"Oh desperately," she says in the rapturous tones of, 'My dear Mr Ginsberg, you really do say the nicest things.'
Propping herself up on one elbow, Fitcher pauses to examine-- ah yes. She pokes her fingers through the lapel of her mottled coat from the inside, wiggling them through the slash. "Now there's something which will need some stitching." The coat, not her skin. The layers beneath have absorbed the mutilating slash very nicely indeed.
"I can stitch it, if you haven't the inclination," Ellis tells her, trading the offer as he extends a small, silver flask. Tarnished, round, toted in his pocket for who knows how many years. The ridges on it's stopper have been worn smooth. "I'm a fair hand at repairs."
It's what comes of doing your own. He supposes she's taught herself that skill as well. Whatever she'd been doing before the guild, it'd likely required a fair amount of tailoring if it was anything like the scrapes Ellis had found himself in.
"Your offer and resourcefulness are both appreciated," she says, accepting the flask and removing the stopper. She takes a fortifying swig from it, pauses, then downs another before passing it back.
"But I'm afraid I must decline. I've a seamstress in Stryevaek who would gut me more surely than our dearly departed demon if I went anywhere else with my repairs. I couldn't bear to lose her over professional discourtesy."
In response, Ellis makes a noise somewhere between impressed and amused. Subtext: How fancy.
But really, what must it be like to return to places regularly? What must it be like to have such connections? Though maybe the real question is what kind of seamstress tends to a monster hunter's dress?
"Maybe you'll have to introduce me," Ellis says, looking down at his front before taking a swig from his flask. "I'm going to need some tailoring done after I burn this lot."
One particular perk of joining this guild: having the space to expand his wardrobe, just slightly.
"I'll consider it. You will certainly need someone."
She is loathe to sit fully upright just yet - there is an ache in her side that seems like it will become deeply unpleasant when she does -, and so she neglects to do so for a few moments more. The night is cool, the view down into the meandering valley to the little winking lights of the village is pleasant enough and, with the exception of escaping the fetid smell, there is no reason at all to be in a hurry.
"It occurs to me that I neglected to ask when first we set out, Mr Ginsberg. What has brought you to our strange little coterie?"
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Propping herself up on one elbow, Fitcher pauses to examine-- ah yes. She pokes her fingers through the lapel of her mottled coat from the inside, wiggling them through the slash. "Now there's something which will need some stitching." The coat, not her skin. The layers beneath have absorbed the mutilating slash very nicely indeed.
no subject
It's what comes of doing your own. He supposes she's taught herself that skill as well. Whatever she'd been doing before the guild, it'd likely required a fair amount of tailoring if it was anything like the scrapes Ellis had found himself in.
no subject
"But I'm afraid I must decline. I've a seamstress in Stryevaek who would gut me more surely than our dearly departed demon if I went anywhere else with my repairs. I couldn't bear to lose her over professional discourtesy."
no subject
But really, what must it be like to return to places regularly? What must it be like to have such connections? Though maybe the real question is what kind of seamstress tends to a monster hunter's dress?
"Maybe you'll have to introduce me," Ellis says, looking down at his front before taking a swig from his flask. "I'm going to need some tailoring done after I burn this lot."
One particular perk of joining this guild: having the space to expand his wardrobe, just slightly.
no subject
She is loathe to sit fully upright just yet - there is an ache in her side that seems like it will become deeply unpleasant when she does -, and so she neglects to do so for a few moments more. The night is cool, the view down into the meandering valley to the little winking lights of the village is pleasant enough and, with the exception of escaping the fetid smell, there is no reason at all to be in a hurry.
"It occurs to me that I neglected to ask when first we set out, Mr Ginsberg. What has brought you to our strange little coterie?"