|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2008 6:46 am
**In Lieu of Pay...**
The study was filled by three huge canvases, a triptych of oceans, morning, noon, and night. Prosper had been working on them steadily for the last few months, adding newer layers of paint until the colors were uncountable. Now the client was here, a U-Haul parked out front, about ready to take them off to the office where they would be displayed.
"You like them?" asked Prosper as he pulled some extra drop-cloths out of the closet to wrap the canvases in.
"They're wonderful," said the man. "They will look excellent in the lobby."
"Good," said Prosper, draping on canvas in a sheet and beginning to secure it. "I need to talk to you about payment. I've received my commission fee, but not my completion fee."
"Oh yes, about that," said the man. He was hauling a large doctor's bag onto the table. Prosper looked at it curiously. The man opened it and produced a large cabbage, which he set on the table. "I have been instructed to give you this in lieu of payment."
"It's a vegetable," said Prosper, frowning at it.
"A very special vegetable," corrected the man. "A biomechanical vegetable."
"I want my money, not some electronic head of lettuce."
"Technically, it's a Cabbage, and people have been known to pay far more than your commission fee for one of these."
The man sounded like he was bullshitting. Prosper stared at the cabbage, skeptical.
"Okay, what does it do, if it's worth so much?" he asked.
"It creates a child."
Prosper studied the cabbage intently, albeit a bit confused by the claim. He'd heard about this sort of thing happening on Gaia, but never actually encountered it. What was he supposed to do with a child?
His expression softened.
Then again, he had always wanted a daughter.
"Deal," said Prosper, and went back to packaging the canvases for travel. "So, this is run out of the lab you work for?"
"Yes," said the man, leaving the cabbage on the table and closing the bag. "In a way. You'll never need to visit the lab, only Liberty Center. I'll leave the card with the address." Out of the corner of his eye, Prosper saw him place a sliver of white paper next to the cabbage. He finished packaging the first canvas and started on the second.
"Was there ever any actual intention to pay me the rest of my fee?" he asked, curious.
"No."
"So you just thrust kids on people?"
"In principal, yes."
Completed
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2008 5:32 am
**Mysterious Ways**
It was not until after the man and the three paintings had all gotten into the moving truck and driven away that Prosper began to realize the full gravity of the situation. The cabbage - green, leafy, optimistic - sat on the desk in his study, among the tubes of acrylics, boxes of water-colors, fine-haired brushes, and soft-lead pencils. He tried to clean up, straightening the shelf of sketchbooks and putting everything back into its proper storage drawers.
The natural propensity of the room was towards chaos. He hadn't been made to seriously clean it since Amy had passed away.
Amy used to ask him, "How do you work in here? How do you find anything?" and force him to put everything back in its proper place. Prosper always argued he worked best when disorganized and that he knew exactly where everything was, but she hadn't stood for it. She made him clean, and then when he wouldn't do it, or wouldn't do it well enough or fast enough, she would clean.
Prosper stared at the cabbage.
"We got our wish," he said aloud to the air. Nothing replied. The cabbage seemed to be humming, lowly, with some sort of deep mechanical sound. It was processing data. He pulled out the desk chair and sat, watching it.
"I don't know what you are," he said, addressing the cabbage. "I don't know if you're a boy or a girl or a child or a strange creature from beyond Alpha Centauri."
It only hummed in response. The said babies could hear while in utero. He wondered if this was the same sort of schtick.
"But I've been waiting for you a long time."
It wasn't like he was expecting a response from the cabbage. It was, after all, a grocery product. Sighing, Prosper got up from his chair and continued to clear the desk off, stacking the acrylics back into neat rows on the rack and putting the watercolor boxes back into drawers. He returned to watch the cabbage again.
He would teach it to paint worlds, pass on the art he had never taken an apprentice in. World painting had to start young, had to lock in the magic before the brain coagulated. He'd once had an apprentice in painting who he'd tried to teach, and realized that by the teen years it was too late to learn the art.
He watched the cabbage expectantly. Nothing happened.
