Topic: Alterations

Lord Ayreg

Date: 2006-04-07 15:32 EST
Jodiah Ayreg's nose turned up as he walked inside.

He was certainly never one to appreciate herbs and concoctions of the wise women and witches and heirophants, and it, quite frankly, made him itch.

Everywhere.

Grumbling to himself, the death knight walked briskly past the racks of medicines and herbs, paying only the faintest of thoughts to the aching grind in his left knee which has, actually, not bothered him in some time. Must be the weather warming.

Bloody stinks in here, he thought to himself. A quick rake of his eyes across the room found the pale blonde-haired woman standing behind some kind of bench. Folding his arms behind his back, he does his best to give a neighborly smile -- perhaps it would ease the pain of the bill later -- though it did nearly make his face fall off.

"You must be the seamstress Bob told me about. My name is Jodiah Ayreg, and I have need of your services."

He continued, "...what do you know of coats, my lady?"

Leotah

Date: 2006-04-08 00:40 EST
-"As much as you should need, Jodiah!" She liked informalities, it broke down people straight away and left space for an even playing ground in this business. She became a friend as much as a blaize.

A warm smile flooded her face, extending to her eyes which almost seemed to shine from where she stood with a gregarious charm, and an awareness of his need for more than a coat alteration. She had noted the slight gait to his walk, but hid her revelation in her greeting him. For the time being...

Almost seeming to glide over, her stride sure but steady, from beneath her flowing pearl gown, she touched his arms, eyeing the coat scruptulously, eyes narrowed and intent a moment, then suddenly as they had slit they widened and flicked to meet his steely gaze. A gaze that made some women tremble, she thought, and with that a faint smirk caught her claret lips.

"You been a perch for ravens and parrots?!", she quipped as she circled him once examining the extent of the wear and tear.

"Looks as though this one could use a shed and new stitching on the collar and oh, looks there! ", she gasped as her hand lifted gently from his sleeve and landed upon his shoulder, fingering the fraying seam attaching his sleeve to the collars sank.

"This article begs for some attention".

She stepped back, face solemn. "I can shed, stitch and re-do the interior for a mere 130 crowns-I'll do it so it shant ever splay again."

Turning she returned to her bench to leave the gentleman to his considerations. She began unrolling a bulky shamelessly orange roll of cotton cloth, turning it over and over as she finally reached the end of the bench, and examined the material before her. One eye glanced briefly at Jodiah as she pondered his decision. Quickly she eyed the roll again, walking back up the bench to retrieve her scissors.-


Lord Ayreg

Date: 2006-04-08 20:07 EST
Well!

He had come here first to get the collar let out a bit to easier fit his neck, and within seconds the seamstress had already spotted no less than three things wrong with the flaming coat that he didn't even seem to notice to begin with!

His high-collared military-style coat -- cut in the fashion of Rhilshen, of course, since that's where he got it -- was in servicable condition, by his reckoning. Then again, his reckoning usually consisted of battlefield definitions of "servicable" -- anything more than tattered rags seemed to ever fit that description.

Still, he couldn't help himself but to laugh a time or two as she so very promptly upbraided him on the state of his wardrobe. She took him three times around the dance floor on what she could do to make him look snappy, and even seemed to give it a warrant to last a lifetime, to boot.

His hands rose, and he begun unbuttoning the coat. It was the kind that attached to itself down the right side of his torso -- spiffy to look at, but limiting a bit in mobility. When he had it undone, he shrugged it lightly, easily off of his shoulders, standing now in a lace-up white shirt. He walked over toward her, offering it to the seamstress.

"When will payment be due, my lady, and when can I pick it up?"

Leotah

Date: 2006-04-09 20:24 EST
"Aye!"

Resting the scissors in their shell, she walked over and collected it from him. After examining the interior and its capacious pockets she met his gaze. "You tell me. I'll have it done when you want it done!"

