COLORS | painting

[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.)