Music of the soul (Eoin)

[Rista]

Timestamp: 19th of Fall, 511 AV Location: Cedar Amphitheater The sky seemed so far away. The blue color was deep and darkened slowly as the day drew towards its end, and clouds gathered up slowly in a silent promise of yet another warm day. The setting sun colored the stone of the mountain in hues of gray and brown and red, in some places glittering faintly where the light bounced against shards of polished obsidian, pieces of crystal and glistening minerals. A slow breeze searched its way in onto the open space and played around at the stage, gently caressing the face of the girl as she stared unblinking up at the revolving sky. Lying stretched out on one of the broad upper terraces of the giant amphitheater with a hand dangling over the edge, Rista enjoyed an unusual moment of peace and quiet. It was calm around her; practice had ended for most of the young and not so young Inarta that came here to learn and play, and only a few youths lingered on the steps somewhere below her. She could hear them talking and laughing with muffled voices, someone playing softly on a stringed instrument; they were singing and telling stories with shawls and scarves wrapped around their shoulders to stave off the cooling of the wind, and had lit some candles around their feet to be able to see one another in the disappearing light. The shimmer of the flickering candles danced at the outer range of her vision, but Rista held no desire to join the young men and women in their quiet games. It was enough to lie where she was, listening to the drifting tones and watching as the sun slowly abandoned the sky. It was growing a bit cold in the air but the rock beneath her back was still warm from the exposure of the sun and the breathing of the volcano; nothing more than she could endure. She didn't want to move anywhere. One of her hands played slowly with a tangled braid, her thoughts drifting slowly through the mind. It had been quiet around her for a while now, and Rista found that she appreciated it. The summer had been long and eventful, and the change of the season had brought along many surprises. Not all of them were pleasant. Sometimes she felt as if her life was slowly turning in some direction she couldn't quite discern. It was true that things had changed lately. Her mind wasn't the same as it had been a season ago; strange thoughts and new impressions had invaded her, like her thoughts had been invaded by Seleer some two market days ago. Questions had been asked, difficult and penetrating, and the more she thought about it the more Rista could understand why the Eagle had rejected her after hearing her answers. It was true that in some ways, she wasn't as strong as she should be. There was a lot of fear and doubt within her mind, emotions that stemmed from the very real fact that she wasn't a full-blooded Inarta. She was different, she would always be, and that fact was hard to come to terms with. It was also true that she didn't know what it meant to be half Chaktawe. While the old gatekeeper had begun to teach her the language of the black-eyed people and sometimes spoke of their customs and traditions, the girl found it hard to relate to many of the things he spoke about. For instance, she couldn't picture a place so weathered by sun and wind that the mountains had been torn down and the growth dried away. A land without water, what was that like? Here they had it in abundance, it fell from the sky and ran in the rivers; how could water ever be so rare that lives would be taken because of it? She didn't understand, and it increased her insecurity in herself. This blood that ran through her veins, what kind of secrets did it hold? What kind of hidden abilities was it that Val tried to coax out of her, with that intense look to the piercing blue stare? It was frightening, and yet it was exciting at the same time. If she hadn't already so thoroughly rejected the idea of going to visit the desert-dwelling people, she would have been very tempted to... But there was no way that she would leave Wind Reach. She still had to become more skilled with the bow, and her knowledge of hunting and tracking were far from exemplary. She had so many things to do, so much that she wanted to accomplish. Not to mention that she was starting to find friends among the other casts, strong-minded and wonderful people that to the surprise of the girl actually seemed to care for her.. Voices calling out cheerfully pulled the dark-haired little yasi from her thoughts for a moment, and with a faint sense of curiosity she lifted her head up and turned it, glancing back at the group of people to see what was going on. Their attention seemed to have been drawn from each other, several faces looked up towards a newcomer as they made their way down the tall steps. Squinting a bit, Rista found that it had become quite dark while she mused to herself; she couldn't quite see who it was, only noticing the gestures of the musicians as they offered the person to join them with cheerful smiles, alluring tones of music and laughter drifting from skilled fingers. The light of the candles seemed warm and bright from where she lay, and with a sudden shudder the girl sat up and wrapped the arms around her torso. When did it get so cold? Perhaps it was autumn after all, the nights were getting chilly.

