"Master Hanno, if you would stay still..."
She plucks him off the streets in the name of some newest mission, requesting aid where she knows it won't be denied, even if she knows his busy schedule within Arcia to be nearly the same as hers. Nobler, even.
Not a single adventurer, Starcalled or otherwise, wanted for a job at the moment; not in the wake of the war with the magia and its abrupt end. Many commodities the populace had grown accustomed to had disappeared when the majority of the population sought refuge behind Falderen's walls, and it had been left up to those who remained - and those who had caused this string of consequences to appear - to make up for it.
A blue-haired woman takes his measurements, tilting his head this and that way, rearranging his posture as many times as required to test a variety of angles. The touch of her hands, delicate as it is, as well as that of the measuring tape, is enough of a brush against his skin to cause laughter to tumble from his lips, prey to unconscious tickling.
"My apologies, she is very... Thorough."
How does this particular situation - dragging him into an inn, allowing her Summon to repeatedly invade his personal space in the name of "taking measurements", and making light conversation as time passes - aids the mission, is something not touched upon.
"Oh, shush," the Seamstress quiets her summoner with a flick of her wrist in her direction, fabric appearing out of nowhere and being pressed to the length of the knight's arm. "How do Faerin wings work, exactly? Your mantles, to be perfectly precise!"
She plucks him off the streets in the name of some newest mission, requesting aid where she knows it won't be denied, even if she knows his busy schedule within Arcia to be nearly the same as hers. Nobler, even.
Not a single adventurer, Starcalled or otherwise, wanted for a job at the moment; not in the wake of the war with the magia and its abrupt end. Many commodities the populace had grown accustomed to had disappeared when the majority of the population sought refuge behind Falderen's walls, and it had been left up to those who remained - and those who had caused this string of consequences to appear - to make up for it.
A blue-haired woman takes his measurements, tilting his head this and that way, rearranging his posture as many times as required to test a variety of angles. The touch of her hands, delicate as it is, as well as that of the measuring tape, is enough of a brush against his skin to cause laughter to tumble from his lips, prey to unconscious tickling.
"My apologies, she is very... Thorough."
How does this particular situation - dragging him into an inn, allowing her Summon to repeatedly invade his personal space in the name of "taking measurements", and making light conversation as time passes - aids the mission, is something not touched upon.
"Oh, shush," the Seamstress quiets her summoner with a flick of her wrist in her direction, fabric appearing out of nowhere and being pressed to the length of the knight's arm. "How do Faerin wings work, exactly? Your mantles, to be perfectly precise!"