Solo Second Skin

[Madeira Dusk]

15th of Fall, 517

“Paris? Can I speak with you?”

Madeira held the thick bundle wrapped seal skin under her arm and rapt tentatively against her cousin’s door with the head of her cane. The tall windows of the Craven manor leaked golden morning light into the hall, yet it couldn’t seem to reach the shadows that pooled in the corners. A ghost drifted by. The legs showing under it’s singed dress were black and crackled like charred pork. Madeira nodded to her as she passed.

Out of all the family, Paris was the one she knew the least. He preferred his space, and Madeira never had a reason to disturb it. But now she had need for the Craven’s resident hermit and his particular skills. Besides being a gifted Spiritist, the man was a master tailor. His work was heavily sought for its spirit-protective properties and gothic design. And with luck, he could help with her project.

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door, and it swung open on soundless hinges. Paris stood on the other side, impeccably dressed and groomed despite the early hour. His thick red beard was tamed, his bowl cut trimmed to a razor edge, and his head to toe black outfit was beautifully tailored. He furrowed his brow to see his skinny blonde relative on the other side, but didn’t speak. It wasn’t personal, of course. Everyone knew Paris was embarrassed by his stammer, so he spoke softly if at all.

“Good morning.” She smiled politely, leaning hard on her cane. “Can I come in? I have a commission for you, if you’re free.”

The man nodded and stepped aside to let her in. His room was tastefully appointed, made out in rich fabrics and expensive pieces. His four poster bed was pushed up against the far wall, making room for a small seating area and a large work station. A peddled sewing machine, blueprints and a stack of fabric bolts were organized neatly on the table. With a wave of his hand he offered her a seat on his settee. And as she awkwardly lowered herself with her cane in one hand and bundle in the other, he poured her a cup of coffee from the steaming half-full pot.

“Wh-what can I do f-for you Madeir-ir-ir-a.” He whispered as he sat opposite with his own half finished coffee. His eyes wandered curiously to the bundle beside her.

[Madeira Dusk]

“I have a… little bit of an odd request.” the Spiritist explained herself as she started untying the bundle. Peeling back the sealskin she unrolled a luxurious and enormous pelt. A bright orange fur slashed with the harsh black stripes of a tiger, intact except for the missing head. In four corners ivory-coloured four inch claws were preserved. She got a strange sense of satisfaction to see her cousins carefully unexpressive face dissolve into something like awe at the sight of it.

“Wh-where di-di-did you get that?” He stammered, his blue eyes wide and hungry, coffee cup forgotten at his lips. Exotic pelts, especially the pelts of large, dangerous animals, were nearly impossible to get this far north. And the ones that did manage the journey were exorbitantly expensive. He was right to wonder how the young ward living on her own had managed to acquire something so rare.

“It was a gift. From a client”, she lied. ‘Gift’ was stretching it, since she essentially took it from a client on the back of an ultimatum. And she wasn’t about to admit it was something far more sinister, and far more rare, than an animal pelt.

“I’d like you to make a cloak out of this.” she continued quickly. “Something with a hood that fastens in the front. And, of course, I’d like it to be imbued.”

At once the tailor’s awe simmered down into something professional and calculating. He motioned for her to hand the pelt over, and he spent a moment running his hands over the fur and the leather beneath. He checked the claws and the trim, looking for imperfections. Apparently he found none, for he nodded in satisfaction.

“It is po-po-possible, but are you s-sure that is wh-what you w-want? I could make m-m-many beautifully tr-trimed pieces from this. A tr-trimmed cloak and ma-ma-matching gloves, perhaps?”

Madeira shook her head.

“No, it needs to be a full cloak, just of this fur. And… ah”, she paused, her pale hand turning in front of her as if to wave away the strangeness like a bad smell. “And when I say just this fur, I mean only this fur. No threads, no buttons, nothing that isn’t part of this pelt.”

