Taking Inventory

by **Kit Rowan** on September 9th, 2013, 9:58 pm

Day One, Season of Fall, 513 AV

The place was called 'Azure Reflections Fine Tailoring,' and it made Kit nervous and hopeful all at once. Her fingers gave a nervous twitch as she relaxed in the back of a Ravosala, eager to catch the store early this time, before she came in to start her deliveries for the day, when Syna was still shy on the horizon. Azure was Ionu's color. The color of Kit's first god, whose mark she proudly bore. It was, Kit thought, not impossible that Azure Reflections wore her God's color on purpose, in open expression and secret meaning. She chewed on her thumb, striping, striping the nail away while the Ravosalaman watched warily until the rising hurt informed her it'd be best to move on to the next one. The thought that she might have kindred in this black city was almost too much to hope for!

So it was with an unsure heart that she stepped out of the Ravosala, glanced upward at the sky—Kit had time, still, until the Nitrozians would expect her—and marched into the store. The sign was ornate, and painstakingly carved, while streamers of shimmering, colorful cloth hung from the sides of the door . . . As though setting up shop in the Noble District had not been enough proof of wealth.

Kit found herself surrounded by colorful exotic fabrics; satin that shimmered and shone in the light, thick, exotic wools. Dresses and suits had been squeezed onto carved mannequins—how much would even those have cost to be carved, she could not help but wonder? Exotic, handsome and finely man, in same way an aged wine might be fine. Kit pulled her leather jacket closer, shuffled her feet a little. She spotted a dark haired, handsome man wandering through the store, running his hand over the fabrics on display.

Was he a thief? A customer? The owner? Kit raised a hand to her mouth and hrrrmphed as loudly as she could into it. The man stood up suddenly straight, turned his head, eyes finding finding Kit. He smiled, innocent and unsuspecting. "You're new!" He said, as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Would you like to make a commission?"

"Yes . . ." Kit said. "I would."

OOCFine Wool, Buttoned, Embroidered, Dyed Tunic - 9 gm, 2 sm, 5 cm
Fine Wool, Embroidered, Dyed Breeches - 6 gm, 8 sm

by **Kit Rowan** on September 9th, 2013, 10:49 pm

The rest needed doing later, much later, after the Nitrozians ceased demanding her attention to sent her on her way home. Kit was still dressed in her leathers when she found her way into Odds and Ends. Gloria waved her in. "Shy, was it?" She said, smiling. The woman had a memory for names and faces, then . . . That unnerved Kit, slightly. One slip up, one false disguise in front of the woman might reveal her. "Is there anything I can do for you today, darling?"

"Yeah," Kit attempted her best smile. "I'd like a cloak, please."

"Oho? Something warmer for the coming fall?" She smiled, thinking she understood. Kit did nothing to dispute her misconception. "May I suggest wool . . ."

"No," Kit waved her hand. "Linen will do just fine. I've already a jacket." She grabbed her leather one and gave it a little tug. "No need to push too much further, or I'll roast." Gloria rolled her eyes and muttered something about young people taking care of themselves. "There is something else, though . . ." Kit ventured, very carefully.

"Yes, dearie?"

"My clothes are in need of some mending, and I'd rather do it myself." Lies when necessary . . truth when the truth would do just fine. "Have any tools laying around that might do?"

Gloria's hands hovered over her mouth. "Oh . . . Oh . . . I don't believe so."

She didn't? Oh, well. "Just get me a new cloak then," Kit said. "And I'll be—"

But Gloria waved her hand. "Oh be still, be still . . . far be it me to keep a young lady from her needlework. Let me check again." Kit rolled her eyes and sighed as Gloria vanished into the back again, ventured another glance at the brute by the door.

Same one this time too, with the same barbed plank. Silent as a stone. "You're still an asshole," she assured him. He grunted in what she chose to interpret as agreement.

Gloria emerged from the back with a cloak hung over one arm, a small box in her other. "I can find myself new tools easily," she said, "but I fear I have had these for so very long . . ." Gloria shook her head, petted her hand over the box possessively.

"How much?"

Gloria told Kit, and Kit's nose scrunched up. She chewed on her lip and tapped a finger against her side. Beggars can't be choosers. "Fine." She said. "I'll take it, and the cloak. And . . . Maybe that mirror, too?"

OOCSewing Kit - 18 gm | While it is not on the price list V said in PM that it would be sold SOMEWHERE in Ravok and did not specify where. I had it sold here, and roleplayed it as a kind of one-off thing because it made the most sense to me.
Linen Cloak - 5 sm
Mirror, Small Steel - 10 gm

by **Kit Rowan** on September 10th, 2013, 3:44 am

Kit's last stop was The Defiled Blade, a name that reflected Ravok's sardonic humor in a breath. Fortunately enough, Kit found no screaming children or sacrifices in the forge; the veneer of Ravok's civilization was too thick to allow for anything else. Still, the industry of the place startled her. She heard the sound of metal falling and fire roaring from outside, a near-constant drone of noise while black smoke rose from the tops. Weaponry forged long and hard well. All the better, Kit thought, chewing on her lip, to feed the machinations of the god of chaos.

