TRACKING AEROPLANES ★ o, portraits!

[★ HAZEL]

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as love filled night gives way to day

(human au because what are we, animals?)

Hazel had finally decided on something. Call it what you will - a direction, motivation, a feeling, instinct. A horse. But she was finally ready to pick up something she'd dropped months ago: art. Specifically charcoal sketching, which was...all she could do. After Genevieve's particularly brutal wake-up call, Hazel had broken every piece of art supplies she owned - except for one sketch.

But now she was taking Genevieve up on her word and forcing Titanium to eat hers on cowardice. Hazel finally felt like she was getting somewhere; her sleep routine had been getting better, her powers weren't completely out of whack. She could touch someone without going ballistic. Titanium hadn't surfaced in weeks and things finally felt a little happy. Hazel was trying to work herself up to stepping out of her comfort zone, trying to get to that place called combat training. It wasn't going to be easy, but she was eager to learn. If she could learn to control her memories, then maybe she could keep them at bay long enough to successfully defend herself.

However, there was a block. A weird, disconnected block that the girl was having trouble getting past. Art had always been a part of what made her happy as a child, and after Genevieve had brought it to her attention that it was useless on the battlefield, Hazel had a notion that if she got rid of the useless thing physically, then maybe she could get rid of the useless part spiritually and mentally. But to her dismay, nothing changed. In fact, Hazel found that it took picking her art supplies back up with the understanding that it was a part of her gave her the courage to finally decide that yeah, she would go to someone and ask for self defense lessons.

Self discovery...what a doozy.

Hazel had eagerly gone to her drawers, ready to feel charcoal on her fingers and hear the scratch of it against paper. Only...she'd forgotten that she'd smashed most of it to bits, and nobody knew. Suddenly it was embarrassing to see the broken things, like they were another haunt. Another ghost. Hazel had sighed, and shuffled around for the largest piece of charcoal she could find before going to hunt down a clean piece of paper.

"Uh...hey!" Hazel called as she stepped outside the observatory. "Does anybody want a portrait? I'm a little rusty, but...I'd love some practice, if anyone's willing." She nervously rolled the nub of charcoal between her fingers, mimicking the motion with her lip.

HAZEL E CAELUM — THE ASCENDANTS — MOODBOARD — PLAYLIST — TAGS

© MADI

[ISIDORE.]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border: 0%;width:60%;text-align:justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13.5px;"]Doing his best to not let the day waste away, Isidore was doing laundry. His clothes had been set out to dry in the sun outside the observatory and there he sat, on a ledge of wood, folding and picking through the line that he had strewn across two trees. He kept muttering and humming under his breath, squinting to make a shield to keep the sunshine out of his eyes. Once he'd plucked every shirt and sock and pair of paints from the line, he sat between two neat piles, palms laying on each. The sound of someone's voice pulled him out of the lull he'd gotten himself into, and he traced back to where the sound came from, the stack of clothes cradled in his arms.

"I'd be willing." Dory offered her- Hazel, it was, setting down his laundry beside a nearby wall, figuring they'd be kept safe for the time being. He pursed his lips, a bit quiet for a moment- someone drawing a portrait of him couldn't be too awkward, right? "Props to you for drawing portraits." He encouraged, though frowned, adding with a furrowed  brow, "I tried to draw a portrait once and ... it ..." He hesitated, but then shrugged his shoulders, "I couldn't get it right, so I gave up, I was too frustrated." The eyes would never match, and once they did, he thought the lips were too soft or too round or tilted. He would fix all of that, and it would still never look like who he was drawing.