Gliding back to her bench, her pale locks shimmering down her spine jumping some as she moved, she glanced back at him and grinned, her eye lids heavy as she eyed him, and briefly his knee. She turned and walked towards a drape covered cupboard with a smirk still perched on those lips as she pondered his ailing leg, folding the article up neatly and closing the drapes behind her.

Turning she walked back to him and smiled. "Payment is made upon your happy inspection of my work" Folding her arms and linking fingers before her stomach she continued. "But first, how's about we fix up the crook leg troublin' ye"

Smiling softly she eyed the culprit knee then gestured to an elegant yet rustic chair with a vine-patterned backing and cushioned with AlaGabyy Silk rose-coloured tuffets.


"Seat yeself and I'll prepare a brew. Dandelion or Quizil Tea?"

She smirked.

"Or just Grey RhyDin brew?"-

Lord Ayreg

Date: 2006-04-10 00:31 EST
"I don't suppose it comes flavored in ale," he said, an almost-wry smile tugging at his thin lips. The aged man rolled his shoulders with a shrug, moving toward -- but not sitting upon -- the chair she indicated. His hand touched the seatback, and his other over his heart. It was an ancient thing, and very nearly forgotten until she offered him a seat. It was a thing of the Guardians of the Temple of Life, of the Great City. He squashed the memory down like a gnat before he felt compelled to intone the formal words.

He turned, looking back to her. "I am told it is arthritis, my lady. I've had no less than three apothecaries look at it, and they've all said the same thing. There's almost nothing to be done for it."

He sat, finally, slouching back a bit in the chair. "I will have this tea, though. Maybe an herb can do something a poultice or medicine can not. It has troubled me for too long, though not so much since winter's past."

Jodiah Ayreg coughed into his hand, his head following her movements. "I'd like to collect my coat tommorow. I should think that two hundred crowns silver would be enough for the expedited service."

Leotah

Date: 2006-04-10 19:30 EST
-She nodded as she listened to his revelations. Athritic pain indeed, but his slight gait would only get more severe if left untreated.

Chuckling heartily she shook her head and mildly went about preparing the brew. She would not accept more than 130 and unfortunately for him the tea would taste more like wildberries soaked in ginger and mudshrock lavid. That was the best description that came to mind. 'twas an odd blend, but it was its effect that spoke, not its taste.

"200 is far too much for my counsel. 130 is plenty. I'm a Lorette by choice, dear Jodiah, not motivated by gratuity", she explained with a firm but friendly voice, her back turned to him as she spun the brew, shook free seeds and feathered withered leaves into the large pot before her. The smell was intriguing to untrained noses, as the fire lit beneath the pot before she blew it out and let the mixture sit a moment.

Preparing the brew was a quick process for her deft hands, she knew the complexities of preparing a potent and fast-acting Quizil Tea but it's properties made it a winner, and one that would surely aid the ailing gentleman sitting in her favourite article from Wielyn-the oldest chair and the most ornate.

Walking over she extended her hands out with the onyx mug and cocked her head towards him, urging him to take it. The concoction hissed and whistled a while, before bubbling and then unruffling and sitting as smooth as a pond. "It'll ease pain. It's anti-inflammatory as well as soothing all over. It's a magical brew 'tis 'tis..", she cooed softly.

Walking back to the coat she removed it from the drapes and began measuring it, stabbing pins into it, holding the frayed locations down upon a paper mat beneath. Grabbing a dulled lead, she traced the pattern out on the unwound paper laying ready on the smaller bench to their right.

Gliding about the bench she occassionally flicked her gaze towards Jodiah, methodically studying his height and width and then going about stabbing pins, some with different coloured baubles on their tip, to identify something or other of measure to the seamstress, an outside eye would assume-and they would not be far off.

