» It's An Emergency!, Seany

[Faerra Críwen]

Early April,
201 H.E.

The smell of burnt anything wasn't exactly a pleasant aroma. There was that thick, slightly sweet scent that lingered in the sinuses and clung to the back of the throat that no amount of swallowing could make go away. There definitely were smells that ranked from "tolerable" to downright "detestable" on the "burned" scale. Burnt candy was tolerable. Sometimes that musty, slightly amber smell was downright enjoyable. However, on the "detestable" end were things like the smell of burnt hair and, undeniably, the smell of burnt fabric.

Which was why Faerra was currently holding the bundle of still smoking cloth as far away from her as possible. Wrinkling her nose, she viewed it in distaste. The cloth was a brilliant green color and her brother Eidan's favorite. The shirt---yes, the sad wad of fabric was a shirt---was his favorite as well. How had it been reduced to this mess? Well... Fae's older brother had gotten a little too confident with the complex tricks and jumps he had been doing with a flaming pole. A misstep had caused him to lose his grip and send the burning stick plummeting onto his shoulders. The flames had been put out before any damage could have been done to the young street performer, but Eidan was livid. Not only had he ruined his favorite shirt but he had had a fumble. A fumble! Good thing it had happened in a practice session in the seclusion of an abandoned square and not in front of a crowd. After he had gotten over his initial frustration with himself, Eidan mourned the loss of his shirt with such steadfastness that eventually Mistress Críwen gave in and dug some previous coppers out of their money tin and sent Fae off on the errand.

The young woman picked up her pace, skipping along towards the tailor's shop with renewed energy. Truth be told, any of the younger ones could have gone on the errand, but she had not yet been to this section of Corus. And Faerra truly loved exploring new places and things.

She paused on a junction of two streets. Now, where was this tailoring shop? Fae's hazel eyes lit up as she spotted the wooden sign swinging above an open door. There was a flurry of brilliant colors and swirl of skirts as the young performer did an elaborate handspring complete with spin and tumble, just to illustrate her delight at finding the place at last.

Bouncing through the open door in a jumble of brilliant colors and flashing jewelry, the young woman blinked her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness of the shop. She spotted a young man sitting behind a counter, bent over... something. She wasn't quite sure what. Waltzing over to him---Faerra truly found it impossible to simply walk---the young woman greeted him with a cheerful, "Hello! I need some help!"

"I can imagine," was the dry response. Faerra grinned, before tossing the burned and tattered shirt of her brother's onto the counter. "Do you think you could mend that?" she asked. The young man gingerly picked up the material, examining the smoke stains, shredded sleeves, and the holes burnt into the material by the tongues of flame. When he shook his head, Fae's face fell. She had been so sure that they would have been able to mend Eidan's sure. Oh, he would be so disappointed.

Not taking his eyes off the shirt, the tailor turned to yell to the back of the store, "Sean! I need you out here!" Turning back to Fae, he explained, "This is complicated work. See the way the fabric is burned and frayed away here? Very complex. This is more along my brother's line of work. He'll be out in a moment." Setting the shirt down, the young man returned to his work before Fae really had time to figure out what had happened. "Oh. Oh. Really? Wonderful!" she enthused, even though the tailor was once more bent over his work.

Good. So all was not lost. There was still hope for Eidan's shirt. While waiting for the miracle tailor to appear from the back room, Fae decided to amuse herself by seeing how far backwards she could bend. She had just created a perfect, rainbow arch with her palms pressed flat on the wooden boards of the floor, when she heard footsteps approaching from the back. That must be him! Flicking her feet over her head, the young woman tumbled into somersault before rolling to her feet in one fluid motion. Pushing stray curls out of her face, she turned sparkling eyes and a bright smile to the approaching tailor. "Hello!" she greeted.

((Agh, sorry if it's long and if I didn't get Jamie the way he is. I was trying to figure out what he'd be like but I don't know if I got it quite right. Let me know if you want me to edit it or anything.))

This post has been edited by Faerra Críwen on Nov 3 2009, 11:03 AM

[Sean Mason]

Sean sat in his office with his loom on his lap. He could knit, crochet and sew; he hated having no ability to weave. So he had found himself a spare bit of wood, bored many small holes in it, and threaded it through with grey yarn. He had expected the work to be challenging at least. Knitting had felt so mechanical until the day it just fell into place like a finished puzzle. He still thought crochet was downright weird. But weaving was easy.

