What do you mean, werewolves don't sew? [Lion]

[Anonymous]

The sign in the window was plain as day. A thin, flat sheet of pale bleached wood with carefully painted characters was propped against the glass. The message was simple:  Buying materials. Aithne glanced up at the opaque back of it at long intervals, sometimes sighing softly, sometimes shaking her head, and other times considering relocating it to a better vantage point. She knew better...the clear little window that flanked the front door was the most obvious place for any sort of advertisement, why had no one brought their wares? In a place like Ketra, venders were more plentiful than insects, and far more naggingly persistent...why had none leaped at such an easy opportunity?

Well ok, there had been that one guy...but his fabric had just been so...dingy. Hardly up to par with the sort of materials Aithne accepted for her shop. It wasn't all pomp and lace, but hell, she ran a respectable little business here, and she wasn't about to buy some cloth that looked like it had been on loan as bedsheets for the brothel. And there was the woman with the velvet, but ugh, that color. Ok, so maybe she was picky. And maybe she should really reconsider the older-than-dust saying 'beggars can't be choosers'. Not that she was begging, per se. She had a fine bit of coin to pour into her raw material, and did so without batting an eye, but she wanted quality. She wanted tried-and-true classics and things she'd never seen before.

Something that didn't raise the bile in her throat would be nice, too.

And she could get it herself. Easily. But for that, well, she'd have to go out into the street. Into the sun. Into the bustling throngs of loud and sweaty patrons. Aithne was not a fan of being shoved around by strangers in the heat, and she simply wasn't outspoken enough to make anyone else mind her. The only people she could handle were those directly in need of her services, those who crossed her threshold for reasons other than tramping her slight frame into the dust. Not that she was tiny, but she may has well have been. What good is decent height when one doesn't put it to use? Among other assorted talents. Still, personal preferences aside, the street was never a welcoming place for her. Not only lined with markets and filled with people,  Ketra was positively seething with animals...not that Aithne had a problem with the animals...they had a problem with her. Nary a cat graced the worn steps of the tailor shop stoop...in fact, they seemed to avoid the quaint little building and any other within an eighty-foot radius. Chickens, cattle, horses. Any matter of livestock or pet or what-have-you tended to go wild-eyed and bristly at the sight of our dear girl, and as such, she went to great lengths to avoid such situations. Nothing more conspicuous than starting a stampede just by standing within any distance of companion animals...tended to be bad for business, anyway.

Groaning, Aithne shifted slightly in her chair, rocking it back on two-legs and allowing the wall to support the rest of its weight. She propped her surprisingly tiny feet up on the sturdy table in front of her, cradling a hapless heap of thread and silk in her lap. Her gaze wandered as she worked meticulously at the lump of material, pausing on the few bolts of cloth that remained in her dwindling supply. Of course it was her supplier that had to be mauled by a beast in the wilderness. Cute. She freed a slender hand and habitually brushed it across her brow, disturbing the rebel locks of auburn hair that had fallen free of the bun nestled against the nape of her neck. Such was her luck, always had been. Why should she expect someone to come to her door with quality material? Or for one of her customers to be a reasonable being.

Get over it, Alanna, she chided within the quiet confines of her own mind, leaning forward and snagging a stick of cinnamon from an open jar near her elevated feet. She popped one end in the corner of her mouth and let the sweet burn slowly spread over her tongue, viciously beating away any other taste and filling her senses with the warm sensation. Such was the way Aithne was most often pictured, toiling away in her shop with a stick of cinnamon poking out from the corner of her mouth...she never got far without it, and the smell of it permeated from her shop and out into the street, where more than one patron had been fooled into believing she ran a bakery somewhere amidst the cloth and thread and mannequins.

Inhaling deeply, lulled into a finer mood by the sensory overload of the undiluted cinnamon, Aithe rose from her chair with the unfinished article in her hands, crossing the store and tidying up idly while still gently working the thread methodically into the shapeless lump.



[[ Sorry if that's a bit hard to reply to, just tried to set up a likely scene ]]

[Lion]

The man that finished tanning the animal hides was not a trapper.  No, not by any means was he anything other than an ordinary hunter that sold animal skins as a small side business.  Having spent all his years wandering the Draconi Forest and so little time in civilization, the man who called himself Richter grew accustomed to his solitude.  He did not mind it and accepted it as his fate since he was ignorant to the blessings of living with civilization.  Richter remained convinced that he could not, for it was the 'dark thing' in him.

Yet, there were such times in which he wanted to experience the company of others.  And, in order to accomplish such a desire, he departed his enclosed home in the forest and ventured to the lands of men, often to a town called Ketra.  As fate would have it that was exactly where Richter decided would be his next destination today.

Richter had risen quite early that morning to finish up tanning the few hides he wanted to bring, cleaning himself in the small waterfall in which his domicile resided by before dressing as he always did whenever he decided he wanted to travel.  He equipped his brown long coat, made himself with the very skins he harvested, and rolled up the remainder of hides in a small bundle before stuffing them inside his travel back and swinging the strap over his shoulder.  He then headed north toward Ketra.  Because Richter was wont to use all of an animal when he could, he always made an effort to spare the skins of a kill and fashion useful items from the bones when it suited him.

A few miles of travel and there he stood out of the woods and into the wide-ranging countryside of the outskirts of the city.  He stuck to the main road as he made his way past the farmlands.  His figure, though tall and lean and graceful to the human eye, seemed to not be so welcome in the brown innocent eyes of livestock.  Upon the first sight of him, they sensed the 'dark thing' in him and fled from view as fast as their hoofed feet to carry them, making odd sounds in the process.  But this could not be helped and that Richter knew.  He did not belong here, not in this world of the mannerly, well cultivated society where a simply slip of tongue might sully a reputation or be the down fall of a prominent family.  And yet, a part of him acknowledged also that he did not entirely belong to the wild ways of the forest in which he had known his whole life.  Still, he had been reared in the forest, literally nursed by a pack of wolves and that life was what he most accustomed to.