[Eoin]

Rare were the days when the heat of the kitchens seemed faraway, the toil forgiving with passion in mind. Though free of his responsibilities, Eoin was never rid of his need to preoccupy and to improve, waking before dawn just as he had done the days before. Today he sat in his room, rough fingers guiding thread with an innate grace as the others held to a quill, elbow resting against the table’s edge to reduce shake. Creativity was a motivator here, compelling the Avora to reject buying a paintbrush and to craft his own, farming the materials either from the wild or by reusing what he had. The thread being used was pulled from an old bryda that no longer fit him, and the tip from the miniver of an ermine. He had never watched a brush maker at work, nor had he had experience in brush making, but he needed to try. He was lacking, his cooking growing mediocre in comparison to the others, each dish though consistent, lacked personality. Chef Davoid had watched her pupil’s progression with care, but never mentioned the issue, confident in her decision in choosing Eoin. After all, what sort of apprentice would she have but the hardworking, those who seek perfection in their work and in themselves? If anything, the man might’ve known before she did. He pulled the thread taut, his third attempt at securing the already levelled tip to the quill, the first snapping from the force and the second unravelling within a few strokes. This time, Eoin had separated the tip into three parts after it had dried, carefully weaving those pieces together with a few strings of linen, mimicking the stitches on his clothing. The tip was then pushed on to the thinner end of the quill, which in essence was just a Wind Eagle feather stripped to the spine. Now, he was securing the already stiff fastening of the two pieces. Success seemed near, but his expectations remained realistic, expecting breakage when he saw few. Satisfied with the minimal loss of hair, Eoin then prepared for his leave, placing the paints and blank canvas into his rucksack. Unfortunately, the Avora had neither the time nor skill to fashion all of his supplies, settling for the brush out of simplicity. Now, finally, it was time for the short journey to the Cedar Amphitheatre, where he hoped a wealth of inspiration awaited him. Due to the build of the area, there was nowhere for the man to tuck himself away, so instead, he opted for a seat at the side of the theatre near the bottom steps where fewer visitors would pass, but high enough to see the view of the neighbouring mountains. With the sun directly above, the surrounding landscape was lit equally, a breathless sight for a foreigner and comforting beauty to an Inartan. He unpacked the paints to sit with its sibling in hue, fencing himself off from the budding musicians and practised artists. Then, he merely sat and observed. For a while, his body was unmoving, only head and eyes alive with energy. Knowing how quickly the day would pass, the man took time in committing the scene, its colours and its textures to his memory. It seemed counterproductive, but Eoin was aiming for different, changing the way he went about his routine if only by a small fraction. There was security in the usual, but there was far greater security in his use to Wind Reach, his skill a heavy importance to the man. The culinary arts soothed him, challenged him, protected him; there wouldn’t be a day where he would give up exercising his ability to create and to provide. When the music came, his strokes began, each thoughtful and sincere. At times, the Avora would close his eyes to better hear the words or pitches, seeing the remembered landscape with changing hues, lines and shapes twisting to the rhythm. His breath slowed considerably, his body loose aside from the firm control of the brush. Relaxation was difficult to achieve, for though the man was typically calm of mind, worries and fears worm their way through his defenses on a daily basis. Even so, Eoin sat with an apparent air of pure, unsaturated peace, the lines of his face smoothing, reflecting the youthful energy in his painting. Unexpectedly, his painting was bright and loving, with most of the light focused near the center of the canvas where five Yasis sat, revelling in an Elder’s tale of adventure. The surrounding landscape, the trees and sky, were darker in hue to signify a contrast between the foreground and background and to direct the audience to the main focus. Though he fought against his instinct, in the end, the Avora did plan parts of the painting and executed those ideas well, but the result was as bland and mundane as his dishes. Aesthetically, the painting was fine aside from some small issues with proportion, composition and choice in colours, but beside the pieces of art displayed during market day it resembled a painted husk, empty and deprived of soul. When a newcomer entered the amphitheatre, the Avora remained unaware, his eyes still scouring the surface of the canvas with careful consideration. If anything, the arrival would only serve to direct a certain Yasi’s eye across the crescent steps.

