Of Making Buttons And Being A Wing Man

Title: Of Making Buttons And Being A Wing-man
Time Period: May 19, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: While one is good at making buttons, the other is not so good at being a wing man.

The door to Pin's & Needles is open, to allow a breeze to come in, help cool down the brick building, with it's lack of generally moving air unless windows are open. A broken leg isn't slowing Sorcha down, thumping in from the back room, through the actual sewing area, with it's machines, thread, open space for customers to try on the creations they have asked for. Past the shelves with their bolts of fabric both mundane and more lively. The wooden hangers with their pre-made clothes for those who can't wait a day or two for new clothes, or just want something more untilitarian and not fussy.

"She's getting married and she wants special buttons for her dress" Someone in town, it seems, is getting married. "I have a sketch here, if it's possibly you could make it" The birds in their cage in the corner flit from perch to perch, busying themselves with bathing and otherwise playing.

Sorcha smiles at Niyati as she makes it to the counter, taking up a stool and brandishing the sketches of the buttons, designed to look like Dahlia flowers. "Can I get some tea for you, while you look over them?" The tank topp'd and knee length full skirt does little to hide the plastered leg that is decorated with smudge, and colors from those who have dared to ask to decorate the broken limb. "Decide what the cost will be"

Standing a short distance away, small and rather unobstructive, this dark woman reaches out to take the sketch that's offered, so that she can look over them. From the furrow in her brow, Niyati Malik may be pondering over the hows or the cost of making such a piece, so much that she seems to have missed the offer of tea.

Dark eyes look up and she nods, "Yes, tea would be nice— if it is no trouble." Her eyes fall on the cast. Even if she's moving around well enough, she still seems concerned. This woman's accent isn't quite Scottish, or even British, but has pieces of both. And something else.

As she sits down, she looks back down at the sketch, "Before I name a proper trade, I would need to know how many she's wanting— what color, desired material."

"For what she wants, likely possibly… " Sorcha counts off the buttons on the design on her fingers, the end total being 6. "Just small ones. They can be made of a something pretty. They can afford it. Merchants daughter" Which says a great deal. "Rest will be laced up, be she wants something at her wrists"

Tea at least won't be hard to get, there's a pot nearby she had been setting up just before Niyati came in. "You have the other buttons that I needed?" Wooden ones, some basic, most of them basic, some not so. The whores of the dovetail don't trade for clothing that's basic. "How's business. You haven't been bothered by the things going on have you?" The door remains open, inviting to any who might be passing by and have need of Sorcha's services.

"I will make at least seven, then," Niyati states quietly, as she nods to herself, still looking as if she is lost in thought. At least until buiness returns. The burlap sack hanging from her shoulder doesn't look like it could contain valueable items, but when she lowers it the smaller bags inside look nicer.

The bag alone seems a metaphor for this woman. From the outside, she barely looks feminine, with her dark hair short as most mens, and her clothing trousers and vests.

"They are easier to make than these will be," she nods toward the sketch. "I will need to keep the sketch. How long til you need them done? I believe a extra scarf will be enough to cover it, since you give me enough business." This button delivery isn't the first one. And unlikely to be the last.

"Four months. You'll have more than enough time, as they have decided that they will want to wait till well in the summer to bind themselves" Cups clink to the counter top. Honey, a little cream. Then a long stream of hot tea, dark colored from the leaves that are caught in the strainer. "You can keep it, I have another that I did, for my own records. But there is plenty of time to source. I can even send her to your shop if you like, so that she can discuss it more further than I can. She's.. particular" Which is a nice way of saying, demanding. A cup is nudged Niyati's way. once filled.

'I dont' give you the business. People living and breathing and needing clothes give you the business.

"In that case I may be able to locate some moonstone to make the buttons out of," Niyati says with a smile, as if that was her first idea, but— "If I had less time they would have likely been quartz or silver, but I believe moonstone would look better on a wedding dress. Carved moonstone is very difficult, but I should be able to manage, especially with four months."

The drawing is folded to get put away into the bag for later, as she takes the tea, with very little added in other than what Sorcha did. Likely, this woman likes hers plainer. "You give me enough business and making buttons was an interesting venture. It is always… interesting to try new things."