He made it through the countryside with his wits intact and a vague grin on his face, though only the heavens knew why.  Richter may not have been the first person in a tavern to offer everyone the first round of drinks but he was sociable enough to help a person in need.  He had a few patients to see today, people that had approached him with various medical problems in the hopes that he could point them in the direction of a good doctor.  It amused him to find they were quite surprised to find that he could help them out.  City life was strange to him; and stranger still were its inhabitants.  Creatures crawled out of bed at the crack of dawn to go to work, to buy and sell and to 'make a living' as he heard one man state.  Ketra, especially the merchant district where he was now, was simply bustling with vendors willing to trade various objects.  Most of the things sold Richter did not think he would have any use for, but there were some objects that he found amusing and charming like a nice ring or jeweled dagger.  While it was strange, however, he also found it appealing and interesting; it was something that his own life lacked and therefore found himself eager to discover the intricacies of it.  It could be speculated that this certain morbid interest in city life was one reason why Richter kept finding himself back in Ketra.

But he was here with a purpose and that purpose was to sell the furs he had traveled so far to bring.  His body pushed impertinently through the crowd, no one seeming to want to get in the way of him.  His feet led him to a quieter section, at least one with a lot less people.  He looked to the building around him and saw one that seemed promising before him but he still remained unsure as to whether or not he should enter.  The last thing he wanted to do was to make himself look like an idiot by trying to sell animal hides to a shop that strictly sold woodstoves.  Still, he made a brave face and took a few steps toward the window; his long hair, though tied, was flowing behind him.  He looked through the glass and saw clothing articles.  That looks promising enough, he thought with a smile until his eyes caught hold of a small sign that read: Buying Materials.  His eyes made out the characters in their bold ink but he could not make much sense of it, having never learned to read in his life.

Immediately he sought out help in the form of lady in commoner's clothing striding haughtily by.  "Excuse," he said to her, his voice obviously seeking information.  "You wouldn't happen to know where I'd find a good tailor, would you?"

The lady blushed furiously upon noticing that such a nice looking fellow was seeking her attention and openly replied when her embarrassment passed.  "Oh, right over there," she spoke, pointing in the direction of the store with the sign.

"Thank you."  With that, he turned and entered the shop.  It was rather quiet inside and smelled vaguely of cinnamon.  Richter's eyes flashed to and fro around him, observing the piles of unused cloth that took their dwelling in one corner and the other outfits that hung on hangers on racks along the walls.  The counter at his left was free of any person and it wasn't until his keen vision spotted a woman occupied with what seemed to be more material, her back to him.  He did not speak a word to catch her attention but rather cleared his throat loud enough for her to hear him.

[I think it was pretty good but sorry I took so long, writer's block can be such a bitch sometimes.]

[Anonymous]

Ugh. I don't want to go outside... don't want to go outside...

Aithne swept seamlessly across the smooth wood-plank floor of her shop, carefully scrutinizing the carefully arranged mannequins and racks of finished clothing. She paused here and their, straightening a collar of gently sweeping away a wrinkle with her palm. All this she did to busy herself and put off her inevitable fate, she'd need to find a new merchant willing to deliver for a healthy tip...not a difficult task in itself. Finding said merchant who just happened to have goods she actually wanted was another issue entirely, one she hadn't quite resigned herself to solving.

Satisfied with the overall state of the shop, her gaze drifted down to the silken wad in her hands, the needle dodging deftly through the material. Reaching her apparent goal, she lifted the thread to her teeth and cleanly bit it, and slid the now freed needle carefully behind her ear. She lifted the shapeless cloth, and it unfurled before her, an elegant bodice, on the road to being a sort of kimono, minus the sleeves. Her gaze swept the sea foam green thread she'd just woven into the black silk: an intricate embroidered design. It was a dragon, meticulously detailed, curling along the left half of the unfinished kimono top. Aithne smiled to herself as she studied the design, and crossed the room to that sturdy little table, laying the piece upon it, smoothing it flat against the surface. She tapped her foot a moment, before going to a shelf and retrieving the sleeves she'd prepared earlier. She was just pinning them to the freshly embroidered bodice when a previously unnoticed visitor cleared his throat a short distance behind her.

Startled, Aithne whipped around, her palms catching the lip of the table behind her to stop the motion and steady her slight frame. Regaining hersel, she chuckled softly, bringing a slender hand to her chest. "I'm so sorry," she apologized in a breathy voice, "you startled me...I was miles away." A warm smile slowly tugged at the corners of her pink-tinged lips, and she tipped her head. "Welcome to my shop...I'm Aithne, how may I help you?" Her words, though light and sing-songy, were obviously rehearsed, repeated over and over to each new customer who wandered across the threshold. As her smile proceeded to broaden, she realized the stick of cinnamon still protruding from the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks reddened, and she turned away, folding it into a small cloth that lay on the table. "Sorry about that.. habit."

When she turned to look at him again, she saw a man. Only a man. He has arguably handsome, rugged and fine-featured, but nothing unlike those she came across day to day. There was something about him, though. Something strange and familiar that she couldn't place. Something that, without her senses of sent and taste rendered completely useless by the lingering burn of the too-strong cinnamon, she would've been able to detect. Left with noting but a light curiosity, she simply eyed him with cool patience, waiting for what he had to say.
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[[Blah, rushed, sorry]]

[Lion]

Richter had eyed her curiously as she wandered about the room before he moved to clear her throat and was only subtly surprised to see that he had startled her.  He merely watched in a curious apathetic fashion as she collected her wits and welcomed him to her shop.  He noticed the stick in mouth that resembled something of a cigar but without smoke and instead had a spicy scent to it that he instantaneously matched to be the cinnamon that was prevalent through out the shop.   But chewing on it?  He'd never seen anyone chew on a cinnamon stick before.  Regardless, however he came here with a purpose and he intended in every fashion to carry out that purpose.

"It's no problem, really.  Habits die hard, I guess," he replied, waving his hand nonchalantly and placing it carefully on the counter.  He smiled good naturedly at her and lifted the bag he carried from his shoulder and onto the counter before tossing the cover open and revealed a finely tied bundle of animal hides, all of which were cleaned, stretched, and tanned.  After placing the bag on the floor, he proceeded to undo the bundle and in a few quick whips of his hands the knots were undone, unrolling a pack of freshly made leather.  He knew the presentation couldn't be better but Richter did not have the years of experience with people that would have given him the eloquence of a traveling merchant.  He spoke openly and in that welcoming tone that he always used when first becoming acquainted with others that were certain not to become hostile.

