COLORS | painting

[alaire]

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Accepted in during the rain, the boy found temporarily shelter within the fondly known tavern.  The bustling atmosphere presented a slight shock, so accustomed he was to lonesome traveling.  Upbeat and friendly, the ever-lively fox adjusted relatively quickly, though his molten gaze often lingered outside the tavern.

Over the shallow water, he found a number of quaint huts.  It took little more prompting for Alaire to wander the suspended buildings, until he found a small, empty hut.  Looking inside, the boy briefly considered a larger place -- only he had no sister, nor parents, to share it with.  Thoroughly disappointed by his own thoughts, a distraction began to be sought.  This empty hut would soon no longer be empty; to be the home it was meant to be.

Acquiring furniture and the like would take time, though it lacked immediate appeal.  Instead, Alaire began seeking the means to create more color, quickly and efficiently gathering small buckets of paint.  Blues he enjoyed particularly and Alaire began narrowing his eyes on the door.

Happy to busy his paws, the fox meticulously began his work.  Mixing dark and light shades, the door soon to become a blanket of rain.  A momento to the weather of his first days -- to the Halls of Hiraeth, to the Typhoon.
[align=right]Faileas. (n.)

[T. ROUX]

[glow=white,1,400]BUT THEY'VE WRITTEN MY NAME IN THE STARS. I'VE DEALT WITH GREED AND SCARS !｡+ﾟ.[/glow]

Trygve had been walking about with little thoughts in his mind though the faint smell of paint brushed past his nostrils, it reminded him of that one painting Gael had done. The memory was faint yet he could recall how both Gael, Aine, and himself were in the painting... The two other faces a blur to him. Trygve hadn't asked who they were assuming they were Aine's mother and brother, a frown tugging on his maw as he would stop in his tracks. The fox reminded him of Gael... A soft growl leaving his maw recalling that the Pitt hadn't been the same since he had left it, both of his ears pressed flat against his cranium. A part of him wished that he hadn't left though, he missed the Typhoon... It was troublesome.

He pushed those thoughts aside and would slowly go in the direction of the small lupine with both of his tufted ears perked forward. His nose would twitch lightly, he tilted his head to the side before a faint smile appeared on his face. Ah, it seemed that the painting reflected his joining. He would hesitate a bit in approaching the male and once he was close enough, the draconic boy would speak up with a toothy grin "Hey there, Alaire." Trygve took a few steps forward and piped out with a soft chuckle "That looks fuckin sick... You're very talented," [glow=COLOR,1,400] ━ ✧*:･ﾟ[/glow]

[GEORGIA.]

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[/td][/tr][/table]*･ﾟ✧ / BETA / 08 MONTHS

Georgia wished she could get into art. There was a certain sort of mentality, of distraction and satisfaction in the practice that she admired. Unfortunately, Gia was of the type that if she could not pick up the skill immediately, then it was more upsetting than it was rewarding, and would leave a bad taste in her mouth. So it was better decided to leave the skill to other people, rather than embarrass herself with it. Besides, she just likely wouldn't have the patience.

On this particular day, the girl wandered along the beach shore yet again, meandering towards the huts. Her original intent had been to see if Eulia had planted anymore flowers, but the longer she walked, the more she forgot about it. By the time she came across Alaire and Trygve, she'd been about to pause and wonder what she was doing in the first place.

Georgia's eyes wandered over the hut, the door, and then the fox; she didn't actually remember his name, unfortunately, but she remembered meeting him. Remembered him speaking French. Remembered Trygve undermining her umbrella bit. Georgia resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the jaguar.

"I like what you did with the colors," She opted to compliment Alaire's work instead. "Are you planning on painting the inside, too?"

© LEXASPERATED/APRICOT

[PAOLA]

[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]

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Paola hasn't settled. Between exploring as much of the territory as she could and getting used to being in an actual group again, she hasn't exactly found the time to pick a place and make it her own. Instead, for the past few days since her arrival, she's taken to sleeping anywhere she could; sometimes she sleeps on a tree branch, tail wrapped securely around it just in case she decides to run a marathon in her dreams, and sometimes she sleeps on the beach, under the endless night sky.