"I can stand to wait a bit longer," he decided.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2008 7:32 pm
**Flashback**
Prosper first picked up a paintbrush at the age of four. His grandmother and teacher, a wrinkled old woman with long, nimble fingers, instructed him to draw a house, a tree, a line of grass, and a sunset in drippy watercolors.
"Now what, grandmum?" Prosper asked her when he finished following the instructions.
"Name the world," said the woman enigmatically.
"What?"
"Name it."
Prosper stared at the paper and furrowed his brow. Name the world? What had he just drawn?
After a moment, it came to him.
"Home," he said to the paper.
The lines of paint sharpened like they were coming into focus, and then deepened, becoming three-dimensional, photographically detailed, starting to move. It wasn't a piece of paper anymore - it was a window. Prosper looked at his grandmother. She was beaming. She took his hand in hers and together pressed their palms to the surface of the paper.
In a flash, they were in the world from the painting, brilliant in the orange and pink hues of sunset.
Behind them, shimmering in the air, was the world they had just come from.
"You named your first world," she said to the child. "Home," she added, nodding approvingly. In front of them was a white stucco house. "We don't have time to explore today," she sighed. "Another time, perhaps, when you get special paints."
She took Prosper by the hand again and turned him around. They stepped through the portal and were back at the kitchen table. As the painting dried, the photographic clarity vanished and it returned to being the scribbles of a child.
"Can we do it again?" asked Prosper.
"Another time," said his grandmother. "Your training has only just begun."
*
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Mar 24, 2008 2:36 pm
**Highwood**
On the third day, it rained and Prosper painted as he listened to the storm pound the windows of his study. He had travel on his mind. With the triptych of seascapes gone, he could once again devote time to his explorations and to preparing gallery pieces. In the morning, he worked in broad stroke, blocking out patches of green and brown, rudimentary tree trunks, canopies, and strange boxy shapes in the branches. Later, after lunch, he working on the details, riding the trees, create the light spots and cool green shade, forming the boxes into a village of tree-houses. The world flowed from his paintbrush in familiar brushstrokes - he had painted it many times before.
The first world Prosper named as a child was "Home". On later occasions, when he began to explore it, he found it to be a small, amateurish world. Time didn't progress within it and everything was exactly as he had left it upon each return. The sun never moved in the sky, and it was an island on both sides. The water had no current. Much farther into his training, Prosper called upon Highwood. Highwood was his first populated world, home to a tribe of people who lived high in the trees. There, he had made the acquaintance of a young shaman-in-training, and she had remained something of his spiritual guardian ever since.
"Highwood," he said to the canvas as he leaned back to admire his work. The lines sharpened into photographic clarity and the shadows began to shift with the wind. Prosper pressed his hand to the canvas, and in an instant he was standing in a wooded clearing. A pair of boys dressed in rough linen pants were playing some form of lacrosse not far from him. They stopped when they became aware of his presence.
Prosper thought he recognized them from when they were younger.
"Prosper-man!" the taller boy said. His hair was red and his ears stuck out. "You have got to stop appearing out of midair." He moved to look at the window glittering behind him. "You need to clean your study, too."
"Alright," said Prosper, struggling to remember the boy's name and failing. "I'm going to visit Dama. Is she in?"
The boys looked at each other and the one with the oversized ears spoke again. "She just got back from the next village over. She'll like to see you. We'll help you with the basket."
The people of Highwood used a sophisticated system of basic hydraulics and baskets, in addition to ladders, to get in and out of the tree villages. The boys helped Prosper into a wicker contraption and moved a blockage in the stream that circled the tree. The water redirected down the roots and the basket lurched upwards. When it stopped at the canopy level, Prosper got out and walked the familiar path to Dama's dwelling at the center of the village.
Dama welcomed him in. She was a short, greying woman dressed in a brightly colored robe with designs stitched into it, and she instructed Prosper to sit while she brewed a strong, fragrant tea for them. "I haven't seen you in a while," she said, "I was starting to think you'd found someone else to visit."
"I was working," replied Prosper, rubbing his hands together. Once upon a time he'd had to climb the entire way up to the village. Just thinking about it made his calluses ache. "Three seascapes for a company on Gaia. I didn't have time for travel."