Some shops divided workspace from storefront. No one had told the proprietors of the Defiled Blade what a storefront was. Kit walked into a wall of hot air, raising an arm over her eyes to protect them from the wash as she walked through onto the edge of the floor. Workbenches were scattered all about her, men hammering and banging away at all their various projects, still glowing red from their stay in the forge. Kit wandered through into the edge of the workshop, reaching across and rubbing her forearm, feeling lost.

A young man veered away from his work as she stepped in. His fast was flush with heat, his arms glistening with the sweat of a long day's work. When he was near a stride and a half from her Kit felt her teeth tighten into a snarl, felt her body step back away from him remembering a night and an alley and—ill him—get away—corpse!— "Easy there," a voice said, and Kit realized her fingers were splayed in a way that made her sweat go cold. A moment more, and she would have emitted res right here, in front of . . . "Don't mean you any harm, miss." The apprentice said, holding his hands into the air. His eyes looked . . . amused. Kit felt a flare of anger, her lips curling back . . .

Find your center, Kit. She thought. Don't think, just feel. Let everything fall out. Kit closed her eyes, breathed, and the rage drained away from her as ticks tocked by, leaving only dredges that clung to the edges of her like food burnt to the bottom of a pot. "I've had," she said, neutral as she could manage. "A rough couple of days." And that was as close to an apology as the bastard was getting!

. . . Okay. Maybe there was still some anger.

"Fixing to defend yourself, then?" He asked, giving Kit an encouraging smile. "Something to give you a little peace of mind? What'd you like? We got swords of all kinds. You name it, we probably got it."

"Daggers." Kit rubbed her hands over her eyes, tried to scratch the tension from her shoulders. "Something I can slip in my belt and not get too many looks. Some throwing knives too, if you have them."

"Good choice," he said, turning, walking toward a rack of weapons in the corner. Well, barely even a rack, really. They weren't large enough to warrant a term like that. "Balanced or unbalanced?"

Frowning Kit stepped sideways, tried to peer at what he was grabbing. "Balanced." He pulled something from the rack and held it out for her to take. It not like other daggers might have been made; it was entirely steel, from grip to blade, sharp and double-edged on one end and blunt on the other, for someone to hold. In spite of herself, she smiled. These men seemed to know their business.

She wandered closed, inch by desperately slow inch—your head is screwy—this doesn't matter—shouldn't matter—why does it matter?—grabbed it. He let go, allowing her to hold it back and handle it. She weighed its handle in her hand, hmmed. Its weight was mainly in the center. Which meant she could throw it from the handle, and expect it to turn predictably in the air. The edge was sharp. All good, but . . . "It's a bit heavy."

"A heavier knife isn't a bad one," he reassured her. "It might take a little more strength to throw, but it will pierce further, and do more. It won't pierce armor, but basic leather, like your jacket, won't stop these knives. You'll be able to use them to protect yourself. That's what you needed, right?"

"Right." She turned the knife over in her hand. Nodded. It would do. "Daggers?" He had one waiting for her to take in his hand. She accepted it, raised the blade so she could see it. The steel was dark, the handle firm and easy to grip. She took a step back, gave a clumsy, experimental swipe, stab. The weight . . . well, at least there was nothing obvious about it wrong. "I'll take it. Nine more of the throwing knives too."

"And you'll take this sheathe," he held up a basic leather one, a stupid grin on his face. "So you don't cut yourself up holding it." Kit scowled, muttered about robbers as she swiped it from his hand and jammed the dagger into it, hooked it on her belt. No one seemed overly concerned; if she tried to steal, there was an entire room full of big, powerful smiths to get in her way.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in any plate?" The apprentice said, sorting through the rack, pulling out her knives, sorting everything into its proper place.

"No!"

"Mail?"

"No."

"Leather?"

" . . . No?"

He turned around at that, smiled, pointed a finger in her direction. "Now that doesn't sound certain. The world's a dangerous place. Sometimes, a little extra leather is all you need to save your life. Are you sure you don't want to have a look?"

" . . . Sure."

OOCDagger - 2gm
10 Throwing Knives - 10gm
5 Scabbard, Dagger - 10gm

by **Kit Rowan** on September 11th, 2013, 10:41 pm

He led her further to the side, away from the forges and the workshops and the main racks. There was no metallic glint off these; they were a line of dull browns against the grays and silvers all around them. "Excuse me if I am not overly familiar with these, miss. We do not make these wares ourselves." She frowned at the apology in his voice, looked to the side and saw he had no intention of stepping any further forward.

She walked the rest of the way forward and knelt down to have a closer work. There was a piece made entirely of leather, hard and strong, she thought, but she was frowning as she pinched it. Light it might be, flexible it might be . . . But only for armor. To wear one of these, made for different sizes and different persons, would be as much a restraint to her as weights tied to her feet. She would get up and . . . "The petch is this?"

The material was dark and . . . and very light. Kit pinched it with her fingers and found it flexible, bent its arms and legs and thought . . . yes. Maybe. It was the closest she'd seen to protection that might actually let her move as she wanted. "That's . . . I believe it was called night leather armor . . . Quite a premium product, if I understand. Quite expensive. And they may need to make one specifically your size, to have it fit."

One day, she would leave Ravok. One day, she would brave the wildlands. On the day, it would be good to have a thing like this between her and whatever hungry naties lurked out there. "I want it," Kit said. "How much?" He said two words that made her cringe. It was a season's pay for her, near enough. Kit needed more money to make a purchase like that. She clung to it a moment longer before letting go. "Maybe later. . ."