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 Posted: Fri May 23, 2008 3:30 pm
An artisan has settled in on one of the smaller platforms. She's got brushes and moulted primaries spread out in front of her, and there are many small bowls filled with what must be dyes. How exciting! The painted Deep Woods female smiles at the fledglings. "Hullo," she says and smiles, "I'm Poppy and I'm an Artisan. Have you ever had your feathers painted little ones?" This is set after the performances and fledglings who find themselves without an entertainer can roleplay here for a while.
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2008 4:37 am
Already excited by the fun bard performance, Mulberry hooted cheerfully as she once again pressed herself right up to the front of the artisan's display. Bright eyes shining with happiness and interest, she looked at all the pretty colours and feathers and the patterns on the artisan herself, and bobbed her head in appreciation. Then she quickly changed the movement to that of a vigorous shaking.
"No! I've never painted my feathers 'cause mommy says I'm too small and daddy thinks so too and you're really pretty! If I painted my feathers would I be as pretty as you?"
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2008 5:04 am
Poppy smiles even wider as the bold fledgling speaks up. She spreads one of her wings slightly at the fledglings compliment, to better show off her dyed wing tips. This season Poppy's dye job is inspired by her namesake and she is proud that she managed to get hold of the rare, bright red pigment.
"Thank you," she beams, "You are pretty already little one. Your parents sound like reasonable Sentinels, feather dye is for adults after all. But I have brought some feather paint that can be easily preened out. Bards sometimes use them for their performances."
She lifts a brush delicately with her will and dips it in the bowl of dark green paint. With a few quick strokes she has enhanced the natural patterning of one of the moulted primaries.
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2008 7:04 am
The little wildtype looks on with awe as the brush responds so readily to the artisan's will. Her own is only just manifesting, and it feels so frustrating not to be able to do all the things that adults do with such ease. She studies the bowls and the brushes laid out, and then looks up at Poppy again.
"Can I try?" She asks politely, twitching with eagerness but stoically holding herself back in case the pretty colors were meant for looking and not touching.
The discarded feathers reminded her strongly of the funny-talking Fletcher-lady who had mended a broken feather right in front of Mulberry's eyes - like magic, like that bard lady and her funny bells - and she is itching to do something awesome of her own now.
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2008 7:55 pm
Fiachra grinned to himself quietly as he made his way to the artisan platform, the bright colors spread out radiant and exciting. Eyes wide despite his feigned indifference, he watched through one lazy, golden eye as the familiar shape of Mulberry came into view. Taking in a deep breath, he waltzed gracefully around the thinning crowd of entertainers and fledglings alike, stretching out his wings and finally not having them pounded back into his small physique.
Finally making it, his eyes grew even wider at the brush controlled by Will and the hauntingly clear crimson streaking her feathers pulling at his gaze. Unsure of whether to step up or not, he stayed at the very edge of the crowd, shuffling around on his feet and working out an answer in his head.
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Posted: Sun May 25, 2008 5:42 am
Poppy hesitates for a moment, and mentally berates herself for not realising that the little ones would want to try painting too. She carefully selects a feather and places it in front of Mulberry. It's a big Wildtype feather, but she's not sure how well it will work as a canvas for the inexperienced fledgling. She might need something bigger to practice on. As she lifts her gaze above the small group of gathered fledglings she notices a bard hanging around, doing nothing useful from the looks of it. Oh, and that one owes her a big favour. Excellent...
"Oi!" she hoots, "Birch! Get over here! We need someone to practice on."
It is almost comical to watch the Bard's startled expression, but he does come over. Excellent!
"It's only feather paint," she reassures him, "It'll come off."
Poppy quickly gathers some of the brushes she is least fond of and places them in front of the fledgling group. A few bowls of paint are also placed closer to the little ones for easier access. She smiles nervously at the boldest fledgling.
"Go ahead and try," she says to Mulberry, "You can hold the brush with your beak or with your will. There are practice feathers for those who want to try," she nods at the rest of the moulted feathers and then nods at Birch, "and then there's this bard if you want something bigger to practice on."
"Uh, yes," the bard adds with a smile and a wink to the fledglings, "Go on..."
He extends a wing to provide a bigger target and gives Poppy nasty look over his shoulder.
(OOC: Since Annchen is posting from the Herald at the moment she's allowed to godmod Birch.
