He watched, without really paying any significant attention, as the little girl planked herself on the floor before him. Goodbye sweet serenity, for loneliness was no longer a commodity. Now company would disturb him.An inability to return to that world of his. And if the youth was to say that her presence here did not bring at least the slightest sparks of annoyance to him, he would be lying. Yet lying was something he did well, for no such annoyance shined though his meticulous mask. Thus simply and politely, he smiled and returned to the paper, grasping at the languishing thread of his thought, yet with the ability to truly catch none. A wish to be left alone, yet no such wish escaped his mouth. A wish inverted and hidden, for if he was to express such, it would be utmost rude and not befitting a gentleman of his standard.
Another colour combination, though this one not as merely well thought through. A green made of warm hued cadmium yellow, mixed with that cool, if not ever so slightly neutral tone of phthalo blue. A rotten green was the result. The kind that could be found on the very base of floral stalks which never saw sunlight past the canopy of leaves, forever banished to the shadows. A terribly warm green of dark cabbage leaves. And so that too was recorded on the paper with a careful hand. The brush barely touching the paper at all so that the pigment would not be pressed into the paper, but rather lain on it delicately and allowed to dry. This way the colour would remain vibrant even after drying. White space dividing it from it's thumbnail patch brethren. The last moment of piece before the barrage of questions was bestowed upon the young artist.
In that moment that his attention had been divided between his painting and the girl, yet not really lingering upon either; she had crept closer, jubilant blue eyes filled with wonderment. And when she spoke "That's amazing" and he looked up again, again distracted by her presence, it was those eyes which studied the paper with utmost curiosity, that he looked upon. Blue as the noon sky. Blue as liquid celestite of rich hue. Light flexed within their surface, so saturated with childish naivety and youthful wonderment, reflected from them in magnificent ways. Shards of glass pigment were embedded into their surface, giving them such multidimensional beauty.
Eyes were perhaps one of Valo's very favourite aspect of a human face. Not only because they were such a joy to paint - for an eye's ability to breathe life into a painting was wondrous. But it seemed that no matter how terrible a face, the eyes would always be beautiful and he adored beauty. Sought beauty in everything and anything. There just simply wasn't such a thing as ugly eyes.
His own were a clearly defined almond shape. Chiselled waterlines, deeply set in perfect shape, a dark crease, lingering behind dark lashes. Much like the rest of his feature, his eyes too seemed carved of alabaster. Capable of both profound sternness, which rarely appeared within them, as well as gentleness and softness and compassion, which seemed a gaze much more native to his face. So very pleasant me was in aesthetic. Feminine and lovely. The girl's eyes however still bore that roundness of any. They dominated her little face as the case was with children who had yet to grow up and loose that roundness of youth. And her eyes were beautiful and the fables of her youth were painted within them.
"Can you draw birds?" she giggled, before Valo could even thank her for the kind comment. It was in his nature to thank for such, even if so very simple and given by untrained eyes. A case of decorum. Of course he could draw birds, for birds were like faces and like stones and like still life, mere forms which could be restructured using line and angle. There science of drawing birds was the same as drawing anything else. he'd simply need a bird at which he could look long enough to explore the distances of it's anatomy. However that answer too had not the liberty to leave his lip, for the youngster broke off into a rant of giggles. "I love birds, they are so pretty and their feathers are so lovely and soft, I petted one once. It was tiny." She rocked backwards on her knees in a manner which, to the artist, appeared that of utmost self content. A smile painted into her feature. Curious eyes and curious word that soon became not word but an avalanche of questions, fired with such haste that few were registered. 'When did you learn? What do you draw? How did you get so good? What are the colours at the bottom? Is this your job? Can you teach me?'
His eyes of sparkling emerald - ever animated but that animation which lingered in them was not the depiction of surprise, confusion and subtle tiredness all melted into one gleaming surface - widened. His withdrawn nature taking over at the stranger took a gulp of a breath before looking back to his, expecting all her questions to be answered. Thus he looked to her for just a moment. Just a moment of recollection of all the words she said and then grouping them together into sentences, punctuation by question marks in his head. A mental note of all those questions.
What fallowed next was an action which had been a habit of his for a while now. Indeed there were many habits to Valo,some more prominent than others. having been cursed with almost impeccable eye sight, since his early years, the boy wanted to wear glasses. A rare and precious commodity in Mizahar and even rarer among Inarta. Yet it seemed that in every favourite novel of his, the clever professor, the cunning detective and any other characterised symbolism of intelligence, always seemed to wear glasses and indeed they added both years and wisdom to a face. Years and wisdom is what he sought, thus glasses remained a dream of his. And, in such a way that perhaps an invisible pair had already been sitting upon the bridge of his nose the entire time, he raised his fingers to his face in an attempt to correct their position. But the nature of invisible, imaginary glasses was such, that the motion somewhat awkwardly turned into the pressing of his slender finders into the corners of his eyes and then, in hope to make the whole ordeal seem a little more natural, the boy simply rubbed his eyelids in a manner which spoke of perplexity.
"I taught my self primarily." he spoke whilst that motion was performed. "I guess I could teach you, but what use would that be? Skills like archery or falconry would serve you better."
When alas his motion ceased, once again Valo looked to her with a polite smile. It's not that he held his profession, his one true love in this world, in some iron gated secret box to which only he held the key. On the contrary, he would love to teach his ways to another for he truly believed in his creationism. But his question was honest. Any son or daughter of Wind Reach he had ever met had only one goal in their mind; and that was to become an Endal. What use was art to an Endal? Even for simple love, such knowledge and kill would soon be overridden by more important duties at hand. Food and money and survivalism. That's what counted in this city. Art was a frivolity and frivolously he would soon leave in search of better days heads. Soon he would head out for Zeltiva. The city on the horizons of his timeline.
