private/moonmade — angel eyes

[ISIDORE.]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border: 0%;width:60%;text-align:justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13.5px;"]His head is hanging and he shrugs to Moon, as if his reaction was expected or something likewise. "Trees are more of my thing," Isidore murmurs, watching the lion rummage through the stock. His gaze picks out a few particular herbs he's sorta hoping Moon will select for him, but he's not so expectant, and he's satisfies with the pair that he sits on the windowsill. "I don't know a lot about herbs so I was curious, yeah? Wouldn't you want to take a peek of something you knew nothing about?" He quietly gathers his journal, sitting down and glancing up at the arrangement every so often, trying to get a good look before he even attempts to do anything. He couldn't say he minded someone sticking with him as he drew the borage and honey. It made him feel a little bit less lonely, it reminded him of the times he'd be laying on his back in bed, legs hanging over the sides, hands sweeping the pages with lead, Fleur right by his side, twirling her fur or messing with his. Thinking about it irritated him a little though, and he couldn't put a finger on why.

"Cute." Isidore breathes out. He's not sure exactly what Moon just put in front of him but why not compliment the choice anyway. He sucks in some wind before he goes at it, always starting off messy with his trace of the object, figuring out which lines were the best, then slowly going over the shapes with a heavy streak. His face is solid and flinty for a few passing moments, jaw locked as he stares ahead at the borage and honey. Then Moon calls him a tortured artist and it warms him enough to laugh, smiling and shaking his head, once again, at the lion. "Right ... I don't really know how far it is from here but, I grew up in a small village that was abandoned and my family and a few others took it over ... it was pretty calm." He sighed, looking up and putting down his utensils to look at Moon when he spoke. Isidore tilted his head though, grinned a bit, and continued, "Not like this place. You lot just don't stop." And in his break he catches the stray lines on the page with an eraser, blowing away the waste with a soft breath. "What about you, you've always lived here, right?" He questioned, wiping his freckled nose and continuing with his tracing. "Moonmade? That kind of name makes sense in this place." He doesn't look up now when he speaks, eyes intent on his drawing, but he still smiles gently.