Sometimes she sleeps on somebody's roof, and that's where she's found when the conversation begins. Curled up into a tight, black ball, Paola's snoring softly when voices rouse her from her shallow sleep. Ears swiveling to the source of the sound, the Beta remains unmoving for a fraction of a second before unfurling, claws reaching forward in a mighty stretch to loosen her muscles. She peers over the lip of the roof to investigate, green eyes hazy with the last tendrils of sleep, and it takes her a while to register the small group gathered just a few steps away, crowding around the hut across from hers—well, not hers, she doesn't exactly know whose hut she's slept on top of.

With a yawn, Paola picks her way back down from the roof, sliding down the gentle incline and landing on a windowsill before leaping the rest of the way down, exhaling sharply as her paws meet sand. The texture is pleasant underneath her, and she hums approvingly as she makes her way over, grinning at Trygve as she pops up next to Georgia. After the non-verbal greeting, her attention finally falls on Alaire and his project.

"Pretty," Paola comments softly, voice still thick with sleep, and she rubs at her eyes with the back of her paws to make them see better. Her eyes drift from the door to the fox, offering him a bright albeit drowsy smile, realizing belatedly that he's a stranger to her. Is it weird to complement a stranger's door? "I don't think I know you. I'm Paola. You have a very pretty door."

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10 MOONS

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BETA

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TYPHOON

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SHE/HER

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© AUDACITY

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BABY'S GOT A FACE LIKE THUNDER:

GENERAL.
• paola vasquez | paola, pao | click here for bio
• unknown origin | unknown birthplace
• appears to be 10 or 11 moons | unknown parentage
• female | she/her | lesbian
• the typhoon | beta | the blackjack rats

APPEARANCE.
• thick-furred black smoke norwegian forest cat with an absurdly long tail
• wears multiple gold earrings on each ear
• wears the typhoon's required charm bracelet
• carries a small leather satchel filled with trinkets
• physically fit, no injuries, no visible health issues

PERSONALITY.
• non-judgemental, friendly; easy to get along with; relaxed, patient, sincere; can usually be encouraged to accompany people without struggle; usually in a happy mood
• strategic but takes her time; unwilling to make decisions for other people; unbothered by both isolation and company; an anything-goes type of person
• usually undriven and bored; self-criticizing, self-doubting; mischievous and does a lot of things for attention; lonely and desperately craves company; lost

INTERACTIONS.
• physically moderate | mentally difficult
• fights only when necessary or playfully
• hard to truly provoke | easy to calm down
• fire and electricity elementals | conjuration
• non-violent interactions are always allowed
• attack in bolded #f7a57b text | mention [member=15708]PAOLA[/member]

[Keona.]

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If I fall, get knocked down, pick myself up off the ground

Color.  A foreign concept.  The tiny Dealer had never possessed the sight to see it, existing in her own world of sound, touch and smell.  Just as colorful.  Just in a different way.  As such, Keona did know what painting was, even if she never saw the results.  On more than one occasion her father had fondly asked her to press a colored paw somewhere and on the day of her Beta ceremony, choosing her division had ended with a tiny pawprint left on the Blackjack Rats totem pole.

Her ears twitched curiously.  She simply meant to wander the beach a little, but the myriad of relatively unfamiliar voices caught her attention.  With a flick of her tail, the faerie padded across the suspended platforms, nose inhaling softly.  Trygve she knew.

The attention appeared to be on the one closest to the door.  One smelling particularly of paint.  "Aloha." Was he new?  He seemed new to her.  "Are you jus' movin' in? Do you need any help?" Might as well offer while she was here.

✯ — keona sibéal ní faoláin. female. dealer of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.

[devland]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 60%; min-height: 8px; font-family: arial; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 25px"]Devland had an appreciation for art, but he didn't consider himself talented. Granted, the pages of his journals and notepads were frequently lined with quick sketches of insects and other things that caught his eye (spoiler alert: it happened quite often). Even though he enjoyed his little drawings, he never really considered it art. It was just something to occupy one moment, something to keep his mind busy.

