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A stitch in time ...

Tags: Morgaine,  Gloin

Short Summary: Gloin has reason to seek out a tailor. Mistress Morgaine tries fishing for custom
Date (real-life): 2014-01-21
Scene Location: Esgaroth: Business Parade
Date (in-game): December 3060
Time of Day: Afternoon
Weather: Clear
Business Parade

Stemming off from the Avenue of Tales, this is a decently sized enclave of various businesses, warehouses and workshops. Store-fronts come in all shapes and sizes in a cheerful, colorful frieze along the street, culminating in a large of cul-de-sac within the midst of the residential areas. Buildings here are often two or three storeys high, some with more than one business to each, and so the parade of signs perhaps takes a little getting used to.

All the same, if Merchant's Way is where the commerce lives, here is where the manufacturers thrive, and the street has been widened to allow for a few wagons to pass at once. Often can be heard the muted sound of sawing, or hammering, or even the sound of sacks being moved, as the gentle industry of the shop-owners goes on. A few side streets run off to residences and the like, while to the west the street widens further as it rejoins the Avenue of Tales.

(OOC Note: This room represents multiple locations. +store/list for more.)

Obvious exits:
 Out leads to Center of Avenue of Tales.
[Business Parade(#24518)->Gloin]
Stanric of the Carpenters' Guild is having a bad day but looks hopefully in your direction.



Nestled between two identical buildings in the midst of a row of similarly-built shops, this edifice has the distinction of displaying an ornate sign reading: Custom Tailoring. The white-washed boards of the facade make the light brown sign all the more visible, as does the gold-colored paint and the image of a spool of thread that unwinds to create the script. The interior of the ground floor is visible through windows as tall as any man through which may be seen an orderly show room: at one end, three fat armchairs encircle a small tea table where customers may be plied with pastries while they consider the nature of their commissions; a doorway to the left of this, draped with a curtain of light green linen rather than a door, leads into a small but cozy fitting space; a table opposite serves for laying out fabrics and considering patterns; and two of the four walls are lined with dozens of shelves upon which are stacked boxes of patterns, neatly-folded clothes samples, swatches of fabric, and baskets of embroidery thread. A workroom may just be spied through a doorway in the back wall, but that door is usually closed to provide the seamstress with privacy and solitude as she goes about her craft. The top floor is more mysterious, its windows curtained against the interested looks of passersby, but it may be assumed that the space is used as a residence.


Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service


Real Time: Sun Jan 19 14:55:43 2014 MST

Dale-Lands Time:
Mersday, nighttime on a clear winter's night, December 23 of 3060


[Morgaine(#19962)] Yet another busy day on the Business Parade! Despite the chill in the air, many's the merchant who has taken a brief respite from his work to enjoy the glimmer of afternoon sunlight beating past the clouds and lending some warmth to the winter day.

A little ways down the noisy street, Morgaine stands outside of her shop, leaning on a broomstick handle. She appears to have been sweeping the small patch of stone outside her door, but it's clean as can be now and she seems to be taking a moment to savor the sun's rays. An energetic mouser rolls around at her feet, batting at what appears to be an empty thread spool.

The short figure stomping his way into view from the Market Square apparently has a purpose in mind - not for him lingering to admire nature's beauty! His tread may be slow, but his steps are sure and he mumbles something into his beard as he passes each house. A curse? Certainly the Dwarf - who is bundled up in a nondescript grey cloak several inches too short for him - is scowling.

A few words float back on the wind: "... four ... five ..." His pacing continues. Then the scowling Dwarf comes to an abrupt halt in front of Morgaine's door, treating her to a piercing scrutiny from beneath bushy brows. A heartbeat's silence and then he announces doubtfully, as he gazes at the scene of domesticity, "I was told a tailor dwelt here." Tailors, one assumes, do not usually have cats and broomsticks as accoutrements.

Morgaine spares a glance at her peculiar visitor before answering him in kind: "You were told correctly." Leaning her broomstick against the doorpost, the seamstress tilts her head slightly and lets the silence fill the void where words ought probably to be. The cat at her feet abandons his spool and stretches his long, lean body before sauntering in a large circle around the dwarf, glaring keenly as he goes.

