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The physical exhaustion of the experience left Asrafel to sleep dreamlessly. Once enough time had passed, and the bold dark of night withered to make way for dawn, Asrafel stirred.

Still halfway between sleep and awake, Asrafel had no idea where he was. The only things he was vaguely aware of were the softness of the bed he slept on, the ache of his back at sleeping in a curled up position, and the telltale warmth of a body nearby. Other than the ache, everything else pointed to a lovely evening spent in the throes of passion. Hurray! He couldn't remember a thing, though.. perhaps it was because he was still mostly asleep.

Asrafel reached a languid hand out, and felt feathers against his fingertips. His hand toyed lazily in them for a moment, before he straightened out of the curl and stretched his back, yawning widely. His arm slung around the warm body next to him, cuddling against it like a child hungry for affection.

Though Asrafel was now infinitely more comfortable curled up against a warm body, he was still drawing closer to being fully awake. His eyes slit open when he heard the whine, blinking as the light of day burned his vision. His hand clenched the blankets, inadvertantly pulling Lonan against him.

Things began to add up at this change, and Asrafel slowly pushed himself up, propping his upper body up with his elbows. There was Lonan against him, asleep.

Perhaps his first, hazy deduction had been completely wrong. It seemed Lonan had put him to bed the night before, and the scene, however odd it may seem to an outside eye, was innocent. Almost brotherly.

Asrafel rubbed his eyes with his fist, and pushed himself to a seated position. Well, he thought, Lonan was his kin. It made sense to think of him as a brother, he supposed. He stretched his arms high up over his head, and smiled. What a lovely rest!

Asrafel watched his kin sleep for a moment, as his companion nudged him. He smiled gently, before leaning down and kissing Lonan on the cheek.

"Sleep well, brother! And good luck!" He whispered softly, before hopping off the bed and shaking his wings out from their plastered state behind him. He walked around and gave Sonata a soft pat on the head, before heading for the door.

Upon opening it, morning blasted him with sunlight. While it felt good on his skin, it hurt his sensitive eyes. Still, he drank in the warmth, and tested his wings. He was rested, and ready to take on the world once more!

With a quick hop he was up in the air, buzzing like a hummingbird. He closed the door behind him, careful about it, before flittering off.

~*~ Between Bookshelves and Piles of Dust
RP with Gilles

~*~ Vagabond
RP with Levi

Hands flew in a frenzy. A calm afternoon with a hint of warming sun had suddenly been entirely forgotten, hands moving to stretch a new piece of canvas over frame. Staples rapidly pounded in and then countersunk with a hammer.

To the outside observer he probably appeared calm, collected and concentrated. Inside he was a raging maelstrom waiting to break loose upon the paper.

Vials of powder were gathered, settled into a carrier in an order only a muse could conjecture. A set of pails filled with clean water were set down near the easel, one for paints and one for hands. Dishes stacked up near one, already stained by past insights and washed to be stained again.

A set of the dishes were quickly filled with water, powder added until the liquid was faintly tinted. Hands flew over the canvas in a flurry of motion. The first changes were hard to see. Pale gold, ivory and faint silver.

Then the darker colors started their dance among their fellows. Shadows plying the edges of the canvas, delving towards the center but held back by their lighter fellows. The center gleamed in an odd way, almost as if it were truely lit rather than imitating. More shadows fell, outlinging a figure in deeper shade that the surrounding darkness. From the form's back fell two swathes of midnight, falling towards the unseen floor.

A nail scratched upon the surface of the canvas, causing a sharp line to appear. Another. Another. The background was filled with the crossing lines. They did not remain in the shadows either. Some crossed the form, suspending it in the air as others wrapped around it, small indents by the nail's edge showing links. Thin chains wove their way into the work. The figure was held and now more detailed refinements made their way into the work.

Bare edges of nails were used, a faint tracing of deep crimson mixing with the surrounding colors to stain just pieces of the work. Fine ebony lines appeared, more delicate and whimsy than harsh and demanding. He had no true mental image of how the piece was supposed to work out. He only knew that this line had to go here and that bit of grey must go there. The work toiled for hours.

When his muse finally deemed fit to release him the youth staggered with exhaustion. Day had passed into night, nearly passing into day again. Dawn was just on the early edges, the first returning song birds singing their good mornings to the world outside.

Limbs shaking with fatigue and doused in the scents of the pigments he barely tottered himself into bed before Morpheus dragged him into a deep, recovering slumber.

On the other side of the room the figure on the canvas seemed to glow in it's own light. He, it was truely a male just at the first glance, was upright, head tilted back to the point where only the strong column of the throat could be seen and the underside of the chin, muscles drawn taut from the position Only the upper part of his body was truely illuminated in the odd light, anything below his ribcage was quickly delved in shadows adn night. Chains wound under his arms to keep him aloft while others held his lower arms and hands towards the invisible floor. More chains wrapped around him, winding around his torso and lower body, forming a single arrow to follow the hands. The midnight shadows at his back were lain relaxed, points as if guided by the direction body and legs provided. Silvery chains flashed in and out of view, a tint of crimson staining a few as they vanished into shadows. Still, the figure's hands were relaxed and naturally opened, not curled into fists. The only tension in the form was in how it lay, not in it's demenor. The chains and darkness did nothing to take away from the almost eerie calm that suffused the painting.

It seemed Asra's request had been heard.

It was almost quiet today. The wind almost completely still. It wasn't the waking world, he knew that. Just as he knew he wasn't really -seeing- the things he was seeing. Trees in bloom, starting to loose the blossoms in favor of growing fruit.

But there was something here that made the whole bright day seem meloncholy. It wasn't a sound so much as a feeling, a soft wave of emotion from someone trying hard to dampen it. Soft, light footsteps padded over the fresh grass to underneath, appropriately enough, the weeping willow by the stream.

It took a moment for him to work out the scents and sounds to realize just who he was seeing. He hadn't really expected her to look like that in the end. The scents of stone, old leather and rain clung to her, in a comforting sort of way mind, and that did not match up to the vision he had. he had certainly not expected her to be quite as colorful as she appeared, but the tints of purple and the glitter of scales were definately present.

His adoptive mother was leaning against the tree trunk, one hand absently tracing a line around her throat. For a moment he thought she was tracing her choker when he realized she was holding it in her other hand.

A faint breeze carried the tell tale scent of salt and sadness, barely restrained tears. A shift in the light made the band of silver around her neck stand out. A band that was as stark contrast to the golden-tan tone of her skin when it was nearly white.

"I still miss you, my ih nah arii."

Ih nah arii, blood family bonded, beloved one. She had taught him basic translations into her language a while ago and I knew the term well. She called Devmani and he her ih nah. Something that was not lightly given to those not of direct blood.

"If you are listening, please make sure the boys never hurt like we do."

The wave of depression rolled offer her like water. It didn't strike hard, but just enough. Scars opened and he blinked down at his hand, surprised to find it lightly spattered with tears. Only half the tears were blood.

Behind her he saw a shadow flicker in the shade of the leaves, tall and dark with a hint of that same silver. And just as sadly lonely.

~The Spirit of Movement: Lonan grows~