fascinating rhythms [open]

[rudelanguage]

WHO: Knife (as Antigone and Pending), ota
WHEN: August/September, post-mission 10
WHERE: assorted areas (marked in prompts)
WHAT: quite a number of efforts to stave off misery and madness
NOTES\WARNINGS: mentions of blood/violence, some suicidal ideation


as pending:

o1. pantomime thread [location: leafless valley, richland]
[cords have been strung between a few pairs of tree trunks within this verdant area of Etraya, and hung upon them are assorted lengths of fabrics and clothing in various states of repair (or disrepair).

if this sight is not piquing curiosity enough already, perhaps then noticing the grungy half-orc moving amid them, picking at this or that, making alterations, mending, merging, manipulating...fashion is happening here.]



o2. the hurt dumpster [location: near ebbets field, dewpoint]
[THOKK.

TNNK.

impact sounds on metal ring out off-rhythm somewhere in the night. following the bouncing noise leads toward a trio of misplaced dumpsters lined up and painted with colored markings of varying sizes and patterns. the bodies of these receptacles have been dented and skewered - some implements still sticking within the body - and the perpetrator is some yards away, flipping a bread knife in his hand.

he catches it by the handle after a flip and turns his attention to whomever is encroaching, eyes glinting in the dark like some nocturnal animal's. they...seem chill, but inwardly Knife is screeching like an angry nocturnal animal.

Can I fucking catch a goddamn break here WHAT DO YOU WANT?!?

Pending is gracefully holding that thought to see what's up with this interloper.]

---

as antigone:

o1. binge after reading[location: kwik trip, nova city]

Scuze.

[peculiar scraping that had begun an aisle over has approached this one, and now a basket dragged across the linoleum is stopped near one's feet. it was hauled by the little gal, stuffed to spilling over, but she's still going. she'll get another fucking basket, watch her!

but first. YOU, tall one.

she points up.] Gimme some of that stuff up there. I can't reach.



o2. antigone of a fall [location: the library, alexandria; cw: suicidal ideation]
[she's already scaled this thing twice before and found the rooftop areas suitable for some magical mapping, so this is...sort of old hat. but while repetition is good for memory, it's also bad for the mood. this shit is just...killing time. killing Knife.

This doesn't fucking matter.

but she's doing it anyway.

except one missed handhold leads to a slip, a skid, and then the little kitsune is dropping from the side of the fourth story.

one of two things can happen. either:

-Antigone just lets it happen, and someone with the reflexes and capability sees and subsequently does a cool rescue (damsel strat)

or

-Antigone snaps the fuck out of it, twists herself and casts a Misty Step...directly onto someone to cushion her fall (this is advanced crash-into-hello tech)

player's choice!]

Comments

[repaintress]

[ Clea places her pencil and sketchbook back in her bag. She holds out her hands but does not take any step closer to him. ]

If you have extra materials, I can show you.

[rudelanguage]

[he hesitates, then moves away from the line to a bag whose guts are spewed open on the ground. he pulls out a couple semi-sheer scarves, dangling them for inspection.]

These okay? Or no.

[repaintress]

Those are suitable. The weight of the thread will determine the effect of the hem. If you use a light weight thread, the hem will preserve the airiness of the fabric and allow for a ripple effect. A heavier thread will pull the fabric down similar to an inserted weight, which will result in a crisper line and the hem acting as a decorative contrast.

[ She'll allow him to choose which he hands to her. ]

[rudelanguage]

[she's given both scarves to hang onto while he pats himself down for where he'd tucked away spools (the only problem with having too many pockets is forgetting which one is where with what), eventually holding out a palmful of options. simple colors with similar thicknesses - the sort of things one could expect from a bog-standard fixit kit.

he'd offer a fresh needle that hasn't been in and out of his mouth, but that'd take too long; here, take this. it's probably fine.]

[repaintress]

[ Clea accepts the scarves, running her hands along the fabric and getting a feel for the weight, composition, and grain.

She accepts the needle and thread with slightly less enthusiasm, wrinkling her nose and pulling out a cloth from her bag and wiping the needle clean with an unamused look. Really, monsieur.

Sitting on the ground, Clea begins.

Unspooling the thread, Clea threads the provided needle in quick and efficient motions borne of practice. Then she lays the scarf across her lap to create a flat surface before she begins to sew, stitches immaculately placed, each new one precisely next to the one before with no overlap or space between them.

She silently sews a couple of inches of the hem, then stops. She's hardly going to do an entire rolling hem.

He embroiders, and from what she observed of his stitching, he should be able to replicate what she's done.

Clea holds it out to him so he can take the garment back and observe. ]

This type of hem can add an ethereal aspect to sleeves in particular, as it flows with and around the arm movements of the one wearing them.