The Dwarf takes a moment or two to recover his equilibrium. Perhaps it's that cat pacing disdainfully round his ankles. He affects to ignore the beast, addressing Morgaine herself again. "Then I've work for him, Mistress. Is he at home? I'd hoped to discuss the matter in person." He inclines his head politely enough, no doubt assuming the woman to be the tailor's wife.

[Morgaine(#19962)] Taking a deep breath, the seamstress glances heavenward before looking down to contemplate the dwarf once more. This is hardly the first time she has been mistaken for a shopkeeper's wench or a tailor's dogsbody.

"I am the tailor here, sir, as it please you," she replies, the last few words spoken, perhaps, with a hint of sarcasm. "If it's a man you seek, I can point you in the direction of a tailor who works on Merchant's Avenue who's manly enough. But if it's quality you're after, you'd best step inside."

Perhaps the Dwarf does look a little discomfited, for his snowy beard wags a few times. "I meant no disrespect, Mistress. I simply thought that amongst Mannish folk ..." He waves one hand vaguely in the air. The other has not emerged from beneath his cloak: look carefully and one might surmise he's carrying something.

Having cleared matters up to /his/ satisfaction, at least, the Dwarf forges on briskly. "I seek speed and neatness; no more, no less. I have an item for mending that cannot wait. Can you take on such work at present?"

The cat is still circling and he shifts one booted foot surreptitiously away.

[Morgaine(#19962)] Things may be cleared to the dwarf's satisfaction, but Morgaine seems skeptical, at best. Nevertheless, she gestures to the door of her shop and leads the way across the threshold, nudging the door open with her shoulder. The cat scoots in before the dwarf can choose whether to come or to go; clearly, this domain is his, and the loud, rumbling purr he emits as soon as he's comfortably curled up inside seems to say just that.

"Only mending?" Morgaine asks. The seamstress steers the dwarf to a space near the window where two padded chairs and a small tea table stand in the glow of afternoon light. Seating herself in the chair facing the shop door, she crosses her hands neatly on her lap and stares intently at her would-be customer. "You could have gone to any of a dozen shops on the street if it's just a bit of snip and stitch you needed. You knew precisely where you were going when you stopped at my door; is it possible there's something else that needs doing, as well?"

The Dwarf wastes no time in appropriating the other chair - well, maybe one moment to check that it is cat-free. Wouldn't do to suffocate the wretched creature! "Gloin, son of Groin," he introduces himself, rising from the seat to offer a stiff half-bow before easing himself down again. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mistress-"

He leaves that sentence hanging whilst he pushes back his cloak: the tunic beneath is of fine fabric, and the silver chain at his neck merely confirms the fact that this is a Dwarf of means. One not immune to giving or receiving flattery, however; at Morgaine's suggestion he replies brusquely, "I wanted a someone of quality." Her stare is met by one equally intense; after a moment the elderly Dwarf concedes gruffly, "Just mending, for now. Let that be the test."

He jerks his arm free of the grey cloak to display a rolled-up bundle of white wool.

[Morgaine(#19962)] "If I were a proud woman," Morgaine says slowly, leaning back in her chair, "I would say the test has already been passed. You're here, are you not? But as you will."

Steepling her fingers, she lets her gray eyes do a quick sweep of the dwarf's accoutrements. Whatever she sees there seems to please her if the slight, almost imperceptible nod of her head is any indication. "And what exactly is it you would have mended, Master Gloin?"

A soft snort greets those first words; however, Gloin has acquired just enough tact and diplomacy in dealing with non-Dwarves not to press the matter. Instead he unrolls his bundle, which proves to be a fine woollen cloak trimmed at the hood with white ermine fur. The back is sadly marred by a long, jagged rent. As the Dwarf shakes it, some smaller garment tumbles out: this one, on closer inspection, is a pair of woollen leggings, sporting a similar (although shorter) tear. "There was," the Dwarf states with great dignity, "a nail." He clears his throat and does not look the seamstress directly in the eye.

After a pause, he returns briskly to business. "Can you mend these by tomorrow?"

