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It was just after sundown. The bright sun -- though never really bright enough for warmth -- had dipped below the treeline, disappearing out of sight hours ago. For most citizens, that might mean heading home. For Josselyn, her home was her work.

It was true that there had been a time when she maintained a small, humble residence toward the center of town. She lived there with her father up until his death and then immediately sold the place. If anyone asked why, she claimed it was for the money, but in truth, Josselyn could not bear setting foot into the place where her father drew his last breath.

Now her home was a lofted apartment built over Jacobi Furs & Skins. It was a work space when her father ran the place, but Josselyn had renovated the building with her own two hands to help distract her from her loneliness. There was enough space for a bedroom, a sitting area with fireplace and cooking cauldron, a small table to eat, and a corner with drawn curtain for wash and relief. This was more than enough for the woman of simple joys.

The shades were drawn on Jacobi Furs & Skins with a wooden, painted CLOSED sign sending away customers. But most people knew that the business rarely really closed. Hunters knew that they could knock on Josselyn's door any time they had a skin to sell -- the rarer the better. And Josselyn was always happy to receive them with a hot drink, sometimes ale. She did not balk at hunters. It was their support and patronage that allowed her to have a competitive business.

That night, she was laying out two new skins, freshly cleaned, on a drying rack. Her massive wulfkind, Asher, was fast asleep by the backdoor. His fur was mostly black, but there was a long streak of gray running down the center of his back and an explosion of the same color across his muzzle and chest.

Josselyn had a mug of hot coffee resting on her work table. She crossed to it and took a sip, running over the profit from business that day, checking her supply list, and casually thinking about what she might be able to make for dinner.

Business as usual.

Before the knock at the door, Asher was suddenly alert beside Josselyn, teeth bared and throat rumbling. He was a very aggressive dog, kind only to Josselyn but also exceptionally obedient when she asked it of him. His heavy weight pressed against her side. Josselyn dropped a hand to ruffle his fur. She didn't tell him to stop growling. If anyone was stupid enough to try and rob her this late, his violent temper might be enough to dissuade them. There was no way any starving peasant would be taking Asher for a meal -- he'd sooner chew their arms off.

Crossing to the door, Josselyn raised up on her tiptoes to peer through the small glass window cut into the top of the frame. The flash of blue hair was enough for her to know what it was. She relaxed back onto her feet. The Touched had a habit of disarming her, and she had to prepare mentally to keep that apprehension from her face.

After a moment, Josselyn pulled the door open a crack, just barely enough for Audrey to get through. Even so, the cold air filled the room, and she had to suppress a shiver. "Didn't expect you at this hour," she said, polite but brisk. "Welcome inside. I have some coffee left, if you'd like a cup."

Asher was still tense and so she whispered a quick word to soothe him. He stopped growling, but did not leave her side.

The moment Audrey was through the doorway, Josselyn shut the door hard, latching it. Two seconds of cold air would only serve to take more of the heat out. Asher trotted along beside her, mirroring her movements.

For a hunter, Josselyn always had coffee to spare. She understood the great importance of keeping positive relationships with these people. She had intentionally kept up her business, despite the risk, in an unsavory location close to the outskirts of town simply so she could have a clear view of the forest line to spot any hunters returning with their kills before the other furriers could get to them. If they went to a butcher first, they ran the risk of having the pelt damaged by less-skilled hands. No -- if she could catch them first, she would skin it in a second and given them back all the dripping meat if she had it her way.

Moving toward the cauldron over the fireplace, Josselyn fetched an iron mug from a table and ladled in a few scoopfuls of coffee. It was bland stuff, barely coffee at all, but the water was hot and brought the warmth that Josselyn truly craved. "Colder weather is good for business," she said. "Bad for evenings like this." The cold might be miserable, but the worse it got, the more people were willing to pay for quality furs. If you didn't realize you had bought a cheap fur garment before, you would the second a wind revealed a tiny hole in the fur patchwork hidden beneath the overcloth. Josselyn's garment did not bear such defects.

Once the kills were revealed, Josselyn set the mug down briskly and dropped to a crouch to get a closer look. She pulled off her right glove and began poking and prodding, checking for marks from the weapon used to kill it. Some hunters didn't think about the damage they could do to a fur just based on how they killed the animal. "A cape could be done," she mused, fingers testing and pressing all the time. "It would take many beast -- probably 10 pelts if you wanted it quality, maybe more depending on the height, still more for a hood. These furs are easy to work with if you know what you are doing, but patching furs is tricky. If the hair pattern is off, the cape would look ridiculous." Shoptalk. Josselyn was good at it.

Her fingers found an arrow hole near the throat of each animal. As far as killing went, it was clean and close enough to the chin of each beast that little premium fur would be lost. "Well done," Josselyn said, nodding in approval. "Getting better all the time, Miss Proudmoor." Her fingers came back bloody, but she didn't blink at it. Blood was part of the job.

Fishing in the hidden pocket of her dress with her gloved hand, Josselyn came back with a number of gold pieces. "Extra in this time for the clean kill. I appreciate that kind of skill. It makes a large difference." There was another message here: bring me a sloppy kill and you will get less. "If you see anything rare, I will make it worth your while -- just come to the back door." This was not the first time Josselyn had said this to Audrey. She just liked to remind her suppliers from time to time.

Pride was lifeblood to Audrey Proudmoore so to receive praise from someone who knew exactly what a good, clean kill looked like as well as knowing the value of what she'd brought without having to haggle stingily was high praise indeed. Josselyn Jacobi was respected by most of the hunters if not all of them for her sense of fairness as far as the side-business of selling to her was concerned. You wouldn't be able to cheat her on the price but neither would she try to cheat you whether you were normal or Touched. It was quite important to someone as straight-edged as Audrey.