"I went to the village by the sea recently," said Dama, handing him a hollowed gourd filled with steaming tea. "Their Shaman died. I was testing their new one. Have you ever been there?" Prosper shook his head. "Someday, you'll need to find the time to go on an extended visit with me. Bring your canvases and paints and go home from there instead of racing your portal."
"That could be a while from now," sighed Prosper, sipping his tea. "I'm adopting a child."
"An apprentice?" Dama asked knowingly.
"Of a sort," shrugged Prosper. "It's been ten years since my wife passed. I'm trying to move on."
Dama nodded in approval.
"Bring her to visit sometime," she said. "Any apprentice of yours is a child I'd love to meet."
"How do you know it will be a her?" Prosper asked, eyes narrowing. Even he didn't know what the cabbage contained.
Dama took his teacup. There was a twinkle in her eye that made him somewhat uneasy. "I have a feeling," she said. "Now get, before your window closes."
Prosper hurried back to the clearing. Dama's words were on his mind. He had always wanted a daughter.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Mar 31, 2008 6:15 pm
**In Bloom**
On the fifth day, the cabbage opened. It began in the early morning as the sun rose, the outer leaves peeling away to reveal a tightly-bunched center. Prosper got himself a cup of coffee and sat in his studio, contemplating the vegetable resting on his desk.
In the last few days, he'd made a concentrated effort to clean the house a bit. For one thing, the week's breakfast dishes were washed and put away, the floors swept, and the guest bedroom made up and ready. (Though he supposed that shortly it would no longer be a "guest" bedroom.) He'd even straightened the studio up a bit, but it was predestined to entropy and cleaning only hastened the process.
By midmorning, the tips of the leaves around the center had begun to curl back, and Prosper could see a milky, opaque membrane rising and falling beneath them. There was something alive in there, though he couldn't see it yet. He hurried to the kitchen, refilled his coffee cup, and returned as fast as he could. Nothing had happened, though. The child was taking its own sweet time emerging from its botanical womb.
He pondered names as the form within the cabbage gradually made its way out, considering it in a similar way to how he named worlds, trying to get a feel for it, trying as best he could to let the child name itself, to give it a true, fitting name.
By noon, the leaves were half-back and the membrane was stretched tight and moving from time to time. Prosper set his cup down and watched it tensely, waiting form something to happen.
Then, something happened.
The membrane made a popping sound as a hole appeared in the center and widened. A tiny, pale hand reached out and then withdrew. Prosper got up and stood over the cabbage, watching with held breath as the hole widened. The contents squirmed, but he caught glimpses. Brown hair here, a tiny foot there, and for a moment, a large blue eye.
Finally, with a wet sound like snapping celery sticks, the cabbage opened all the way. A little girl in a blue cotton nightgown blinked up at Prosper, and then reached for him with a tiny hand. Prosper reached back and took the child into his arms. He had never held something so delicate before, despite her from seeming far from newborn. Two eyes, ten fingers, ten toes, a little button nose, plump lips like a rosebud. A masterpiece.
He sat back down and looked from the cabbage to the cooing child in his arms. She needed a name. He dug deep into the part of his mind that could name worlds, find their essence and speak them open.
It was dancing around the dark part of his mind. He met the girl's large blue eyes.
"Ophelia," he said finally, feeling quite certain it was the right name.
The child blinked in recognition and laughed happily. He had picked well.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2008 5:37 pm
**Home Worlds**
From Prosper's notes on world painting:
When a painter names a world, what he is merely doing is matching an existing world to the one he has painted. If two painters paint and name the same world, they will emerge into the same exact world and perhaps even meet each other there. This is true for almost every world.
I say "almost".
"Home" worlds are another beast entirely. In my travels, I have met many painters and discussed with them the nature of their learning - what worlds do they visit most often, what are their preferred materials, and what world was their first.
Invariably, the first world of any painter is "Home."
