Solo Disguises imperfections.

[Quiarinox]

2nd of Spring, 513 Dusk Rest "Are you really that excited for tonight? It's just the Basilika. We've been there every single night." The dark green eyes glinted as they slipped to sky blue eyes, amusement that was both wry and half-mocking glimmering in the moss depths. The mouth below them smiled. Fully. Quiarinox hadn't often actually smiled since coming to Lhavit. Typically, she was half-hearted in her amusement, her eyes flat with emotions that weren't often included with mirth. Her actions had always been condescending, even the smiles she wore, and people noted that when she thought they didn't. It wasn't hard for them to ignore it, she was beginning to realise. The smile was a symbol that she was trying something new and pulling emotions she had locked away tighter than her heart and used them to fuel her expressions. That was why Danares chanced a second look at her face before breaking out in her own smile although she had no idea why Quiarinox chose to smile at all. They weren't friends. Quiarinox refused friendship with anybody that tried to initiate it. However, they were close enough to be friends if Quiarinox were any other person. Danares associated her open smile with that closeness and was proud of herself. "I'm kind of excited for the night, that's about all," she said. "I love the Basilika and seeing the other artists when we share a common space. Who is it today? The sculptors?" "Yeah, the sculptors. Not the usual bunch, though. Tain has a few of the really impressive artists stuffed in his pockets for us to watch work. He'll be there too. Have you ever met Tain?" "Of course I have," the condescending bite returned to her voice with a vengeance. She didn't seem to notice, though, for she tilted her head to check the position of the sun in the sky. It was brushing against the rim of the horizon, that yellow eye of Syna, and the Ethaefal 'hmm'ed in thought. "I'll catch up with you at the Basilika. I've got to go and change. You know how it is." Danares smiled, understanding in her blue eyes. Yes, she understood. Quiarinox was one of those poor souls with two forms of different sizes than one another by drastic measures. Quiarinox turned and bolted for the inn. Running was unhcaracteristic of her but she didn't have much of a choice. She didn't want to tear her clothes or show a large amount of skin like a girl of looser values would appreciate. She had the perfect dress to wear set aside on her bed, if she made it back through the crowd of artists looking to get the best seats at the Basilika. She wasn't even paying attention, her mind set on beating the sun. The people she bumped into earned little more than a wave of her hand before she was moving on. It stayed like that until one of the poor people grabbed her by her wrist before she could get too far in a cold-fingered grasp that made goosebumps spring up on her skin and her head whip around to focus a level glare at the one that dared touch her. A man. Dark hair, light eyes, tall. He released her after casting her a most gracious nod and she snorted at the whole act of it before bolting onwards. Leth was crowning the horizon when she made it to her room in the inn, finally, and shucked off her clothes in a hurry before anything unfortunate could happen to them.

[Quiarinox]

When Quiarinox made it back to the Basilika, she was late and had run herself ragged. Dresses weren't much better for running than her normal attire and she had often feared tearing it as she made her way back. The streets were quieter now that the rest period was over, but it didn't stop herself from feeling like she was making a fool of herself to every person she passed. Why was an Ethaefal running in her midnight dress? Was she trying to escape the Ethaefal murderer? While the thought that she would be important enough for somebody to murder was flattering, in its own strange way, Quiarinox was not inclined to address the worries. She didn't like to be late to anything, least of all her own job. She should have gone to change sooner, in retrospect, but the image of a small human girl in a dress much to big for her had been repulsive. Sometimes, the different sizes of her two forms was more a hindrance than anything. When she entered the Basilika, she had to weave between a mass of sculptors that had taken the best place to sit, a place of honour, in order to get to the painters. The models they were all working with were crowded to the center of the Basilika, posing in different styles, but hardly did Quiarinox pay them any attention. She had noticed that Danares left her a seat open, gladdening the Ethaefal greatly, and when she finally made it there she sank down into her spot with a sigh of relief before looking around for her tools to paint with and finding that they had been placed in her normal spot. She smiled appreciatively at the woman at her side, who smiled back slightly, before she returned to painting on her own canvas. Really, Quiarinox was lucky to know people she worked with that were caring enough to do kind things for her. In retrospect, her life in Lhavit might have gone much easier if she had taken to calling people 'friends' long ago. She reached for the pallette, applied paint to it, and began her work. Since there were models arrayed for the convenience of the amassed artists, she decided to choose one of them and work with it.

[Quiarinox]

Despite all the time she had spent in Lhavit, painting and being painted, she still found herself horribly incapable of seeing a model and replicating her appearance onto the canvas she was presented with. With all this time she had spent, idling away her time painting things that her employers would then sell, she was still not as adept as she would have liked to be. Her frown, the frustration in it, spoke of those feelings of inadequacy that were botching her work and only helping to frustrate her more. She was focusing on one woman, a brunette that posed in a simple way. She looked almost bored, stylishly though, with her long hair brushed to hang down her shoulders and back and keep out of her eyes. At the angle Quiarinox had, she was almost in profile and the Ethaefal was attempting to imitate that. Her failed attempts, though, did not make her salvaging of the work any better. She disliked it. It was like she was intentionally being flustered, but for no reason at all. That irked her, it really did. She leaned back from the easel, diverting her attention from it in the hopes of salvaging some of her dignity before she went and snapped the three-legged thing entirely and stormed out. She looked around as she did, ignoring Danares and her work and instead finding and focusing on other nearby artists. Some were having a worse time than her, but as vain as she was she did not credit their absurd lack of talent to their own minds petching with them. No, they just lacked the skill to be as flawless as the others. Comforted by that, she looked away from them and decided to go and find those sculpters Danares had mentioned before they had split up. On the other side of the models, she could see them. She didn't have to crane her neck or lean or anything like that, afforded by her own height that she was placed behind the shorter members of the group she was in, and so she could see that the sculptors were really everything Danares had made them out to be. To her eyes, they were immaculate with their hands, working and kneading clay into shapes resembling the view of the models they were receiving. She envied them, and couldn't deny it, noting that her own art was hopelessly weak in comparison to theirs. It didn't sit well with her own irritation, though, and she found herself returning to the painting with a vengeance and changing the colours she was using entirely to reflect her own irritation. She had found, after all, that she was better and more dedicated and intense when her emotions were raging just under her skin.