After some consideration and buzzing about the bench, she finally hovered back over. She tilted her head and watched him sip. "Once you've had that, I'll examine your knee, and then if you wouldn't mind come stand at the bench, and we'll fit you corectly.-

Lord Ayreg

Date: 2006-04-13 14:17 EST
He listened to her, of course, as was only polite. Someone in Rhy'Din not motivated by the flash of additional silver. What a pleasant surprise. He accepted the cup, staring blankely at its contents as the fluid bubbled, hissed, and whistled. He almost considered poking it with a stick to see if it were alive in some way, or had something living in it.

Once it calmed down, he took an exploratory sip. He grimaced -- medicine women always had a tendency to make the foulest-tasting things in the entirety of the known universe. In the whole multiverse, in fact. It was a universal constant. Gravity would always make something fall. Vampires would forever exist to scourge the land. Anything good for you had to taste like it's been put through the mucking pit.

He ponied up his dignity, though, and continued drinking. No doubt within an hour or so he would begin to feel its effects, and would then silently thank the woman for the brew, however noxious it tasted. The knee had been bothering him for far too long without any type of remedy, save only the now-extinguished little white bottle that Obsidian had given to him so long ago.

During the time it spent him contemplating the meanings of the universe, and choking down the contents of the onyx mug, she had busied herself at the work bench, pincushioning his Rhilshen coat in several places.

"Once you've had that, I'll examine your knee, and then if you wouldn't mind come stand at the bench, and we'll fit you correctly."

He nodded in response, it having been said in the middle of the last terrible drink of the stuff. He bent down after handing the mug back to her, pulling the leg of his linen breeches out of the top of the riding boot, and folded it up to a few inches over his left knee. The man was gaunt in the face, and wiry elsewhere. Pale flesh pulled taut over corded muscle and bone, he corrected his posture in the chair again to offer his knee for her inspection. It couldn't have been a pretty sight.

This, oh dear and unfortunate readers, is why Jodiah Ayreg never wore shorts.

Leotah

Date: 2006-04-18 00:36 EST
-Peeling back the pantleg she examined the knee through hard eyes. The gait had been left too long, and the knee was not just bruised but looked as though the ligaments had stiffened and now protruded against the hardy skin of his knee rigidly. It was a sight indeed!

Standing she walked to her bench to gather together a bandage, splint and what would be a stinging needle, ThornyGalad, and walked back over to apply.

Once done, she wound the grey cloth tight about his knee and loweredhis pant leg. Looking up to him she met his gaze with a sly grin. "Are witches all that bad, lad?"

Standing she extending a hand to help him stand..-

Lord Ayreg

Date: 2006-04-22 13:05 EST
He watched as she worked.

Medicine was never one of the death knight's strong suits. After all, the only time he had even had to use doctoring of any kind was on the battlefield -- a long time ago, indeed -- and his knowledge covered only the basest, crudest methods of preventing death long enough for a proper surgeon to see to them. Antiseptics -- usually urine of some kind -- to prevent infections. Applications of pressure for minor cuts. Tourniquets to staunch the flow of blood in dismemberments. A heated iron to close a small wound. Bandaging for the larger. Herbs had always been beyond his own skill, and understanding.

He was, in a way, watching in awe.

The needle did indeed sting, but Jodiah Ayreg was quite accustomed to pain. Torture far worse than the prick of a needle was levied against him at the hands of that space-bound Questioner some time ago, so the only reaction he gave was the faintest twitch of the corner of his eye.

As she was wrapping his knee, he felt.. limited. He was never one for splints, but he submitted himself to this, so he would go through with it. If it ever came time when he had to move quickly, and with purpose, then he would be able to tear it away.

"Are witches all that bad, lad?"

"Depends on the witch. I've met good and bad. The good were often helpful, and kind," and useless, he thought, "while the bad were spiteful, vindictive, and cunning."


He struggled to his feet, having had to take her hand to do so. His pride wavered a bit under her level gaze and friendly, if not a bit playful, smile, but he very well couldn't stand on his own with that splint on. He moved to follow her to the workbench, limping now from the splint keeping his leg strait, and not from the arthritis itself.

Time to get fitted for the alterations on the coat.

"How do you want me?"