#fabricologist

@fabricologist

The world looked much sweeter behind rose-colored lenses. Smile on her face, Maya pushed her tinted glasses up her forehead, bangs with them, as she entered Sonata Tailoring. Her paler forehead contrasted with the red on her cheeks, sun-kissed after a whole morning on the beach. A trail of sand followed at her feet, which she didn’t notice, of course, because her attention was on a particular something in the shop. No, not on the beautiful dresses, wide-brimmed hats, or bathing suits put on display… but more accurately, on a someone: the quiet woman hidden in the back like a pearl amongst fabrics.

“Hey there, Candy~” Maya greeted in a sing-song tune. Hands fingering the straps of her cross-body bag, she practically skipped inside (paying no mind to the fact that it probably spread the sand around more). It was the perfect summer day: sun out, a breeze cutting through the heat with a cool ocean spray… And surrounded by all that blue--blue water, blue skies, blueberry tarts--she couldn’t help but think of her good friend and how much she wished she could’ve been with her.  

Sadly, that was impossible as far as she knew. Candace had work today, and she generally had a predisposition to stay indoors. But! If Maya couldn’t bring Candace to the beach, she resolved to bring a little bit of the beach to Candace. Hands dipped into her bag and fished out a sakura shell, tinted pink and polished by the sea. It was small—smaller than her palm, and she presented it to Candace with her hand up and fingers spread wide, as if it were a crown resting on a plush pillow.

@fabricologist​

Humans occasionally wandered in and out of Fugue Forest. It was really no big deal. Witch normally didn’t go out of her way to greet them. She was usually too busy doing her own errands. Usually. But when she spotted a head full of long hair, she was instantly attracted. Like a fruit fly sensing sugar, she made a beeline to the head. Except Witch wasn’t a fly, she was more like a giant hornet honing in on a honeybee, ready to attack. She was going to touch that hair.

She paused in her tracks, noticing that the head was attached to a human who was doing something. Witch squinted. Was she picking berries? That was peculiar. The berries of Fugue Forest were bitter and poisonous. If ingested they caused a terrible stomach ache, but nothing fatal. Was she planning on inconveniencing someone with stomach pain? Witch’s interest was definitely more piqued than it ever was. She resumed her approach. She was going to educate this human. (And touch her hair later.)

@fabricologist

There it was.

A dreaded tear in the fabric that made up his favorite shirt. 

Not his former master’s coat, goddess be thanked, but the rip in the knitted turtleneck sweater had him mumbling. Gale could patch and stitch, but wasn’t any good with repairing things that involved yarn. Expending power on mending the fibers seemed a little inconvenient as well, considering how he’d wanted to focus his energy towards finishing the potion he’d been slaving over for days upon days.

“....It...can’t be helped.”

Donning a different shirt, piling on his heavy coat atop it, the Wizard left the house. He never dressed for the weather. He dressed in what was familiar and normal to him. What felt safe, for the most part. And even as he made his way to the tailor’s shop down the road from his home, he felt a nagging anxiety at looking just slightly different.

Entering silently save for the ring of bells on the door, Gale scanned over the shop and what appeared to be the only employee working today..

Slow day. Really slow day. The bar music wasn’t helping his case. He could have done without the slow jazz, careening from the jukebox stereo systems like a half-drunk tango. The notes were billowing, painstakingly rocking in a way that would make even a shipwreck jealous. This was really a drag, but he supposed he had to look on the bright side of the shot glass. At least he didn’t have to roll out the hospitality. Polishing his fifth glass, he nodded to himself. Yeah. Wouldn’t need to play nice if there were no customers to play nice to. 

The usual tide of people were here. You had your driftwood, your seaweed, your ever-elusive seashells. Hell, he could even hear the usuals (in their burly, knuckle-headed blue and red) from where he was standing. There was nothing more relieving than the satisfaction of company. And no, not that kind of company. Not the kind that he had to factor himself into. Company, where everyone had someone else to preoccupy them was the best kind. He could be at ease, with the worst case of social loafing on this end of the bar counter. 

Wait. What was she doing there? 

“Candace?” 

Damn. He couldn’t help it. He shouldn’t have said a word, but the sight of her at Brass Bar was one that stuck out like a sore thumb. You know. The whole... uh. Periwinkle thing. Weeping myrtles kind of suited a family diner, over a bar. Granted, Brass Bar was way more of an eat-in than other bars, but it was still... well. Sea and foam, grit and sand. A strange place for wall flowers. 

Was it weird to just-- stop talking? Maybe he should have just taken the L and leave?  But it was far too late for that. Sliding her a menu on based habits alone, he paused with his hands still pressed on the laminated edges. “Wait. Are you here for something? Or someone?” Had to make it clear, after all. It would have been easier on him if Chase could leave her to that mysterious ‘someone.’ Another person to tend to the flowers.