Returning to the tent after a long day of oiling saddles and sharpening swords, she'd stretch her hands and allow the thin fingers some rest before taking up the thin threads bought with the last of her saved wages. "Ezra, steady my hand," She thought bitterly "How I hate mending silks."
Lis slipped on the expensive silken gloves she bought on her very first visit to Port-a-Lucine, "It seemed like such a fortune back then," Smiling to herself, she touched the frayed old silk, hardly more than a torn rag to any adventuring Outlander, but a symbol of freedom to the Revolutionaries, and nothing less than a national treasure to revolutionary in particular.
Not daring to even light a candle next to the bit of old fabric, she brought some magical light into existence and began to clean away the threads that couldn't be mended, then straightened it on the table with an iron she wouldn't dare heat enough to make the work easier.
Leaning back she'd rub her shoulders and roll her head to alleviate the pain in her back, while she enjoyed the odd jealous looks as she walked by in a revealing dress, it was almost not worth the constant aches. "You try walking with a pair of heavy jugs strapped to your chest." She huffed indignantly and crouched forward once more.
Carefully she cut a bit of the length to use as material for patches and began to tack triangular patches just like mother instructed in all those quiet afternoons sitting on the porch. "Never thought my needlework could be used to impress the commanders, well, not that the Devil Rosseau would ever be impressed with anything I ever create." She thought bitterly, trying to slip all the thin silken threads through the needle's tiny eye.
Her work was suddenly interrupted by a kick to the tent, one that shook its wooden foundation, the sharp needle running through her silk gloves into her left thumb as she nearly jumped out of her skin. She peeked out, the Vicomte of course, coming to check that she wasn't slacking around. Lis sighed inwardly and returned to working on the Company's equipment.
Returning to the tent only after finishing her duties once more and the Vicomte was nowhere to be found, she made tiny running stitches to hold the patch, then turned the sash over and worked in a long, flat, but quite even satin stitch, only finishing the final stitches when the natural light of the sun's rays replaced the light spell.
Lis held the restored sash up with a smile before carefully folding it. "He's going to like this."