OPEN POST; [ VALSA LEY / ORIGINAL ]

[needlecrafts]

❝Do I miss the shadows? The knife edge between life and death, the needlepoint that threads the two together?
I don't know the answer to that anymore.❞

(( but it starts out fine ))

Comments

cross stitching

[nerine]

[Someone left their wallet. And they left the Midnight Grind's door ajar.

Monts tells herself that it should be okay to leave her shift. It's been a dreadfully slow day, so there were no customers to attend to, and she left a note and a text to Oren and Iona to let them know she would be back in a few minutes—with the addendum to come look for her in case crossing into an unknown world bites her in the ass.

See? No one could complain about her not covering her bases.

It's surprisingly easy to navigate this city she's in, at least in terms of blending in. This world had a mostly human population; good. Humanoids are a consistent constant, as Oren said. She may not have changed out of her jeans, black scoop neck shirt, and black apron with the embroidered Midnight Grind logo, but even if it garnered her some curious and possibly affronted looks, no one went out of their way to bother her. Yet.

Saxea is the name of this city; it was easy enough to glean by floating noise and conversation of its peple. As Monts idly looks around, she thinks about where to track down the customer and how to get back to the Grind. The latter is hardly a concern. She's more worried that someone will be without their week's wages or whatever the equivalent was in the leather sleeve.

Her whims lead her to knocking on a door to a small business. It feels safer to ask someone inside than just anyone out on the street.]

Hello? Are we open?

[needlecrafts]

[In a long-erased world, this part of Saxea was ferreted away at the city’s edges, near the port that fed into the gulf beyond, tinging the air with brine. It had been a place of rotted wood and creaking boats moored tiredly to their docks, and of fishermen making ends meet by dredging their living out of the sea. It was a place of dirty alleyways in the daylight, and shady dealings in the night. Beyond that, nothing special — presumably.

And yet today, now, in this version of “new” Saxea, Monts finds herself in a portion of the city still buffeted by the sea, but it’s an elevation in regards to… well, everything. It is a place of higher commerce, business, and culture. The square takes in the bracing ocean breeze proudly, as though it bolsters its residents into spending their wages more freely. Here, there are cake shops and florists that display bright arrangements in glassy storefronts; there are restaurants and cafes, and newspaper stands amid the cobbled sidewalks, there are shoemakers and bakers and watchmakers and an old couple that fixes the frames of eyeglasses for a reasonable price. And always at a distance, blue waters which stretch out beyond the far shore glisten along the horizon.

And there’s a tailor’s shop, a quaint little clothier, too, whose door that Monts now knocks upon. The sign hanging above reads The Ebony Eyelet. It swings in the breeze as she waits for a reply.

Rustling noises. Footsteps. A voice muffled from within, calling out-]

Come in! We’re open-!

[nerine]

[Her first impression of Saxea is rather positive. It's like being in a European beach town with its oceanic breeze and equally breezy atmosphere. Maybe she did expect something more magical than vintage mundane, but perhaps it's for the best that she didn't get entangled in any excitement.

After the voice beckons her, Monts pulls the doorknob and takes a step inside. The Ebony Eyelet didn't scream tailor shop to her. It sounded peculiar, but once she eyes the interior, she gets the idea soon enough.]

Huh. Cute.

[There aren't a lot of tailor shops that she's aware of at home and definitely none like these. She almost feels bad for not being a customer. She replies back just to make sure she establishes her presence and reason for being here.]

Sorry, I just have a quick question—

[needlecrafts]

[For the record, this is the vibe of the front of the shop, with an aesthetic flair that Monts might, in her own vernacular and experiences, label as something close to Victorian. Bolts of textiles in neat rows, packed in neat shelves. Suit jackets on their hangers; dresses on their mannequins. A counter, neat and presentable. First impressions are important, he’s learned.

As one nears the back, perhaps partitioned away into the backroom itself, there are signs of more of a mess — half-finished projects, sewing machines, pins and needles in bloated pincushions, measuring tapes, shears and buttons and bright lamp and electric light both to aid a man who’s hung up unfinished projects on mostly naked mannequin torsos.

