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Aemas 50th of Searing, 120th of Steel
Today had been an especially harrowing day for the painter. He had been working hard throughout the last few days, attempting to establish his business to the local population, and draw the attention of any customers. There'd been a few who would stop in, look around, and then leave without purchasing anything at all, but there had been roughly as many who had found something that they thought would look nice upon their walls or adorning their residences in some form or another. A few persons belonging to prominent Kinships, or at least associating with them had even stopped in for a couple of minutes, gracing his small workshop with their presence.
Althalos couldn't help but feel as if though he had been especially busy lately with all of his work. Already, he had managed to create a fully functioning small in the span of only a few weeks, and business while not booming was certainly progressing successfully. He'd need to purchase new paints and things eventually, but he had done the wise thing and purchased several gallons before he had begun his work. He doubted it would run out anytime during this season, or maybe even the next unless his works really took off.
Concluding with his final piece for the day -- it was starting to get dark outside and he didn't like to work without the sunlight shining on his easel -- he handed off the portrait to the customer who seemed satisfied enough with it to pay. If there was anything that Althalos was thankful for at that moment, it was the fact that his undead body didn't seem to tire quite so easily even after repetitive motions. Painting all day was certain to give anyone a cramped wrist and sore fingers, but as he glared down at his pale skin, he felt very little at all, perhaps just the gentlest kiss of wind as the customer left Stolen Moments.
His fingers were cracked still where the decay had set in, but it seemed his regular feast of neighborhood vermin and whatever animals he could squirrel away without trouble had proven to be enough to pause it in its tracks. He wasn't certain how long it would last, but perhaps he would be able to continue this way indefinitely, never feeling any worsening of his state. Popping the air from his fingers, he twisted about in the store, meandering to the lockbox which he popped open and proceeded to empty into a coin pouch at his hip. It was unsafe to leave the money here for too long after all, especially given the relatively simple lock he'd opted for in the box.
While he had decided to clean up a little, he didn't truly intend on abandoning the art shop for the night. Part of the reason he had felt so busy hadn't been associated solely with his work, but instead with the sudden arrival of Saej and Shasco in his life. He had spied the pair traveling throughout the market, and one thing had led to another. For the past three days, they had stayed with him within his home, making themselves comfortable. In truth, Althalos had been grateful for the company, though it did make certain aspects of his 'escapades' more difficult. Nevertheless, they were good to keep around, and he enjoyed not being quite so alone at all times. It was security too because a man living alone was a good target for any criminal elements that might've been snooping around his neighborhood.
He had invited Saej to stop by after the sun had begun to fall from the sky, and come see Stolen Moments for herself. He carefully began to adjust the leftover paintings in the room, attempting to set them up along the wall by category, putting all of the natural paintings together, and all of the more mythical and legendary ones at another point on the wall. The abstracts he kept in their usual spot at the back wall, where they could be admired by those who appreciated such things.
There was a sudden creak in the floorboards at the door -- an intentional sound that alerted him to the arrival of potential customers -- and he spun around with a smile to greet his roommate, ready to begin the brief tour of the workshop and show her his favorite pieces.
It wasn't her, though. Even as the sun vanished from the sky, and the shadows grew long, he could see that this was an inhabitant of the darkness. The way that his nose twisted to the side at an odd angle seemed to indicate that it'd been broken at least once in the past, and the way he pressed his fat lips together was indicative of swelling, probably from a punch directly in his mouth. Perhaps the thing that caught the most attention, though, was the thick blackjack he held in his right palm, his fingers squeezed around it so tight that his hand was white.
"The shop is --" He began, only for the brute to slam the door behind him and glare. "Hand o'er the farthings" he spat in heavily accented Kokalith, marking him as a local, albeit probably not a well-educated one.
Perhaps Althalos wasn't the only one to notice how busy he'd been lately...