[Rista]

She watched the group for a while, following their movements with her eyes as the newcomer laughed and answered back, bodies scuffling and moving to let him into the circle. A sense of jealousy gripped her and made the chest feel tight; suddenly the slowly drifting tunes and singing voices didn't feel as calming anymore, but rather teasing and taunting. It had never been that Rista disliked the company of others. She had just grown so accustomed to being teased and taunted that the presence of other Inarta had come to mean a need for defense, pain and torment, often more mental than physical. In response to harsh words and cold stares the little mongrel had grown a thorny attitude and often cynical outlook on others, always expecting the worst - often with good reason. It didn't mean that she longed for company less than any other. While she knew she wouldn't be welcome in that tight-knit group, it still awoke a sense of longing within her; it would have been so nice to sit within that circle of light and warmth, joining in with the laughter with the knowledge that she belonged... Those kinds of thoughts only made her bitter though, and the evening was too nice for gloomy thoughts. Intent on not allowing herself to spoil the moment, Rista rubbed the upper arms with her palms and looked around, trying to pierce the deepening shadows with her equally dark eyes. There weren't any others around as far as she could see. On the terraced seats were only herself, the group of happy youngsters, and further down at the seats was a person with a canvas that... Wait now. Had that figure been there all along? Rista hadn't noticed; she had spent her time there looking either at the performance rehearsals or at the scenery where the mountain ended and the rest of the world began. At least it was how it looked like to her. The girl watched the shady frame of the person curiously, trying to see who it was. The shadows made it difficult, but after a while the person turned the head around and looked towards the partying group, making the faint light fall upon brightly orange hair and a decidedly familiar face. Before she even had time to properly confirm who it was the face of the girl brightened as a wide smile spread over her features. Eoin! It was him, right? How could she have missed him all this time. Granted, he did sit to the side of the theater and had such a quiet demeanor that it was easy to let the gaze slide over him and not notice, but even so... They were close to being friends, one would think that she would have noticed him earlier. Rista let the hands fall to the cooling rock beneath and pushed herself up, and had already taken several skips down the high steps when she suddenly paused, regarding the man thoughtfully with the head tilted to the side. Sure they had spoken before, but did she actually know him well enough to just come flopping down on him like this? Maybe he was busy, he looked so concentrated on the things he had in his hands... Her legs brought her forward anyway though, slowly and almost shyly approaching as she tried to formulate a reason for her approach. Something better than the pure longing for some company at least, a legitimate reason to get to talk to him. Nothing really came to mind though, and it bothered her. What was she even doing there at the Cedar? Nothing useful in the slightest, just slacking off and wasting time... The girl stopped a few steps above the man, her eyes resting on the shape of his back and shoulders as she tried to decide if she would bother him or not. The happy smile over seeing him didn't really want to disappear no matter how she tried to make it, and with shyness battling against curiosity she tried to peer over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the painting in his hands.. A surprised gasp escaped her, revealing her presence behind him if it hadn't already been noticed. Drawn closer by the sight of the art the little mongrel slipped down another few steps and leaned down over the shoulder of the Avora, the smile holding fascination as she looked at the scenery and compared it to what she has seen earlier in the day. The details were amazing; she wasn't schooled enough in the arts to see whether anything was lacking, she just liked the warm colors around the stage. "You should add more red" she suggested helpfully and knelt down on the step behind and above Eoin, resting her elbow lightly on his shoulder as she leaned in closer without really thinking about the close contact. Shyness and hesitation was gone, as was any awkwardness she normally might have felt; the curiosity overruled all those emotions, leaving only interest in its wake.