"Buttons. A very real necessity. Something so small can change the look of just about everything" She smiles at the foreign woman. "But, moonstone, hmmm" She fingers her earlobes, the small studs that rest there in her ears of just plain silver. 'perhaps, you might, should you find extra, or something just the like. Fashion them into a pair of earrings? patrickw ill be coming back any day now, and always with something from the far east" He always brings her back something interesting be it animals that have survived the trip and have some use to her, fabrics that one can't get here, even the rare piece of jewelry. "I've had these for so long" It might be time for something new.

Having put off this particular errand until he noticed bits of sleeve showing through the shoulder of one of his jackets, Algernon has finally made his way into Pins & Needles despite having butted heads with its owner once. Or twice. In the past.

He steps in out of the wind with a load of variously threadbare (but uniformly fine) clothing over his arm, duster and hat retained at a low slant against the breeze. "Shouldn't be long," he's muttering to the shadow he has in tow, the back of his free hand rapped to the larger man's chest as he goes. "Unless you're considering an upgrade of your own."

Spring wind notwithstanding, Jorn has been looking a little ruffled, and as he skulks behind Algernon to the front door of the shop, it get's a little more obvious when one compares him to the surroundings. He grunts once at the hand, and the half-posed question, eyes peering past the other man into the shop. Curiosity, if mild, and he doesn't forget to be polite. Sort of. "Hello.."

"Upgrade? Of what?" Jorn squints back at Algernon, and down to the usual armored fittings over his clothes.

"A new pair of earrings would look very nice on you," Niyati says with a smile, giving a genuine smile as she sips on her tea. "I haven't seen any goods from the far east in quite some time, so I believe I can make something worthy of…" That voice trails off as men approach the door, her sipping stopped.

As she turns to look, her breath catches in her throat, until she lifts the cup to drink down the tea, nearly finishing it off. Much more than a sip that she had previously.

As she stands, she gathers up her bag. "You have a costumer, Sorcha," she says, stating the obvious as she looks at the man who entered first.

"Well, One is, the other is just Mr. Wartooth of whom, I have a stack of clothing for" She hadn't forgotten his order and smiles as her enters and one that she doesn't glimpse that often. But much like water off a ducks back, Sorcha doesn't hold any grudges for Algernon as she tips her head to both men. "Wartooth, There should be a bag there, second shelf down, on your right. Your order" The leather pants, shirts and other things he had requested and paid for.

Bet there's ALgernon and she glances to Niyati before offering a smile. "To what do I owe this honour? New clothes or to mend those in your hands?" She rises from her seat by the counter and the birds chirp at the new arrivals.

Having paused to squint back at Jorn squinting at him, Algernon attempts to gauge — and is ultimately forced to confess in low tones: "I'm not sure if you're serious."

It's Sorcha's address that calls his attention back to the task at hand, brows lifted back at Jorn for the order she speaks of as he approaches the counter. "Mending," he says. Polite. In a concise kind of way. His clothes are shrugged off in a heap — orderly enough, for all that some of it's in need of ironing — and he glances aside to Niyati and her tea. Then once more after a beat, knit brow paired with an offer of his right hand. "Algernon," he greets. "I don't believe we've met."

Eyes narrowing, they're stuck considering one another for a moment- "What do you mean, you're not sure if I'm serious?" -which comes out loud enough to be heard by the women, likely.

Jorn gives Algernon and Sorcha a small grimace of a smile. With a sidestep, Jorn shifts past the other man to approach said shelf. Niyati doesn't escape his purview, but he does not make a point to bother her aside from a soft nod of greeting- she seems tense enough, without his intervention. The bag he retrieves is a large one, though possibly because it takes a lot of fabric, after all.

"I— No, we have not met before," Niyati says in a soft voice, polite, glancing towards Jorn with a small nod of recognition, before she looks back at the offered hand. "I am Niyati Malik. a local jeweler. If you are ever in need of such pieces, I hope you will come to me, Algernon. There are some who bring jewelry on the boats, but I can insure craftmenship, as a local."

