Akvatarilicious (Open)

[Trista]

Fall 57, 510 AV

Ah, Syliras.

It was, in many ways, one of the nicer cities that Trista had visited during her long travels. It was (relatively) safe, the streets -- if you wanted to call them that -- were (relatively) clean, and the people were (relatively) polite. It was too crowded for her to want to stay for a long time, and the castle was extraordinarily claustrophobic for one used to the endless expanses of sea and sky, but that didn't mean that she couldn't appreciate the city for what it was.

This particular day, she had gone to the Stone Garden and set herself down quietly in an unobtrusive corner. She wanted to do a sketch of the array of stones that formed the memorial that Syliras maintained for its dead. Her gift/curse meant that she would be able to draw it perfectly later without any notes at all, but nonetheless, she wanted to try a few new techniques with some heavier charcoal pencils.

She took a pad and the pencils from her traveling bag, and began to trace the first few lines on the rough paper.

[Elhaym]

She would have to do something about her knuckles. "To master art, you must master the fist". You know, it sounded very profound to her when she said it. In many ways, it was true. Pain felt very strongly that if you mean to achieve greatness in a skill, focusing solely on that one thing will never let you meet your full potential. Only through exploration of different things, everything really... then, you will see the true value of that which you to desire to master. The things she learn in a fight, she could sometimes apply to a sketch. The perspective, vivid images embedded in her mind of unique body positions and human anatomy twisted into a weapon... those things, she wouldn't learn in a dark room with a piece of graphite and vellum. Besides, she liked to fight. But damn if her hands weren't swollen and aching, and damn it all twice over if it didn't make drawing a serious hardship. Her feet were bare, her clothes plain. Standard issue civilian wear, black knee length linen shorts and a matching linen shirt, sleeveless and dirty. The only adornment was a smattering of thin corded rope hung loosely around her waist as if meant to be a belt. Her physique was defined and the battering of a fighter apparent, making her claims to be an artist looked upon with suspicion. From her shoulder, a battered leather satchel hung, unbeknown to others to cradle what little art supplies she had left. The Stone Garden had been a place of refuge for Pain to practice her art as well, as the many simpletons of Syliras who thought it socially acceptable to pester her while she drew did not seem to funnel into this place. Here, she could take in the scenery, close her eyes... she could remember a much more simple period of her life when to sit and draw was truly bliss. So, today, she would go there. And what the hell is that? She had only seen a creature such as this one time, and she had in fact attempted to draw him. She recalled the wings in particular were difficult for her to draw. Such a weird looking thing, but she had found out that this creature was called an Akvatari, and they were great artists. Most would have attempted to strike up a conversation in her situation, given the instantaneous bond most artists could form in the short term. Pain, on the other hand, simply halted in her tracks and gawked. It wasn't until she felt that the Akvatari had sensed her presence that she took a few steps forward, offering a small contribution from her vocal chords. "Oh, uh... hey there." She wanted to say more, but it was awkward for her. The only thing she seemed to be able to relate to people in Syliras about was fighting. Not since her brother's death had she spoken in depth about art, and that had been more than ten years. It had almost become a taboo to Pain, something she once shared with her brother that she tucked away in the recesses of her mind and loathed to share with anyone. Maybe she would try. Fate must have been pushing her towards the discussion, because as she spoke she felt the old leather strap of her satchel gave way. It was old, stitched and patched twice, three times over. It collapsed to the ground, pieces of charcoal and graphite spilling out and crumpled vellum accompanying. If Trista were to examine the mess, she may notice a few partially revealed sketches of wildflowers and scenic views, Pain's only real strongpoint when it came to drawing.

[Guido Faragas]

OOCI hope you don’t mind me dropping in here

Guido Faragas strode purposefully towards the Stone Garden. The tall, green-eyed youth had a few pieces of paper clasped in one hand and a slim piece of charcoal in the other. The outermost sheet had several delicately drawn symbols inscribed across its top half. It had been a while since he had practiced writing glyphs but this morning he had risen early and spent some considerable time inscribing the runes in the small, plain room in his absent master’s house. However, he had been driven to distraction by the constant interruptions of the old crone who acted as Silven’s housekeeper. Eventually, in exasperation, he had taken up his paper and charcoal, determined to find somewhere quieter to practice. After a few chimes walking rather randomly, he had made his way to the stone garden, hopeful of finding some peace and quiet.

Guido had never met an Akvatari and he couldn’t avoid stopping and staring as he caught sight of the winged figure drawing in a secluded corner of the garden. He was completely oblivious to Pain until he heard the contents of her satchel tumble to the floor. Instinctively, he started forward to help, noting the sketches and charcoal that spilled across the ground.

“Please, let me help you,” he muttered to Pain, placing his own paper and charcoal on the seat beside the winged woman and kneeling down to assist in retrieving the materials.

[Trista]

Trista was focused on shading the curve of one of the stones -- so focused that she didn't hear anyone approach until they were almost on top of her. She had always been prone to losing herself in her work, and since her meeting with Avalis, this tendency had become even more pronounced.

Finally, she looked up, only to find a woman standing in front of her. It wasn't someone she remembered to have seen before, though admittedly she hadn't met many people in Syliras -- and Syliras was a big, big place. Before Trista could say anything, however, the woman's satchel fell apart, its contents crashing to the ground.