Interestingly, the similarities end here. My "home" was an island, perpetually sunset, with a few trees and a white stucco house. Another artist's "Home" was a cottage in a forest that eventually looped itself. They are always small, containing only the central area, large enough for maybe one person, and no artist can visit another's "home" without being invited. Should an artist paint another's "home" and attempt to name it as such, and I have tried it, they will only be redirected to their own "home", or the portal will not work at all.
A world painted without intent, or named without proper respect, will not summon.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 03, 2008 12:12 pm
**Like a (sea)weed**
Prosper was mystified. He tried to convince himself that Ophelia had been as old as she looked now, just five days later, when she first emerged from the cabbage. He couldn't do it, though. The cabbage had produced a baby, and Ophelia was undeniably a little girl. Immediately she had begun attempting to crawl, and on the third day she'd begun to walk unsteadily around the house on shaky, short legs. She talked some, too, and her "daddy"s made Prosper wonder why he hadn't done this parenting thing sooner.
Today, it was sunny and warm, and Prosper had the beach on his mind. Ophelia was thinking it, too. She spent part of the morning sitting on the rug by the sliding glass door, staring at the way the sun glinted off the water. The door was warm, and she wanted to go outside and see what was going on.
By midmorning, Prosper relented. He put away his paints and brushes, got them both into bathing suits, and smeared generous amounts of coconut-scented sunscreen on their arms and faces.
"Daddy," said Ophelia, rubbing her greasy hands together, "We go out?"
She had a trio of stars hovering by her ear. They seemed to come and go in varying numbers from time to time. Prosper wondered about them.
"Yep!" he said happily, sliding the door open and scooping her up into his arms. The stars followed like a tail. They stepped out onto the patio. The tiles were already warm in the sun, even in early April. It was hot like summer.
Global warming, thought Prosper. Go figure.
"Daddy, whatsit?" asked Ophelia, pointing at the water.
Prosper explained the ocean, and the sand, and the dunes. By the time they actually got to the water's edge, Ophelia was a veritable expert on the workings of the beach. She whimpered briefly that the water was cold, but gathered the courage to go back in and was soon splashing about ecstatically. Perhaps in a past life she had been a fish.
They explored the tide pools, and Ophelia found a spindly orange starfish. She cradled it in her small hands and held it up, a curious smile on her face. One of her stars came to hover by the starfish and stretched itself into a mirror shape. Ophelia grinned and deposited the starfish back into the water. Her star followed and danced across the seafloor besides the fish like a luminous shadow before returning to its orbit.
They walked along the water and looked for shells. Ophelia found a big, white sand-dollar buried in the sand. Prosper amassed a small collection of Shark's teeth and told her about the big fish they belonged to. The little girl took delight in the little clams left when the ocean pulled back and how they rushed to submerge themselves in the sand once more, and how, for that brief moment when the water first went away, their shells formed a glistening rainbow in the sand.
They counted pelicans and dolphins. Ophelia understood one through ten easily, but past that she encountered some difficulty remembering. She tried to practice with her stars, but it didn't help much because she couldn't call up more than eight at a time. Prosper wondered about what sort of strange magic could summon something like the little yellow blobs of light.
"Daddy," murmured Ophelia, nudging his leg, "I'm hungry."
Prosper smiled and picked her up. Their day at the beach looked to be coming to an end.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked her.
"Uhhh," she said, investigating his ear. "Grilled cheese!"
"I don't doubt that that can be arranged," said Prosper with a laugh. They headed back up the path to the house.
There was, without a shadow of a doubt, magic in the world.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2008 1:33 pm
RP Lets see the beach! - Ophelia meets Lizzie and demands the other girl build a castle with her. In the process, she nicknames herself "Squishy" as testament to how ridiculous and hard to pronounce her actual name is.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 06, 2008 11:43 am
**Painting Lessons**
Prosper had invested in a child-sized easel and watercolor set just for Ophelia's sake. She was excited with her gifts, eager to start experimenting with what they could do. She was going to paint like Daddy did!
"Before we start," said Prosper, "You need to know about the kind of painting I'm teaching you."
"Okay," said Ophelia, nodding. She wanted those watercolors!