"I see that you are a tailor and I was wondering if you would be interested in these fresh pieces of leather," was all he said before he got a chance to look her over with greater care.  When Richter looked up to peer at her, he saw what his before him: a simple girl who happened to own a tailor shop; but while she was easy on the eyes, his senses perked up when they noticed an aura all too recognizable.  Yet there remained that cloud of smoke over his senses suddenly.  That damn cinnamon!  Nonetheless, whiffs of its persona pierced out at him and he uttered a single term in his mind: "Dark thing".  It seemed similar to his own yet much more feral than him.  He said nothing as he looked through his jade eyes and smiled to her once more.  He looked down at the articles of animal skins and said quickly for want of noise to keep an awkward moment at bay, "So, what do you think?"

[I'll be sure to introduce himself to her before he departs he shop, just so you know.]

[Anonymous]

Cinnamon was Aithne's solace. The sweet, all-consuming burn was an excellent way to redirect ones thoughts if their mind had wandered to morbid places, and it smelled positively delightful--more than one could say of these crowded summer streets on sweltering summer days. But its main draw, the thing that made it an absolute necessity for our dear girl to survive deep within civilization, was that exact property which Richter would soon come to discover: it practically blocked one's sense of smell. And of course, she didn't simply keep it in the room, she put straight sticks of it in her mouth, and gnawed on them in particularly trying situations. Imagine it, the fiery flavor cleansing the palate of all other things, overwhelming both scent and taste seamlessly, and discreetly. It was far easier to get away with a cinnamon stick without long-winded explanation--than, say, clapping a hand over your nose and mouth.

The deep burning still strong in her mouth, Aithne remained entirely oblivious to the physical nature of her visitor, just the way she liked it to be. Considering the heritage of this particular man, however, her whims might have been a bit different. Her gray-green eyes followed Richter's motions with undisguised curiosity, and she habitually folded her hands, tightening and loosening her fingers as they tangled with one another. She wasn't quite wringing her hands, more of a subtle visual display of interest and some other odd emotion...it was rather like her to complicate a simple thing. "Leather hmm? Well I haven't worked with any of that in awhile," her hands freed themselves from each other as she spoke, her left rising to her right forearm to trace the grooves of the single leather gauntlet she wore. "Usually just special orders," she continued, obviously more for the sake of conversation, and leaned over the neat pile on her table.

She glanced to Richter, offering the customary 'may I?' gesture before cautiously proceeding to lay her hands on the fresh leather. She smoothed her hands across them, flat and palms down, carefully scrutinizing the texture. She nodded discreetly, obviously jotting down a mental note, and skillfully flipped the piece over, starting a new pile. She proceeded much the same way with each piece, occasionally placing a hide on the other side of the first pile, divvying them into three. When she reached the last one, she lifted it, slowly kneading her thumbs against it. "I haven't held doeskin this fine in ages. You do this all yourself?" she inquired with an air of innocent curiosity, offering a soft smile as she looked up at him over the skin in her hands. She paused for his explanation, nodding to the two separate piles on her table. "I'll gladly purchase those on the right, the others are too thick for my purposes, but there is a saddler just down the street who may be interested."

Her eyes drifted down to the hide in her hands once more, still slowly churning her fingers through the folds of it. "How much do I owe you, Mr..."
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[Lion]

Of course, years of solitude had not prepared Richter for having someone's eyes trail after him.  He was quite aware that she offered him her vigilance, and though he did not mind, it sent an unusually pleasant feeling down his spine.  He did not understand what might have caused such a feeling, but because it was new and strange he was not quite ready to endure it just yet.  Richter glanced up at her and offered her a faint smile when asked about it and merely nodded to her when she motioned a request to feel the skins.  They were orderly, a pile of only five or six and remained in their natural shades respectively from the animals they were harnessed from.  He observed quietly, as he was wont to do, her separate the hides into their separate piles and was found himself quite transfixed by the movements of her hands.  There was a strange fascination with them, the air of familiarity more potent now than it was a minute ago.

When she spoke, she dragged him back to the real world.  Richter nodded once again before explaining, "It took me a while to get the right method.  But, yes, I make these hides on my own with my bare hands."  He watched her finger the doeskin a while longer before continuing, "Alright then." And proceeded to wrap the rest of the skins in the bag as she questioned him.  He paused for a moment, looking up at her and finishing her sentence with only a little hesitation.  "Richter.  My name is Richter."  Jade eyes flashed once as he went on, "You can give me however much you think they're worth.  You're the tailor after all and are going to use them how you see fit.  But keep in mind I know a bad price when hear one."  He looked up into her eyes and smiled jokingly at her, all the while awaiting her reply.

[Anonymous]

"You do? Quite impressive," she responded in an even, unmistakably genuine tone, still absently kneading and stroking at the doeskin which was now intertwined with her fingers. Inwardly, she was admiring the suppleness of it, how soft and pliable it was. When she'd said she hadn't come by anything like it in ages, well, she meant it, and the marvel was too much for her to lay the piece aside. It had incurred a memory in her, linked only to a familiar scent and the texture of the skin, and she was struggling to revive it...a precious moment long since passed, lost like all the others after... the unfortunate evening. She cringed within, and hoped there was no physical manifestation of it that the man opposite of her would detect. Her past was certainly not his problem, and how she hated to trouble others with silly things they could only offer pity to resolve. She didn't want pity. What she wanted, she obviously couldn't have...something stolen and destroyed so long ago.

She was roused from her unpleasant musings, which had come and been chased away in only a very brief moment, as the man offered his name. "Richter," she repeated softly, her warm smile returning easily with the relief of being pulled from that dark place. The light, silvery giggle came easily as well, and she was glad for it...she didn't usually recovered so quickly, and couldn't recall just how many patrons she'd frightened away (or at least creeped out) by that sudden listlessness in her eyes. "Ah, well and I'm glad you do," she replied through her effervescent grin, her gaze drifting over her 'keeper' pile a moment, performing quiet calculations. "I'll be back in a moment."

