A Clothing Panic
Normally, Seldan would be at the Festival Grounds for a little longer than he did this morning, but he's been forced to cut those multi-hour arms practices a bit short recently. His ablutions are done, and with time on his hands and loose muscles, he now finds himself taking a few articles of clothing down to the Market District. Bells jangle on the door of the Prestigious Moon as he tries a new shop this time, letting the door close behind him and looking around.
And there at the counter, sitting on it actually while reading a recent 'Gobber Girl Detective' copper-novel, is Sandy. She looks up when her door opens and grunts a noncomittal greeting and then adding, "Right. Whatcha need?" She sets the book aside, only a small amount into it.
Walery brings himself to the Moon for more specific reasons. He needs new clothes. And he has quite specific requirement. He comes inside, and ... but there's already a customer, and this early, too. So he'll wait patiently and browse. He's brosing the heavier clothes thar look a bit like winter wear.
Seldan looks over at the counter as the voice floats over to him, and turns his steps that direction. "Good day," he greets in a strong High Kingdom accent. "I was hoping to have a few garments made, cut as these, but with better fabric." He lays the three or four garments on the table - a shirt with closely-laced sleeves, a pair of loose trousers, and a surcoat that seems to be meant to go over armor and yet long enough to have the feel of a robe.
He isn't kidding about the poor-quality fabric, and all have seen heavy use and several mending spells, plus a few odors that no amount of Prestidigitation is ever going to get out of clothing.
The elf on the counter of course takes a moment to go start going through the clothes, taking stock of the material and the look of them. "IF these fit snugly then I won't even need to take additional measurements. Very well. I think I can do that for you within a few days." She glances towards Walery. "You'll be needing something, then, yeah?"
Walery looks up, nods. "Oh yes," he replies. "I'm looking for a coat and pants that fit snugly, tuck into boots, and can keep me warm in high winds and cold temperatures. Gloves and hood, too, of course," he muses.
"A heavier material, if you could, in similar colors," Seldan says, then pauses to cough into his sleeve. It's a heavy, ominous-sounding wet cough that doesn't sound good at all, but he says nothing of it, returning his attention to the shopmistress. The sphere and crescent on a silver chain that he wears openly may explain the color choice. "I know little of your winters, but it seems to be coming swiftly."
Sandy squints at Seldan for a moment at that cough. "Should get that looked at," she says casually before she pokes at the clothes with an enterprising finger, "Friends won't even recognize you out of these things." She then glances back to Walery, giving him a curt nod.
Walery takes a hasty step or three back from Seldan when he coughs, and winds up tripping and tumbling over something, winding up flat on his ass. From this position, he points accusingly at Seldan. "Plague!" Oh, the panic. "Plague!"
The accusation brings Seldan up short, but he simply lowers his eyes in what could be taken as an acknowledgement, and pulls several gold coins from his belt pouch. These he leaves on the counter, and turns to make his way from the shop.
"You know, not every cough is the pl--" and then Seldan more or less acknowledges it and she just quiets for the time being, a grimace on her face.
Walery is actually a bit more shocked by the admission than by the cough. "Why are you here, man?" he asks incredulously. Go doown to the Soldiers' Rest and they will wash out your lungs with soap. That can help, if it doesn't kill you, I've heard." Walery, a fount of useful advice.
"I doubt he's virulent or they'd not have let him go," is what Sandy replies, bluntly. "Do take care of yourself, sir. I'll have your clothes waiting for you in a few days." Perhaps she'll need to burn these others.
About to reach for the door handle, Seldan turns, and says simply. "There is a difference between ordinary disease and evil magic," he says calmly, his bearing a mask. "This is the latter. If you do not use magic on me, you are in no danger, and I have no intention of using magic on myself or anyone else until this is defeated." To Sandy, he adds, "I will, and my thanks."
Walery is not paying Sandy a great deal of attention as he cries, "Waaaauuuugh, I don't want to die." He looks confused about the evil magic thing, though, and pauses mid-wail. "Huh?" he asks cleverly.
"HEY. PANICKING ASSHOLE," says Sandy, to Walery, aiming to get his attention, "You don't need to bloody panic, especially not in my shop. I don't need piss stains on my floor. You're in no danger." She folds her arms across her chest. "And neither am I, despite being a sorceress, because I am not casting magic. That 'plague' you're hearing about is no threat to you /here/ and /now/." She scowls. Annoyed.
Seldan turns again for the door, and bells start to jangle again, but he stops at the mention of Sandy being a sorceress, and turns again. "Even so? Do you do enchanting as well, at all? I would not keep you, nor would I panic your other customers," he nods to Walery sprawled gracelessly on the floor. "Perhaps we can speak later." His voice thins and trails off, and he goes to push on the door again.
Walery is that panicking asshole, but he starts to calm as Sandy drills the situation into him. "-Not- in any danger?" he asks, picking himself up off the floor, looking a bit embarrassed now. "I ... er ... haven't been -totally- keeping up on all the news," he admits guiltily. "I've been sort of heavily involved in my research and some Guild work," he tries to alibi. He looks between Sandy and Seldan worriedly. Well, at least he hasn't actually stained anything yet, Sandy's accusation notwithstanding. To Seldan, he mumbles, "Er, okay?" about speaking later.
"/Not/," says Sandy, "in any danger. Now go on and apologize to the man. I have work to do," and with that, she's on her way to the back of her shop.
Quickly, Seldan shakes his head, and pauses with one hand on the door handle to cough again. This time, it is a little longer, but it is turned away from all. "There is no need. I should not have come, forgive me. Good day to the both of you." The door opens, and he takes himself out without waiting for an answer.
Walery erms, nods to Sandy, and says to Seldan, "Uh, sorry about that. I haven't seen much about the plague, just heard about it. And not everything, it seems." He bows his head. To Seldan, he says, "Uhm, I'm Mick Walery. Sorry about this." He says this to Seldan's departing back. He turns a guilty look to Sandy, and says, "I'll just get along, then?"