private/moonmade — angel eyes

[ISIDORE.]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border: 0%;width:65%;text-align:justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13.5px;"]He didn't know if he was living in heaven or hell. The stars, they laid down upon the sky like a blessing, a reminder ... he was so lucky to be so close ... but it sometimes felt like he was being taunted by their twinkle. Why, why did all of those stars get to shine in heaven with her? Why was he the one that had to be left out, why was he the one that had to be alone? It must be a punishment of some sort, for what he did to make the world angry at him he had no clue. It was like ... he had one true soul to live for besides his own hide, like Fleur had been the reason for him to keep working, to keep searching the world for more life. And now that she was gone, it felt like he was stuck, shackled to this planet like a prisoner, as if there was some other world beyond that was waiting for him. It was passion that fueled him now, because no matter the burden of suffering and living with pain, she would've carried on without him too. It didn't make sense for him to stop living when Fleur had died ... it was selfish to do so. Yeah, he would've thought her to be plenty selfish.

He sighed, but the exhale came out shaky, like all of his inner feelings could be traced by that one breath. Dory kept his exterior rigid, like a sculpture, as he navigated through the observatory. He had to keep going, he had to just do anything but think. His interior thoughts would just come bursting and bubbling out of his eyes and mouth if he let them simmer enough, so he had to return to his studies. The serval had gotten himself into the Cleric's Hide, pushing past the curtains with his satchel in between his teeth as opposed to around his body. The damned thing was always breaking on him, the strap would come undone or it would loosen and just flail about his body and he was done with it, so in his mouth it went. Isidore didn't particularly feel like he was sneaking around per say, he just thought he should be stepping so quietly because he didn't want to disturb anyone, especially not the Clerics or Halos. A rational, tame part of him knew he should just ask to sniff about the herbs, but there was this ... well, irrational part of him that was convinced they wouldn't let him, that he could just do it on his own, so he went about. The thing was, what he saw placed about in the small space was things he knew, and that didn't satisfy him. Timidly he turned in the direction of the closet, all locked up. He merely sniffed at it, as close as he could with his bag in his mouth. That's where the good stuff was, he reckoned, the uncommon plants that were in limited supply, one's he bet he hadn't recorded yet. But as he pawed blindly from behind his bag, he found that the door was locked, and Dory let out a groan of frustration, eyes stamping shut for a moment. Figures.

ooc | [member=1549]moonmade[/member] ahhhaha u know that moment when u ... make a thread ... really late ... ahhhh,, mood

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]/ im subscribing for more relatable content

Moon's been avoiding the Cleric's Hide. It's been so empty, lately, what with the whole lockdown scandal, and it's a horrible place to be when he's alone. The silence soaks into his fur and makes him feel cold and he'd never learned how to stare at inanimate objects and think about feelings and emotions and regrets. He doesn't cope well with thoughts rushing through his head and dragging him down, and it only ever leads to nights filled dreams more vivid than usual, so he doesn't stay there. He upsticks and gets the fuck out for the day.

He goes on border patrols and sits at the door of the Observatory, to shout through the iron in hopes they can hear him and spare him a moment to chat. That, or greet newcomers. In his current state, however, it's all more exhausting than he'd care to admit. So when the sun is slowly sinking on the horizon and his paws are starting to drag, he comes home to the Hide. Usually, he dreads the emptiness of it all, and the only thing that makes him return are the poppy seeds and their promise of some shuteye. Today, however, there's someone there.

"You serval fuckers don't get boundaries, do you?" He says, once he's startled slightly at the sight of the pure white creature in the corner. Fucking Isidore. "Caught red handed, again, Birch-stealer. I'm starting to think you're doing this for attention." Grumbles the lion as he carries himself towards the window sill, where he drops his make-shift bag from his neck, alongside some new herbs. He roots through his bag as he speaks, picks the keys to the closet up and settles them in plain, teasing sight as he slumps against the wall. He heaves a sigh, drags one paw down his face as he speaks. "So. How many poor, innocent Medics have you burgled before me, criminal?"

[ISIDORE.]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border: 0%;width:65%;text-align:justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13.5px;"]here lies my reply
aug 17th 2018 — aug 17th 2018
forever in our hearts

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]Moon casts a doubtful look Isidore's way. Somehow his claims didn't seem so innocent. He lets him speak, however, and takes the moment to drink in some water from the dish on the window sill, like the overheating african golden retriever he was. He drew his tongue over his lips and looked back to the white serval, who looked all too happy with himself. "Yeah, yeah, yeah-- just learn how to knock.." He says, as stands and heads towards the shelving unite, where they keep the herbs that need water sustainance. He drops his gatherings in the various bowls. "With that fancy fucking name, surely you know basic etiquette." Eitquette. Huh. With twigs in his name, dirt on his face and the manners of a 6 year old punk, Moon was at his most hypocritical, at that moment. But he wasn't the one breaking and entering.