She tipped her head to him in another customary gesture, excusing herself, and strode smoothly to the stairs near the rear of the store, inconspicuous among the smattering of brightly colored and exquisite clothing that decorated the rest of the room. She cast a brief glance to Richter as her foot rose to the first stair, offering a slightly apologetic smile before she disappeared into the room above, and returned as quickly as she'd gone. Her slender hands cradled now a dark pouch, the doeskin untangled from her fingers and draped over her forearm. She lay the bag on the table, retrieving a handful of silver and gold and bronze coins, and returned to where she'd previously stood before him. She counted off a few for each hide that remained on her table, especially generous for that doeskin she was so enthralled with, and offered them to him. "If you think this is fair, of course," she paused briefly and added, "and you can always come back with more, if you don't mind returning. I would love to have more."
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[Lion]

Richter nodded in her direction as she proceeded to retrieve his payment.  He did not expect much from her, seeing as he wasn't the greedy type and merely used the money for supplies of the non-wild variety.  He found the products manufactured by certain tradesmen quite useful in his given choice of lifestyle, be it blades or specific foods.  He took the time while she was away to wrap up the remaining skins that she would not take and, after expertly fastening them into their original bundle, stuffed them back into his bag.  Seeing as she was not yet back he occupied himself by observing the shop about him.  He hadn't been in many tailor shops in his time, preferring to sell to the nearest bidder for his skins which usually turned out to be a vendor in an open market rather than an enclosed building.  It was nice in here, orderly and in dire contrast with the riffraff and cacophony of strange characters.

Yet even as he stood here in his self-made clothes, for he, himself, was something of a seamstress, leather deerskin pants, simple leather tunic dyed red, brown leather long coat and travel boots.  Still, he considered his own 'native' clothing nothing in comparison to the articles of clothing that must have taken many painstaking hours to meticulously construct.  He wondered if she would work the same magic with his own leather, or rather hers now that she planned to purchase it from him.  And then he thought of the piece of doeskin he had brought in and her apparent fascination with it.  Indeed, now that he considered it, he thought it strange for one to hold attachment to such an object so quickly.  Or at least that was how he perceived it to be.  He did not have much attachment to anything because nothing lasted forever as far he understood life.  Still, he pondered her preoccupation with the doeskin until she returned with the purse that would end their quid pro quo.

Richter watched silently as she pulled out the proper amount and smiled, surprised that she was giving him more than he would have thought.  "Thank you," he said, taking his payment and placing it all in his bag. "That will do."   Then she remarked on him returning.  He looked up at her with curious eyes and simply nodded with a widening grin before answering, "Of course, I don't mind in the least.  You're actually one of the first people I've come across that invited my return.  I do have more doeskin whence I came.  Would it be alright with you if I returned with the rest of it later today?"

[Anonymous]

"Really?" she retorted softly when he told her she was among the few who invited him back. Glancing down at the skin draped over her forearm, she couldn't help but wonder why...it was absolutely exquisite. "Any reason for that escapes me." Maybe affinity for the material wasn't widespread, but that all mattered little to her. The public opinion was something Aithne dismissed when choosing things for herself, and there was no way she wasn't keeping the supple doeskin. Hey, she was allowed an indulgence or two for the tedious hours poured into the clothes she made for everyone else. Most of her earthly possessions were acquired with that manner of thinking...she didn't actually need any of it, technically...though going without would require her to give in to certain, feral parts of herself she would sooner smother than embrace. Damned curse.

Richter's inquiry brought a quick, brilliant smile in response, and she nodded with barely suppressed enthusiasm. "Certainly...if it's not too much trouble, of course. I'll be around." More? Tonight? The prospect made her ecstatic...perhaps this was the key to unlocking memories she'd long since lost. Just one scent, one sight, one tiny memory. Any little thing would be enough, be a small peace of her stolen past reclaimed. "Thank you, Richter, very much." She brushed back a stray lock of her auburn hair and waved in friendly dismissal, the gesture that would free him to leave without rudely turning away or feeling he'd rushed out. Social niceties were one of Aithne's most meticulously refined skills, as made obvious by all of her little gestures. The way her eyes would stray at certain moments, the way she'd tip her head or lift her hands or slightly change her facial expression. The subtle pleasantries of polite society...though as a whole, it was rarely that. Major misnomer.

Once Richter was out of sight, she exhaled softly and turned away from the door, returning to the unfinished garment that still lay upon the table. When she reached for it, the doeskin slid down her arm and paused, rumpled, over her hand. She eyed it carefully and raised it to her face. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder in a sudden bout of paranoia, then returned her attention to the skin. She breathed deeply of it, allowing its essence to run over her tongue and fill her nostrils, in hopes that the scent and taste might trigger a reaction...and indeed, she found it to be familiar, but in a way she'd been far from expecting. She stared wide-eyed at the material, running her tongue over the top of her mouth, lest the cinnamon still be clouding her senses and skewing the outcome of her analysis. Unconvinced, she pressed her nose against the hide and inhaled again, this time unable to deny it...she'd know that woodsy musk anywhere. Werewolf.

At the realization, she nearly dropped the precious skin. Another werewolf? In town? That was unfathomable. As far as Aithne was aware, she was the only were who'd chosen to assimilate into society rather than roam the wilds...it took too much effort, too much self control. When one knew the absolute freedom of running through untouched woods, of answering to only your pack...or if you ran alone, yourself, caring only of your own simple, carnal desires, society, in comparison, was a buzz killing pain in the ass. When faced with the prospect of another like her...the idea she wasn't some sort of anomaly, she didn't know what to think. Didn't know if she should feel fear or elation. Didn't know if she should feel freed from loneliness or completely exposed. There was no doubt in her mind that the man...were... Richter knew, had discovered at some point during their conversation, that they shared this curse, but he hadn't acted on it, and that unsettled Aithne farther.

Reeling, she gingerly settled herself into her chair, propping her elbows up on the table and cradling her chin in her hands, her gaze trained vacantly at the bleach-bone sign in the window. What does it mean, Alanna?


