Phaenix wrote:Centurion Coruncanius Agorix was leaning on his rifle, half asleep, when a frightened merchant ran up to him...
Caleb tilted his head, his four ribbons growing limper and longer as they waved in the air; two extended through the front door and hugged the wall, waiting, and another two caressed some of the fabrics in the room. "Eh? Mr. 'lijah, sir," he began, his main arms sweetly tucked behind his back, "I didn't mean to scare anyone this time. Maybe we—" He paused, and the two ribbons that had gone through the door shifted to a brighter red. Outside, one ribbon fled back to Caleb, and the other split, tearing at its own strings and leaving little bits and pieces of it waving in the air for a moment as the new paths of ribbon crawled along the wall, spreading along it as a series of mesmerizing fractals. As it did so, the original torn pieces would repair themselves, as though an invisible tailor were at work, and soon enough the front door was covered in a beautiful array of curled fabric that somehow felt infinitely familiar, yet so distant, like a long-lost memory. One's mind could recognize that, yes, this was fabric on the wall, but of what sort? Why could one put the name "fabric" to it, yet not say it was so with total confidence? If one dared to touch it, it was soft and warm, like a beloved one's touch, yet it carried a note of unreachable.
Elijah looked ahead at the shopkeeper, slightly smiling in an attempt to be genial. "Sir, we frankly have no interest in criminal activity," he said as an aged paper soared out of one of his coat pockets and fluttered in front of him, suspended in the air by magic. "Ah, Domain, wonderful, could you— you will? Thank you." The page flew back into his pocket, and Caleb tugged at his robe. "Mr. 'lijah sir, I think someone out there is kinda mad. My ribbons can sense them. I-I don't like this, Mr. 'lijah sir." The ribbon that had just been outside slithered in the air towards the shopkeeper, but Elijah grabbed it before it could get to far, shaking his head at Caleb. "Careful now, Caleb."
"No, I'm just sorry, Mr. 'lijah sir, I didn't want to mess—"
"Hold on, now. We're not in jail yet, assuming we did..." He looked back at the piece of ribbon outside, and though he could not directly see the blossom of fabric, he knew it was there, in front of the wall, and he was certain that a growing crowd was beginning to become mesmerized by Caleb's display. "This may not end as well as I was hoping," Elijah said. He looked down at one of his pockets, hoping that the response would be soon.
Caleb, meanwhile, was starting to dilly-dally with the fabrics. He was still a tad fearful and disappointed, but he came to this store to look over its textiles, and he wasn't going to let the local police get in the way of that. Besides they weren't even there yet. "Oh, Mr. 'lijah sir," the boy said, "You do have money, right? I think this one piece of cloth looks pretty good." He pulled on his right arm, and the black threads linking it to his waist snapped off as he brushed a finger over the fabric. The little apparatus on his arm whirred to life and began to hammer down on its platform, creating a perfect replica of it that he grabbed. Holding it between his hands, his shivering eye appraised it. "Nice and breathable, very comfortable." He stretched out the sample he had produced. "I can use this. Hey, Mr. Shopke—" He was cut off when he sensed the legionaries outside with his ribbon, which raveled itself back together and retreated into the store.
"Mr. 'lijah sir, I think a bunch of angry folks are coming here." Caleb looked towards the shopkeeper. "Mr. Shopkeeper sir, I'm real sorry about this, I just wanted to buy some fabric. I make clothes, see?" One hand touched the spool at his waist and pulled out a thread, and the other deconstructed itself in front of him, his fingers becoming streams of fabric that interlaced and wove into one another as some arcane ritual. The other touched the one that was making that something in the air, and the four spools at Caleb's waist spun as their thread was integrated into what he was making. After a few seconds, it formed: it was a simple, but colorful dress. "See?"
The Dollmaker sighed. "I think that I best go deal with the folks outside. Caleb..." The soldiers shouted. "Well, I guess you better come along with me."
"... okay, Mr. 'lijah sir." The boy's leg and arm deformed into a mess of fabric, the former wrapping around his chaperone's neck and the latter around his leg. In a quick, deonstructive whirl, Caleb was now holding onto Elijah's back, albeit flattened and holding onto him as a sloth holds a tree, and his four red ribbons were shortened so that they would not be seen from the front. His head bent around so that he could still see; he was a little afraid of the dark, as any child would be.
With umbrella-cane in his left hand, Elijah exited the store, and held up one hand with its palm in the air as he paused, one leg crossed over the other and his umbrella counterbalancing it. "Delightful to meet with you folks," he said. "Now, I heard something about a license for a construct, presumably the fellow on my back..." His free hand wandered to his chin, thinking. "I'm afraid that I've none." His voice was flippant, excited, even, as his umbrella was swung towards him, rolled on his wrist, and landed back on the ground. "As such, may I ask for some time to make one? Had I known that I would have needed one for my dear boy here, I would certainly have acquired one. But alas, I am a lost foreigner, and truth be told, I've not a clue how I got here." Despite his nonchalant attitude, nothing about him seemed dangerous: his umbrella remained firmly planted in the floor, his outermost cloak billowed too much to hide anything, and his clothes looked unpadded.
At most, the pockets in his robes contained something; perhaps a perceptive fellow might call them small figurines, but it was hard to tell with the looseness of his pockets. Caleb, meanwhile, remained clinging on Elijah's back, his shivering eye still staring at the wall in front of him while the crack where his other eye should've been was still visible in the doorway. If any of the legionaries dared to flank Elijah, Caleb would persist as an imprint on his chaperone's back, trying not to be noticed even despite what Elijah said, for he knew that some of his abilities could be thoroughly frightening.