The two Craven’s stared at each other. Madeira could feel her cheeks heat up as Paris’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he asked the only question appropriate for such a strange demand.

“Wh-why?”

[Madeira Dusk]

“It’s…” Madeira ran her tongue over her teeth. The answer was long and crazy, and somehow she didn’t think the abbreviated version of ‘because this is a dead, skinned Kelvic called Raj and I want the potential to have him Maledictated by a creepy Dhani’ would be appropriate. She looked down at her lap, and when she looked up again her eyes were beseeching.

“I can’t tell you. But please understand that it is important. This must be made of all organic materials. I could only come to you because I know you’re capable of this, admittedly strange, challenge. And I could trust you to keep these details quiet. You know how the family can dig into our affairs.” She tried to persuade the quiet man with praise and camaraderie, and it seemed to work. There was still bafflement and suspicion settled in his brows, but his eyes were back on the pelt and she could nearly see the calculations running in his head. If nothing else, she figured he couldn’t turn down working with such a rare material.

“Ok-kay. If you in-insist. Come to the ta-ta-table and I will take measurementes.”

Without waiting for an answer he abandoned his coffee and took the fur to the work table. Madeira struggled to get up off the soft, low seat, but she eventually righted herself and followed, dragging her paralyzed leg behind her.

“Ah, actually”, she huffed as she joined him at his work table. He had already spread the pelt over top, where the enormous fur still hung over the sides. “This isn’t for me. You don’t need my measurements.”

At this her stoic cousin actually braced his hands flat on the table, closed his eyes and exhaled hard through his nose. Then he fixed Madeira with a stare from pale eyes remarkably similar to her own.

“Made-ir-ira. What are you up t-t-to?”

“Nothing! Nothing. This is just going to be a gift. It was my friends birthday a couple days ago.”

“So-so you are going to give them an ex-exotic fur mysteriously g-given to-to you by a client ma-made into a c-cloak you insist is completely organic th-that is also armoured against gh-gh-ghosts?”

“…Yes?”

A long silence stretched between them. Madeira cleared her throat and repositioned her leg beneath her skirt.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

[Madeira Dusk]

"Wha-what ever you are up to, I wan't no pa-part of it." Paris’ whispered warning seemed more for himself than for her. "Bu-but we will make th-this cloak now."

Madeira's lips thinned to keep the pleased smile off her face. It was obvious Paris wanted her away as fast as possible. Yet there was a spark in his eye that spoke of his excitement. He couldn't resist the exotic materials and the challenge of Madeira's request, but he didn’t want whatever trouble she was bringing to his door. That was why he was insisting they make this now, even though there were still half dressed wire mannequins wearing the debris of his many other projects.

"Wh-what are your fr-friend’s measurements?"

Madeira held up her flat hand to hoover just over her shoulder.

"She's about this tall."

Paris shook his head, exasperated.

"Sewing is not a-art, it's math. I ne-need more th-than 'this tall’." He retrieved a long fabric measuring tool from around the neck of the nearest wire mannequin. "I will measure you f-for an ankle length cloak. I-i-it will likely be floor length for your friend, and s-slightly too big. But cloaks are for-forgiving and she could still wear it com-comfortably"

Madeira nodded and hobbled closer. Paris had her hold one end of the measuring tool as he extended it from her shoulder to ankle, and from wrist to wrist. Then he began marking the tiger fur with chalk, fitting what was essentially a large trapezium using calculations she couldn’t follow. Then taking out a very large pair of brass scissors, Paris began to cut into the material. He measured the incisions many times, and indicated silently when he wanted Madeira to hold the large pelt steady. Otherwise he worked in silence, leaving Madeira to watch with interest and work out what he was doing by herself.

[Madeira Dusk]

Once he was satisfied with the meticulously cut material, he carefully removed the leftover pelt and claws from the table. He opened the measuring tape with a snap and surprised Madeira by throwing it around her head, where he proceeded to choke her with it. He stared at the tape for several seconds while Madeira's slowly turned blue, then added several inches to the length, much to her relief. He marked the measurements in chalk at the top of the short side of the fur.