The only thing still baffling Sean was how a person would make anything of significant size, but he decided he didn’t care for now. He could make little squares, build them into something—a cloak, a blanket, a really odd pair of breeches. It was fun.

What would he have been, born into any other family? Exposure to cloth, thread and yarn had been an inevitability from Sean’s birth. He had made a deal with Jamie that he could work only in the office and their home for two days, keeping up with mending but mostly working on his weaving. They made that deal the previous day, which made this Sean’s second free day.

"Sean! I need you out here!"

Sean sighed. He looked up, annoyed. Of course that deal meant nothing when a customer came in. He was working up a sarcastic comment when he stepped into the main room to see his brother standing nearby to a woman who was quite literally bent over backwards. He grinned, raised an eyebrow and asked, “You need my help with this?” He shook his head, tsking. “And at your age!”

He probably would have gone on, but Jamie drew him over to the fidgety young woman, an arm around his shoulders. “My baby brother," he offered by way of introduction. "Don’t let his looks fool you, he’s very talented.”

“Jamie, you promised me—” Sean began. The woman doing flips in their shop was certainly wonderful to watch, and he suspected if his arrow pointed in that direction he would feel watching her the way he felt watching Maxxie. Maxxie… that was a dangerous alley of thought. Sean marshaled himself.

Jamie tousled his hair. “Yes, but you’ll like this one.”

Sean often wished he was not so easily manipulated, but he heard an opportunity and he took it. He was a bit of a show-off. He picked up the shirt. These situations thrilled him. Sean had enough fabric to make something, but not enough to make much. Mmm, a challenge! “Mithros’ gilded balls, girl, what do you do in your spare time?!” he exclaimed. Someone had put this shirt through more than its fair paces, and he was a tailor, not a mage. “I can’t make it what it was. You’re missing too much fabric. I could probably patch it and give it new sleeves, make it into a vest, something like that…?” He looked to the customer to see how that sounded to her.

((time stamp!))

This post has been edited by Sean Mason on Nov 3 2009, 04:47 AM

[Faerra Críwen]

"My baby brother. Don't let his looks fool you, he's very talented." Faerra flashed white teeth and a grin that reached her eyes as she surveyed the new young man. He was rather tall and skinny, judging from the way his clothes hung about him. She did like his hair though. Glossy black and sort of unkempt-looking. Overall, he seemed to be a very nice young man. She could not guess how old he was, he looked to be around her age. Maybe closer to her brother Flynn's. She wasn't sure.

"Hello 'my baby brother'," she greeted, hazel eyes twinkling merrily.

There was some sort of conversation going on between the two. Apparently the "miracle tailor" (as Fae was now calling him in her mind) did not want to be disturbed from the recesses of his dark cave in the back. However, his protestations were cut off short by a hand fondly rumpling his hair and a voice telling him confidently that, "He would like this one." Judging from the way his eyes lit up as he saw the sorry remnant's of her brother's shirt on the counter, he would indeed "like this one". He went over the material with a practiced eye, exclaiming, "Mithros' gilded balls, girl, what do you do in your spare time?!"

She danced forward a few steps before sweeping an elegant, if slightly overdramatic, curtsy. "I'm Faerra Críwen," she said, introducing herself. "And I didn't do it, my brother did. He fumbled a catch with his flaming pole. We're street performers, you see," she added by way of explanation. "Have you seen our show? 'Tis the best in all Corus, I can assure you." Ordinarily, this may have come across as rather boastful, but she said it with such a playful toss of her head and wink with her hazel eyes that it came across as mere playful banter.

"I can't make it what it was. You're missing too much fabric." the miracle tailor went on, still examining the fabric. Fae's face fell. Eidan would be disappointed that his shirt was now and forever ruined. She lit up in delight---as animated as a young child, or more so---when he added, " I could probably patch it and give it new sleeves, make it into a vest, something like that…?” He looked questioningly at her.

"A vest! Oh yes!" Faerra exclaimed enthusiastically, jumping up high in the air to express her joy. "Eidan will be pleased." Cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, she bounced on the balls of her feet as she looked at the tailor. "When do you think it will be done?" she asked. They had a show later today (and by no means did Eidan not have anything to wear) but she would have liked to surprise him with a vest made from his favorite shirt in his favorite color.