After she introduces herself, she finishes off the remainder of the tea, putting it down on a counter close to Sorcha, and steps forward to accept the hand while she looks up at him.

"She makes most of the beads and buttons that people want for their more finer things they ask that I make" The clothes shrugged over to her are taken up, evaluating what is clearly wrong. She watches her friend though, shake hands with Algernon, then to Jorn, so that she can be sure that he's satisfied with what he's ordered.

"A round at the pub, for the mending, if that's aright with you. Two, if you want to get a new shirt from the racks there to replace the more worn one in here" That, it seems, will be her cost for the fixing. "Unless you have something else you'd rather trade"

"As I am currently single I don't foresee an immediate need, but I'll certainly keep you in mind," says Algernon, whose grasp is as steady as one might expect. Less formal, perhaps — he doesn't linger, preferring instead to turn back to Sorcha once he's sized up Jorn's sack.

Of clothing.

"I see," tacked on for the seamstress' elaboration, he watches her sort through his things. "Repairs all around," he directs, disracted. Also, no more interested in new shirts than he is a new hat. "Do a decent enough job that I needn't worry about replacement just yet and I'll make good on that second round all the same."

"Thank you, missus Ferrier." Jorn takes some care in peering through the bag, as he doesn't want to displace her tidily putting it together. "Winter was harder on my clothes than I'd realized. This is just what I needed." Something that every seamstress probably loves to hear about is a satisfied customer, right? "He's a bit of a fussbudget." Jorn offers, secondly, to Sorcha on the matter of Algernon.

"Miss Malik is just as skilled with men's pieces, metalwork.." And things like pots, but he gleans over that. Pots are cheaper.

"I see," Niyati says softly, as she looks down at the hand she's gotten back for a moment. The compliments from Sorcha seem to have brought out a soft smile, as she looks to the clothing that Jorn has picked up, and the pile that needs to be mended for the other man.

The smile nearly becomes a laugh, at Jorn's additions. Nearly so. "Yes, I make pieces for men as well. You would be surprised how many sailors like to have chains and earrings. I also work in earthenware, even Jorn here trades with me at times.

"What is it you do?" she asks, as she looks back up at Algernon.

"They like to have the chains and earrings for their women in other ports" This from the wife of a sailor as digs out a scrap of paper, marking down what Algernon's brought in, quantity, that he wants it repaired - Her writing isn't the greatest, and it's passed over for Algernon to sign. Mark. Something to indicate. So that there's mistaking what belongs to whom and how many. "Two days time, I'll have it for you. There's a row of others in front of you"

She preens a fraction though, at Jorn's thanks and the compliments that he has offered up about Niyati. All the better to potentially get the woman more work. SHe falls silent though, save for the shuffle thump of her plastered foot as she moves the clothing over to a different resting spot, so that she can launder it later before mending. Bet your ass she'll be getting two rounds out of him.

A gruff sound in the base of Algernon's throat is not strictly disagreement for the label of fussbudget, even if it's strong for his liking. He would say that he appreciates fine craftsmanship. Having managed half a smile all the same, he scrawls Fogg on the line without looking because he is busy looking at Niyati-who-is-good-with-men's-pieces instead.

Apparently he's seen enough of Sorcha's work around town to trust in her ability without complaint for the delay.

"I've been recruited into the Militia," he answers, starting to lean onto the counter. Capital M courtesy of diction. "Righting wrongs. Seeing that justice is done in Dornie." To Jorn's ear, this is beginning to sound like flirting.

To Jorn's ear, it is probably time for them to go.

Is this real life?

Jorn glances between Algernon, Sorcha, and Niyati for a moment, unsure of where, exactly, introduction conspired with gender and ended up getting into Algernon flirting. His pale eyes finally land on Sorcha, and he gives her an apologetic squint.

"Han er egentlig…" The northman mutters, tying closed his package and skirting around to Algernon's other side. Niyati will probably see the cogs working, where her new Friend cannot. "Seeing that justice is done to horsemen not cleaning up the giant piles of shit from the road, you mean."

If the mood was good, it probably is less so now that Jorn is 1) bringing up horseshit, and 2) bringing up what the job actually entails.

