week 1, sunday

[vigilantics]

[ later in the day after trial, stephanie will be making her way through the castle. slowly, but... look she's really bad at the staying in one place thing. her injuries are never going to heal properly, she's accepted this by now, i'm sorry.

when she passes by the tailer though, she pauses when she sees a familiar face. ]

Hey Fane.

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[faceripper]

[ It's a habit for him at this point.

When there's nothing else to do or nothing else to be done, he comes to the tailor. It's no library, and his make-shift ways of record keeping are— to put it mildly—infuriatingly shitty. However, it's something. There are piles of rough, light-colored fabric sitting on the work table, and Fane is sitting with his inkwell and quill. He's studiously working on something, but it doesn't seem to be writing. Without coming closer, she won't be able to tell what, but from the motions of his quill, it does seem like he's drawing something.

Of course, it stops as soon as he's addressed, and he looks up from his work with a thoughtful noise of acknowledgement. ]

Ah, Stephanie. [ He brings the quill towards his face in a thoughtful gesture, and the feather definitely brushes against bone slightly awkwardly. It's pressed a little too close to his face to seem completely natural, but he also doesn't seem to notice. ] Is there something you needed?