She would have sprung up to help, except that another human appeared and beat her to it. As Trista watched the pair clean up, she noticed that the woman's bag had contained art supplies, as well as a few drawings -- nothing particularly startling, but well-executed as far as they went. She also noted that the man had been carrying art supplies as well.

"Apparently, it's time for some sort of artists' convention," she said, a bit of a wry smile flitting about her lips. Then, once the pair of humans had finished gathering up the fallen articles, she nodded quietly. "Is this a common place in Syliras for artists? I've only arrived in the city recently, and I'm still learning its customs."

[Elhaym]

Pain shook her head light, not to say "no", but more out of surprise that someone was moving to help her. Hey, chivalry must be alive and well. She scooped up her supplies and took what remained from Guido. Kind of an awkward entrance, but Pain was usually good for at least one awkward moment in a meeting with strangers. "Hey, uh... yeah, I guess it is." she said to the Akvatari, also noting that it was a bit odd that three people would come out to sketch at the same time. "Well, I mean... you can't draw at the Stallion, with all the drunkards hitting on you, and eh... it's just too crowded to find a good spot in most places. It's pretty here, so I come here sometimes." Pain said, shuffling her feet and trying not to let the random silences that infested her sentences last so long as to be awkward. "I'm called Pain, and this... well, shyke, I don't know who you are, sorry. Thanks for helping me though, pretty nice of you, pal." Pain said, nodding informally at Guido. She scanned him up and down, deemed him non threatening, and moved on to what she had seen the Akvatari drawing. "Okay, eh... this is kind of weird, but... eh, how did you do that? I mean, with the charcoal. It's uh... pretty technical, mine usually just look crappy and smudged. The shading is good, how do you do it? I tried varying the pressure I put on it, and smuding it with my finger. Sometimes, if I remember it, I got this animal skin cloth I can kinda wipe some off and reshade it, but it alwats just looks like crap. Hey, pal, you ever seen anyone draw like that? Or am I the only bad artist here?" Pain said, lightly pushing her elbow into Guido's side and trying to ease him into the conversation. The old Pain would have stuttered, stammered, and mumbled. Pain had been trying to change things, and she was trying something new. It was weird, awkward, and strange... but damned if she wasn't going to sit here and have a civil conversation with these people, perhaps learn how to draw... and not end up breaking anyones teeth. Her knuckles needed a break.

[Guido Faragas]

Guido retrieved a few of the sketches that had tumbled to the ground and handed them to Pain. He quickly glanced at the drawings, noting that they showed that the artist had some skill. Then, he nodded in response to the woman’s thanks. “It’s my pleasure,” he muttered quietly. The youth was invariably polite – working for his father had taught him the benefits of such an approach. His father was typically rude in the extreme to his business contacts and it was usually left to his son to smooth ruffled egos and placate potential customers.

“I came here for a little peace and quiet as well,” laughed Guido in response to the seated Akvatari’s comment. “It is a well-known place for contemplation, or so I am often told. However, I can’t claim to be an artist – more of a scribe, I suppose.” He reclaimed his charcoal and paper and regarded the inscribed symbols with a rueful look and pursed lips.

“I am Guido, Guido Faragas,” he replied to Pain, giving both those present a polite bow in turn.

He listened with interest to Pain’s question concerning the technicalities of the Akvatari’s drawing. Although he was no artist, the days he had spent drawing glyphs had given him an appreciation for those who had artistic talents. Drawing glyphs required accuracy and precision: yet, he sometimes ached to be more flamboyant or imaginative with the charcoal. His master has discouraged such thoughts, driving him to repeat the same symbols time after time.

Pain’s gentle elbow to his ribs startled the tall youth a little and he gave her a wry glance, his eyes blinking rapidly as they tended to do when he was in unfamiliar situations.

“You are a very fine artist,” he said to the Akvatari as he looked admiringly over her sketch. “It must take a great deal of practice. Or, is it a natural talent?”

[Trista]

As the pair got a better look at Trista's drawing, they might notice something odd about it. It wasn't a stylized representation; rather, it looked...real somehow, almost as if they would be able to walk right through it. There was an effect about it that even an artist of master skill wouldn't be able to duplicate.

This was, appropriately enough, because it wasn't an artistic skill at all, not in the strictest sense of the word. Oh, Trista was a good artist, no question about that, but this was the result of the unique gift -- or curse, depending on one's point of view -- that she'd acquired in Mura. The drawing wasn't a drawing, not really. It was a window, something that, for half a bell or so, would show something the way it actually was, before seizing up and becoming a mere drawing again.

Hastily, Trista flipped the page, revealing a blank page and hiding her previous work. "Half of the secret is the paper," she said, leaping fully into Pain's question. She ran one finger off it. "This is some of the coarsest paper I could find. It's perfect for charcoal -- it's what keeps it from getting all smeary like it would on smooth paper. Otherwise, if you're varying the pressure already, that'll help a lot. Getting it just right comes with practice, but here, have a look."

With her charcoal, Trista began to draw a tree. It wasn't any specific tree -- specificity would trigger her gift, and she'd already shown too much -- but a standard oak generated from her imagination. She outlined the edge darkly, and then ran the charcoal to the right; as she did so, the varying waves of pressure created the effect of gnarled, flaking bark.

"Akvatari like to think of ourselves as natural artists, but I've spent a long time practicing," she said, turning a bit to Guido. "It's my job, such as it is. But I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Trista," she added, inclining her head formally first toward Pain, then Guido, in the usual Akvatari greeting.