"I learned this type of painting from my grandmother, who learned from her father, who learned from his father, who learned from his mother, so on and so forth, all the way back to the first person to paint like this."
"Okay," said Ophelia, not really sure what he had just said but agreeing anyway.
"If you learn this sort of painting, you'll be able to travel to faraway worlds," said Prosper. That Ophelia understood. She was sold on it.
"I wanna start," she said, reaching for the paints. Prosper laughed and she felt indignant. Why was Daddy laughing at her?
"For it to work, you need to paint what I tell you to right now," he said. Ophelia nodded. Anything! She just wanted those paints! Finally, Prosper handed them to her and let her at the easel. She picked up her brush and stood at attention. "Ophelia, can you paint what you think of when you feel protected? When you feel safe?"
Ophelia thought. Then she painted stars, a crescent moon like the one she had seen last night, and a beach. These were, of course, the most prominent things in her memories. Then, she added a ship, because if she was painting a world wouldn't she need somewhere to stay?
She finished the ship's sails and looked at Prosper expectantly.
"Can you give it a name?" he suggested to her.
It was on the tip of her tongue. Really, it was. What was it? What was this world's name?
"Home," she said to the paper. It flickered for a moment and then sprung to brilliant photographic life. She looked happily up at Prosper. "I did it, Daddy!"
Prosper took her tiny hand in his.
"Can you take us there? Touch the paper."
Ophelia did. In a flash, they were on the moonlit beach. The stars overhead had taken on a strange form - a giant clock. The beach stretched off in both directions, but Prosper knew it would loop itself. This world was an island. All home worlds were.
"Can we go explore, Daddy?" Ophelia asked, tugging Prosper's hand anxiously. She wanted to go see what was in this world she had called up.
"Not today," he said, shaking his head, "But you will soon. We need to get back now before it closes up."
They turned around. The study hung shimmering in the air. Prosper extended his hand to it. In a flash, they were home again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 2:23 pm
**Important Instructions**
"It's important that you know this," said Prosper, which Ophelia knew meant HEY YOU LISTEN UP. He was giving her another painting lesson, which always meant Ophelia was happy because he was happy and he always took her good places. Last week, they'd gone to a place he called Highwood where Prosper introduced Ophelia to a woman named Dama. Dama was tiny, much shorter than Daddy, and she wore bright colors. The overall effect was not entirely unlike a doll. She'd been nice, and had given Ophelia some candy made of caramelized tree sap, and Prosper had gotten stern and said it would ruin her appetite.
"Uh-huh?" asked Ophelia, waiting for him to go on.
"If you're ever painting and you get lost," he said, "All you need to do is paint a picture of this room and think of how it makes you feel and say "tidewater"."
"Tidewater," repeated Ophelia. Prosper smiled. She thought about how this room made her feel. It was little, and a bit cramped. One wall was all windows - you could see the ocean through it. The ceiling was high and had wood beams that made her think inexplicably of Highwood. But how did it make her feel?
Like she could go anywhere and do anything.
Superhero-y, maybe?
Prosper remembered from his own training that his Grandmother had allowed him to adventure on his own from time to time, even at an early age. He had only been able to conjure up mostly-harmless island worlds then, anyway. Ophelia seemed to be roughly the same age, and the sooner she knew what to do in an emergency the better.
Ophelia watched her father carefully, waiting to see what would happen next or what he would teach her. Yesterday she'd learnt that the sky wasn't just a blue line at the top of her paper, it was everywhere. Prosper got up and went over to the table that Ophelia could not see the top of without a stool. When he came back, he was carrying a backpack.
"Soon," he said, "You'll be able to explore certain worlds on your own. There's paper and paints in here in case you ever get stuck and need to come home. Whenever you're in another world, you can never let this out of your sight."
Ophelia nodded. Prosper took the backpack and put it back on the desk.
"But not today," he said.
"Can we go to Highwood and see Miz Dama?" asked Ophelia, who wanted to explore one way or another.