[[ Aside: she won't still be staring out the window when he gets back XP ]]

[Lion]

The precise reasons behind Richter's exclusion from the civilization were a strange combination of his own and those that didn't exactly feel comfortable in his presence.  Why, it was only a few months ago in which he traveled to a village several miles from the outskirts of Ketra to sell a few small vials of medicine to the local apothecary when after receiving payment was swiftly thrown out of the building due the almost violently fearful behavior of the apothecary's animals.  He knew this was because of the 'dark thing' they sensed in him and sometimes it wasn't just animals that could perceive it in him but sometimes other beings too.  The apothecary, too, just happened to be of a special breed of dark elf that apparently had a nose for the supernatural.  Nonetheless, it caused Richter to respectfully keep his distance from those who he had a feeling would not take kindly too him.  Perhaps it was for this reason also that he drifted toward humans, who, as far as he knew, could not sense the curse in his blood.

Richter smiled in his departure as he made his way back from whence he came.  It took but an hour or so to reach his dwelling that lingered so close to the ties of civilization.  There, he stopped only to rest; eating, drinking, for his journey back.  As he finished wrapping up the remains of his spare doeskin, mindful to leave the thicker hides behind, he then set off in an alternate path back to the city.  Though he lived and breathed the wild, he was not so ignorant as to neglect the possibility of a predator stalking his very path.  Even as a Halfling however, there were few predators that would dare attempt an attack on a werewolf.  It was such a quiet journey back as he watched the day bleed out into what would become another glorious, star-studded night, and his mind wandered to the girl in which would receive these fine doeskins.

He sensed the curse in her, there was no doubt now that he was able to clear his head from the clouding of the cinnamon she chewed on.  Yet he did not know what to make of it, unsure what a lone wolf did upon chancing upon another wolf.  He did not bother to bring it up, however, because he was there on business and as far as he was concerned there was always time to clear the matter later, should there be a need for clearing.  Richter could not help but maintain a strange curiosity about her though.  How could a werewolf, such a wild creature at heart, manage to integrate itself into the workings of society?, his mind rang in an annoying din.  Richter understood the amount of efforts it would take on someone's part to keep themselves in their guise amongst others and in a way, thought that he might question Aithne on this.

His journey soon ended when he ended up back in the city and faced the once intimidating door of the meek tailor once again.  Without knocking on the door as would a normal person at so late an hour, he merely looked through the window and entered, assuming that she would be expecting him.  Taking the bundle from off his shoulder, he set it down on the table whilst he called out her name, "Ms. Aithne!"

[Anonymous]

Aithne had been waiting for him, though she'd resigned herself to the second story of her shop. She'd needed to find a way to calm down, and trusted enough in her ridiculously keen hearing to warn herself of intruders. Polite society would be kept at bay by the 'Closed' sign, which had replaced the previous 'Buying materials' sign on the window pane. Only thieves would cross her threshold at this hour...well, thieves and invited guests, both of which she was certain she'd hear, so she trusted the door to be propped open to the night without a vigilant eye scanning the store. Sentinel ears would suffice.

She sat upon her bed--a humble cot with a thick, quilted blanket--with her legs crossed before her, back against the wall, and gaze trained upon her toes. What was she going to say? She wasn't quite convinced she'd be able to look at Richter straight anymore, now that she knew...and knew he knew. Her voracious drive for self-preservation had kicked in, and her immediately conscious, more reasonable mind was struggling to suppress the conspiracy theories that flitted across her thoughts. What if he was sent by the beast who made her? What if he wanted her dead? Surely he hadn't intended to create another...he'd only been out to devour her. Maybe he had an agenda against her for years, and was only now acting on it? But that wasn't possible...that wolf couldn't have known she'd survived, let alone have discovered she'd moved oceans away. He'd been too wild, too far gone, to even harbor thoughts like that. And why bother? Even if he'd been lucid and cared enough to track her...why waste the energy? She was no threat to him, not as competition, and certainly not as an out...that mindless man-eater had outed himself.

Could it really just be coincidence?

The odds must've been astronomical, for two civil-minded werewolves to cross paths. She toyed with the idea of fate, but dismissed it quickly...Aithne had never bought that sort of thing, and their off-chance meeting wasn't going to sway her, so she stowed it away with the other conspiracy theories. She was just grasping for straws. Exhaling deeply, she leaned he head back against the wall and gazed up at the rafters, absently studying shadows as she calmed herself down. If he'd had an agenda, he wouldn't have kept up the tanner masquerade long enough to find out her name. He would've followed her upstairs, or simply dispatched her before she'd turned around to greet him. It was just coincidence. Just coincidence.

Still, she wasn't sure what to do about the situation. In the time after he'd left, her supper had been delivered, so she'd eaten, she'd bathed, and once content that there was little else she could do to clear her mind, she'd sat on her bed and indulged her thoughts. It hadn't much helped, she was still hopelessly confused, but at least she'd be much more difficult to distract with the matters of hunger and hygiene attended to. She sighed and uncrossed her legs, kicking her tiny feet over the edge of her bed and poising her toes on the smooth floor. A noise from downstairs interrupted her thoughts before she could be lost within them again...footsteps. Aithne rose, stilling her breathing and listening carefully, though the effort was hardly necessary. A somewhat familiar voice called her name from below, and her heart leaped. I almost wish it was a damned thief...at least then I'd know what to do.

"Coming!" she called back, habitually reaching for an open jar of cinnamon sticks. She paused, her hand hovering at the lid. Shaking her head slowly, her hand dropped back to her side, empty. For once, she wanted her senses, wanted her awareness. She was winging it, better to be unhindered. She quickly raked her slender fingers through her auburn hair, which now fell untethered to her shoulders. Smoothing her shirt, a modest lavender tunic, she gathered herself and descended the stairs. "I hope you weren't kept waiting." her voice came easily, the soft, sing-songy tones she was so used to methodically producing for all sorts of visitors. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, she had difficulty looking to his face, for fear of finding something unpleasant in his expression. Carefully, she approached, doing her best to hide the changes in her mannerisms. She forced a small smile and fell silent, unsure of how to continue.