But don’t worry about that part.

Valsa Ley, a man in his apparent mid-twenties, approaches as she enters. He has a measuring tape slung across his shoulder like a dangling snake and two bolts of silken material balanced under his arm, and he blinks at her and smiles. A bit… frazzled, as though in the middle of something, though welcoming all the same. Perhaps this is often the norm in The Ebony Eyelet.]

Oh? And I have an answer. Well, presumably.

[A… a customer? And what in the Continents is she wearing?]

[nerine]

Ah.

[Monts turns around from examining a mannequin wearing a handsome vest and smiles when she sees the employee. He must be a tailor or the tailor of the shop, she thinks.]

An answer is better than none.

[She steps near him, rummaging in her big apron pocket. Several scents waft off of her, mostly coffee, some cinnamon and ginger, and something fruity (the small streak of raspberry jam on the corner of said apron).]

I'm not sure if this would be a particularly good clue for a tailor to glean, but...

[Monts produces a slightly worn, but good quality, chestnut colored leather wallet from her pocket and waves it at the young man.]

I'm trying to return this to someone. They left it behind and though I kind of remember their face, I'd like a point in the right direction of where someone who would own this sort of wallet would reside in. Anything about it rings a bell?

[needlecrafts]

[What a strange girl. When she nears, his senses inform him of... coffee. It clings to her clothes and hair, and though he's hardly the one for quick-fire deductions (that's the other guy), it's easy enough to see that the apron she wears might have something to do with it.

Barring the rest of her strange attire, perhaps this implies she's a worker at a nearby coffee shop?????]

Oh? Someone's trying to be a standup citizen, is that right?

[He flashes her a smile, amused but sincere. Valsa hefts up the rolls of textiles beneath an arm again, stepping forward and offering a hand to view the wallet more closely.]

I'm not much of a leatherworker, but looks like the expensive sort. Ah, I can take a look, but it'd probably be best pointing you to the nearest constable, instead.

[nerine]

[Monts shrugs.]

I don't know about being standup, much less a citizen. [She will neither confirm nor deny that she's from around, but she figures she'll roll with whatever punches come about.]

But I'd like to think I turned out decent.

[As she hands him the wallet, her nose wrinkles at the suggestion of the constable.]

I find locals easier to deal with than authority figures, but if it's a last resort, sure.

[Actually...]

You know, I didn't look inside it yet. Maybe there's some identification?

[In that case, it would only get her so far even if it would narrow things down immensely.]

[needlecrafts]

[Valsa can't help but arch a brow at... all of that, really. Not a stand-up citizen, locals being easier to deal with authority figures. Well. The last part isn't wrong, anyway, and who's he to judge?

A shrug.]

Could be! Let's find out, shall we?

[He will reserve the growing questions he has for her later; for now, he fiddles around with the wallet, opening it up.]

Good quality, this, like I said. Either someone will miss it, or not at all.

[Because they'd be rich enough to buy another. Ah, well.

Anything of note inside?]

[nerine]

[It appears that the gentleman who left the wallet behind has the foresight to leave a card that has a name and address that should lead them to a residential area.

That won't, however, help Monts, who clicks her tongue and shakes her head.]

Yup. Can't navigate that. Oh!

[Her face lights up with an idea.]

Can I kidnap you from work? Let's return it together!

[needlecrafts]

[Oh, convenient, and helpful in this case! Valsa blinks, looking over the card before snapping his gaze up to look at her.]

Kidnap me? Oh, well, I...

[He's a bit busy right now, as one can see. But he's also a bit too nice for his own good (usually), and his curiosity is winning over.

It's about time for a break anyway.]

Oh, why not. I must admit, you've colored my curious, and I'm about to go mad, holed up in this shop with no daylight upon me.

[nerine]

Perfect!

[And very boldly, she loops her arm around the corner of his elbow and is already pulling him to the door.]

I'm happy to help air you out. If you get in trouble, just say that there was a pretty girl and they'll totally let you off the hook.

[Riiiight.]