He sat in the shade of a tree, eyes softly picking over the words he had splashed on his journal's pages from earlier. Concentrating on the notes were difficult, however, as voices reached him. He recognized a few of them. Abandoning his review, Devland stuffed his journal into a small bag and sauntered closer to the beach. It took only moments to find the small group, gathered around a fox who was painting.

"Well, color me impressed," the boy chuckled in greeting, slowing to a halt beside Keona. He glanced at the others, flashing a smile to Trygve, Georgia, and Paola, before his eyes settled on Alaire. "Devland Taji," he extended his name as an afterthought, almost too caught up in the hues to remember he should introduce himself.

[alaire]

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Paws thoroughly blue, rather than black, the boy grinned.  A hearty flash of teeth and mischief though there was little to be impish about.  Trygve simply carried such an air with him Alaire found enjoyable.  "Merci."  Sick sounded cool -- enough so the fox decided to hold the compliment close.

On a swivel, the boy happily received the sudden attention; molten gaze ablaze with appreciation and curiosity.  "Merci," the most common spoken word today.  The inside?  "The inside... Je n'ai aucune idée."

Rather indecisive, the fox opts for the simple but cheerful shrug of his shoulders, "peut être."  The thought is born now -- a theme he could follow inside and out.  Time would no doubt be consumed by such a task but painting was never meant to be a rushed process.

More compliments fell on the sanguine vulpine, his head bopping happily beneath them. "Merci bien."  Paola: a name added to the relatively small list he possessed.  Another young and friendly face.

'Aloha.' "Aloh - Aloha?  Aloha."  Uncertain, but hopeful it meant hello, Alaire grinned crookedly, before blinking in pause.  The feline who spoke it stood smaller than any he had met, with eyes oddly discolored.  A question rested on his tongue -- one a voice in his head argued against, sounding particularly like his sister.  Don't be rude.

"Oui --" he's forgotten to introduce himself, hasn't he? "Je m'appelle Alaire.  ... Et non merci." New as he was, the boy hardly possessed anything he required help moving in with.  He decided to remember the eyes of the girl who asked however, to speak to her later if he did end up requiring help.

A pun brought attention to the final face.  A full name followed the introduction and the fox felt his brows crease.  "Merci bien." Following further thought, the youth bowed his head once more, "je m'appelle Alaire Antoine Ó Broin."
[align=right]Faileas. (n.)

[michael t.]

LIKE THE MOON SAYS TO THE DARK — Alaire had been of particular interest to Michael ever since the other had joined, for multiple reasons. One, he was just a poor kid out on his own, and although some would say that the bobcat was cold hearted, he didn't have no heart, so he wanted to make sure the kid was safe, and happy. Two, Alaire kinda reminded him of some folks that Trygve had told him tales of, but he couldn't say anything for sure, considering he hadn't met them himself. And finally, the fox also spoke an entirely different language that the thief had little to no chance of understanding. He had never even come close to learning a scrap of the French language, so if he ever wanted to actually communicate with the kid, then he would need some kind of third party around. Regardless, quite the sizable group had already begun to gather around Alaire's apparent new house, so the reaver found himself drawn in as well, wondering what everyone else was so fascinated by. He could hear talk of paints, and possibly helping out, and he knew he could at least do that, even with a language barrier.

Coming up beside Trygve, Michael let his mismatched gaze linger on Alaire's painted door, a faint smile coming to his face as he saw it. Blue had always been a color that he was very fond of, and the rather interesting paint job certainly did call to mind various images of the Typhoon on a stormy day. It was nice, and the bobcat found himself nodding approvingly, hoping that would get the point across without words. It wasn't long before the vulpine was speaking, but Michael could only catch one or two words that he recognized, with the rest flying directly over his head, leaving him confused and vaguely frustrated. He recognized the inside, but anything after that was a blur, causing him to temporarily pin his ears against his skull. Glancing at those around him, the male found himself questioning, "Does anybody else here know French? I'm happy to help out if he said he needed it, but... I can't understand a word of French, honestly. Well... merci, maybe." That meant thanks, right? Trevor spoke quite a bit of French, but the coyote had always refused to teach him any, and Michael was fairly sure of why. He had always suspected that the other used it to either insult him or flirt with him without his knowledge – he was never sure which. — WE WILL NEVER BE APART