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Fejar was visibly relieved when she declined; she was, after all, still covered from head to toe in the muck of the alley, and even if she were not, it would have been awfully awkward. He relaxed and allowed his arm to hang at his side. Then, suddenly, the woman's demeanor changed, and she demanded to have his cloak? His eyes narrowed slightly as he once again stumbled a few steps backward.
"My- my cloak...?" Was she threatening him? No, it did not seem so; she was simply exhausted, and it was making her irate, he reasoned. "Well, I suppose I can always weave another," he acquiesced, swiftly setting his pole on the ground, removing his possessions from his cloak's pockets and and placing them into his vest's many pouches. In another swift motion, he shed the ample cloak, and handed it to the woman. "You can keep that," he said wryly, looking her over. Although she no longer smelled of the alley, she was yet irrevocably covered in filth. No amount of laundering would ever remove the inevitable stains...
Fejar retrieved his pole and brushed some dirt from it with his free hand. Without his cloak, he looked awfully thin. He wore a snugly fitting, long-sleeved dark brown hempen vest with the cuffs turned up and folded back. The vest had six small, rectangular pouches about the chest, each with similar, but differing black buttons; they each looked full enough to burst. He also wore flowing slacks of a lighter brown tucked into high leather boots that matched his vest. Overall, his outfit was very brown and very neat, in stark contrast to his messy, rust-colored hair that ever insisted upon settling over his right eye. Although a Seeker of the Sun, his skin was very fair. He preened apprehensively.
"Well, it seems I now have a need to gather a few materials, so perhaps I shall meet with you later." He simpered at her self-consciously, and laughingly added, "Do be safe, won't you?" With that, he futilely brushed his hair aside once more, and started off towards the Hawker's Alley.
"My- my cloak...?" Was she threatening him? No, it did not seem so; she was simply exhausted, and it was making her irate, he reasoned. "Well, I suppose I can always weave another," he acquiesced, swiftly setting his pole on the ground, removing his possessions from his cloak's pockets and and placing them into his vest's many pouches. In another swift motion, he shed the ample cloak, and handed it to the woman. "You can keep that," he said wryly, looking her over. Although she no longer smelled of the alley, she was yet irrevocably covered in filth. No amount of laundering would ever remove the inevitable stains...
Fejar retrieved his pole and brushed some dirt from it with his free hand. Without his cloak, he looked awfully thin. He wore a snugly fitting, long-sleeved dark brown hempen vest with the cuffs turned up and folded back. The vest had six small, rectangular pouches about the chest, each with similar, but differing black buttons; they each looked full enough to burst. He also wore flowing slacks of a lighter brown tucked into high leather boots that matched his vest. Overall, his outfit was very brown and very neat, in stark contrast to his messy, rust-colored hair that ever insisted upon settling over his right eye. Although a Seeker of the Sun, his skin was very fair. He preened apprehensively.
"Well, it seems I now have a need to gather a few materials, so perhaps I shall meet with you later." He simpered at her self-consciously, and laughingly added, "Do be safe, won't you?" With that, he futilely brushed his hair aside once more, and started off towards the Hawker's Alley.
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