For several bells Paris worked in silence. And Madeira found herself fulfilling the roll of an animated tool, as he would point to have her fetch things, hold things, or just stand to the side and out of his way. No cut was ever made until it was measured half a dozen
times, and no measure was marked until it had been checked another half a dozen times. Every once in a while the man would mutter under his breath as if he were the only person in the room. And Madeira was surprised to hear that his stutter completely disappeared while he was working.

"Hemming the edge would make it last longer, but that would require thread. What if it the edges were rolled and pinned? If I cut the leftover skin very fine..."

She was starting to realize why her shy, hermit cousin was so avidly sought. For all his insistence that sewing was not art, he had the eye of a sculptor as he extracted shape and form out of the raw materials. His attention to detail and precision made every simple thing take twice as long as it needed too, but the young Spiritist never complained. Paris's passion was showing in his obsessive need for perfection.

So it was quite a shock when, while Madeira was leaning hard on her cane, her eyes misty and half closed as she waited in one of those long spells of being shuffled off to the side, Paris spoke directly to her.

[Madeira Dusk]

"Wh-what do you want t-to use for b-b-buttons?" his soft, stumbling voice snapped Madeira out her daydream. The sunlight was shining bright into the large room, losing it's golden morning hue for the brightness of a crisp Fall afternoon.

"I'm sorry?" She blinked hard, looking down at the creation on the table. It was starting to look like an actual cloak. The garment had been made of folded pelt, so it was lined with fur on both sides. The hood was deep and cozy, and all the edges looked like it had been hemmed in a dense stitching pattern with the pelt's discarded leather. Madeira was expecting the finished product to look more barbaric, given the limitations on materials. But anyone could walk through Alvadas wearing this and look fashionable.

"You wa-wanted it t-to be fastened in-in front." Paris pointed out. And indeed she did, but how would they do that without buttons?

Madeira bit her lip as her eyes wandered up and down the garment, and strayed over to the pile of used and discarded materials. A hooked claw gleamed an oily off-white from the top of the pile. She held shakily to the knob of her cane as she bent over to reach it. What she pulled up was all four claws still attached to the scrap of mutilated pelt. They clinked together like wind chimes.

"Would it be possible to make buttons out of these?"

"No", he replied shorty. "I-its hollow."

But he held a hand out for them anyway, and Madeira automatically put them in his outstretched palm. It seemed her morning as Paris’s assistant already had her well trained. Her cousin inspected the claw closely, a fissure of thought deepening between his brows.

"B-but, these m-might make a go-good hook-and-eye..." he spoke again, whispering so low that Madeira had to lean almost completely over the table to listen. Not that it mattered. Without consulting her in the slightest, Paris set to work again. While he prepped more discarded leather to make the eye, he set Madeira the task of carving the hook. He made a dot of charcoal in the middle of three of the sixteen claws. Then, given a hand drill and careful instruction, Madeira was told to make a hole straight through.

Aware Paris was watching her like a hawk, Madeira slowly wound the drill through the first claw. The material was softer than she expected- less like bone and more like her own fingernails. And, as he mentioned, slightly hollow. As Madeira found out when she broke through the first side unexpectedly, and the pressure caused the outside to develop an nearly invisible hairline crack. Before she could blink the damaged claw was whisked away by her vigilant watcher and a fresh claw was dumped in front of her. Complete with a fresh mark of charcoal and the heavy disappointment of her perfectionist teacher.

[Madeira Dusk]

She tried again, carving deep and straight with the hand drill. This time she took pressure away as she broke through the hollow core, until the drill found purchase on the other side. With every trun of the drill she made sure she was going straight through, and that the soft material was not bending. Every finished claw was given
meticulous inspection and a light sanding, yet Paris was still finished before she was. Then, finally, with the materials laid out, Paris began to assemble the clasps.

