GOOD KID ; whittling

[T. ROUX]

you think you know about me

Blade ran across the wood held in his other paw, his eyes concentrated on his work but his mind was lost. He was doing his best to try and make something... Yet all there was left of his mind... Pain embedded in it. Even the blade that he was using felt unfamiliar to him. A birthday gift, it had been... He could remember even if he didn't wish to reminisce. He laid upon a tree branch with his back pressed against the rough bark, a soft sigh leaving his jaws.

He was distracted by his own thoughts hearing the soft schip with each bit of wood that was sliced off by the knife. Memories. Bittersweet, they ran through his mind as he continued to sit there looking rather lost in thought. It wasn't long until he snapped out of it and glanced down at his creation; a bobcat. Trygve bit his bottom lip only to utter out in frustration "Fuck," He took the moment to look at it's figure, remembering it, until he pressed the tip of his blade to the wooden creature's chest. He craved out a bit where a heart would be before blowing fire onto it, not caring that it was burning his own paws. He pulled it away from the flame, ashes filling the small cavity he had made and around the chest was burnt. He stared at it for a good moment or two before completely burning it until ashes were left on his paws. He picked at another piece of wood.

"Went to shit, gotta make a different one."

Looking over the piece of wood, the draconic boy would lean back comfortably onto the tree trying to think of what he could make out of this. He picked up his pieces of wood and moved them onto the ground, where he resumed to think. Suddenly, it had come to his mind as he began to remove the bark with the sharp blade of his knife not uttering much of a word at the moment. A smile slowly slipping onto his mottled maw, soon enough did the boy find himself humming to a melody he had heard once before "I saw you... With that ribbon in your hair," He began in a quiet voice watching as the blade went over a certain spot of the wood until it was curved like a tail not thin like his own but slightly puffy. "Think that I began to stare..." More pieces of wood were sliced off until he had gotten a block like body shape but it didn't last for long as he tried curving it all out.

"Maybe I'll love you... For a while,"

Pausing for a brief moment, he glanced over his work only to keep slicing a bit more at it though he was being more careful of his actions. Once it had taken the form he desired, he was careful with the detail he began to carve onto the small figurine. He held it back once he had finished it, finding a soft smile tugging at his lips. Wings, hooves, a round face with a slightly long nose and that familiar, comforting smile. The wooden figurine would never be her but he was sure that she would love it, his mind thought about the painting Gael had did once and immediately this inspired him. Producing four more wooden figurines. Gael. His wife and son. And even himself. He had to be a bit more careful of what he was doing as he managed to carve a small butterfly on his nose. That smile still prominent on his maw.

[ feel free to request something from him with your characters uwu ]

BUT YOU DON'T KNOW REALLY WHAT YOU'RE TALKING 'BOUT
YOU ACT AS IF I WAS BORN YESTERDAY, BUT WON'T YOU SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH

— Reggan

[Luciferr]

[table][tr][td]

[/td][td]

[/td][td]

[/td][td]

[/td][/tr][/table]

P H O B O S  .|.  S U S U R R U S  I N F E R I  .|.  D E I M O S

”Those are beautifully made”, came an icy yet warm voice, a gust of cold tinged air following the stranger.

Phobos was had at some point snuck up and taken a seat as Trygve whittled away, remaining silent and simply absorbed in watching the teen - it was a wonder he hadn’t realised he was there given the way the air cooled slightly near him and the fact that he was larger than he.

Though the icy drake seemed to realise something for he spoke again ”ah, I am Phobos, I saw you join but neglected to give my name” he smiled wryly before nodding at the carving again ”do you take requests?” he had something in mind perhaps, something for Susurrus - he’d wish for that for Deimos but, the fire starter and a wooden carving didn’t seem a good combination.

[align=center][table][tr][td]

[/td][td]

[/td][td]

[/td][td]

[/td][/tr][/table]

[VIRGIL M.]

[table][tr][td]

[/td][td]

XVIII - THE MOON

a monument dreams and fantasies come to life, the representation of instincts often left suppressed and a knock into our subconscious.  Virgil of the pitt is a study in beauty: a perfect understanding of that which terrifies you, a perfect picturesque of horror and delight

[/td][/tr][/table]

such a fragile craft, balanced on the edge of a knife one flick away from cutting- spilling blood onto perfect wood. Virgil had heard of carving: it was common practice to carve your own mementos: altar crafting wasn't something Virgil had yet: crafting for a non-existent shelf when all she had to her name were the rotting pile in the jungle and a few vials of maggots. She hadn't yet found a place to settle yet, but her garden was in the process: Virgil had set to digging a large pit and the dirt caked her maws, only stopping as she heard the stale hymn of a stranger nearby: the pop of sound of a rhythmic practice. It called to her like a spell cast: an addiction in too many parts at once: Virgil fell to it and followed along to the pair.

Ash had tinged his paws, yet it was the wood that was caught between them that held his interest- Virgil's focus was on his eyes, the slight furrow to the stranger's brow as he carved: a tip used to chisel in a groove for a smile. It was artful- Virgil fell to the concentration held there: such careful consideration even in the rythmic carvings. She wondered too if he took in requests. VIrgil would love a figurine of... of something.

Something hand made had power: even if he didn't know it- placing you're own mark in each groove of the wood imbued it with an essence of yourself. Virgil wondered if he knew what that meant. Tying him to the wood could be very dangerous in the wrong hands- yet she held her tongue from telling him this: in telling it would lessen the chance of her getting a carving. Beyond that- that flair of aura that stuck into the wood with each carve- they were pretty figurines.

"If not- would you teach me?" Virgil's voice was so small- timid. a ghost of a whimper behind her voice that trembled from her maw- she knew asking was a mistake. In the desert begging did nothing but prolong the inevitable- it showed a weakness: Virgil could make do on her own. She admired the pitt's resourcefulness in gathering warriors, but she was a whelp of a witchling. Small and untrained even now- but still she wanted- wanted.