{SE} Anyone know how to stich a doll?

A panther in the night, a fire burning bright. Ray set out a table in front of her herb shop, placing fabric, string, needles, stuffing, and various flowers. And of course small pieces of porcelain ready for carving. It was that time of year again but this year Ray had chosen to celebrate differently. In all  previous years she had made her doll in the privacy of her won home. Yet something told her that she needed to do something else this season. So upon gathering supplies and picking some of her favorite herbs, she set out a craft station in front of her shop that all of the residents of the city could use. Ray sat down and grabbed the necessary stuffing, a piece of black fabric, porcelain, and some buttons. Ray also gathered a bundle of some dried herbs and set them down in front of herself. Now where to start? r a y The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. —Albert Camus

Deimos The Sword had only been in Torchline recently to acquire supplies, and become distracted during the efforts while talking to Sunjata over differing political matters, but with the last basket of fish in his hands, heading towards the portal, he found himself once again deterred. Zuriel snorted behind him, but his attention had been on the windows, on the boxes, on the frameworks of more of the dolls; clearly inhabiting or possessing Ludo’s likeness. Brows furrowed, curiosity piqued, the unknown circumventing every other nuance and notion in his mind, because why were these necessary, when he couldn’t recall them happening before? Another individual, a stranger in front of what appeared to be an herb shop, appeared to be conducting the same mannerisms, fabric, buttons, porcelain, and other fabrications out along the bazaar. Probably hovering like a menace, but only due to intrigue, he eventually spoke, the unicorn companion sliding out from around him to gesture towards the woman in a flat snort. “May I ask the purpose of the dolls?” Securing his Outlander status, as he often had through one trial, tribulation, or another aspect, the General glanced towards the other parameters and particulars nearby. “I have not seen them made before.” Had this been some other tradition he’d missed? Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

A panther in the night, a fire burning bright. Ray looked up from her work when an unfamiliar voice addressed her. "Oh, hello. Yes, there is a tradition related to this, though it's an obscure one that isn't necessarily annual. Basically, it only happens when Ludo acts up, like they're doing this season." An annoyed look crossed her face. She had personally had to dealt with Ludo's shenanigans this year. "The idea is to create your own Ludo doll and then bring it to a designated area to get it judged by Ludo. The location changes each time however so it's certainly one of the ah, odder traditions here. You're welcome to sit down and make one too if you'd like. That's kind of why I set up this station. Ludo will be judging soon so I figured I'd give everyone a chance to make theirs if they wanted." Ray explained as she worked on cutting the dark velvety fabric. She had finally decided on her design, a black panther Ludo doll. "And I'm Ray by the way. Nice to meet you." r a y The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. —Albert Camus

Deimos The Natural was kind enough to explain it to him without some growl or eyeroll, so the monolith tilted his head, considered the particulars. He arched his brow in general, curiosity interplaying with a series of motions and machinations in regards to Ludo and acting up (which could’ve explained the ghosts, the spirits, the wraiths around – the flickering barbs of Zariah in the caves, when the woman had been rumored to be quite deceased). Ordinarily, he might have shrugged it off and continued on his way, but then the semblances of a competition coiled inside his mind, and as a man who had yet to resist some dare of dare, provocation, or challenge, he found himself remaining along the crafting station, surveying the wares. “Thank you for explaining.” Would he be able to contort one simply from his own incantations? Or would it be rude to ignore this woman’s efforts? At the introductions, the Sword realized he hadn’t honed his own – extended a calloused hand in her direction. “Deimos.” He remained standing, and Zuriel slunk around, snaking her muzzle near the portions of fabric – the beast ended up choosing the one she attempted to snag and snatch, narrowing his eyes at the foolish predilections. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

A panther in the night, a fire burning bright. Ray watched with thinly veiled amusement as the creature took a scrap of fabric. "I think someone wants to make one." She said raising a brow but making no attempt to take the fabric back. Instead Ray began to sew the two panther cut-outs together in the hopes of turning them into the beginnings of a doll. She gestured to one of the chairs lined up at the table. "Why don't you sit down and make one yourself? I can also show you on a map where the judging is going to take place in a few days if you'd like. I plan to be there, and hopefully win." Ray grinned, her competitive side showing itself. r a y The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. —Albert Camus

Deimos There was something very irritating in Zuriel’s gaze, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of her amusement; narrowing his own in speculation and warning, to which the mare flung the fabric around again in her teeth, and only releasing it when he didn’t seem up to the game. Instead, he adhered to the woman’s request, sitting, rigid and unyielding in every other aspect. And while the unicorn guarded the last basket of fish from any passing thieves (a very airy, threatening juxtaposition, her high, proud, and rendered with its own deadly weapon), he glanced at the rest of the supplies. His thoughts drifted briefly to that of Ludo, and all the adornments and symbolism that came with the herald and its rags. Glancing down at the fabric Zuriel had chosen, he saw it marked and pinpointed with edges of embers, with little flames spiraling along fringes and strands. Something within his jaw clenched and brooded, threatening to brim over with a fraction of ghosts; and maybe his companion was opting to tell him to another way to move on. He took hold of the knife in his back pocket and began to cut out the framework, the pattern, only raising his head from his work when Ray offered to explain where the competition would be taking place. “Please. It would be appreciated.” Half a grin immersed on his mouth, before fading altogether; too much uncertainty filling the void. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