[Lion]

Richter was mindful of his place in the tailor's shop, careful not to disturb or to destroy despite the fact that he trespassed on private property.  His literary abilities were not as up to par as with other citizens and therefore he did not take notice of the sign that read 'closed' in the shop window.  He waited patiently as he knew any guest should and smiled when he heard the reassuring voice of the one he was expecting.  Though he knew of her secret, smelled and recognized it as if it was the only scent in the world to him, he thought nothing of it except for his sheer curiosity and sudden interest in her.  In all his life he had never met another like him, growing up in the raising of normal wolves that were driven by instinct and not the mental matters of man.  He did grow up in a pack, resuming wolf form most of the time with stark, gunmetal gray paws and densely shadowed pelt, but left it shortly after he turned fifteen.  Richter wondered as to how she was able to suppress her instincts and also if she would answer these such questions.

When she finally arrived below stairs with him he replied with, "Only a moment.  Er, here are the skins I promised you.  These are all the spares I could find.  I hope they're to your degree."  He unrolled the series of seven finely made pelts out on the table and placed the strings he used to tie it with back in his bag.  Even as he proudly fingered the leather, he found his eyes drawn to her for reasons unknown to him.  He did not smile but instead placed a visage of concern in his eyes as he felt something unsettled in her.  Thinking it was the hides he proceeded to inquire, "Is there something wrong?  Are you alright?"

[Anonymous]

"Ah, excellent," she replied quickly as he began spreading the skins over the table. She gathered the unfinished silken garment, untouched since his first visit, to make more room, gingerly laying it over the back of the chair. It was odd for her, not to finish her work when there had been plenty of sun left, though fortunately enough Richter didn't know enough of her to draw that conclusion on his own. There were countless things about their meeting and about the situation at hand that unsettled her, she didn't want to add concern that she was offending her fellow...eh, creature akin to her.

Embracing the offered distraction, she moved to examine them just as she had earlier, stroking her palm-down hands over them in turn. As she studied, she made a point of discreetly testing the air, scenting them for age. If his being a tanner was merely a ruse, well, he'd thought of everything. The hides, if he'd tried to make them before returning to her, would likely have been botched and would still reek heavily of their previous owners, while these had a faint bit of staleness to them, and were just as fine as the first. No lie there, unless he'd somehow known she'd ask him to return. A clairvoyant, Alanna? Come on now, that's a reach, even for you.

She hadn't noticed the listless vacancy of her eyes or the unsettled grimace that was slowly manifesting across her face until she felt Richter's eyes upon her, and carefully raised her gaze to meet his. He looked...worried? The air of concern about him was palpable, and a look of bleak confusion washed away the advancing contortion of her own features. Her hands contracted slowly, and she felt a soft material bunching up between her fingers. Right, the hides. At his inquiry, she hesitated, gently smoothing the rumpled skin where she'd unwittingly clenched onto it. "I'm...no, I'm just fine, thanks for asking...sorry to...concern you. These are great, I'd be happy to pay equally for these...I" You're babbling.

She exhaled deeply, slowly dropping her head as she braced herself against the table, looking suddenly and irrevocably defeated. She paused, as though fearful to continue, but steadied herself, her auburn and pale-streaked locks spilling over her shoulders and falling as a veil over her face. "You know, don't you?" Her voice was strange, low and forced, alien to her gentle, freckled facade. She slowly lifted her head, guiding her now vacant, gray-green eyes to his face. She continued, "what I am? What...we are..." If you say "a tailor" I'll throttle you...
[/color]

[Lion]

No, Richter did not possess any powers of mental mastery, at least none that he was aware of.  His blood, though of the wild and was a sense of power in itself, was not made for the subtle arts of such trickery.  He had been reared to follow his instincts and had done so the whole of his existence.  He had a feeling, that perhaps with time, he could learn the skills of precognition and such that would help him in his career as a hunter and herbalist, but it would be far from him to consider such things that went beyond the here and now.  The only future Richter concerned himself with was the immediate future, often dwelling on the morrow and usually never traveling further than a week.  This was his nature as a hunter, survivor, piece and parcel of the dark nature in him to care only at what needed to be cared for.  This wasn't to say the least for his emotions, however.  Albeit, aloof during most occasions, he often was drawn to the emotions of others and could become quite passionate himself when the mood suited him.  He did know Aithne enough to spot some simple change such as an unfinished dress, but he could perceive some sort of tumult molting beneath her.

This remained unknown to him until she hung her head and spoke in a tone that did not suit her as far as he knew.

"You know, don't you?" she had uttered.  "What I am? What...we are..."

It did not take more than a fraction of a second to interpret her meaning.  Yet he was silent for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully.  Did he know?  Yes, indeed he did for it was difficult for a creature for a creature as he to not detect others of his kind unless blinded by something stronger than his senses.  Had he known all along?  No, he hadn't for he was young in his life, having known so little of what it was to be civilized and without much contact with people, he couldn't have known her nor her blood.  His own experienced could be dragged from a lifetime in the Draconi forest, secluded, so how could he have known her.  Still, to say that he didn't would be a lie and Richter only lied to save himself when needed.  He assumed that in detecting kin, there would be no need to save himself.

"I know," he said in a soft voice, trying to smile warmly to her, to reassure her he meant no harm.  "But, I've only ever known today.  Y'see, I've never met another of my kind before.  Another werewolf." He looked at her expectantly.  "Why?  Were you expecting something?"

[Anonymous]

Aithne's eyes gained something over the short moments she awaited the dreaded response, the affirmation of her fears: a silent plea. Any creature, even one of the same genetic makeup, who knew the reality of her existence posed a threat. Could choose to expose her to the milling humans who carried out their ignorant lives around her. Could destroy, in the breath of a single word, everything she'd worked so hard to establish. Could make of her an outcast, a hated, hunted monster. That vulnerability was more than the dainty woman could bare. His soft, easy response sent a sharp course of electricity down her spine, and she stared at him with desperate calculation--a wounded animal cornered by a predator. The gentleness of his tone and warmth of his smile was grating, almost a schoolyard taunt. Sadistic. Or well-meaning, Alanna. Don't overreact.

