The soft petaled palette of the spring had since fallen and left lush green growth to weed in its wake, and the tall trees were towering and casting dewy shadows across the mildly tame lawn of the Foleys'. Like watercolor paints brushed across the sky, the clouds were thick and dragging with the humidity of the summer. A few of the crups had taken shelter under the large stone Gazebo where Torquil was unpacking nesting baskets and Kale Ferris was waiting for him to find his.

The short scruffy Irishman hadn't labeled any of the baskets, and so didn't know which gear belonged to whom. He had tailored (the best he could) most of what he made to specific measurements given to him by Mungo's for certain healers, and so there wasn't a really a one-size fits all thing--yet. He could take the gear to a tailor later so they could make the clothing self-alterable, if it could be done. But first, Torquil needed to just find the basket of one of the first healers that showed up.

Finally, Torquil found Kale's basket, and set it down next to Badger, their Sheperd/Wolf mix sprawled out on the bench, and pulled out a stuffy looking chest plate with a few various gloves. "So first, you put this on," Torquil spoke again since he first brought the boy to the island, while handing him the chest plate, "then pick out the gloves and we'll see how it all feels," he pointed to various pairs of them as he quickly explained them, "This will totally absorb the pressure of a bite and compress your arm like rubber, you won't feel a thing and it's a chore to control; these will hold up to the pressure of a bite, it hurts under pressure but you have control; and these are a nice medium between the two."

The bulky Irishman pulled his own gloves from his pockets as he called to attention the caramel Rhodesian Ridgeback, "Here girl," he yanked his gloves on and then let the dog gnaw on the glove, "So put one on and start playing with the crups. You'll need to get rough for them to start biting hard."

He removed his gloved hand from the Ridgeback's jaws as he pointed and named each creature, "Jessi, Ridgeback-Weimaraner mix; Golem, Cordoba-Shepherd; and Badger, Wolf-Shepherd--my boys' kids," then his shoulders jump as he quickly added, "Once you put on the gloves the suit will act the same as whatever pair you picked--it's a bit alive, might be similar to a live suit of armor... ever worn one?" his voice jumped from stern and informative to curious and gentle with so much ease his attention span might be brought into question if he wasn't at least paying some sort of attention to the task at hand.

Kale wasn't really bothered by the wait. According to his father, patience was not just a virtue but a pleasure, a chance to take in your surroundings. To think before you act. The island was so peaceful and calm that Kale kinda just zenned out while he stared out over the shoreline, waiting for Torquil to unpack the new armor. He hoped that, one day, he would be able to own a home on such a picturesque island. Although, as beautiful as their home was, his would have a bit more of a minimalistic and clean Japanese vibe. Something about the melding of overgrown nature and the clean lines of modern architecture really appealed to him. Taking a deep breath of the untainted air, he sighed peacefully.

"So first, you put this on,"

Kale snapped to attention, realizing that the older man must have found his basket. As Torquil begin to explain the various peices, Kale eyed them critically. How was he going to work in such restricting armor? Though he was one of the first to wholeheartedely agree that armor was needed, having been at the mercy of a werewolves claws before, he was apprehensive of how it would affect his performance. Kale had been lucky that Healer Foley had been willing to hire him despite his history of drug dependancy, and he knew that it would be easy to release him if he made any mistakes. Despite his worries, Kale accepted the chest piece with a nod and slipped it on, shifting and adjusting so that it fit his buylky shoulders appropriately. He then picked out the last pair of gloves, preferring the idea of having both protection and flexibility.

"So put one on and start playing with the crups. You'll need to get rough for them to start biting hard."

"Oh don't worry about that." He said with a cocky grin. "My father is Sean Ferris... crups are cake next to Norwegian ridgeback whelps." Hm, that sounded rather arrogant, maybe he shouldn't have said that. The 'thinking before you speak' part of paitence was never Kale's strong suit. Ah well, what was said was said. Besides, it wasn't like it wasn't true. He was the son of a rather well known magizoologist and Dragon tamer, he could take a few nips from a yappy little crup.

"Once you put on the gloves the suit will act the same as them--it's a bit alive, might be similar to a live suit of armor... ever worn one?"

"No but---Whoa!" He paused in surprise when his chest plate suddenly got lighter but tougher, more like the leather gloves he had just slipped on. So this is what Torquil meant by living armor. He could work with this! "Com'mere pup, I'm gonna getcha..." He growled playfully at the crup, ruffling their fur roughly to hype them up. They growled and barked as he flipped them over and rubbed their bellies. Finally they begin to nip at him, upset by his insistence that he was superior. "There we go... I don't feel a thing!" He said, pleased by the fact.

Torquil watched as Kale began playing with the dogs and turned his red matted head every witch way to try and see how the suit was reacting to the dogs' biting.

"Yes, I'm not sure that's a good gauge though," Torquil replied with disappointment, when Kale started actually playing with the dogs, and then got them to bite, "No one's ever been able to properly measure a werewolf's bite, much less a direwolf's--" Torquil then shook his head with a lopsided shrug as his eyes focused between Kale and the dogs, "Obviously no one's willing to get close enough."

The lake lapped against the shore as the elder man furrowed his fuzzy brows in silence. "Hmnn,"  he growled grumpily as he took a few paces on the stone walk.

 "These guys, they've been trained to attack and fight," his Irish swig played around his matter-of-fact tone, as he focused on the dogs, eying him and wagging their tails with excited apprehension, "But they think for themselves too--I could get them to attack you, but that would confuse them too much, and uh--they'd go for the throat..."

Torquil scratched his short mop of red hair, obviously worried about getting the dogs too ferocious, before he hopped on his heels and theorized, "Now keep going, try playing with them like you're not the son of a magizoologist--like you're their brother--an equal--not the alpha." The man shrugged back towards behind the house before he added, "They've got enough of them, I think they'd respond quick to the attitude change."