He turned back around to see Isidore revealing a journal. Frowning gently, he watched it slide towards him, weary. It stopped at his paws, and he glanced to Isidore, the journal, and back up again, before he finally reached for it. He flicks through it, paws surprisingly careful as he pages through it. "Huh." says the lion, eloquent as always, "I was kinda' expecting some weird kinky still-lifes, but this is... Good." He pauses, flicks through another few drawings before deciding, with lips pursed to the side, that maybe he should just let him look at the fucking herbs. God knows if Imperia, technically his superior, were here, she would have ordered him long ago to stop teasing and just open the goddamn closet. So he does.

"Fine." He says, dragging it all out as he rolls his eyes to the sky and, as slow as ever, makes his way from the ground towards the closet. He finally lifted the keys in his mouth and opened the treasure chest. The doors swung open dramatically, revealing an array of various plants, herbs, and flowers. "There you go. Van Goo's wet dream."

— TAGS

[ISIDORE.]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border: 0%;width:65%;text-align:justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13.5px;"]His gaze shifts between Moonmade's, jaw hollowing and teeth gripping the insides of his mouth as he sways. "Right ... knocking, right." He'd dropped the habit, knocking before entering. Not that he was nosy or anything, but entering without notice seemed to always give him a complex glance into the layers of people they kept hidden. Initially, and even now, he felt bad for that raw chance, but ... but it was better to see the truth of what a person was, rather than the cheap lie they tried to bargain with you for. Isidore stays silent, head hanging to listen to Moon talk. He knows he can say something, about the topic of etiquette, but he refrains. How proper was it for someone to try and prove their etiquette? Rather it showed the insecure holes in someone's manners, he thought. Other than that, he's more so quiet with the lion's gaze on his journal. His teeth are set, grinding softly, watching Moon absorb the images, but faltering eventually under his gaze.

But Moon always has something else to say, and it makes him huff, crack, grin a little and shake his head. Yeah, his movements disagree with the lion's crude marks, but the upturned eyes and pursed smile can't help but accept his joke, for as entertaining as it was. "Maybe those are my still-lifes, you don't know." He chuckles, but he settles, head swinging to look out the window. Good? He thought they were good? Well, that was a start for him at least, no one ever had much to say about his journaling ... not his mom or dad, not even Fleur. He would only get a 'okay, alright' from her because she was looking to redress his bandages or feed him a spoonful of something warm, she didn't have the mind to think about anything else in the moment really. Maybe that's why it took him so much longer to get better, because everyone was so worried about his wound healing, but not really worried about Dory getting better. What a bitter, passing thought. He rejected it and look onward to Moon as he opened the closet.

He didn't feed into the suspense, at least, he tried not to. Isidore could feel himself leaning forward, a lifted paw grazing the floor, itching to step forward. The serval followed up beside the lion, squinting and staring at the array of plants ahead of him. "... Thanks ..." It was a word of habit, not so much meaning it at first. Of course, he had gratitude for the closet being opened, but his thought process took over his actions for a moment, looking up at the herbs, an altar of opportunity. "Right ... thank you, uh ..." He faintly scratched at his chin, looking back towards Moon. "You ... you should pick one out for me to draw, one that you like, cause uh ..." Isidore concentrated back at the shelves of herbs, lips parted and almost faintly smiling, "I've got no clue about what any of these plants are." Yeah, none of these plants were familiar to him, he was more of a tree guy, you know? Flowers and herbs were a new fascination of his.

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]If Moon could hear what was going through Isidore's head, he'd be quick to correct him. In fact, he'd probably berate him with compliments and approval until he realized how good he was. He didn't like to see self deprecation. He's all too familiar with it; it's not something he puts up with, when it comes to others.

But he couldn't, so, instead, he only squints at the serval's facial expression and hopes what he thought was going through his head wasn't actually going through his head. Then the closet doors are open, and they're focusing on the plants inside, instead, so whatever suspicions he'd had are quickly forgotten. He quirks a brow at Isidore's words, one side of his lip pulling up in a questionable facial expression. "Seriously?" he says, pausing a moment for dramatic effect. "You don't know what any of these plants are. And you were that fuckin' eager to get this open?" He scoffs a laugh, shakes his head and glances back to the closet. So much for thinking he was in the presence of someone who knew their shit. Golden eyes scan the shelves, and he mutters herb names under his breath absentmindedly as he searches for one he thinks might be interesting to draw.

"Here," he says, removing the two he'd chosen with gentle paws. He sets the borage flowers and the honeycomb down on the windowsill, on top of a piece of cloth, and then steps back, as if to admire it. He's trying to get two that go well together, complementary colors or whatever the fuck, but Moon's never really had an artist's eye. At least he doesn't think so. He lifts one paw to his mouth, the one now coated in honey, and promptly sucks it off. "So," says the lion, settling down against the wall and setting Isidore with an expectant look. He doesn't know if he's disrespecting some universal art rule not to speak to the artist while they're working, but he feels like he's done his part in the creative process, anyway. Enough to earn him some answers. "Where'd you come from, tortured artist?"

— TAGS

[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.