As he continued, seeming to answer each of her suspicions in turn, she forced herself to feign ease, even blink a time or two, as though she wasn't paralyzed by her own dismay. When the accursed word passed his lips, however, the masquerade was slain. Her eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open, and in disbelief she stared at him, unmoving, for a fraction of a second. "Are you crazy!?" she breathed frantically, and suddenly dove for the still-open door, reaching it with ridiculous speed and yet carefully pressing it closed. She spun and threw her back against it, as though the whole city was about to barge through waving torches and pitchforks. Her knees quivered, and she fought the desire to slump lifelessly to the floor, to just curl up and die. She inhaled deeply, fighting against hyperventilation, and slowly lifted her eyes to Richter. How dare he? "Fool!" she spat the word with a much ferocity as she could between gasps, a slow hand raising to her wildly palpitating heart.

Slowly regaining herself, she did her best to mask her contempt, and moved on with an explanation, the human in her methodically working to smooth over her feral outburst. "Do you have any idea what that...word...means to these people? If just one passerby heard you, they'll have my head on a pike by dawn!" Her voice was haggard, and it became suddenly obvious she was struggling, the civil girl losing out to the heathen beast. She moved to the table, her heart clenched in one hand while the other reached out before her, moving in a cautious shuffle. At this point, any little thing at all could trigger it, anything at all could be the straw that broke the figurative camel's back, and she'd be a roaring, vicious beast...the embodiment of everything inside herself she hated and feared. Swiftly, she tossed the silvery lid from the waiting jar of cinnamon sticks, seized one, and thrust it into her mouth. A loud crunch shattered the sudden quiet as she bit a generous portion free, and continued as she chewed the chunk to pieces, her tongue methodically working it around her mouth. A swell of sweet-burning fire leaped from each remnant, instantaneously blinding her most acute senses, and the sudden ease spread slowly, visibly, along her rigid form.

She exhaled heavily, a thick burst of cinnamon accompanying her breath into the open air. She took a few moments to slowly bring herself down, and turned her gaze back to Richter, her cheeks and the bridge of her nose flooded with the heat of the fire. "My apologies," she said at last, her voice once more light and familiar, though the song was still noticeably absent. "I'm...a little inclined to overreact when my livelihood is at stake, I do hope you'll forgive my outburst." It was astounding, really, how quickly the cinnamon took effect, how it could reverse the threat of transformation and return lucidity to the previously psychotic. "Wolf's bane," she announced with a soft, dry chuckle, waving the remainder of the stick. "I wouldn't survive here without it," her voice was still laced with apology as she tried to diffuse tension from the situation, sheepishly eying Richter. As her gaze crossed him, she couldn't find the enemy she'd seen in it only moments before...he really did just stumble upon another were, no agenda beyond selling his leather. "I've, uh, only met one..." The bastard who bit me...
[/color]

[Lion]

It did not occur to Richter's limitedly experienced mind that a 'civilized' wolf still had to protect their identity as much as any creature of the night.  As did the vampire with their ever changing and heavily guarded names, a werewolf's identity was perhaps their most prized possession.  He immediately understood this however when Aithne shot for the door like a frightened horse and was taken aback by her reproach.  He blinked at her, confused but smoothed his features and resorted back to his stoic nature.  Without a grin or attempt to express orbiter dictum, Richter solidified his spirit and would not be moved by her tantrums.  Like her feral beast that seemed ready to tear through her human fragility, so did his own wolf spirit stand to defend him.

Richter still said nothing, instead hardened his jaw and raised his head slightly as he listened to her rant.  When she calmed herself, journeying back to rationality, he replied, "Indeed."  He looked her over once before moving to finish his words, "You are forgiven."   After careful consideration, Richter made a motion to step towards her, careful not convey hostile intentions.  Upon reaching her he carefully plucked the other half of the cinnamon stick from her fingers and smelled it liberally.  The power of the spice tickled his senses and he sneezed loudly and away from Aithne.  He looked stupidly at the stick and smiled congenially before fingering it and gathering up his senses to speak.  He kept his eyes down to the cinnamon stick he was playing with and spoke quietly, "I apologize for my ignorance.  But believe me when I say that wasn't the first time someone reacted so to my presence.  I suppose it's the...er, 'thing' in our blood.  Still, we are who we are and we can't ever forget it nor do I think we can deny it.  But tell me, if you can," Richter took a step closer to her to hand back the stick before finishing his statement, "How can you do it?  Deny your nature and live in society with other creatures?  I've lived in so long within the forests, I'd at least like to learn how you do it."

[Ah, such shortness.  School is really killing my posting capabilities, but I'll try to get chunky paragraphs out if I can.]

[Anonymous]

The nape of her neck tingled as he inched nearer, and as his hand slowly drew to hers she eyed it warily, tension coursing along her slender arms and pulling her every muscle taut with unease. She drew in a quick breath, but once she discovered he meant only to pluck decapitated stick from her slightly quavering hand, her tensions dispelled. Her cheeks flushed again at the realization of his placid innocence and her gaze darted to the worn floor, studying her own unusually tiny feet. She didn't like this...this alien, vulnerable feeling. She was a virgin stripped naked by the hands of a stranger, bare beneath his greedy eyes, an unwilling victim to vulgarity. Yet this stranger seemed not to hold intrigue for her, but instead reserved his wildest fascination for the half-devoured stick in his hands. Her gaze lifted to him, paranoid curiosity overwhelming shame, though her false courage took her no higher than his hands, and she also quietly stared as he toyed with her most treasured safeguard.

When he lifted the cinnamon to his face, a feral wave of possessiveness commingling with good-old human curiosity smothered her sense of indignity, and she gazed fully upon him as he inhaled deeply of the spice, bent and sneezed. She giggled, habitually bringing a hand to her mouth, greatly amused and glad for the distraction. "It has quite a kick." She returned his smile with similar warmth, and leaned slightly back against the table, doing her best to convey ease though her nerves were still dancing with a nagging tingle beneath her pale skin.

