Silver Hound, Black Moon

Obsidian Moon

As Havelock hauled the mass of dog souvenirs out of the theatre, he couldn't help but feel like this wasn't just a hiding spot, it seemed almost like a stronghold. The walls, while rotted and decaying, were still solid, there were no windows in the central 'den' area, nor were the back entrances available by any means. There was one way in and one way out, the balcony, which was only accessible to a creature with superhuman means of transportation. Besides the fact that somehow Caroline did eventually end up finding her, it was no wonder why Havelock couldn't sniff Sif out when he had previously dosed himself, the walls were thick and the theatre was already dirty enough, she could've been drowned out, but perhaps some other property had masked her presence.

Anyway, he sauntered on, the quicker he could get back to Sif the better, when he got home, perhaps she would be fluffy and soft like a big Ferique poodle. Truth be told, he didn't want to stick her back in chains, it made him feel ill to know he had a prisoner unwillingly kept at his house, the stunt he pulled with the fireplace left a bad taste in his mouth, but he knew that if he just let her walk all over him, it was likely to get his neck torn out. He felt sorry for Jonah the baker, if there was a heaven he was watching Havelock through, he was most likely asking God to send him to hell, he probably deserved it.

As he left the theatre, wandering through the streets with a reckless brand of meander, a certain window caught his eye. Near the decomposing armpit of Lothorn, several small "Businesses" were established, no currency was exchanged in any city nowadays, everything worked on a "good deeds for the community" kind of reputation system, these small outcroppings were set up by people with niche skills or leftover practices passed down the generational line, watchmakers, librarians, leatherworkers. These kind of folk were useful, but not so universally necessary that every block required one to provide for the community. Across from an open plan building with "Horse and carriage" written on a wooden sign, a modest little shop with "Tailoring" painted in its glass caught Havelock's attention.

He strode towards it and saw a tiny little workspace inside with none of the lights on, even at this hour of the morning, one should be awake by now. He opened the door and cautiously stepped inside, readying himself for the sight of someone's mum being devoured, but much to his surprise, once the bell to the door rang, he immediately heard a voice from the back room.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, let me turn the lights on for you,"

Toddling out from behind a wall of silks and dresses, a short little old lady with grey hair made her way over to a valve behind the counter and turned on the gas based lights in her shop. As she did so, many things became clear to him, each fabric roll was labelled not with words, but with dot based extrusions at the base and the various dresses scattered around all seemed to be made from drab colours, but had intricate texturing to them. He looked back to the old lady, who was at least a head shorter than him and several decades older, her eyes were open, but looked glazed over and grey, she was blind.

"Sorry, sometimes I forget to turn 'em on, people probably think I'm closed when that happens,"

She looked kind, her wrinkled face was round and soft looking, far healthier than the desiccated corpses littering the academic halls of Lethardon anyway. Her clothes were all grey and white silk, but the intricate pattern work on them was impressive even from where he stood, photorealistic flowers ran down her sleeves. Had she done it all by sense of touch? Even Havelock had trouble believing it.

"Oh, uh, I was hoping you could help me identify a dress, but you may have some trouble,"

She shushed him and waved her hand dismissively "Nonsense, here, lemme have a look,"

He almost chuckled at the irony, then delicately procured the gown for her, gently placing it into her hands.

"Ah, ooh, this one is good, but it could use a wash, feels a little bit unloved," She folded it over in her hands, deftly tracing out all of the stitches and stretchings, then settling on the hem, considering it carefully "Not one of mine, I can tell you that, I don't like doin' it this way, I'd catch my fingies," She smiled