“…Lord Vaskaris… this dress is beyond repair – “

“ – the fuck you mean?!” The voice of the pallid mage cracked frantically, his dark gloved fingers splaying over the glass counter as his tall form leaned forward. Vivified celadon STARED at the timid shopkeep that held up the ripped up seams, indicating just how frayed the dress was… …after the… ‘incident’ with the carriage… …

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

The tawny honeysuckle was going to string him upside down and personally quarter him herself.

Digits drummed against the counter and the cantankerous mage found himself sinking further. Was he wrecked with nerves?  PSHT – Carrick Vaskaris? The Wraith of House Vaskaris? Edgy? Apprenshive? AHAHAHAH – hahah… hah… …yes, yes he was. It’d been such a long, tiresome day. From tailors to seamstresses to shopkeeps to silk merchants – okay, you get it. He’d been to practically every single place along the avenues of Immortalis this day. Suffering the stares of frilly noblewomen behind their fans, the occasional giggle and oh, his favorite – coming upon one loquacious pink puffball… Chloe.

Frantic attempts to avoid the giggly aristocrat were easier said than done. Try hiding behind a manikin and being at the height the surly mage-born was at – urgh, shit. Even now, his back hurt [from hunching and bending over backwards for a half hour of trying to get out a shop earlier that afternoon] as he pressed his weight into the counter, eyes giving one last look over the white raiment being held up in front of him.

One could easily see the stitched in pearls of the dress were in disarray; didn’t need to be skilled in sewing to know that shit… he knew how to sew… just… for himself… not this…THIS… THING. Marks were seen all over the material indicating not just a carriage had run over it but  -- - a horse had its partaking of the dress’s ruination as well… hoof prints were on the box and the diaphanous gown had split down the middle because of such weight. Yeah, death could be foreseen in his future.

If he had just… been more observant… if, if, IF. Thinking about past shit never made present shit change. He never was one to give up but the odds were against him. It was either keep trying or just face the music. But facing the musical meant combating against a really disgruntled soothsayer who had every right to send his pallid ass to the moon and back.

There were many times in the past he ended up accidentally ruining his cousin’s dress. BUT, this had been an outside force he COULD have controlled yet became sidetracked when he came upon Contrae and Alberdine last evening.

Oh, yeah, by the way… he lied to her. He hated lying to his white bird’s face but it needed to be done. This dress NEEDED mending but no one in the whole fucking city of Immortalis could restore it [… …not even Juniper – his own personal tailor.]

This shop had been the last place to look and his feet were killing him. Slumping against the counter, Carrick ended up pressing his pale facet into the surface, smudging up the glass case as he did this. Contact with the top was prohibited but he didn’t gave a fuck [even as the shop keep lightly patted at his shoulder, telling him to get off the glass before it was further ruined… he just stayed there.]