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+---- Thread: IF I AIN'T GOT YOU / open (/showthread.php?tid=855)
IF I AIN'T GOT YOU / open - Character Graveyard. - 04-22-2018
LUNAFREYA N.F.
✯ — take these broken wings and learn to fly
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Luna had gathered a whole bunch of art supplies for her weekly task. Canvases, brushes, and palettes. To be honest, she had been taught to paint at a young age, so she was in luck. She carefully lifted all of the materials with her air elemental power and placed them in the center of the Observatory.
"Gather around, for a painting lesson!" Luna called out to her Clanmates.
"Gather around, for a painting lesson!" Luna called out to her Clanmates.
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✯ — Luna. The Ascedants. Easy. — ✯
Re: IF I AIN'T GOT YOU / open - radeken - 04-22-2018
Oh, this sounded fun. Radeken scrambled close with a kind of eager childish energy that would’ve better suited someone a year or so younger, all wide-eyed and hyperfocused. Painting meant a mess meant real fun. “[color=#40bf40]I’m doing this.” She already had the corner of a canvas gingerly held in her teeth as she pulled it close, getting it situated before diving back to pick out supplies.
Radeken wasn’t the most talented when it came to art, but she also wasn’t one to let that stop her from having a good time. So her mood remained elevated and she didn’t hesitate when she thought of how foolishly inept she might look puttering around with all this stuff, trying to get herself organized. “[color=#40bf40]What’re you going to teach, exactly?”
Re: IF I AIN'T GOT YOU / open - BASTILLEPAW - 04-22-2018
[table][tr][td][/td][td][/td][/tr][/table]
[div style="background-color: #e3dfdf; width: 305px; border-bottom: 1px solid black; border-left: 1px solid black; border-right: 1px solid black; padding: 10px; line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; margin: auto; color: black; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]When he thought of painting, he was reminded vividly of the stealth-walker tryouts. He could picture the paint buckets spread about, his competition scrambling to develop their masterpieces in the hour Indi deemed to allow them. He could still picture some of those works, the stupid paintings on tree trunks, the tarps, the rugs.
He could still remember the gentle, pin pricks of pain as he dragged a careful claw over his own body, etching the stories of a distant tribe he had visited and painting the scene with his own blood. He had explained the traditions of that Tribe to Indi when she asked, telling her that they preferred to capture history on their bodies. He'd told her the wounds wouldn't scar, surface level as they were. He remembered the look in her eyes as she stared at him, bloody and proud, remembered her claw on his shoulder as she marked him as her stealth-walker, borrowing the idea of scars for her new ranking system. He remembered the burn and the warmth of her breathe on his face as she scarred him, claimed him.
Bastille still bore Echo's scar in the form of three parallel lines on his shoulder, and as he headed towards the others, he had to shake himself. Had to remind himself that he wasn't Echo, that those memories weren't him. He'd noticed since Indi's appearance that he'd been slipping more and more easily into Echo's memories, into his thought patterns. It was... concerning.
"I'll watch," he supplied as he sat down, his shoulder tingling slightly. He eyed Rad and added with a smirk, "I'm sure seeing Rad fuck up a painting so badly will be entertainment enough."