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<blockquote data-quote="CharlotteOz" data-source="post: 7876658" data-attributes="member: 6847138"><p>Alan thought about the dress.</p><p></p><p>It was still there, on the dressmaker's dummy. In his mind, he was still up there, adjusting the cut, fixing the arrangement of the scarves, checking to see how it held the light. It was the first time he'd designed a dress from scratch, and he wanted it to be perfect.</p><p></p><p>Right now, Alan would eat a small puppy to be back up there, and he stole a glance towards the second story of the Sterling Tailor's Guild to remind himself of why he couldn't - and there it was, the giant oak tree, torn from its roots by wind and rain and having collided with the side of the building. It was huge enough to be visible through the lashing rain.</p><p></p><p><em>All that work, ruined,</em> he thought, as he handled another sandbag and passed it up the line.</p><p></p><p>Down the line, there was Penny, for whom the dress was being made. She wanted something pretty for spring festivities and incredibly, she'd asked him to design it. Alan didn't know what to think about that. She'd always caught his eye, but she saw right through him and had no time for him at all. So why him?</p><p></p><p>There was another crack of thunder, that Alan could feel in his teeth. The sheepdogs howled, and he knew how they felt. His muscles were turning to mush - right now it felt like his entire life was simply handing bags of sand up the line. But the alternative was letting the river burst its banks, and if that happened, there were a whole lot of homes and lives that would be ruined.</p><p></p><p>Still, there was that petty little part of him that wanted to go back into the shop and tweak the design a little, to make sure it was just right. To make a thing so beautiful, no one could argue with it the way they argued with him over everything else.</p><p></p><p>But there was another part of Alan, a growing part, that - ever since he heard the music - knew that really, he was the one who'd been arguing with them.</p><p></p><p>Against his wrists, the bracers sat. He wore them all the time now. They were like no other instrument he knew - sure, he could play the lyre and the flute, but these were like nothing else. If only he had time to tap out a melody of the kind that soothed him.</p><p></p><p>But there was no time. There was only the rain and the sandbags. And so, he kept going.</p><p></p><p>And then the thunder cracked once more, and Alan wondered if this was his doing; if he'd removed something sacred from the circle that he'd found, the one that he'd stepped inside of and that had shown him a forest where the air had never smelled sweeter, and the trees had never grown taller. Maybe this was his fault.</p><p></p><p>He wondered if he should put them back...</p><p></p><p>And then, he was jolted out of his wandering thoughts by someone crying out, further up the line.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="CharlotteOz, post: 7876658, member: 6847138"] Alan thought about the dress. It was still there, on the dressmaker's dummy. In his mind, he was still up there, adjusting the cut, fixing the arrangement of the scarves, checking to see how it held the light. It was the first time he'd designed a dress from scratch, and he wanted it to be perfect. Right now, Alan would eat a small puppy to be back up there, and he stole a glance towards the second story of the Sterling Tailor's Guild to remind himself of why he couldn't - and there it was, the giant oak tree, torn from its roots by wind and rain and having collided with the side of the building. It was huge enough to be visible through the lashing rain. [I]All that work, ruined,[/I] he thought, as he handled another sandbag and passed it up the line. Down the line, there was Penny, for whom the dress was being made. She wanted something pretty for spring festivities and incredibly, she'd asked him to design it. Alan didn't know what to think about that. She'd always caught his eye, but she saw right through him and had no time for him at all. So why him? There was another crack of thunder, that Alan could feel in his teeth. The sheepdogs howled, and he knew how they felt. His muscles were turning to mush - right now it felt like his entire life was simply handing bags of sand up the line. But the alternative was letting the river burst its banks, and if that happened, there were a whole lot of homes and lives that would be ruined. Still, there was that petty little part of him that wanted to go back into the shop and tweak the design a little, to make sure it was just right. To make a thing so beautiful, no one could argue with it the way they argued with him over everything else. But there was another part of Alan, a growing part, that - ever since he heard the music - knew that really, he was the one who'd been arguing with them. Against his wrists, the bracers sat. He wore them all the time now. They were like no other instrument he knew - sure, he could play the lyre and the flute, but these were like nothing else. If only he had time to tap out a melody of the kind that soothed him. But there was no time. There was only the rain and the sandbags. And so, he kept going. And then the thunder cracked once more, and Alan wondered if this was his doing; if he'd removed something sacred from the circle that he'd found, the one that he'd stepped inside of and that had shown him a forest where the air had never smelled sweeter, and the trees had never grown taller. Maybe this was his fault. He wondered if he should put them back... And then, he was jolted out of his wandering thoughts by someone crying out, further up the line. [/QUOTE]
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