Veluchasm Collection

"Bourbon."

"Mhmm?"

"Quit stuffing your mouth."

With a paw to her face, Bourbon's stopped in the near middle of the flow of people, wings tight to her sides as she levels a glare towards Roy. They'd come to Velukaelo for a reason— this time, not for business, even if Roy'd hoped to get a contract somewhere along the way. No, it was Veluchasm, and Bourbon was going to enjoy herself. Not even Roy's pleading could stop her from chewing a little faster, frosting stuck to the corners of her lips.

"You're not going to have room for dinner." Roy can't help the smile that struggles to form, covered by his own paw as he glances away. "And clean your mouth."

Bourbon's eyes roll as she wipes at her muzzle. "Alright, dad."

"Oh, enou- hey." Already, Bourbon's off without him, leaving him to trail after her long tail and grasp at the wake it leaves behind. She can't focus for one second. It's his fault for liking her, but it does make it a hassle to go anywhere like this with her.

And the anywhere leads her to another canopy, the merchant inside seated at a corner. Bright eyes barely glance up for a moment until they've returned to flipping through an unmarked book, their tail curled up into their lap as a crossed leg bounces on the opposite knee.

They're a heldyr, Roy's almost certain. He's tried to not mix them up— horns, tail, a scrawny build all sort of point to them, but he's not really been on this planet to discern the different races yet. At least Bourbon slowing down means he's able to grab her tail and hold it like he would a hand. Hefting the appendage, he holds it close and keeps her close while looking over the tables, the folded up clothes and pelts and everything in between.

When Bourbon's hand reaches for a hanging shirt, the dull thunk! of the book closing is quickly followed with an "I don't think that'll fit you."

Both ixi glance to the heldyr- Bourbon surprised, Roy mildly interested- as they slowly stand and set the book on the table beside them. "It won't fit you—" and their voice is like old alcohol, smooth and aged— "not even with modifications." They pull out the sleeve with one hand, gesturing loosely with the other towards how it's not really built for someone with six limbs. "A cloak would do you better."

Bourbon's step away is blocked by Roy refusing to move. "Where'd you get it?"

"Get it?" Their laugh is gruff, deep and short. "I made it."

"Oh, shit—"

They wave their hand to Roy. "Everything on this side, I've made. The rest is from other tailors that couldn't make it out this far."

Eyes widen as Bourbon stoops to look down at the table. "It's really good," she mumbles, awestruck as she takes a folded cloak with white fuzz at the edges.

"Chicheep wool." They nod once to let Bourbon pick it up, letting it unravel down and down, pooling at her paws. The whole inside is lined with it, warm and fluffy and—

A frown etches its way across Roy's face. It'll be itchy. It looks like good material, sure, but that's going to get under their fur and it's going to be irritating and they don't even have a coat hanger—

"I love it."

Well, there it is. They're getting it. Huffing out a dramatic sigh to himself, Roy pulls his satchel out in front of him and rummages for his coin purse. "So, how much is it?"