[Eoin]

Immersed in thought, Eoin remained unaware until a quiet gasp interrupted his thoughts, stealing away his concentration. Pausing, he turned around to see a familiar face blurred by the low light and an elbow on his shoulder. “Good evening, Rista.” With an amicable gaze, he spoke in a more hush tone, for the musicians had rested their fingers and the singers their lips, allowing silence to return. The Yasi seemed to be in a curious mood, her features relaxed and her smile curved gently in fascination. Unsatisfied with his painting, he felt a bit embarrassed to have it seen by another. Though he welcomed Rista’s suggestion, at the same time, the Avora felt as though he was in the wrong and was being schooled in the fact. This was not an emotion particular to the girl, for he felt that prickling sense of being mistaken even when Chef Davoid pointed out areas to improve on. To show yet another flaw in front of Rista did not help the situation, no matter how insignificant it seemed The events of that market day were still regrettably clear in his mind, and since then, Eoin had felt the need to demonstrate a better side of himself, especially since confirming their desire for friendship. He turned back to the canvas, swirling the brush in a small dish of dyed water before dipping the damp tip into a jar of paint. In searching for an area to place the missing strokes of red, he found it strangely difficult to change the painting, for in his mind, the picture was complete, the scenes and characters drawn and filled in. So dead set was he with the idea that the Avora then turned to Rista, and handed the brush after a moment’s pause, moving his arm slowly to avoid tipping the girl over. Upon accepting the brush, he then asked, “Please show me.”, leaving the Yasi without explanation or insight. When met with looks of hesitation, Eoin merely waited and watched, warm eyes encouraging her to follow through with his words.

[Rista]

She could hear his voice clearly even though it was low, as if the words had been spoken directly into her ear. With how close she was it wasn't far from the truth; the girl was surprised as she glanced at his face and found herself eye to eye with him, her cheek almost brushing against his. Suddenly she remembered the hesitation she had been feeling only moments before and her stomach churned from slight nervousness; she really wasn't used to being close to people. His voice sounded as warm and calm as ever though, and as the girl smiled back in greeting she found no trace of discomfort or dislike on his face. She dared herself to think that he didn't mind her presence and remained like she was as her eyes turned back to look at the painting, admiring the effort he must have spent on making all those little detail. Her smile widened even more in anticipation as the young man began to prepare the brush, adding a wonderful red color to the tip before bringing it towards the canvas. Black eyes followed his movements, eager to see him work the magic of color he seemed to possess. When he hesitated and then held the brush over the shoulder, Rista tilted her head a bit and glanced at him once more, curious about the reason for the long pause; the fingers of her left hand reached to take it before she even realized what was happening, and when his words reached her once more, the girl couldn't help but stare at him in shock. "But I've never.. I don't know how to paint, it would become ruined if I... Eoin!" The way she said his name was complaining, almost accusing as the dark-haired girl tried to give the brush back to him, her fingers shaking from hesitation and awkwardness. She had never held a brush before in her life, or at least since she still lived in the nursery and was allowed to play with left-over paint and old, worn-out brushes where the hair came loose and mixed with the color. Those had only been childish scribbles though, paint smeared onto pieces of cloth or paper that in the end didn't resemble anything at all. His level was way beyond hers, she couldn't make a round circle on a paper if so her life would depend on it. Her attempts were futile though, he made no attempt whatsoever at taking the tool back, and as Rista stared into his eyes she was slowly, steadily persuaded by the mild warmth she saw there... She bit her lip, the tip of her tongue teasing one of the thin rings that pierced it as she hesitated, gaze moving between the face of her friend and the artwork he had created. It wasn't like she knew how to accomplish the thing she saw before her when she said 'more red', but even so the need for it to be added to the painting made her itch. Resisting was difficult, the brush felt clumsy in her hand... but Eoin's patient silence was reassuring, encouraging even, and the almost hopeful way he looked at her, it was... It was too tempting. With a little sigh as sign of her defeat, the copper-skinned girl straightened herself up a bit, shifting the tool to her right hand and inched a little closer to his back. Needing to use her right hand, she wrapped the other arm loosely around his neck and placed the hand on the opposite shoulder, leaning carefully against his back as not to fall down to the step where he was sitting. The warmth of his bare skin against her belly felt strange but not entirely bad as she leaned forward, using him as support when reaching the arm out towards the canvas; faint blush crept over her skin as her cheek actually did brush against his. She was almost too aware of how close they were, but even so she tried to push the tickling feeling of her stomach away, rather focusing on the painting. Yes, the painting. And the brush, and the red color... "Don't blame me if I end up ruining it" she mumbled, the crimson tip hovering over the canvas for a moment as she tried to decide where to put it down. There was the backdrop with the mountains, and the circle of yasi and the Elder; the scene was so familiar, she had been sitting like that herself many times before and listened as the man wove stories, luring them away with clever tricks of voice and word. It was such a warm feeling, to be a part of that ring; almost like the little group of musicians somewhere above them, whose fire spread such glowing warmth over their faces.. The tip brushed over the painting, bright red color almost exploding as the girl added it to the figures; a little streak over a face, a mistake of a trembling hand turning a part of the stage into a blood-bath. Her attempts at fixing it made the color spread, until it looked like the center of the painting was aflame, burning with intense, sharp color that all but jumped out toward the eye. It wasn't skillfully done, far from it, and several times the girl winced a little as her clumsy attempts appeared to ruin some carefully planned detail. It was incredibly hard to stop, but eventually she forced herself to retract the hand, feeling how her fingers itched to keep adding more, always more of the delightful color; she liked red. She liked the warmth, the intensity it created... Though perhaps she had exaggerated a bit too much within Eoin's carefully planned scenery. Not even during the most intense periods of autumn did the colors flare quite like that, with vivid red shadows that made the yellow and orange hues stand out, become more intense and alive. It also made the backdrop look darker, more dramatic and imposing; what might have been a peaceful retelling of history had turned into a dramatic epos of giant proportions, where the Elder seemed to tower over the children and set fire to the surroundings with his telling... "Maybe.. maybe you should take the brush back now" she tried and threw a sideways glance at Eoin's face, not sure she wanted to see how he looked. Surely he must be horrified over how she had ruined his work, and while she had warned him.. It really was his fault for giving the brush to her.