[Morgaine(#19962)] To her credit, Morgaine does not laugh; she does not even crack a smile. If the edges of her lips drift up slightly, they are very quickly checked, and the gaze she bestows on the two garments is entirely professional.

"May I?" she asks, but without waiting for an assent, she bends to pick up the leggings and lifts them to her eyes to examine them more closely. As she peers at the tear, she murmurs under her breath words like "good craftsmanship," "silly to be so sporting with fine cloth," and "would be a pity..."

"Yes," she declares at last, "this would be very simple work. Both garments, that is. It's fine cloth, so they should mend up quite well."

Gloin affects not to hear whatever Morgaine is muttering; at the final words, though, his head comes up so that he can regard the seamstress approvingly. "That's settled, then. Good - I hate waste." He drapes the cloak over the arm of his chair so that his hands are free. "And the price?"

Morgaine names a figure; a reasonable price, by any tailor's accounting. Still fingering the cloth of the leggings, the seamstress rises from her chair and crosses to the work bench against the opposite wall. She smoothes the garment out on the tabletop and sticks a few pins along the tear wtih deft fingers. Where the pins came from is anyone's guess!

"When will you be wanting these finished," she asks, turning to lean against the bench with one hand stuck in a pocket of her work tunic.

Gloin is gathering himself for a fierce spate of haggling: one can see it in the gleam in his eye, in the way he sits up straighter in his chair, in the way he slowly strokes his beard. When the figure named turns out to be more than reasonable, it quite takes the wind out of his sails. He lets out a long huff of breath, bereft of an argument.

"A fair bargain, Mistress-" Again, that hesitation. "How should I address you?" he enquires as he watches the expert at work. "Your Mannish names take many forms." Which might be a polite way of saying 'we've never been formally introduced'.

[Morgaine(#19962)] The dwarf's question takes Morgaine by surprise. How ridiculous, not to have introduced herself! Poor business, indeed.

"You must think me terribly rude," she says, a genuine smile brightening her countenance. "My name is Morgaine, and you are welcome to address me as such. May I offer you refreshment, Master Gloin? I am not much by way of a baker, but my sister sent me a basket of cakes this morning and I always have a kettle simmering in the back. That is," she pauses, perhaps wondering whether dwarves drink anything aside from ale and dark beer, "...if tea is to your liking."

"Mistress Morgaine," Gloin repeats, though the rising inflection in the words makes the title more of a question.

Whether Dwarves do or do not drink tea will remain unknown, for already this particular Dwarf is shaking his head. "Thank you, but I have other business to attend to. One of my kin has just returned from-" He breaks off, clearing his throat. "Reports to hear, letters to write," he excuses himself stiffly, no doubt regretting that near-slip. "Shall I collect my items tomorrow? Or perhaps you might have them delivered to the Dwarven embassy?" He waits, absently smoothing down his beard.

Morgaine stiffens slightly at the rather brusque dismissal. If the mysterious mention of newly-returned kin strikes her as odd, she does not show it except in the minute quirk of a brow.

"As you will, sir. Whether picked up here or delivered to you, the garments shall be completed on the morrow." Walking around the work bench, the seamstress strides to the door and holds out her hands to take the cloak. "I hope," she adds, "that if you find my work satisfactory, you will mention me to your fellows. It isn't often I have the opportunity to work on dwarven garments, but I should be pleased to have that sad fact amended."

"I shall make arrangements," Gloin replies as he hands over the cloak. "And naturally, good workmanship deserves to be known." He takes a few steps towards the door and then pauses to look back at the seamstress. "I myself will be leaving Laketown before much longer; however, on the return trip I may find occasion to visit this establishment. Even the best clothing does not last forever." With that half-promise he makes another of his stiff bows and then heads on his way.

[Morgaine(#19962)] Watching the dwarf go, Morgaine laughs quietly to herself and turns back into her shop. Her cat, hitherto ignored in his cozy corner, rises to follow her towards her cutting table where he leaps up and establishes himself among a pile of fabric scraps. "Silly tom," she mutters, pulling Gloin's leggings toward her with one hand and expertly fishing a needle from a pincushion with the other.

Date added: 2014-01-26 13:44:22    Hits: 64
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