antivanleather | Seventh Sin - Make me strong, down you go, suffer long, down you go [Video]

Seventh Sin - Make me strong, down you go, suffer long, down you go [Video]

[The feed opens with Zevran sitting across from the journal, various leather made wares set out before him. Gloves of various kinds, a coat or two, belts embossed and dyed, wristbands, water bottles and other wares are arranged for optimal viewing. All have a similar style to them, an artful richness to the embossing, embroidering, and dye.]

Good Evening, Luceti.

[He offers the feed a winning smile and a loose, fluid gesture to the assortmant of leather wares, a bit of a 'there you have it' in the motion.]

As I've had plenty of time on my hands the past few months and the means to do so I've made a few items too many while experimenting with different techinques of leather working and find I've a talent for it. The workmanship is solid if I do say so myself and I would be willing to do custom orders if you wished for something more lasting and complicated. If you see anything here that you like, please let me know and I will wrap and send it to you. If you want something made for a special occasion let me know where to meet with you so we may discuss the particulars. I promise I am quite discreet-

[There's a loud, somewhat unpleasant squwacks from just offcamera. Zevran sighs and mutters under his breath in Antivan, reaching behind him to lift up an ungainly lump of grey down and flailing limbs. The little raven screeches once he rolls about Zevran's palm, nipping at his fingers.]

This little uccello's name is Savio. He is not much to look at, I know, but he's a clever thing for a mass of feathers and talons. Perhaps in another month he will be more handsome, yes?

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Then come by whenever you have time and I shall look them over. I sther a particular color you would wish them to be?

If you ain't too busy, I could come right now, though I ain't sure where to find ya. I'm thinkin' blue might be nice, sky-blue like the ones I got at home. Need me to bring my gloves with me so you can get a good look at 'em?

I'd appreciate it, yes. And We could meet at Good Spirits. I find a nice drink helps with the designing process.

Good Spirits... [He repeats, pinpointing the place in relation to the building he's in on his mental map.] You got it. Thanks for your time, sir; I'll see you in a bit.

I'll have several squares of my dyed leather for your perusal with me.

[And as he said, he is there waiting for Mac not long after, a few small squares of dyed leather in varying shades from when he'd been testing possibilities laid out in front of him, as well as a few examples of experimental embroidery and embossing.]

[To anyone else, it's just a pair of gloves being made. But to Mac, they are an essential part of pursuing this sport, this physical and emotional outlet, this way of life, and livelihood he’s loves down to the fibres of his being. He can only be excited at the prospect of having a fresh pair he can break in. A pair that’ll take on the meaning and the memories of his time in Luceti.

Within ten minutes of his last message Mac is stepping into the tavern in his pink sweatsuit, pulling his hood back and ruffling his hair while taking in the sights and sounds of the place. The clinking glasses; the laughter, the warmth. Then, lightly flushed and panting from the jog over, he looks for Zevran at the tables.]

Hey, sir. [He grins when he finds him, pulling out the chair from across him and sitting himself down.] Hope I didn't keep you waitin' long.

[now that is an interesting color to wear- but on the young man's tan skin and considering his build? Not too strange. It suits him in a way much like his sunny demeanor and oddly accented speech. Despite his usual reservtions Zevran finds himself charmed.]

Please, call me Zev.

[He spreads out the sample squares of leather, enthused by this young man's energy. New projects always took up plenty of time- but the challenge in finding just the right way to cut and dye and stich to please his client more than makes up for the work.]

Did you bring the gloves? I am not familiar with the idea of wearing gloves just for fighting. Most men I know merely wrap their hands with linens.

[It’s hard not to find himself a little distracted by Zevran's ears at first, but his attention quickly shifts to the samples on display before he reaches into the plain cloth tote back at his feet for one of his gloves. The leather is a little scuffed where it has absorbed the most impact over the years, but from a distance it looks smooth and has a dull, polished shine to it. Not to mention that it smells fine for something he sweats a great deal in, thanks to Doc's sagely advice on the subject of properly maintaining his gear.]

I used to work the bags without wrapping my hands an' I busted my knuckles real nice.

[He chuckles a little, handing over the glove without reluctance as if it isn't one of the most precious possessions he owns.]

Boxers don' use linen no more. Least I don' think so. [He's heard of linen but a mental image is lacking.] It's all gauze n' tape with Doc an' me. and then' you get your gloves on after for extra protection. They can close up with velcro or with lace like mine, but you get a better fit with the lace. Only problem is that it's a pain in the butt if you don' got somebody lacin' 'em up for you.

[If there is something Zevran can appreciate in a person, it's a cleanliness and appreciation for leather. As strange as these gloves are to him with the padding, the lacing, and the construction they seem well oiled and do not smell foul. Those are most impressive- the way the wear is broken in but not yet frayed? Further noteworthy. His tanned hands are light and equally reverant as he runs his fingers over the stitching, finding the placement of the seams.]

And they are stuffed with...what? Cotton batting? Some manner of- what is the word? Ah yes, foam. [He squishes the wide mitten carefully.] I have never seen their like- and you say you wish them in blue?

[He watches Zevran with quiet admiration as the elf studies the mitt and takes mental notes.]