"Thank you, Ms. Jacobi. I've seen a bad snare snap one of these poor little critters in two which if you ask me is a cursed waste, but you have to be quick on the draw to get an arrow through one." Shoulders rolled a bit uncomfortably as the Touched hunter realized she was getting a bit too close to shop talk of her own, shedding some pale dregs of light on the fact she was quite different. Taking the gold and sliding it into the specially-sewn lining of her coat she picked up the coffee and cast about desperately for how to edge away from the subject.

Thankfully as the warmth started seeping through her veins she was spared more smalltalk by a rapping on the door as well. One of her eyebrows raised at it in obvious puzzlement. "That's odd. Thought I was one of the last out for the day." It never occurred to her for a second that there were more obvious customers that might stop by after dark; who in the world shopped at dusk?

He skirted inside quickly with the cold snapping at his heels, a hand sweeping at the back of his poorly sized coat with long experience of finding it inconveniently caught in doors, drawing in cold air to smother the cozy warmth of friendly hearths. “Thank you.” He said with a nod, waiting as she closed the door securely behind him before admitting that he was chilled. The cold air had flushed pale cheeks and his eyes were bright as ice chips. His eyes flicked from the great hound and then towards Audrey, the stranger with the bright gold eyes. He gave a small not to her as well, polite and careful. Watchful if for no other reason than she was a hunter. “Miss.” He said not knowing her name before turning back to the Lady of the house herself.

“I have brought the payment of course.” He assured her, though his own words carried the subtle inflection that there was perhaps, slightly more than the agreed upon payment for her handiwork. Likely it came from his own pockets, or from the sale of one of his frivolous instruments. Being as he was a lower noble he must still learn a trade, no matter how impractical a trade the craft of stringed instruments was as a whole.

He did afford Audrey a second sidelong look that was slightly towards the side of ‘almost staring’ though he tore his gaze away. No doubt it was the sight of her blue hair, no matter how carefully coifed for practicality’s sake. She was touched and there was almost certainly an air of caution that that simple fact raised.

Audrey gave a polite nod as her presence was explained before the niggling little voice in her head explained she was an idiot, and that had she perhaps had brown hair and perfectly brown eyes, there wouldn't have been a necessity for one. Without realizing she was doing it the bluenette waved a hand somewhere around the vicinity of her ear to banish such things back; they always got her in trouble with someone, somewhere. Plus she liked Josselyn Jacobi, respected her certainly, it wasn't her fault that Audrey was different. Certainly it wasn't Audrey's fault either but well, that was life wasn't it?

"Indeed, it's Ms. Jacobi's fair dealings and an eye for quality that keep her well-stocked. Though I'm sure you've noticed the quality craftsmanship yourself, sir." Another polite bow of the head for she'd never done more than pass a noble in the street, let alone talked to anyone of that elevated caste. It was a tribute to her pride that instead of keeping her gaze turned down to the ground as she did on the street, gold eyes were raised to look straight into this Sir Bantok's eyes.

"If you don't mind Ms. Jacobi, I'd be happy to serve your guest while you retrieve his purchase. I would hate to keep you moving around until the cold sets in." Plus she wanted to see what it was that a man with money could buy or she'd have been out the door herself by now. The cold was due to truly settle into the ground soon, a bad time to be out, but it was curiosity and a desire for some degree of freedom that had had her becoming a hunter in the first place. Might as well stick around.

When Sir Bantok stepped into the shop, Josselyn once again let the door close. There was still blood on her hand from examining Audrey's kill so she moved quickly to a nearby washbasin to rinse her hands, drying them quickly with a towel. She acknowledged Audrey's compliment of her work with a brief nod of the head. Josselyn knew that she was good at what she did, but she was also very bad at accepting compliments. Nodding her head was the happy compromise.

Josselyn stood up and moved back toward Sir Bantok just as Audrey offered to get him the coffee herself. The furrier paused, eyes moving to the nobleman. If he showed any sign of discomfort with being served by a Touched, she would n** it in the bud. He did not, which she made a mental note of, and then said, "Don't worry about the hour, Sir Bantok, or the skin--" There was a tiny tinge of disappointment in her voice. "I was pleased to work on your coat, and your patronage is welcome any time." Her eyes flickered briefly to Audrey. "Excellent -- thank you, Miss Proudmoore. You two warm up then. Cups are on the side table by the fireplace. Careful of the ladle. It's still hot."

With that, Josselyn disappeared upstairs, leaving the other two alone.

He took the cup carefully from her, gingerly, though it was hard to say if it was because he was worried about spilling or touching you, even with a glove. “Thank you.” He said quietly. “I can understand about the hands, I craft some myself.” He said speaking with his eyes turned towards the weak coffee before bringing it closer to his face to feel the heat of it. He lowered it again without sipping, too hot to do so directly.

“I do, of a sort. I am somewhat less…” he searched for a polite word before falling back on. “Passionate about it than he is.” He admitted. “I believe he simply dislikes the idea of…relying on others. Or perhaps it’s simply that he feels…brave venturing out ‘there’.”

Truthfully the man hated the touched, he thought they might taint the very meat they brought back, and since Zachariah could be trusted to do a great deal of the detailed work for their instruments now, gave the man time to be what could only be referred to as ‘a lunatic’ in his quest for ‘untainted meat’ and masculine prowess.