"I don't think that is always the case, as the pieces some buy are not ones a woman would wish for, many times," Niyati responds to Sorcha's words, though it doesn't seem she's trying to be polite to the wife of a sailor, really.

It's Algernon's answer that draws a softer tone to her voice as she looks up at him. "There are always wrongs to be righted." The soft smile seems to bring out some of her usually hidden femininity. Only for a moment. "And always justice that needs to be seen. I am grateful you have been recruited." Her nod is polite, and her eyes linger on the older man for a moment, before she turns back to Sorcha and nods her head, in a near mimic of a bow.

"I will return once I know if I will be able to locate enough moonstone, and we can discuss designs," she says to Sorcha, before moving toward the door. Perhaps she saw the cogs spinning. "Have a good day, both of you. I hope to see you again soon." That may have been said more at one than the other.

"Be well Niyati, I look forward to it. If you need help gathering, let me know" Hopefully, her leg will have been mended enough by then. She lets her friend take her leave with design in tow, gathering up her cup. "Gentlemen, you can see yourself out. I have work to get back to, if I have want of getting Mr. Fogg's things mended in time and welll enough for a second round hmm?"

Yes, indeed, she wants that second round and she starts thumping off to the back end of her shop and out of sight save for her humming.

Intent, up to a point, Algernon shows his teeth into a clamp at Jorn's helpful illustration of a day's work. This day's work, specifically.

"Right," he says aloud, pending a beat's worth of feathers smoothed. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Straightens himself off of the counter with a lean that looms a touch aggressively Jorn's way. Unappreciatively, at the very least.

That's exactly what he meant.

"Well," he says, then. "Glad to meet you, Miss Malik. And Mrs. Ferrier," Fogg tracks a step back, doffing hand to hat as he starts to turn. "Always a pleasure."

It all works a bit too well. Jorn tries his best not to laugh when Algernon bristles and smooths out accordingly. It wasn't anything nefarious, but his interrupting the fineries of Flirting with Fogg is apparently verboten. Jorn leans subtly out of the way of the more aggressive one, somehow making it look like men subconsciously posturing.

"Good afteroon, ladies." The northman follows Algernon out the door, and waits only until they are supposedly out of earshot of the shop to choke out a laugh. It somehow manages to be both apologetic and hammy. "I only play wingman under certain conditions."

Algernon doesn't wait nearly as long to cut a glare glassy clear across his shoulder once they're out, sharp of cheekbone and sharper of nose before he rankles the latter and focuses back on the road ahead. Resigned to his having been trodden upon. Gradually on his way to letting it go until Jorn laughs and he locks his jaw again, biting back.

"In the absence of which you go above and beyond the call of neutrality into outright hindrance." Fogg doesn't have to raise his voice to steel it out with irritable accusation. He has finesse, that way.

"Sorry. She's a nice woman, I hear." Jorn glances up, enough to trail the aforementioned woman's progress along the street. "Not that you're not a gentleman-" He is not terribly phased by the biting of Algernon's words- more phased by the ire behind them. "She saw what you were doing. I don't think I affected it as badly as you think I did."

"You'll be glad, later." Jorn can handle the grousing, if he thinks he was right. "You can find some things out about one another now. Mystery is as much a toggle as machismo." Instead of telling her you fight dragons off the bat. "Next time there will be something to go off of."

There are a great many things that Fogg could say that he doesn't, which he privately considers a kindness he isn't sure he feels up to fostering. Instead he sweeps his hat down to thumb at a rough edge caught in his periphery, some small, terse comfort gleaned from the fussbudgery of it.

"I suppose I should thank you, then." He decides. With a look. Before his hat is replaced.

It could stand to be more gracious.

"We'll see." Meaning, if it doesn't take for the next time- well, then Algernon can whine about it. Jorn, however, is perfectly fine with seeing how it turns out in normal time. Only real friends purposefully cock-block you so that there's a guarantee of a second chance! Right? Sure. "If it'll make you feel better, next time I find a nice girl you can tell her whatever you like."

A meaningful wingman gesture that he may regret at a later date.