"Sure," said Prosper, and they began the lesson in earnest.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2008 3:44 pm
**Growth Spurts**
Prosper glared at the box on the doorstep next to the newspaper for a long time before taking it inside. The return address was to a certain Michelle Prosper-Rolands; his sister who lived halfway across the continent and had three bratty, prissy girls. She hadn't even met Ophelia yet (and Prosper planned to keep it that way,) but she had been sending hand-me-downs steadily every few weeks. He knew that the box contained some sort of absurd pageant dress that would be way too big and totally unsuited to a painter's apprentice, anyway.
He glared at the box for a while longer and then took his pocket knife out of his front pocket and slit the tape seam down the center in one stroke. The box contained something blue, cottony, and definitely too large to fit a toddler. It was not, however, a pageant dress. Well, maybe he'd keep it for when Ophelia was big enough...
Which was about when Ophelia's bedroom door opened a crack. A single blue eye stared out into the hall, and an errant star squeezed between the door and the frame.
"Yes?" asked Prosper.
"Daddy, none of my clothes fit," whined Ophelia, still not opening the door.
"What?" he asked, wondering if he had heard her right.
"None of my clothes fit," she repeated. "I woke up tall."
This Prosper was not quite sure he understood.
"What?" he asked again.
"I woke up tall," said Ophelia, opening the door. She looked thoroughly uncomfortable with this plot twist, and clutched the bottom of her formerly-enormous nightshirt, trying to keep it pulled as far down her thighs as possible.
"Oh," said Prosper, wondering if this was supposed to happen. But then again, this was the kid who had come out of a cabbage. After that, growing five years overnight seemed totally normal.
"What's that?" asked Ophelia, looking at the box on the table.
Prosper looked back at the box that had been forgotten in the last few minutes. He wondered if there was some sort of magic favoring his sister at work, because it would seem his daughter would have no other choice but to wear the dress.
"That is a gift from Aunt Michelle," he said, sighing as he took the dress out of the box. Well, he'd seen worse. It looked like it would fit her, anyway. "Here," he said, tossing it to her. Ophelia caught the dress and disappeared back into her room.
"Does it fit?" he asked her through the door.
"Yes!" she called back. And then, a moment later, "The sleeves are weird."
She opened the door and gave him a look that could best be described as foreshadowing a terrifying teenager.
"I don't like it," she said.
"You don't have to wear everything she sends," said Prosper.
"I don't mean the dress, I mean being tall," she said.
"Being older?" asked Prosper.
"That too," she nodded, pouting. Her stomach grumbled. "I'm hungry," she added. "Can we have pancakes?"
"Sure," he nodded, and turned to go get started on that.
"Daddy?" asked Ophelia before he could get halfway across the room.
"Yes?" he asked, looking back at her.
"Is this going to keep happening?" she asked.
"Probably," he said, considering it. "But you'll always be my little girl."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 06, 2008 3:57 pm
**Shopping Hazards**
Prosper took Ophelia to stores his sister recommended for jeans, tee-shirts, shoes, and other assorted clothing items that ten-year-old girls generally required. She liked shopping well enough, liked trying on jeans and sneakers and other things that looked nothing like the blue dress. Prosper couldn't argue, though, because jeans and tee-shirts and sneakers were well enough suited to a painter's apprentice, anyway, and she ran around barefoot often enough.
Around noon, he figured they had gotten everything she needed and could grab lunch and place a few calls before heading back to Tidewater. But, just to be sure, he asked her, "Anything else?"
Ophelia pondered the question for a moment and then her eyes lit up. "I need a new swimsuit," she said.
"Okay," said Prosper. He'd seen an all-ages surf shop near the food court. They headed there.
Once in the surf shop, Prosper realized he had no idea how children's swimsuit sizes were decided once you got out of the toddler department, and that he was daunted by the sheer number of shapes and colors you could buy the things in.
"What kind do you want?" he asked his daughter.
"I don't know," said Ophelia, equally daunted by the racks. They went and found a salesgirl, who explained that she would be perfectly happy to help Ophelia find a suit that fit. Prosper slunk off to the corner to place a few calls to Liberty Center, the school listed on the business card he had originally been given along with the cabbage.