[Eoin]

After much hesitation and worried glances, Rista finally understood that Eoin was not going to take no for an answer. Gingerly, she grasped the brush, wobbling slightly from the sudden pressure to act on her words. She eased into position, her skin brushing his, connecting the two as though they were one being, one painter. The strokes were few and light at first, but quickly gained momentum with the thrill of creating hit her, and soon the image became as much hers as his. The Avora watched carefully, almost analytically, studying her movements and attempted to decipher the thought behind each flick and dab. He knew her strength laid where he lacked, in creativity, in spontaneity. If anyone was to be his mentor, it would be the Yasi that felt so strongly. Perhaps there was no thinking to it, perhaps he thought too much. Eoin paused as the brush continued to dance, his eyes looking outwards at the canvas, away from the details and each careful component. It was only then that he noticed that the music had begun, serving to fuel Rista’s imagination with bursts of rhythm and song. He tried his best to forget, to be still of mind and to allow only his eyes to see and his body to feel, but even that in itself backfired on him, for he thought to not think. In time, the brush slowed and the strokes ended. Rista offered for the responsibility to be taken off her hands, having finished with her task. Eoin unfortunately, learned little from her efforts, and after a pause, retrieved the brush from her. He placed the tip beneath the water, allowing the colour to disperse and mix, each strand swirling and twisting in mismatched harmony. The Avora was still as he watched the colourful chaos, puzzlement tainting his curious, green eyes. There was no order to their patterns, no direction, no aim, yet somehow they were able to give a certain beauty to their dance. After a while, he turned, seeing the canvas with new eyes. The image grew darker and heavier, adding weight to the youthful innocence of the painting. Veiled by the motions of the swirling dyes, Eoin felt his hand move quickly, irrationally, acting on a whim. Grasping the paint, he poured a drop of red on to a makeshift palette of paper before immersing the tip of the brush into the blue, mixing to create a dark red purple. He looked back to the canvas, seeing the colours moving still, following their path as a sheep to its shepherd, mindlessly and obediently. His fingers were wrapped loosely around the brush, lacking the confidence behind his strokes, infecting the once dramatic painting with disease. There was a brief moment where a balance was reached, the shadows balancing the highlights, the light theme with the dark undertones. However, the Avora was unused to relying merely on intuition, on feeling, and it showed. The painting was ruined. Defeated, Eoin freed his hands. This time however, he did not look at the canvas again. Not at the darkness that surrounded one long haired female.