[Sean Mason]

Only the fact that she was a customer, and Jamie’s fingers digging into his shoulder, kept Sean from reacting as he wished to being addressed as ‘my baby brother’. Jamie was allowed to say that and Jamie only. And… people who paid him.

He shook his head. “I don’t see shows,” he murmured. It wasn’t that Sean refused to have a good time, but throwing himself into that kind of a situation was just inviting trouble. Sean enjoyed being out and about. He enjoyed acting like a wild teenager – he was a teenager, after all. But he never could stop himself, he went a bit too wild and would probably end up hung over in some kennel. “I’m sure it’s very good,” he added, not meaning any insult. “If there’s more than one like you, I’m sure it’s very, very good.”

Her movements were interesting on a purely aesthetic level. Women just did not interest Sean, and he was not terribly fond of ephemeral things, either. Still, she was obviously very talented, and she was a customer.

But she wanted the vest. That was a relief. Sean hated folk coming to him and expecting he could fix anything. He was skilled, not Gifted. Nearly caught up on his work, he offered, “Two days, three at the most? And anyone who looks at it will see it’s patched. I recommend misdirection,” Sean advised, reaching for his bag of odds and ends. He had buttons and bells and beads, toggles and brightly colored balls of threads so thick they were practically yarns. It she took his advice and asked him to embellish the vest, she was unlikely not to find what she wanted here.

Personally, Sean thought buttons in a tone matching the fabric – buttonholes could be such a pain, but he thought they looked better than toggles – and little beaded bits at the hem.

[Faerra Críwen]

Oh bother. She had set herself up for that one. From the way the young tailor stiffened and the knuckles on his older brother's hands whitened as he gripped his shoulder, Fae was left with nothing but to assume she had made a grievous misstep. She should have known. Her brothers were very particular about who was allowed to call them pet names, and as far as she knew, that list did not include strangers. "Sorry, sorry," she exclaimed, backpedaling furiously. Cheeks flushing with embarrassment, Fae's hazel eyes dropped from the faces of the two men to scan the shelves. "My brothers hate when strangers call them pet names, I shouldn't have done it. But, really," she tried valiantly to defend herself, "you didn't exactly give me another name to call you by."

Her attention was caught by the sight of some rather fantastical looking hats sitting perched upon the shelves. She was making her way towards them when she heard the miracle tailor say, or mumble, rather, "I don't see shows." Faerra spun around, a look of mock horror on her face. "What?" she cried, in an aghast tone. Then she winked. "Shows aren't for everyone, I guess. Some people see right through the tricks which takes away the magic and for a show to be good, you need the magic." Fae had now reached the shelves with the one-of-a-kind hats and had picked one up with gentle hands, almost as if she were picking up a porcelain vase or something equally delicate. Her hazel eyes roamed over it, sparkling in wonder. She had never seen anything quite like it before.

The hat appeared to have ears. Well, not actual ears. Flaps where the wearer's ears would be. Faerra couldn't resist. She had to try this on. Tugging it over her brown and red curls and over her bandanna, the young woman turned to face the young men once more as the tailor said, "I’m sure it’s very good. If there’s more than one like you, I’m sure it’s very, very good.” At first Fae was puzzled and she stood still for a moment, a little confused. Then her hazel eyes lit up as she remembered, they were still speaking of the show. With her excitement over the hat she had forgotten. "There are ten of us," she stated matter-of-factly as she held the hat to her head and twirled about the shop. "This is a marvelous hat!" she exclaimed in rapture. "I love it! Who made it?"

The young woman paused in her spins as she saw the miracle tailor reach for a bag on the counter. When she heard the length of time she shrugged, "No matter. As long as it's done before we decide to head off again." Bouncing over to the counter---still wearing the hat---Faerra watched as he began to pull out a various assortment of things to embellish the vest. Her hazel eyes sparkled with delight as she surveyed them all. "Oh," she breathed. "Look at all the colors. They're beautiful." Looking up at the young man the performer asked, "What would you suggest? If it were up to me I'd put as much as I could on there, but Eidan would probably kill me. What do you think would look best?"

