Alain DeMuer approached Elessaria's shop on foot. It was a pleasantly cool afternoon, the sort that more paid homage to the passing winter than it heralded the coming spring, but still the weather merited a nice stroll across town. The young man had worked the opening shift at the Silver Mark Pub & Brewery, crossed town to the Zeppa soda plant on the waterfront, crossed the river to Greyshott Place for a lunch meeting, doubled back to the DeMuer Exports office in New Haven, and now walked to Heart Notes Parfumerie. Clutched in his tattooed right hand was a handsome brown book, filled with hand-written notes relevant to what he hoped would be a fruitful business deal for the fashion-conscious elfess and himself.
Her strong sense of fashion may have motivated some semblance of his own - he came dressed in a handsome maroon sweater over a white Oxford button-up, a pair of medium khakis and nice brown shoes, with the white cuffs of his shirt rolled back over the edge of his sweater sleeves, both pushed halfway up his forearms. It was a smart, professional look, but casual enough for someone his age.
He pushed through the door into the shop and his senses were at once assaulted by the variety of perfumes that winked from the walls in the sunlight. His sharp eyes sought out the shopkeeper.
Her strong sense of fashion may have motivated some semblance of his own - he came dressed in a handsome maroon sweater over a white Oxford button-up, a pair of medium khakis and nice brown shoes, with the white cuffs of his shirt rolled back over the edge of his sweater sleeves, both pushed halfway up his forearms. It was a smart, professional look, but casual enough for someone his age.
He pushed through the door into the shop and his senses were at once assaulted by the variety of perfumes that winked from the walls in the sunlight. His sharp eyes sought out the shopkeeper.