[Rista]

A brief sense of longing seeped through her fingers as they gave up on the brush, allowing the red-haired young man to take it back from her. Unwilling to move from her rather comfortable position behind his back and against his warm body, Rista brought her freed hand to Eoin's other shoulder and let it come to rest there, her fingers touching lightly against his skin. He didn't say anything and seemed completely swept up with the painting. The girl didn't mind. She'd rather have him remain quiet than open the mouth and tell her that she had destroyed his art, or.. even a compliment would have felt strange, since she didn't feel that she had accomplished anything. The picture hadn't looked better after she had doodled on it, quite the contrary. The minuscule details that so carefully had been painted out had become rough, exaggerated and clumsy. As he cleansed the brush and added new color to it, the young woman watched in curiosity, hoping to see how he would repair the painting. It was surprising when he didn't. At one point Rista actually opened her mouth, about to say something about how he should cover up her clumsy attempts rather than enhance them; however, a quick glance at his face made her decide against it. He looked so concentrated, so consumed by what he was doing. The black-eyed girl felt a smile tease around her mouth, the fascination from before once again appearing on her young features. It wasn't so much the painting that captivated her this time though, but the painter. She hadn't been this close to him before. Even though the darkness of the night around them blurred the details she could still see the lines of his face; the cheek, the nose, how his lips twitched and moved as if he was having a silent conversation with someone while moving the brush. His eyelashes seemed long and dark against the comparatively pale skin, framing those warm green eyes that seemed to be able to sway her just by looking at her. Once again her stomach churned silently, wrenching a feeling from her gut that was as unfamiliar and strange as it was pleasant; upon realizing that she was staring her eyes quickly tore away from his face, escaping down to the painting to see what he had done while she wasn't watching. It was horrible. There was no better way to describe it. All the details were but gone, the balance of the colors disappeared entirely in thick darkness that didn't say anything at all. Her eyes widened in surprise and sudden guilt and for a moment the arms tightened around the mans neck in a compassionate hug; she shouldn't have said anything. If she had remained quiet, or if she hadn't accepted the brush in the first place... But there was nothing to be done now. It couldn't be denied that the piece had been ruined, and Rista had missed the magical moment of unity in her study of Eoin's features. The realization on just how long she must have been looking at him made her face heat up, and as the young Avora set the canvas aside she slipped away, releasing him in order to move down to his step and place herself beside him instead. The loss of physical contact made the night air feel twice as cold as before; shamelessly ignorant on what he might think of it the girl slipped closer to her friend until her shoulder and arm pressed against him. She might as well leech off of his body heat, since he apparently didn't mind having her this close. It made her feel bold, brave. The smile that never had been far away returned to her face once more as she leaned over, picking up the brush and throwing a glance up at the decidedly depressed chef... The smile turned into a smirk, and the blackness of her eyes suddenly received a mischievous gleam to them. The wooden handle of the brush felt more comfortable in her grasp this time, secure and comforting, encouraging even as she lifted the hand, bringing the color-tainted tip up and very deliberately dotted a blotch of purple-black paint onto his cheek. "Smile!" she ordered him with laughter in the voice; the darkness all but consumed her black hair and caused the eyes to seem even deeper, more bottomless than before. The faint light from the candles somewhere above brushed softly over a cheek, allowing the copper-hue of the skin to be seen even in the shadows of the evening; if she looked foreign during the day, it was nothing compared to now. The strange colors, the dark eyes and hair, how she so clearly seemed to mature faster than the other girls her age. Her mixed blood was impossible to forget at any time, but this time it made her look exotic rather than strange or scary... And the way she looked at Eoin was different from normal as well. She didn't realize it, wasn't even aware of it herself, but her smile was warmer than before, the expression hopeful beyond the point of simply wanting him to stop sulking and be happy. She would probably protest and deny, not understand if someone tried to point it out to her, but.. That tingling feeling of her stomach would have been a rather clear indicator to anyone that was even remotely attentive to themselves. Only, Rista wasn't such a person. She just grinned towards Eoin, awaiting whatever reaction he would give; the stronger the better, according to her. She wanted to play, indulging herself in this new feeling that she thought simply was due to finally having a friend.