[Sean Mason]

“I’m Sean,” he supplied. "Sorry." He would have preferred to just ignore that anything had happened, because in spite of himself he appreciated that Faerra’s remark had been clever. It had threatened his personal boundaries, though. Sean did not attach readily to others. ‘Sean’ was not the name he had been given at birth, but he kept his name to himself. He had not even told Koba, and he’d been very intimate with her.

As to shows, Sean let that piece of the conversation die. His problem with drink was not her business. He had known folk before who felt compelled to drink; Sean wasn’t like that, just a bit too self-indulgent with a nasty habit of romancing his misery. Besides, obviously she had moved on, and Sean could not help but feel a touch of pride at her interest in his hats.

While Faerra looked at the knitwear, Jamie quietly asked if Sean would be all right on his own. Sean nodded; this woman was obviously a bit of a cracknob, but she seemed harmless, even – did he dare think it? – interesting. So Jamie left his brother on his own.

"This is a marvelous hat! I love it! Who made it?"

Well, he appreciated her enthusiasm. “I did,” he said. Sean did not show much enthusiasm. It wasn’t his way. He was smiling a bit. “I made all of them – everything in here that’s not a bolt of cloth is my work.” He found appreciation like Faerra’s to be very satisfying. Knitting came naturally to Sean. Nothing he did seemed particularly exceptional to him; he needed that reminder that it was in fact a skill.

He looked at the fabric and then at the buttons. There were some painted over; they were not Sean’s favorite, but they were the cheapest and the green ones were close enough to look good with the color of the ruined shirt. He lined three down the middle of the shirt, where he would sew them onto a vest, then let his hand hover over the other embellishments as he thought. “These,” he suggested, picking out a few small bells, “or these,” making a little collection of round wooden beads. Either one would make noise, the bells jingling and the beads clacking together, and they would contrast enough to show clearly.

[Faerra Críwen]

If Fae had known what the young tailor was thinking, she doubtless would have laughed until she had tears running down her face. She would have laughed till her belly hurt. Being called a cracknob was nothing new to her---overly pious priests often thought such enjoyment was an act of sin against one of the gods... no one was quite sure which one---but it never ceased to amuse her. Such a term was always so interesting because so many interesting questions went with it. What if the person that was supposedly crazy was actually sane and everyone else was insane? How did one know what constituted the real and the imaginary? What if everything was all mixed up and turned around, and that everyone was living in their own imaginary world, and it looked completely different from their next-door neighbors? But if Sean was sane, Faerra knew she was just as sane as he. The reason people often were suspicious of the Críwens sanity was because they were themselves. They had no layers of deep, hidden secrets. They met everyone at face value, they laid everything on the table at the very beginning. "This is who I am, like it or leave it," was what their attitude seemed to say. Given their line of work, they were used to some people disliking them. They were used to putting themselves out on the line. But they didn't hide what they were just to get a crowd. Fae was herself in every situation---there was no dark mystery that was better left untouched---because she did not care what people thought of her.

When he told her that he had been the one to create everything in the shop (that wasn't the material used to create it) Fae was in ecstasies. "Really? There are so many..." she spun around just so that she catch a glimpse of everything the small shop offered. Something caught her eye and she ran to another shelve to pick up a brightly colored scarf. "And it has a hood?" she exclaimed in wonder. Popping off her ear-flap hat, the young woman wrapped the scarf about her and settled the hood snugly on top of her curls. "How do you ever think to make these things?" she asked with great respect. Performer she was, but good with needles (knitting, sewing, or otherwise) Faerra was not.

As Sean was making his selection of what would go well on her brother's vest, the young woman bounced over to him again. "These, or these," the young man said, pulling out wooden buttons and some bells. Her hazel eyes lit as she examined them. The bells were bright and cheerful looking, she knew their ring would be the same, and the buttons were the exact same color as Eidan's old shirt. "The buttons," she answered. "The boys in our troupe don't wear bells. I still think they should." And that was that, she thought happily. The transaction was complete and Eidan would have a new vest to wear.

Looking down at the scarf wrapped around her neck, she said morosely, "I guess I should put this back, then." Flipping onto her hands---Fae could never truly just simply walk anywhere---she made her way back to the shelf. When she got there, she raised one arm and---supporting herself with the other---unwrapped the scarf from her neck. She looked up at the shelf high above her head, which was now a foot above the ground, and couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up inside. "This won't work, will it?" she asked. Her arms pushed at the floor as she sprung into the air and back onto her feet. Setting the scarf/hood on the shelf, she asked, "How much are these? I want to know so that I'll be able to save up before we go on our way again."