The braided leather loops (called eyes) were arranged evenly down the front left side, where they were punched through the pelt and knotted securely on the other side. More leather was threaded through the holes in the claws Madeira carved, then punched the right side, opposite the eyes, and knotted so they stayed in place.

Once he was satisfied with the security of the fastenings, he picked the garment up by the shoulders and threw it over Madeira. She stumbled slightly with the clumsiness of her dead leg and the unexpected weight of the cloak. And as she righted herself Paris was already fastening up the front with deft hands. He then pulled the hood over her head and stood back, hand in his neatly trimmed beard. As he eyed her up and down, circling like a jungle predator, Madeira huffily submitted to her role as mannequin.

The cloak was luxuriously heavy and uncomfortably warm. It hung from her shoulders in a calculated way that both made her look taller than she actually was, and folded prettily while she was standing still. From the inside she ran her hand over the gleaming claw at her collar, admiring the texture. After an eternity of standing there, being pecked and prodded as if by an especially annoying bird, Paris allowed her to remove the finished garment.

"It is n-not up t-to my standard. But f-for you, I g-g-guess it will do."

Madeira couldn't even work up the indignity to be offended by the comment. She ran a hand admiringly over the fur, imagining it around her best friend. It was exactly what she wanted, yet better than she expected, and she did he best to tell him so.

"Thank you very much, Paris. This looks absolutely amazing. I couldn’t find better anywhere on Miza!"

Was it her imagination, or could she see colour rising to her cousin’s cheeks? He turned away quickly, and she was unable to get a better look.

"W-we c-c-can im-imbued it n-now." he stammered worse than ever as he strode across the room and retrieved a shallow clay bowl and an assortment of ingredients. "I-if you help th-this will go faster”, Paris said as he set the bowl down and began the tired process of making soulmist. Now it was Madeira's turn to change colour.

"I can't... I cant make permanent soulmist quite yet." She suddenly became very interested in a bird at the windowsill as embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Whatever Paris might have thought of her shortcoming, he never said. He simply made his soulmist, and with his concentration at the task, gave Madeira the privacy needed to collect herself.

When the opalescent soulmist was collected in the shallow bowl, the two spiritists began the simple job of imbuing. They began at either end, working the substance into every fold and stitch of the cloak. Until finally the job was complete. And Madeira became the proud new owner of a ghost-warding, tiger fur cloak.

The young spiritsist couldn't help but repeat her gratitude as he helped her package the cloak in a spare black garment box, and returned the unused claws and the scraps of pelt back to the seal skin case. And when he saw her to the door, she suprised both of them by giving her cousin a hug. He patted her akwardly on the back until she let go, and this time there was no hiding his beet red face and small, shy smile.

At last she set off down the hallway with a final goodbye. Madeira was proud and happy, holding what she suspected could be the most awesome birthday gift anyone had ever received.

[Maro]

Madeira Skills +Endurance +2 +Observation +4 +Persuasion +2 +Rhetoric +2 +Socialization +2 +Spiritism +1 +Tailoring +2 Lores -Paris Craven: Easily-embarrassed, stuttering cousin -Paris Craven: Master tailor -Having a cloak made from a Kelvic pelt -Rhetoric: Attempting to lie to avoid questions -Sewing: Measurements can't be vague -Measure twice (or six times), cut once -Paris' stutter disappears when he's in his element -Tailoring: Drilling a hole in a claw for a fastener -Tailoring: Be careful with soft, brittle materials -Spiritism: High quality mist can be permanently imbued into objects -Raj: A ghost-warding, tiger-fur cloak ready for malediction Notes : Wonderful as always, Maddy. It's always such a pleasure to read your threads. I like watching the differences and similarities in the two as each steps into and out their places of comfort. Please make sure to edit your request to 'graded' in the queue. I will always feel new to grading, so if you feel like I missed anything or want lore reworded, just send me a PM to let me know.