WE MOVE MOUNTAINS | painting.

[DELILAH.]

DELILAH EVERGARDEN

"The Gods have forsaken us."

Painting showed the windows of the soul, bared the painter to emotions that others could not properly see if they didn't look hard enough. Showed the same faith as the deepest religion, gave power to those who couldn't voice their pains. Delilah was graced with the ability to paint, to knit, to sew- She was dainty with her hands, and she could only thank her mother for that. The way she learned might not have been the way she should have learned, but things happen for a reason. It hurt, she knew that. Hurt so, so much to be alone- it hurt that her love was gone, that her child was gone, but she continued on.

"My love.." Delilah mumbled softly, clouded magenta eyes carrying a pain that weighed. Back then, when she was the medic of Tanglewood, the Sawbone taught by Malphas that she had to encounter pains and overcome them, she might have reacted better. She once had a fear of men- still did, but it wasn't as bad. Just lingering doubts in the back of her head. She missed them, she knew she did.

Aurum was here for her though, Delilah knew that. It made things much better, much easier for her.

"Let the river run.. Cover up the pains.." She hummed to herself, paint brush levitating in the air as quick swipes of white and blue cracked over a white canvas. Paint splattered across the pale pink scales, tinging the world she drew with purpose. A mess was necessary.

"Hum.. This doesn't.. Look too bad- I should draw Leroy now.."

tags - penned by [member=1260]ryuu-tan[/member]

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[wormwood.]

Everything stays, right where you left it.

But it still changes, ever so slightly, daily and nightly.

Truth be told, Aurum had never one who thought much of painting. There had been a few paintings inside the tall buildings that had once represented home for him back in the Pride, but they had never represented the escape for him that books and writing had, and perhaps that was why now he was more partial towards those art forms. Still, to say that he didn't believe anyone should paint was a gross exaggeration. He knew well that there were some very beautiful paintings out in the world, and even though he didn't know all of the intricacies and techniques that went into them, he could still appreciate the emotion and hard work that had been poured into them. It seemed as though Delilah really loved tasks like painting, or knitting. Anything that could utilize her limbs and give her mind an outlet, something that the lion could very much understand himself. After all, even though he focused more on practical everyday work than the creative arts, he too enjoyed taking time to just sit down and make something. That was why, when he was padding along and he came upon Delilah carefully painting, he found that his interest was piqued. Padding over slowly, the proxy observed the splashes of color in front of him for a long moment before addressing Delilah, offering her a small smile, "Hey, Del... your painting looks nice. Did you say you're gonna do Leroy? Better be careful. Wouldn't want to get his bad side and have him say you're slandering his image." He chuckled the faintest bit at his own little joke, trying to lighten the slightly melancholy mood that he knew was hanging over Delilah ever since she had returned.

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[ABATHUR .]

For Abathur, the arts were something he didn't really get. He was much more partial to reading, and even then, he preferred non-fiction, something he could learn information from, absorb it, expand his library of knowledge. He hadn't ever really sat down and listened to any music, and any visual art like painting or sculpture escaped him in terms of interest, besides weaving. He was a spider, after all - weaving was in his blood.

Not like he could really enjoy things like literature or paintings much anymore.

Today, what brought him over was the presence of multiple people in an area, which was always a recipe for... something. He didn't know what, really. One was someone whom he hadn't met, the other, someone who seemed to be everywhere at all times (which he found to be annoying but also strangely comforting, in a way). So he approached, crawl patiently slow as it tended to be these days, spending more time focused on making sure there was nothing in his way than on actually getting to his destination quickly. His eyes still worked, yes, but it was very slight - blurry to the point where he could barely make anything out other than color. Better to focus on his sense of touch, to improve that, before he had no other choice. These thoughts could never seem to leave his head. A constant companion, inducing misery at all times.

Abathur stopped, standing on the other side of Delilah from Aurum, doing his best to focus the painting into view, even if it hurt his head. "What is painting of?" He asked, quietly, under his breath, as if there was a delicate peace in the air he didn't want to disturb, or as if he was intruding on something and doing his best to remain respectful, even despite his obtrusive curiosity. He didn't, after all, know how private this was supposed to be - there was always the off chance that he walked in on something he shouldn't, some fragile moment in time that wasn't meant for his presence. Nothing like that had happened before, but he was viscerally aware of the idea that he wasn't always necessarily welcome everywhere.

tags - "speech"