Run
09-13-06, 05:29 AM
The face of July Nusquam flickered rapidly through the cramped crowd of this afternoon's bazaar rush. Such a time was unpleasantly for most anyone; attacked with waves of body odor for Coronians who either couldn't afford to bathe or simply chose not to, the gathered heat combined with the sun above enough to stifle one into a faint. The pyromancer's considerably short fuse was already half sparked, almost beyond roughly shoving and cussing at people that pushed against him. He'd scorched quite a few hands, whose fingers had gotten far too close to his meager wallet for his own comfort.
While the vacant eyed people were his main agitation, the fact that few tailors existed in this place was another that picked at his glass nerves just as easily. The concept of supply and demand brought together a ridiculously large gaggle of armories and Enchantment shops to the Bazaar, so many that finding anyone who could piece together something more reasonable than a burlap hood or a shapeless brown dress that cost half a gold was one of the most grating things he'd ever had to do in his life.
On recommendation, he'd been given an extensive list of tailors by asking around the Church yards, though the first two dozen had been nothing but cheap peasant stalls. Shouldering his way roughly through the knot of traffic that had suddenly stalled all around him, he staggered out onto the sidewalk and grabbed a fistful of the closest person's shirt; a solidly built teenager with a number of metal piercings in his ears, and a few decorating his mouth. The boy, of course, took offense, but shrunk not only at the look in July's eyes, but the ring of flame that sprouted from the lighter he snapped open in his hand. "Durance's Tailor Shop. Now."
If he'd a bit more rein on his patience, he'd have maybe seen the store right across the street. He dove back into the sea of sweating, unhygienic flesh, and burst forth, gasping violently for fresh air a minute later, before stumbling into the shop. He knew he'd found his place when he glanced around at the fine suits and evening gowns mounted on mannequins scattered around the floor, but the young female attendant wrinkled her nose as he approached and almost gagged. "Oh, you smell awful." A hundred sights came forth in his mind; and every one of them ended with her charred and blackened skeleton buried under the rubble of this shop. He restrained himself though, and lunged straight into his business.
"I'm looking for a coat; your wares signify that this tailor will suffice. I want it long, colored red, to the ankles, patterned on the bottom of it's tails with black clouds outlined with dark gray. Hooded, with sleeves just a little longer than my fingers. A sash, or belt, I guess, around the waist, of black. And the coat, I'd prefer it to be of sifan or vlince, but linen will suffice. That'll do," he said, and waved her off. "Sir," the girl said, holding out the notepad she'd jotted the details upon, offering it to the tailor, "There's a man here wanting to buy a coat."
While the vacant eyed people were his main agitation, the fact that few tailors existed in this place was another that picked at his glass nerves just as easily. The concept of supply and demand brought together a ridiculously large gaggle of armories and Enchantment shops to the Bazaar, so many that finding anyone who could piece together something more reasonable than a burlap hood or a shapeless brown dress that cost half a gold was one of the most grating things he'd ever had to do in his life.
On recommendation, he'd been given an extensive list of tailors by asking around the Church yards, though the first two dozen had been nothing but cheap peasant stalls. Shouldering his way roughly through the knot of traffic that had suddenly stalled all around him, he staggered out onto the sidewalk and grabbed a fistful of the closest person's shirt; a solidly built teenager with a number of metal piercings in his ears, and a few decorating his mouth. The boy, of course, took offense, but shrunk not only at the look in July's eyes, but the ring of flame that sprouted from the lighter he snapped open in his hand. "Durance's Tailor Shop. Now."
If he'd a bit more rein on his patience, he'd have maybe seen the store right across the street. He dove back into the sea of sweating, unhygienic flesh, and burst forth, gasping violently for fresh air a minute later, before stumbling into the shop. He knew he'd found his place when he glanced around at the fine suits and evening gowns mounted on mannequins scattered around the floor, but the young female attendant wrinkled her nose as he approached and almost gagged. "Oh, you smell awful." A hundred sights came forth in his mind; and every one of them ended with her charred and blackened skeleton buried under the rubble of this shop. He restrained himself though, and lunged straight into his business.
"I'm looking for a coat; your wares signify that this tailor will suffice. I want it long, colored red, to the ankles, patterned on the bottom of it's tails with black clouds outlined with dark gray. Hooded, with sleeves just a little longer than my fingers. A sash, or belt, I guess, around the waist, of black. And the coat, I'd prefer it to be of sifan or vlince, but linen will suffice. That'll do," he said, and waved her off. "Sir," the girl said, holding out the notepad she'd jotted the details upon, offering it to the tailor, "There's a man here wanting to buy a coat."