[rudelanguage]

[looming over like a scarecrow does not a good vantage make, so Pending crouches, elbows on his knees, and peers at work, unbothered by the brief flashes of distaste for his lack of cleanliness (she can probably smell him better now, too. sorry.). at least the materials themselves aren't smelly? just the body who handles them.

there is a little, irrational prickle of anxiety while watching; Knife's not used to being taught without at least some bit of aggression or harm, and watching other people work has often been a thing done from safer, obscured distances.

fortunately, there's not much time for the feeling to fester before the scarf is held out and Pending, after knee-jerk twitching his hands away, accepts it and considers the hem.

definitely not for hiding scalpels. but not the worst thing to discover.

he grumbles a thinking-sound.] ...Less fraying too. Right?

[repaintress]

[There is more wrinkling of the nose. Clea has a greater tolerance for unpleasant smells than some here, but there are limits. ]

Monsieur, please bathe. If you worry someone will attack you, contract a guard. One can bathe in five minutes.

[ PLEASE.

Clea nods. ]

Such a hem eliminates fraying, but it's rather labor intensive. A zig-zag stitch is a much quicker option.

[rudelanguage]

[he makes a bland face at the request. Lady, no one ASKED you to hang out. And what the FUCK is a monsieur. he'll not grace it with a yes or no; live in mystery as to whether or not he'll wash his ass one day.]

Killing time is fine, but... Some things just...need to get the job done. [while looking pretty freakin neato.]

[repaintress]

[ That's one way to keep people far away from you. At the cost of one's own pleasure. It can't be comfortable going around in such a state. Clea leans away with the subtlety of a brick to the head.

Apparently bathing doesn't get the job done. ]

Yes. A roll hem is for beauty. Or if one wishes to keep one's hands and mind busy.

[ As he had indicated he wished to do. ]

[rudelanguage]

...

[it's worth trying, Pending thinks. but he realizes--] I don't...draw. For...for trading. If you wanted something. In exchange. [reluctantly:] What do you want?

[repaintress]

[ 'For you to bathe' is on the tip of Clea's tongue, but she restrains herself. Instead, she shrugs elegantly, then rises to her feet in a fluid motion. ]

For you to do your best work.

[ She hadn't shown him to receive anything in return. She'd shown him because if work is to be made, it should be made as well as possible. ]

[rudelanguage]

[he squints, misunderstanding.] You...want me to make this for you?

[repaintress]

No.

[ Her answer is immediate and decisive. She can create her own garments if necessary. He is not her tailor. ]

I want for you to create as you wish, to the best of your ability. You possess some talent.

[ So develop it. ]

[rudelanguage]

Why?

[the idea that she'd give a shit is a little baffling and it shows.]

[repaintress]

Because art matters.

[ That is enough. Art matters, and those with talent should be able to create. ]

And because I want to spend my time in places where inspiration can be found.

[ What he is doing is different. ]

[rudelanguage]

So you want to look at fancy things. [and Pending's been recruited to look at fancy things? Knife can't not try to filter this through the lens of exchange, of give-receive or exploit-take. it's just life.]

[repaintress]

No. I want to see things that are intriguing, new, and different.

[ Fancy is of no interest. She's walked the palace and garden of Versailles, seen the works of the masters with their polish and charm. Has walked in the Canvases of her mother's realism.

What she wants is novelty. Inspiration. ]

[rudelanguage]

Oh.

[huh. so the greenskin doing needlepoint is one of those things, Knife supposes. sure.

a beat.

awkwardly:] That's hard to guarantee. I'm not you. You probably seen stuff aplenty.

[repaintress]

[ Clea's eyes drift back to the clothes. The purpose of this conversation. ]

There is never a guarantee, monsieur. Sometimes the vision we have in our minds does not mesh well with reality. Sometimes our abilities are not sufficient to render our visions.

[ Art is not logic or mathematics. There are no proofs, no certainties. ]

I've seen a great deal. I want more.

[rudelanguage]

Okay, monsieur. [look, if she's gonna say it, so is he!!!]

💀

[repaintress]

[ The look Clea graces him with is some mixture of confused and offended. ]

You think I look male?

[ Is he calling her ugly? This is what she gets for being encouraging. She's going to come back here and take a seam ripper to everything. ]

😌

[rudelanguage]

[eyebrows lift.]

Is that what that means? You were just calling me "man" the whole time?

Clea like Paris is the center of the world obviously everyone knows

[repaintress]

It is a neutral term of address for men and boys. Commonly used in replacement of a name or other form of address.

[ Now it is time for her to arch an eyebrow. ]

What did you believe me to be saying?

french moment intensifies

[rudelanguage]

[he shrugs, climbing to his feet with the scarf and its just-begun hem.] Either something for an unknown person or...like some kind of thing for greenskins.

[repaintress]

If I were to insult you, it wouldn't be over something as banal as your skin color.

[ Over his hygiene habits, certainly. Or if he turned out to be English. ]

I only care about your skin insomuch as it opens new color combinations in garment design.

[ Just as she and Sophie looked best in different colors, so would people with green skin. One reason she wouldn't put some of those colors together is because she'd only designed for people with peach or brown colored skin. Green is a new realm. ]