[center][b]Elora Nicholi
The Boot Buckle, Deliar[/b][/center]

The long needle perforated the indigo satin, pulling the two ends together to form a Dolman sleeve. Elora instinctively sewed, her mind drifting to more engaging matters. Chubby, the ragged homeless cat Elora had adopted, leapt to the window sill and began licking the glass. It was a favorite venture of the queer cat and the redhead glanced at the queen to give her eyes something to do. Adopting Chubby was probably the best decision she had made as the long-haired offered much amusement for the often bored young woman.

“Are you thirsty, Chubby?” Elora hummed, her fingers still at work. The cat meowed in response that she took as a yes. Her fingers jerked as to move, but the needle was halfway through the fabric. The neb lurched through the material too fast and struck the tip of Elora’s finger.

“Ow!” she gasped, yanking her finger free and planting it in her mouth. It was only the slightest prick and little to no blood had poured from her veins. Sighing, too uninterested to seam, she placed the unfinished dress upon the stand next to her wooden chair and stood up.

She had decided that travelling to the tailoring shop could wait until later when she had worked the blasé from her indolent bones. Ever since they have entered the month of Februari, Elora had been restless and anxious for the day she morphs to a nineteen year old woman. Her fingers itched to cook, though she had no equipment, and most days she found herself shirking her responsibilities, moving to tavern to tavern. Edna and Edlund, her dismayed parents, had become annoyed and frustrated with her behavior. Too many times in the past twelve days have they sat her down to talk about responsibility. But Elora could not help it, she just could not sit still and had less will than usual to pay attention to mundane details. 

Elora exited the Nicholi house, heading to the nearest tavern to drink her agitation away. Snow crunched underfoot and cold seeped through her expensive silken red dress in which her mother had sown herself. The blanket of snow soaked the hem of her skirt, leaving a dark border of crimson. The redhead passed by a group of soldiers whom dragged an unconscious colleague through the snow by his arms, leaving two trails behind him, and she stared in wonder. Soon, The Boot Buckle appeared and she shook her shawl free of precipitation before she entered. The tavern was filled with members of Deliar, drinking themselves to nirvana in which Elora expected to reach in an hour.

“Barkeep, I would appreciate a drink of sorts.” She called from the door, finding her way to a table.