[Eoin]

A cool tingle began at a point on his cheek and spread through his body, reminding the Avora of the night’s chill air. Only when he turned to face Rista did he realize that it was her doing, for the Yasi held the incriminating brush in hand. She spoke warmly, her smile illuminating amidst the dim of the yellow candle light, her skin a soft coppery hue. Combined with the rich black of her eyes and the muted hues of red in her hair, the man’s eyes remained settled for a while longer. To him, the girl’s exotic features had momentarily captivated him, but he thought of nothing more. Rista would be a beautiful and strong woman when she becomes of age, and he proud to have seen her growth. Clueless as he was, Eoin assumed the Yasi felt the same, taking the strange tint to her expression as friendliness. Gently, a smile wedged its way through and on to his lips as the Avora tried to rub off the paint with a finger. Missing, his gesture only served to spread the colour across his face, leaving a short streak. When Rista acknowledged his blunder, her air still teasing, he was inspired to act in retaliation, his expression oddly serious as though he was determined to succeed. With a quick swipe, he left a similar streak across the girl’s nose, but was foolish enough to believe that it would end there. In all his experience in playing with his sister, who often mocked rather than teased, one would think the man would know better. Stranger still was that he was momentarily freed of those thoughts, the memories dulling to a persistent ache, his attention fully focused on the Yasi before him.

[Rista]

The look on his face when he realized what she had done made the smile widen even more on her face. Her eyes glittering with mirth in the faint light as Eoin unsuccessfully tried to wipe the paint away from the cheek; there wasn't anything mocking in the sound of her laugh, just amusement and delight over her own prank. "You missed" she teased and poked her tongue out briefly towards him. The fluttering feeling the stomach was egging her on, making her brave and audacious; his reaction was good, but that smile couldn't actually be meant to count, right? It was way too reserved, too restrained. That really was all he was going to do, just give her that sorry excuse for a smile? His serious expression made the retaliation impossible to predict. It came so unexpected that Rista didn't have time to react; the flash of his arm coming towards her, the touch on his finger against her nose, and she was left sitting there with a stunned expression on her face. Shock, annoyance and a sudden delight flashed quickly over the flexible features, before suddenly a determined smirk replaced the wide smile from before. So he actually went there, did he.. Her hand rose to the nose, touching it briefly before looking at the fingertips and the sticky paint that was attached to them. Really, now this was just... "I said it pretty clearly, didn't I. That doesn't count and won't get you very far.." Her voice was calm, patient, even a bit thoughtful as she kept the head lowered to view her hand. Only a faint glimmer of light touching her eyes gave away that she wasn't fully concentrating on the small digits, but rather the orange-haired young man next to her.. "I told you to.. Smile!" The last word was cried out as the small girl suddenly launched on Eoin, the brush wielded almost like a sword as she flicked it towards his face, trying to smear a thick line of paint across his forehead. The grin was back, glowing and intense as Rista laughed, thoroughly enjoying herself with this unexpected game. That it could be this fun, playing with someone and not having it turn into a brawl or fight.. She never knew.

[Stardust]

Rista

Skill	XP Earned
Observation	3
Socialization	2
Painting	2

•	Lores Earned
•	Enjoying The Weather
•	Teasing Eoin
•	First Attempt At Painting

Eoin

Skill	XP Earned
Observation	2
Painting	3
Teaching	2

•	Lores Earned
•	A Smile Is Important
•	Handing Over A Paint Brush
•	Rista: The Yasi Girl

Dream On

Another one form a while back, I see! Another one I wish there was more to! This had some beautiful descriptions! It was just cute!

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.