LIKE A HEATHEN CLUNG TO THE HOMILY | body paint & weekly task

[agathe.]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; color: black;"]In bowls neatly assembled at her feet rested paint in various shades of blue, gold, and black. She seemed to be staring at the colors thoughtfully, mind alive as she recalled the many times her second had adorned her rosetted pelt with whorls of different hues to symbolize her importance within the group and mark her as an ally. It was tradition to assemble and be painted before battle or war, and this almost recreational practice of something so dear to her felt wrong. Agathe knew that she could have politely requested a different task, but wondered if the Fates themselves had orchestrated this entire thing to see if she had truly fallen so far from the dedicated assassin her grandmother had raised her as.

She'd cast a long glance up at the sky at that thought, golden eyes rolling almost in spite of her innate fear of higher powers. Was she trying to show that they didn't own her? Or something else? Honestly, Agathe didn't know. She was aware of the fact that she couldn't stare at the sky angrily forever and brought her attention back to the ground, searching now for some unlucky Ascendant that she could paint. "Where I come from," The snow leopard would announce unexpectedly, "All witchlings were to be painted by their sisters before battle or war. While we certainly aren't going to be fighting a battle on the same scale that I once did, I'd still like to bring my tradition here... To share with you all."" She paused and then flashed her teeth in some type of crooked grin, "And this might also be my weekly task so... Line up!"

[BABY —]

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PINK RIBBON SCARS

THAT NEVER FORGET. I'VE TRIED SO HARD TO C L E A N S E THESE REGRETS.

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War. Bloodshed. There were quite a few things that the young lion had lived to see in his lifetime, and those were just some of them ( unfortunately ). Titan had not suffered through a war in a long time, though, and he hoped that it would never arise again. It wasn't looking too good these days, not with the Sunhaven drama [sup]bubbling[/sup] to the surface, but at least he could fight for a new allegiance. He could leave the past behind him and fight for the new clan he was apart of.

Titan noticed Agathe's arrangement of paints; he was not unfamiliar with the concept of war-paint, though he had never participated in such a tradition before. It would be interesting, he supposed. The colors weren't blindingly pink or yellow, so whatever design was given to him, he would be alright with it. "Do what you will." Titan supposed, padding on over. He met Agathe's gaze and added, "And I'm trusting you not to write anything on my face." A hint of a smile met his lips, but like a fleeting [shadow=black,left]shadow,[/shadow] it passed and his neutral features were once again restored. Titan had never, er, had his face painted before. Hopefully all would go well.

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]Warpaint. It was something deeply rooted in Moon’s history. His pride wore their gorgeous, intricate patterns - swirling over their cheekbones, their forehead, so carefully applied - like badges of honor. Not once does he recall seeing his mother wihout black ink caked in the fur of her face.

For that precise reason, Agathe’s announcement should be call for panic. It should trigger something in him and send him spiraling into a mess of nerves and recollections— but it didn’t. Not this time. Maybe he’s reached his breaking point, the fifth stage of grief, and all there is from here on out is numbness and pathetic grabs at humor, or maybe, maybe he’s really, actually recovering. Whatever it was, the reaction he always braced himself for never came.

So Moon, high on the fact that his paws aren’t trembling and his heart isn’t thundering at the mere mention of something that reminds him of his past, walks up behind Titan, slaps him on the shoulder in what might seem like an act of brotherly encouragement, and, facing Agathe, promptly mouths, ’Draw a dick.’

[FUBUKI]

[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width: 60%; font-family: georgial; font-size: 11pt;"]Warpaint was a tradition that was a little too ancient for him to bother with. Ren could sense the appeal of masking one's face with colours to make themselves more intimidating, technically he did a similar thing in his other body, but he'd never been energetic enough to bother creating a vicious design to strike fear in the hearts of wrongdoers. Approaching the snow leopard in an almost sheepish manner, his ears would flicker in thought. He wasn't a 'witchling', nor did he have a sister, Agathe was the closest thing to the sister and she was near enough a stranger! The feline blamed in on how bro-town the Ascendants was, for now he wouldn't comment on such a thing though - he was sure things would balance out eventually.