Yeah. I already got blue ones at home, but I'm thinkin' havin' a pair over here would be kinda nice. Got red an' yellow ones too, so I ain't too sure what other colour would look good on me.

I have not attempted a light blue just yet in my dyes but...

[Lighter shades of green, red, and brown- even purple? Those he has swatches for.]

I will try to formulate a dye sometime in the next few days so you will have a solid example of the color.

Sounds good. An' y'know, if it ends up bein' more trouble than it's worth, then maybe we could jus' go with a darker blue.

[He looks to his own lightly calloused hands, his fingers on the shorter and thicker side. He flexes and curls them into light fists, loosening them up.]

So I guess you need to take a look at my hands or somethin' to make sure you got the measurements down.

I'm certain I could find a way to make the light blue work. It is a challenge I accept happily.

[Out comes a slim pad and a bit of charcoal for sketching as he turns the gloves around his his hands, marking how the seams seem to fit on the paper- shortly afterward he reaches over to take Mac's wrist in a light grip to eye it and take measurements.]

You have strange hands for a fighter. Broad in the palm and along the knuckles, but your fingers are long and your wrists are slim.

[The kid glances back blankly but expectantly, vaguely reminded of those so-called palm readers many people claimed were con-artists as he waits patiently for Zevran to break the silence. And when he does, Mac is tempted to say that his wrists are stronger than they look and that the way Doc wrapped them up made them especially tough. But he just looks at his hand with a sort of renewed appreciation for a moment, lips twisting into a vaguely wry smile after a beat.]

Bet you seen some real big, heavy hands, huh?

[He spends every day painfully aware that he's smaller than the vast majority of seventeen year olds - to say nothing of other boxers - and has learned to try and work that understanding into his sense of humour every now and again. Still, after all this time, there's a sting that comes with being reminded of his ongoing, uphill struggle to be taken as seriously as any other man, even if he's the one telling the joke. Maybe if he says it first, he'll beat someone else to the punch. Maybe if he says it first, it'll stop hurting one day.]

Big, heavy hands for big, unkind men. Yes.

[it's an afterthought more than anything, something to say to pass the conversation along as he takes the next few measurements around Mac's wrist, the line from the heel of his hand to the tips of his fingers, the width of his fingers, the breadth of his hand. Every possible way there is to measure a hand? Zevran measures it, and further along up to his elbow just to be certain of proportion and stitching.]

These though. Lighter. Denser. Better suited to quick attacks, yes? To dart in for a blow and out again whereas larger opponents would have to lumber in slowly to try to land a hit. But when they swing- you aren't there. Mm? Quick and clever. It is the wiser course in a battle. It saves you energy and time. And I am willing to bet none of your opponents ever expect the power that you do have to come from someone of your stature, yes?

[The smile he tilts at Mac over his knuckles is mischievous. Conspiratorial.]

Their underestimation of your abilities is their downfall.

[For a moment he can only stare back, at loss for what to say because he doesn't know of any stranger who has ever glanced at him and considered his advantages and talents in the ring first. Even Doc hadn't when they had crossed paths in the back room of the club after he had fought 'Crusher' Cohen.]

Lemme tell ya... I ain't met a lot of people out there who think like you do. [And it's just this sort of observation that could make any underdog's day, lighting that fire underneath them and giving them just right sort of push.]

I've learned to make a tool out of having people underestimate me on a regular basis. With my build I don't have the same power a human might- as such I rely upon speed, precision, and skill. I dare say were you and I to throw a punch you would have more power behind it, easily.

[Still he smiles.]

The larger a man? The bigger the target. The more bulk to his blows the slower they are thrown.

[While he’s sorry Zevran is able to relate, it doesn’t feel like it’s often when someone can and he’s glad, guiltily, that Zevran understands the challenge of living in a world where many people think less of you for something you can’t control.]

Well, y’know, it’s like what Doc says… strength ain’t everythin’.

[He smiles back, scratching his head with his free hand.]

Though you’d be kinda surprised about big guys, least the fighters I’ve seen. Mr. Sandman was big and fast. But that’s why he was the champ.

That comes with practice.

[He huffs one last soft laugh before finishing up his measurements and returning his attention to the gloves in question, slipping one on long enough to feel how they rest on the inside.]

How are these stuffed? Firm or with a little give?

[It's the sort of thing he never really thinks about, so accustomed by now to the weight and the feel of the glove.] It's pretty firm. ...Thanks again for doin' this, sir. I don' know what I can give you but I'm gonna think of somethin'. [A pause.] Got anythin' in mind?

Please, call me Zev. And as I said, I enjoy a challenge. This is new to me and something I think i will enjoy creating. As for payment? Sparring now and then, perhaps. I have been remiss in working in my hand to hand and you are probably just as if not more quick than I am.

[Whatever he's told, he will approach the fight expecting Zev to be at least as quick as him. It's never wise to underestimate the opposition.]

Guess we're jus' gonna have to wait an' see, sir. Sorry, I mean-- Zev. Maybe when you finish the gloves, I can test 'em out with you at the dome. Go a couple rounds, y'know?

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Seventh Sin - Make me strong, down you go, suffer long, down you go [Video]

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