[Private RP] Seams About Right

Over a week has passed since the Masquerade party.

Amsteria was once more in walking among the living, heading for the tailor she had visited back then. She had asked the tailor to mend her dress, saving it from the horrendous cut she gave it. Perhaps transform it into a dinner dress. She was not sure how it would end up, but she has her ideas. It was only a matter of seeing what the tailor came up with.

Slipping by people constantly shuffling around the streets, she opens the door to the shop, the bell announcing her presence. She gives the room a cursory glance before proceeding to approach the counter. There was another girl in the shop, dressed in a petite dress that seemed to resemble a sailor suit. She had no thread. Amsteria tensed slightly, as was her initial reaction to threadless beings.

If she was not a living human, then she would either be an Apprentice, or a Hunter. Keeping a straight face, Amsteria waits her turn, glancing occasionally at the girl. Death should really implement some sort of distinguishing mark only Apprentices would know, to identify comrade from foe. Ah, she mused, but then that would make it easier for Hunters to identify us too..

Without realizing it, she put her hand to her chin in deep thought.

Considering how neither had made a murderous move, Amsteria's tenseness dissipated. The other girl must be an Apprentice, after all. She watches as the tailor came back with an article of clothing for the girl. It was a tiny waistcoat, far too small for a human being. Putting her elbow on the counter and leaning her chin on it, she could not help but listen in earnest to their little dialogue. A bear? That plush toy must be the luckiest bear to have custom made clothes for it. She could not help but smile slightly.

It occurred to her then that there were a few children in the Death HQ...why exactly did they not ascend? The question arises once in a while, staring at different apprentices. She was genuinely curious, but she doubted they knew why themselves, so she never asked. Amsteria's gaze turned to the tailor as he offered his assistance to her. She nodded and straightened up, pulling out her own receipt from when she dropped off her dress.

"I've come to pick up a dress," Amsteria mentions as she hands the receipt to the old gentleman across the counter. He takes it and once again disappears into the inner recesses of the premises. Once again, she was left alone with the girl and her waistcoat. Amsteria looks around for a while, before deciding to try break the silence.

"That's a lovely waistcoat," she suggested, peeking at the article but keeping her distance from the girl.

"Oooohhhh,"Amsteria genuinely let the exclamation slip. She had not seen many Apprentices who could sew or do needlework. Heck, her roommates were not exactly keen on keeping up with fashion, be it from their era or from the current. Being men who live by the code of men, too, made it not conducive for little talks regarding clothing. Amsteria leaned forward slightly, a sparkle in her eyes, but caught herself at the question the girl posed to her.

"Oh," Amsteria straightened up a little, "I suppose we frequent different routes in the HQ. I'm Gideon, Amsteria," she introduced herself, wondering  if she should extend a hand in handshake or just bow like how Shorinaga does it. She ends up with a nod and a smile, her free right hand resting on the counter in case the girl extended hers. "I'm a Pathfinder," she added out of habit.

There was shuffling in the backroom, and she glanced up for a moment. The tailor was still shuffling around, looking for the dress. Perhaps a lot of orders had come in since then. It was near summer, after all. She turned her gaze back to the girl and her waistcoat.

"Mind if I ask your name?"

"Pleasure to meet you, Lutz," Amsteria smiles and takes the hand to shake it lightly. She dismissed the scars; every apprentice had them. Hers was well hidden, but there were the unfortunate ones who had them in plain sight. Considering Lutz might have been around for years much longer than her, it would be safe to assume that over two dozen people have asked the exact same thing associated with scars. Why, when and how the scar formed. Amsteria lets go of the hand, indifferent to its condition.

"A birdkeeper hm?" Amsteria reiterated, reminded now of another birdkeeper she had met at HQ before. What was his name again...? She would probably remember if she spots his face once more, but that was not the matter at hand right now. She leans forward slightly once again, a little smile on her face. "Do you always sew your own clothes?"

Amsteria might be an office lady in her lifetime and barely picks up any sort of hobby or habit, but she did indeed like to see creative people at work. If she cannot do it, she can at least watch them quietly. Maybe one of these days she could even pick something up herself.

It touched Amsteria's heart slightly when she comes across people who were down-to-earth. She herself was far from it, she was certain...even though it had not been proven so far. It was her own logical deduction, sometimes it was easy to dismiss being cold as being arrogant. A small smile graced her features at Lutz's certain but short answers. Amsteria was willing to bet that there was a glimmer of pride, just that it was to be shown through what was produced and not by saying it.

"Knowing how to sew well really does make it easier to make things of your own, hm?" Amsteria muses. Jacks-of-all-trades have got to be lucky people. Truly independent, but also quite helpful. She had once thought about whether or not her father, or her mother, had been one of these Jacks. Funny how people only think of things once they have lost them. "I've only known how to mend little tears along trousers and the like, but never something creative," Amsteria chuckles lightly.

Her attention diverted as Lutz suddenly raised her left hand, a bird-puppet on it. Oh? she thought as Lutz began to speak through it. It took her by surprise that the girl would use her puppet as a medium of speech. It reminded Amsteria vaguely of folklore she read where people confessed to stoves for things that they cannot say to their parents or lovers. In Lutz's case, it would certainly not be a confession, but perhaps something quite personal to a degree? Amsteria could only assume and not act upon such assumptions. At any rate, she was not sure whether to speak to the bird, or the owner.

Stepping back slightly, she decides to keep them both in her vision and stare at a point in between...just to try to not to be rude. "My dress got ripped up from that party," she answers with a sigh," it would be a shame to throw it out, but then I also do not actually know how to mend it to make it look presentable. So I sent it to people who know what they're doing."

Amsteria blinked and regret creeped up at the last statement. It did sound a bit harsh, too objective? Ah, old habits die very hard.

The puppet's position being shifted re-focused Amsteria's vision, and she figured that Lutz did not really mind whichever one to maintain eye contact with when the puppet was out. When it came back down and went out of view, the girl was speaking more than Amsteria had wagered she would. Lutz was really passionate about sewing and its many little forms. Amsteria knew now who to turn to if there was a

Amsteria could not help but smile a small smile as Lutz encouraged her to move on to bigger things beyond mending little tears in clothing. She was not exactly in disagreement; there was nothing to aim for after death, after all. No corporate ladders to climb, just a continuous job that could continue for decades. Might as well pick up a new hobby while she has eternity, no? Amsteria nods to Lutz's suggestions.

"Cross stitching is a fine art of sewing, though," she interjected, "I would need books and a loooot of time to master that. Thankfully there's an endless limit of the latter...," Amsteria continued. There was a sound akin to the yell of discovery from the backroom the tailor was rifling through. It seems that he has finally found her dress. She straightens up from her slight lean, looking at the backroom. Seeing him come out with her dress, she sees that it was indeed fixed. The tear that had ripped through the fabric horizontally was now hemmed neatly. It seems the tailor put some artistic liberty into it, too, and added a sash and some lace to the hem, discrete additions to the plain gradient fabric. Personally, Amsteria was happy with it.

Thanking the gentleman as she took the dress into her own hands, Amteria lets it hang loosely over the front of the counter for Lutz to see. She probably stayed for the dress, after all.