As he carried on with his inquiries about her nature...or rather her ability to stifle it, she shrank back ever slightly, cradling her arms close against her chest and tucking her chin into her hands. Her movements were strange, instinctual, having reverted momentarily to that naked vulnerability she was loathe to feel.  She hesitated, tangling her fingers tightly together, and pressed her knuckles to her forehead. "Deny it? I don't, I can't...not forever." She paused, slowly peeking back over her shoulder to gaze suspiciously at the steadily darkening world beyond her shop. "If it is your assumption that I do not...change...then you are mistaken. I simply...wait. Put it off by distracting myself when the situation gets...a little difficult to control." She gestured subtly to the cinnamon stick she'd returned to her hands, clutching it with an unsuppressed fondness. "I, uh, often go on weekend holidays..."

[/color]

[Lion]

Wiping his fingers from the remnants of the cinnamon on his leather jacket, Richter looked up at her innocently even as he noticed her hesitations.  Of course, he did comprehend the reasons for her being so, considering that he wasn't the one being backed into a corner by a stranger asking questions.  He had given her back the cinnamon stick of course, only letting his curiosity speak through his gaze and staying only on her eyes.  His eyes followed to where she set her vigilance upon next, the door, or rather the world outside the confines of the little tailor shop.  Is there something out there? he thought like a child but was called back this world when she answered his question further.

She spoke of keeping the beast at bay, waiting and holding onto her humanity for a while longer.  The spice was strong indeed; enough to hide the familiar smell of the wolfen animal and keep one's senses blocked.  The method worked on him, only for a moment before he detected her so he saw no flaw in her words.  But he smiled at her nonetheless, a warm grin that just barely conveyed his overwhelming curiosity.  Her explanation only satisfied so much as his smile faded and his brows furrowed.  He began tentatively, careful not to rupture further hostilities or uncertainties.  "So, we've uncovered the 'What'...and the 'How'...but we've yet to discover the 'Why.'"  He was silent for a moment before backing away from her and taking steps toward the table laden with leathers.  He looked up and around at the clothes that hung about the shop before fingering the sheets of hide with this hands, admiring his own work.  Turning around to face her, he grinned vaguely before looking down to ask, "I don't quite understand.  Why...do you keep yourself at bay?  How long can you go without transforming?"

[Sadly short, so sorry.  But welcome back!]

[Anonymous]

"Why?" she repeated, tipping her head to give him a long, questioning look. "Why not?" She paused briefly, trying to put herself into the position of this man, this man who had become a creature just as she had, who now looked at her like an unsolvable puzzle, as though her way of life was strange. Maybe it was? She had nothing to judge herself against, to know if she was abnormal as compared to the others who'd fallen victim to such a bleak and accursed existence. Was she an anomaly? Was it strange for a creature to cling to life as they knew it to be, rather than fall into damnation and accept that they've become what they hated and feared? Perhaps it was strange to defy nature...and when thought of that way, it seemed especially true that she could very well be alone in her quest to maintain her humanity. From that perspective, well, it was far easier to understand the grin on his face and the manner in which he questioned her.

She slowly returned the grin, though hers was far more restrained, and bobbed her head gently. "Does it make me strange?" Her voice was soft, held smooth and unwavering and her gaze lifted easily to his, careful curiosity flooding her gray-green eyes. "Restraining myself? Are there not others who treasured their human lives enough to fight for them?" She paused again, glancing down at her hands, which now curled about each other's wrists, her eyes lingering upon the intricately decorated gauntlet about her right forearm, a came to a somewhat obvious realization. "If I may be so bold as to ask...were you bitten, Richter? Or were you born into this...lifestyle?"

[[ Gah, sorry for the uber-shortness and absence, just trying to get back into the swing ]]

[Lion]

Richter was taken aback again by her questioning, skewing his face in slight bewilderment and did not understand why she reversed his questions.  For once more in his young life, his lack of proper social graces did little to aid him in conversation with another, more eloquent being.  He was not an idiot, not by far; merely ignorant and unexposed to what a person was supposed do and say to alleviate a situation with words.  This fact was both a gift and a curse.  On the latter it made him take most things others articulated to him at face value, often letting him miss any underlying meaning intended to hurt or help.  However, it also gave him a nigh infallible sense of honesty with others, there would be little lies between him and a trustworthy ally.  At the same time, the converse would most likely become a detriment to him in which he might divulge valuable information to an enemy.  It wasn't that Richter couldn't lie or recognize one, it was just that he never had a reason too.

As Richter's eyes flashed over her visage, his own face became calmed in his curiosity.  With his eyebrows raised, she moved to speak once more.  He took his time in answering, considering what words to say very carefully and mulling over what she stated simultaneously.  Finally taking it upon himself to speak, he said slowly, "No, I suppose not.  But then again I've never been in contact with another...er, of our kind.  So to say that your ways are strange to me isn't to make you farfetched or an outsider, I just don't really understand.  I apologize if I've offended you."  Convinced that these words would suffice, he took his time to place some attention to the leathers once again, his face stoic.

After a short moment of silence, it was Aithne's turn to interrogate him.  He perked up and shot a look at her, a look of modest interest in the topic.  "No, not so bold," he laughed softly in response.  "It would only make sense that you get to ask me something too, wouldn't it?  I only make fair deals."   A lighter laugh lifted his throat and he smiled genuinely at her in the face of his attempted jest.  He sighed before he answered and averted his gaze to the floor.  "I've...bit...but never been bitten.  I was born into this state of mine.  As far as I know, my mother was a human and my father...the dreaded creature.

Richter grimaced slightly as he recalled the suspicions of his birth.  "My father was a monster," he said quietly in a comment that meant really for him.  He took a second to claim back his wits after contemplating the issue.  Returning back to the real world, he looked back up at her, "Er—But I don't think I could live like you.  I coexist with my nature.  I have been for all my life and it would be a difficult adjustment...at least for someone like me."  With that he grinned at her again, finding that he had been leaning most of his weight against the leather laden table.  Shifting back to his feet, Richter drew himself to full length before finishing in an even nod, "But it's been good to know.  I mean nice to have met you...and learn these things from you."

[No problem]