A panther in the night, a fire burning bright. Ray smiled when Deimos sat down. "The meeting place this year is at the Ahi Coast. If you get to beach you'll see the path. In the past it's been lined with torches and Ludo dolls." Ray paused. "Though fair warning, spirits and souls  will gather there too. They won't hurt you and they'll actually show you the way, but it can be unnerving the first time." Ray added as she sewed on little blue buttons for eyes. The little cat would be wearing a mask but it was the thought that counted, right? Ray then glanced down at her work, the sides of the fabric were suitably stitched to the point that she could start stuffing. Grabbing some fluff and dried herbs that had a soothing smell, she started to stuff the doll. "What do you think you'll do for your design?" She asked Deimos curiously. r a y The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. —Albert Camus

Deimos No stranger to Torchline, because he’d been drawn to the water, to the sea, much as he’d been to the mountains, he nodded at the directions; familiar with the outline of the coast. Torches and dolls, spirits and souls, no harm, no foul, just the fact that they were there. That he’d be tempted, all the more, to glance into the ethers of lives rendered lost and gone, wondering if his friends would be amongst the amassed and clustered. He withheld the grimace over his features, instilling the familiar nonchalance, sticking to the pretenses of nothingness when everything else seethed and hurt. “Thank you. I had only experienced the lantern festival.” Multiple times, and always with too many in hand. The question brought him out of the melancholy for half a moment, brows furrowing slightly at the fabric, as he began to stitch two ends together, adept at needle and thread only because of work upon battlefields. “Something to signify a friend,” and he tilted his head, quieting again, before beginning to stuff the contortions together. “Yours?” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

A panther in the night, a fire burning bright. Ray nodded understandingly. "Yes, the lantern festival is always annual. I find it beautiful, though it always leaves me melancholy. It has been awhile since the last stirring of Ludo like this. Years if I remember correctly." Ray mused, vaguely remembering the dancing spirits, flickering shadows, and quiet hum of energy in the air. She had been a mere child then, but it wasn't something easily forgotten. "I'm sewing something for my mother, and a bit for myself too I suppose. We shared the same shift." Ray explained as she finished stuffing the doll and began to stitch it closed. She only poked her finger once as she tried to sew the legs, the angle a bit difficult to accomplish without injury. Though with how focused she was and how minor the prick, she barely even noticed and just kept working. r a y The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. —Albert Camus

Deimos Deimos followed through with a nod of his own at her information, the silent acknowledgment of thank yous once more. He listened, as he always did, rapt and attentive, even if he appeared riveted by other munitions and calculations. Something for mothers, for shared shifts and spirits, and he glanced over briefly, at the sable coating, at the distinguished stitching. “A panther?” And then he fell silent once more, eyes rendered upon the wares in hand, the stuffing completed, the strands following back through, tied and knotted, efficient and expertise. The mask became molded thereafter, tied along too, with a pale button adornment; pretending the holes were slots for eyes, providing streaks of blue for their inner containments. Then there were feathers applied, to linger upon the back of the rags, to bloom and rise and never fall again – to carry her on wings of merit, grit, and mettle, to be an unburdened soul. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

A panther in the night, a fire burning bright. "Yup, a panther. I figured something stealthy and dark was fitting for a Ludo doll." Ray confirmed, finishing the stitching. She then took a piece of porcelain and with a bit of gentle carving managed to turn it into a mask. It was pure white with small slits on the front that showed just a fraction of the blue button eyes. Taking a strand of thin leather she looped the small mask onto the panther. There, her Ludo doll was complete. Ray smiled with satisfaction, pleasantly surprised that it came out similar to how she'd been imagining it in her head.  Curious she glanced at Deimos' once she was done. "It's beautiful." She commented quietly. The feathers were a nice touch but Ray somehow could tell they had a deeply emotional aspect to them. r a y The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. —Albert Camus

Deimos The Sword withheld the snort threatening to unfurl from him; the stranger didn’t need to be relegated within his darkened humor. Sometimes Ludo hadn’t been stealthy at all, and sometimes the ambiguous way the world churned made him remember exactly what the herald was a part of. He tilted his head vaguely, studying hers and then his own. “I have seen ghosts and spirits as well. Does this fall under Ludo’s tricks too?” Or were they facets of his previous affliction that simply hadn't gone away with the cure? Because he already had enough wraiths, phantoms, and lost things for an eternity; done, and over the calamity at every turn. And to think, Deepfrost was coming too. Deimos shoved the thought away, and began the finishing touches, adding the feathers around the neck and head too, like a crown of plumage, sharpened Harpy adornments she might’ve cherished. The quiet compliment extended his way gave him pause, and he stifled the sigh, permitting the smallest of sighs to glean through, on a weak smile that wouldn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

A panther in the night, a fire burning bright. Ray nodded with a sardonic smile. "Yes, the spirits that have been around lately are Ludo's doing. The appearances have been increasing in frequency as we've drawn closer to the gathering. I imagine there will be even more when we actually arrive." Explained Ray. She noticed how quiet  and mournful Deimos seemed suddenly and smiled sadly in understanding.  Ludo dolls always seemed to bring out even the oldest of griefs. Ray gave her doll a final once over to ensure there were no glaring errors. "I think mine is done. I'll see you at the gathering." She got up and left Deimos in the privacy of his thoughts, getting the feeling that he'd rather be alone right now. FIN r a y The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. —Albert Camus