonably attractive without the missing cheek or black ichor oozing out.
She calmly walked to the open door of the store and knocked on it.
“Hello? I was asked to come back once I had cleaned up.” Her voice even sounded healthy; Alive.
She could smell the fresh pastries. They smelled delicious... and her arrival hadn’t overpowered it with anything. Which also meant the biggest, and perhaps most important thing of all: The smell was gone... mostly gone... if one got close enough, she still smelled faintly of death: Old death, dry bones and ancient crypts... not that of diseased and putrid rot.
The door's enchantment twinkles merrily, just as it did a couple of days ago. The shopkeep lifts her head--and her brows.
Fortunately, the recognition kicks in shortly enough.
"By th' gods, aren't ya tha' dead-walkin' customer I sent off??" Lady Forest beams from ear to furry ear. "Glad t' see ya took m' suggestion b'fore comin' back!"
She waves Isabella in, almost a bit too eagerly. The delight at not dealing with death in her shop is potent.
Fortunately, the recognition kicks in shortly enough.
"By th' gods, aren't ya tha' dead-walkin' customer I sent off??" Lady Forest beams from ear to furry ear. "Glad t' see ya took m' suggestion b'fore comin' back!"
She waves Isabella in, almost a bit too eagerly. The delight at not dealing with death in her shop is potent.
Isabella smirked slightly at the woman’s eagerness. It was understandable, considering the odor she brought with last time.
“Yes. Though I like to think of it more as a living impairment, and you made it clear that I needed to.” She stepped through the thresh hold, and paused a few paces into the shop. “I do hope my... unique fragrance did not linger too long. I know how off putting it can be... I would be most upset if I had cost you further business.” Her voice, though healthy, still seemed to be a whisper. Or at least it held all the elements of a whisper, while oddly remaining clear and loud enough to be heard.
“Yes. Though I like to think of it more as a living impairment, and you made it clear that I needed to.” She stepped through the thresh hold, and paused a few paces into the shop. “I do hope my... unique fragrance did not linger too long. I know how off putting it can be... I would be most upset if I had cost you further business.” Her voice, though healthy, still seemed to be a whisper. Or at least it held all the elements of a whisper, while oddly remaining clear and loud enough to be heard.
The cheetahfaun waves the topic about smell off. "Just m'luck, a strange fella came in an' whisked it away! Was 'ardly an issue after tha'."
The shopkeep continues to beam. That overzealous joy won't be going away any time soon. "Will ya still b' needin' new duds, ma'am?"
Lauren furrows her brows after that question. "...tha' was why ya came in, right?"
The shopkeep continues to beam. That overzealous joy won't be going away any time soon. "Will ya still b' needin' new duds, ma'am?"
Lauren furrows her brows after that question. "...tha' was why ya came in, right?"
It always surprised Stubbs how no one seemed to care how he looked when he jumped through the portal into other worlds, and this world was no different. It didn't matter if it was the Merc's thick Kevlar vest, gas mask, or sometimes even his weapons... No one ever seemed to have him pegged as out of the ordinary. Granted, maybe the fact that he was covered in first aid symbols had something to do with it... Either way, this world was no exception.
His first job had went rather... Poorly. While he had completed it no problem, he came out of it a little worse for wear. He learned the hard way that he needed to improve his melee combat skills, as some yutz with a dagger had practically torn him to shreds before he wised up and just blasted the guy. Then again, maybe he should exchange the ol'crowbar for an actual sword or something.
He had stumbled back to the guy who gave him the job and received a pretty penny for his efforts... and a whole new collection of scars.
His physical injuries healed up quickly thanks to his accelerated healing (which totally didn't come from self experimentation... totally), and after a night spent at the local inn he was as healthy as when he had arrived in this world.
His clothes on the other hand.... Well, his vest was fine. The thick armor barely had a scratch on it , owing to its good durability. His shirt and pants had been the real victims... torn and shredded all over thanks to the yutz. He had a spare uniform of course, but that's when he realized the real issue.
Stubbs had no idea how to repair clothes... sure, fixing up wounded soldiers was one thing, but he never had to worry about their clothes! He COULD teleport back to New York and try and get it fixed there... but he didn't want to risk not being able to return to this world (the teleporter was awfully finicky sometimes).
Thankfully, the innkeeper pointed him to a local tailor that had a pretty good reputation. Price wasn't much of an issue thanks to his recent job, so Stubbs decided his best bet was to head there.
First impressions are an important thing to a mercenary, and Stubbs had to admit he was getting an odd vibe. The building itself was perfectly fine... but the rather, well, ugly donkey out front gave him an uncomfortable feeling. The thing looked like it had gone through a minefield, and not surprisingly... it smelled pretty horrid too.
The building was different story... Warm, inviting, and the delicious smell of pastries reminded the merc of both his empty stomach on account of skipping breakfast... and of his mother's cooking.
All in all... good impression.
Walking up to the door, he knocked twice.
"Uhh, hello? I uhh... need some clothes fixed."
His first job had went rather... Poorly. While he had completed it no problem, he came out of it a little worse for wear. He learned the hard way that he needed to improve his melee combat skills, as some yutz with a dagger had practically torn him to shreds before he wised up and just blasted the guy. Then again, maybe he should exchange the ol'crowbar for an actual sword or something.
He had stumbled back to the guy who gave him the job and received a pretty penny for his efforts... and a whole new collection of scars.
His physical injuries healed up quickly thanks to his accelerated healing (which totally didn't come from self experimentation... totally), and after a night spent at the local inn he was as healthy as when he had arrived in this world.
His clothes on the other hand.... Well, his vest was fine. The thick armor barely had a scratch on it , owing to its good durability. His shirt and pants had been the real victims... torn and shredded all over thanks to the yutz. He had a spare uniform of course, but that's when he realized the real issue.
Stubbs had no idea how to repair clothes... sure, fixing up wounded soldiers was one thing, but he never had to worry about their clothes! He COULD teleport back to New York and try and get it fixed there... but he didn't want to risk not being able to return to this world (the teleporter was awfully finicky sometimes).
Thankfully, the innkeeper pointed him to a local tailor that had a pretty good reputation. Price wasn't much of an issue thanks to his recent job, so Stubbs decided his best bet was to head there.
First impressions are an important thing to a mercenary, and Stubbs had to admit he was getting an odd vibe. The building itself was perfectly fine... but the rather, well, ugly donkey out front gave him an uncomfortable feeling. The thing looked like it had gone through a minefield, and not surprisingly... it smelled pretty horrid too.
The building was different story... Warm, inviting, and the delicious smell of pastries reminded the merc of both his empty stomach on account of skipping breakfast... and of his mother's cooking.
All in all... good impression.
Walking up to the door, he knocked twice.
"Uhh, hello? I uhh... need some clothes fixed."
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