Silence still envelops the neutral looking male as grey eyes cast over his other clanmates, brows furrowing in thought as Moon seemed to say something to Ag. Draw... a duck? A signature little head tilt was given, frowning in self-made confusion. Was there something funny about a duck? Their waddling fat bodies and bright yellow beaks seemed comical in theory, sure, but in execution they were just tasty water birds. Ren wanted to ask, but the exchange looked to be a secretive one, and he wasn't going to go out of his way to ruin someone's fun. "I'll go next, just don't paint anything fowl," he thought he was making a joke, thankfully not following it up with a wink and a nudge. Maybe ignorance was bliss here.

[agathe.]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; color: black;"]Agathe considered the three that stood before her with a little hum, that golden gaze of hers sweeping over their now-familiar forms a few times before she nodded her head. Where she came from, men were barred from joining their ranks, an ancient tradition that the coven they were descendants of had established centuries ago. Even during the great Wars did they not turn to outside help, dedicated to their own struggles (and eventual demise) and too stubborn to even entertain the idea of a male assisting them. She had had few pleasant run ins with anyone save her sisters admittedly and would not be afraid to confess how this, like everything in the Ascendants, was strange to her.

But she remained the picture of composed aloofness, even as Moon mouthed that she should draw a dick, of all things, upon Titan. While she was perfectly fine with explaining that her encounters with the opposite sex had been few and far between, she knew with too-clear certainty that she was far from comfortable with the idea of explaining that she hardly knew what a dick looked like. So she merely nodded her head respectfully, falling into the role of a poised heir that her grandmother had valued so dearly. "It appears," She began, even the tone of her voice different, quieter and colder and more thoughtful, "That our Seraph himself would like to paint you. A great honor indeed." The smile that appeared on her lips was not crooked and awkward, just a small extension of this new person she was playing.

Until she remembered that she didn't have to be Agathe the Assassin when she was now Agathe the Ascendant. So she dipped her paw into the nearest paint - a brilliant blue shade - and turned to Ren, acting normal once again. "While Moon handles Titan, you're all mine!" She exclaimed brightly, oblivious of his pun as she beckoned him closer. "Maybe I can even talk about my clan's tradition while I paint! Would you all be interested in hearing them?"

[MARIANNA]

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LIPSTICK, RED WINE LONG NIGHTS, IT'S A LIFESTYLE SO GOOD TO THE LAST DROP YOU COULD SEE ME LIGHT UP FROM THE ROOFTOPS

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"Not really, but I like history, so yes, kinda. Share away."

Maria wasn't sure why she stuck around; this place was odd in and out, and a danger to her safety. There was security in numbers, as well as a fixed location. The latter became a danger when her damn oblivion came into play, creating the nightmare scenario where she adjusted too comfortably to clan life. Then again...there was a haunting feeling she had; like her ghosts were just phantoms of her imagination. There was nothing truly after her; she could just be paranoid.

But she didn't feel paranoid. Maria felt a very real sense of danger to her person if she wasn't gone from a specific spot within three days - felt it in the jitter under her skin, the restlessness of her limbs, the rapid pounding of her heart against her eardrums. She felt it in the tension of her spine, the sparks that flew from her paws, the way the shadows seemed to jump at her. She was definitely running from something, but its identity was unknown.

As for clan life itself, Maria was aware it would probably be domestic, but this seemed...excessive. By no means was she opposed to it, only surprised by it. It showed in the pause of her pawsteps, the next step hovering, hesitating, ever so slightly, checking if what she was seeing aligned with present reality. "I knew this place was gonna be weird, but this just takes my expectations to a whole new level. If we're not doing ritualistic sacrafices to a star god on the next full night, I'm leaving," Maria announced. She was mocking how goddamn odd this was and praying that they all took it that way. She plopped herself down beside Agathe, fully prepared to watch this entire spectacle.

Art was a hobby she was giddy to learn, admittedly, though she would never have the time for it. "I'm Marianna, by the way - before you start your life story. Call me whatever you want, strange witch-paint lady." She piped, rocking ever so slightly on her haunches to occupy her restlessness.

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MARIANNA "MARIA" . 6 MONTHS . TAGS . PLAYLIST . MOODBOARD . BIOGRAPHY. ★

© MIITHERS