[Sean Mason]

It was a lucky thing they had not had this conversation. Sean would have stormed out of the room. She was just that lucky, wasn’t she? If people did not appreciate Faerra and her strangeness, they might say something unpleasant. If people knew what went on in Sean’s mind, what passed between him and Maxxie (and why, why, why did the Dog haunt him!?) in his dreams, confusing him because he wanted those dreams to just go away and he wanted them to be more than dreams – if people knew, they would kill him. He would have scorned her privilege, furious with envy. She was different, sure, but she wasn't a freak. And how would she like that?

But, blissfully ignorant of her thoughts, Sean nodded. “Jamie’s a brilliant merchant, but he wouldn’t know what to do with a needle.” With the possible exception of stabbing his brother in the eye, of course! But never mind. In truth those had not been the world’s most challenging projects. Oh, aye, he switched colors often enough, but the needles were not terribly small, the work not terribly intricate. He could make one of those hats in a day.

“Well, it’s… it’s really simple, when you think about it. I just think about what gets coldest. Uh, that,” he said, meaning the hooded scarf, “is one of my favorites – keeps your ears, neck and nose warm. Or sometimes it’s just fun,” he had to add, since there was a distinct element of ‘fun’ to the earflap hats.

She hadn’t understood, but that was all right. Sean was accustomed to folk not understanding him; he did not even let it show, just smiled and cleaned up everything but the buttons. Those he folded up inside the burned shirt. It would have been better his way, but this would serve. He missed most of her acrobatics, too busy with his work, but he heard her question and provided prices for the earflap hats and hooded scarves. Having only caught the end of her little display, Sean realized that Faerra was quite like his dog. They both had big, shiny eyes and a sense of open spirit.

“It’s all negotiable,” he added; Sean had no objection to bartering. Jamie preferred the strict goods-for-coppers trade, but Sean, who kept the books and made the hats anyway, would trade wares for wares. Honestly he felt a little impressed when he managed to exasperate his brother. Between arrests, strays, and generally being a butthole, Sean flattered himself that he had hit most low points available. But even after nineteen years living together, their lifestyles still clashed and Sean enjoyed that occasional small fire. It was all the drama he needed – but he did need it.

[Faerra Críwen]

It definitely was quite a good thing this conversation had not taken place. The sight of seeing Sean so miffed as to storm out of the shop would not have greatly disturbed the young woman. She did not believe in catering to pity parties; she prescribed more to the faction of elbowing them, handing them a tissue, and telling them to get one with it.

"Jamie's a brilliant merchant, but he wouldn't know what to do with a needle." Faerra nodded sympathetically in response to this statement. "I have absolutely no experience with needles whatsoever, outside of tattoos. Mother tried to teach me to mend once but I just couldn't wrap my brain around it." She looked at the young tailor with some respect. "Just holding a needle right is far harder than anything I do."

When Fae asked the young man how he came up with all his ideas for the hats and scarves and hoods in the shop, he responded, “Well, it’s… it’s really simple, when you think about it. I just think about what gets coldest. Uh, that," meaning what she had just put up on the shelf, "is one of my favorites – keeps your ears, neck and nose warm. Or sometimes it’s just fun."

The young gypsy beamed. So the miracle tailor could have fun. She thought so, though he seemed the serious type. The smile faltered just a tad when he reeled off the prices, by gods, that seemed rather a lot for a hat and scarf! She relaxed when she heard that the prices were negotiable and she could barter and trade. Fae looked down at her skirts, as if perusing herself to see if she had anything to barter with. One hand went to the leather bag at her side but she mentally winced. That bag contained the tools of her trade inside, she could not bear to part with anything that it held (which included her juggling balls, throwing knives, some odd bits of ribbon and bells, two sticks that lengthened into poles for fire tricks, a wad of cloth, and some flint).

"I guess I'll have to come back later then," she said, a tad remorsefully. "Those hats and that scarf is quite beautiful and I do want it. Perhaps I'll have enough coin by then, or mayhap I'll find something to barter with. So the vest will be done in several days then? Do I just stop by to see if it's ready to be picked up?"