The salesgirl sized Ophelia up and went at her with a tape measure. She was humming the tune of a song the younger girl had heard earlier on the radio, though she didn't remember the words. Every so often, she'd nod and go, "mm-hm," which made Ophelia wonder just what all this "mm-hm"-ing was about.
Finally, the salesgirl went over to the rack, and thumbed through a few suits.
"What's your favorite color?" she asked, sounding a bit bored.
"Blue," answered Ophelia. The salesgirl plucked something off the rack that looked absurdly revealing.
"Try this on," she said, handing Ophelia the suit and pointing to the dressing room. Ophelia went and tried to figure out the straps and ties that kept the skimpy thing together. She eventually got it on.
"Cuuuuute," said the salesgirl when she saw it. "Okay, get dressed and I'll ring you up."
Ophelia, who was not quite sure how she felt about the suit, ducked back into the dressing room, pulled it off, and put her dress back on. She met her father at the cash register.
"Are you sure that's the right suit?" Prosper asked, watching as the girl rung it up. He'd missed the conversation, having been busy getting Ophelia registered for school and getting himself a job teaching art in the process.
"It's the most popular style for the age group," she replied, bagging it and ringing up the total. "Just swipe your card and sign, sir."
Prosper sighed and paid. Somehow, he had a feeling he was getting into way more than he could handle.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 18, 2008 1:49 pm
ORP Beach Party - Volleyball! - Ophelia attends a Liberty Center beach party, where she feels quite out of place because, let's face it, she doesn't know anyone from Liberty Center! So she does what any self-respecting newly-grown girl in a bikini would do - sneaks off to play volleyball all by her lonesome. Or, at least, try to.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 3:40 am
PRP Surf's Up! - Ophelia, while intent on boogie boarding, makes the acquaintance of a young surfer dude named Leviathan. He introduces her to the idea that surfing is probably cooler, encourages her to get her own board, and explains to her the wonders of IM.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 28, 2008 6:32 pm
**Spritza**
World painting without any clear destination was... interesting. At the start of the day, Ophelia was planning to go to Highwood and started blocking out trees. Then, about halfway into that, she realized that she always mucked Highwood up and probably shouldn't try it, so she stopped thickening the trees and started playing with lighting, giving the world yellow casts too bright for Highwood, and a lush forest floor. It didn't match any world she'd ever been taught, but she figured it would turn out well. She knew she wasn't putting enough effort into it to find an inhabited world, but she was bored and this was fun.
She consulted the canvas and her paints, wondering what to add next. A stray star floated lazily past the side of the frame. It passed in front of the sunlight coming through the window and vanished into the glare, becoming a sort of ethereal mote. Ophelia snapped her fingers and dipped her brush into the yellow, adding floating dust motes to her painting.
It looked done to her. She regarded it curiously, pondering its name. She'd never seen a world like this before. Was it possible to paint things that didn't become worlds? Things where it wouldn't work? She shook the thought off and focused on the painting again. The world was light, airy, faintly magical.
"Spritza," she said, without even realizing she was doing it. The painting blurred and then returned with photographic clarity, a window into wherever Spritza was.
"Awesome," said Ophelia, picking up her backpack and pressing her hand to the canvas. In a flash, she was standing in a wooded, sunny glen. The studio hovered in the background behind her. Ophelia shrugged her bag onto her shoulder and set off to explore a bit.
As she walked, she began to feel that this world was, although small, inhabited. She had no reason to believe that, having found no paths or signs of civilization, but she distinctly felt like she was being watched. It was a bit unsettling, really, like someone was walking behind her except for when she turned to look over her shoulder.
After walking around for a bit, she decided that, although this world was pretty, she didn't really like it. It was too quiet. Too serene. Too perfect. She felt like something had happened there.
She arrived back at the clearing before her portal vanished and teleported back to the study, only to find something ...new... had joined her usual halo of stars. Like one of the motes from her painting... blue, shining internally. She could see a delicate figure within it, and four broad wings.
Ophelia exhaled slowly.
"Are you a fairy?" she asked the thing.
It laughed like bells tingling and zoomed in a lap around her head. It didn't seem dangerous.
"Cool," she said.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