The colours you can use when painting are those pictured above.)
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Posted: Sun May 25, 2008 5:02 pm
Mulberry looks at the already quite painted bard and his outstretched wing, then back at Poppy, finding it somewhat hard to believe that it would somehow be okay to... to mess up a real grown-up, as she is very likely to do.
"For... for real?" she asks, suddenly not quite her usual, bold self anymore. Her gaze is inexorably drawn back to the brushes and the alluring colours, but she looks up at Birch again, having decided that since it's his feathers, it's his confirmation of a go-ahead that she needs. "I... don't know if I should," she reluctantly admits, shuffling her feet in annoyance at her own honesty: "I'm probably not very good..."
She glances up at his face again, part of her desperately hoping that he won't take the chance to back out, and part of her sort of hoping that he would
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Posted: Sun May 25, 2008 8:32 pm
Fiachra took a few experimental steps forward, planning to attempt playing around with some of the paints, but at the sight of Mulberry and the rather large Sentinel (and his displeased expression), he sunk right back, his heart pounding fast in his chest. That girl, what was she doing? She was going to mess up the man's feathers? Why, she'd be slaughtered!
Frowning, Fiachra took a few more wobbly steps back, too far and the place still too loud for him to hear their conversation. It looked interesting, but he wasn't sure if he should take the risk or not. In the end, he took a few breathy sighs and bounded forward again, heading for one of the moulted feathers on the platform. If he was agile, he could try it and not have Mulberry or that rather frightening bard see him. His mind jumped to the brightly crimson dyed one. Make that two.
He was just so torn; He wanted to try so much, but just his social incapability and everything else about him restricted him to do so.
Shaking his head furiously, he puffed out his chest and made the final decision to go, beginning to make his way closer.
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Posted: Mon May 26, 2008 12:40 pm
"I'm probably not very good..."
The bard appears to think this over.
"I suppose you're right," he says after a few moments, "but you know what? If you mess up it might actually make my job easier."
He twists his head around 180 degrees and watches the fledgling with it upside down.
"I am supposed to make Sentinels laugh after all," he grins, but then suddenly becomes serious, "But if you don’t want to I guess I'll have to paint myself..."
Birch clumsily grabs a brush with his will and manages to dip it into a bowl of paint after a few misses. Unfortunately his lack of finesse results in paint splattering everywhere, and the fledglings will have to be quick to avoid the splatter.
Poppy is not very amused by the bard's antics, and she watches in horror as he spills the paint. Luckily she didn't stand in the way and her feathers are as perfect as ever. The bard would not have lived to see another day if he had messed up her feathers.
Since she was the one inviting him she doesn't dare to chase him away now. It wouldn't be proper to give him an earful in front of the fledglings either, so Poppy grinds her beak but keeps it shut. She will make him pay for this... Later.
In an effort to take her mind off the obnoxious bard she scans the crowd, and notices the excited and slightly frightened Fiachra inch closer.
"Come closer little one," she encourages, "Do you want to try to paint a feather?"
She floats one of the unpainted feathers invitingly in the air, "Or do you want me to paint your feathers?"
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Posted: Mon May 26, 2008 1:08 pm
Seeing the bard handle the brush with a LOT less finesse than the artisan, makes Mulberry feel more heartened, but in the next moment she has to make a very quick jump backwards not to get splattered with paint, and she doesn't quite make it.
Gasping in surprise at the dark blue spots on her feet and stomach, the little Wildtype looks up at Birch with eyes shining with excitement.
"Hey!" she giggles, loudly, starting to regain some of her boldness again. "I'm supposed to paint you! Silly!"
Still giggling happily, she hops back into the danger zone and snaps up a brush of her own, instinctively holding it in her beak, rather than trying to take it with her will. "'O're 'ust waking a wess," she declares, neatly dipping the tip of her brush in the spilled blue paint. "Wet we twy..."
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Posted: Mon May 26, 2008 10:02 pm
Aspen has been standing at the edge of the platform, trying to keep himself from being bumped off and all the while watching the fledglings move, like oil bubbling up from water, from the crowd to the front. The attraction of mysterious bowls and the woman, Poppy, with all her magnificent colors, was too much for the more courageous to bare. This meant that Aspen was stationary, for a while. The colors. Even his youthful curiosity, far larger than his bravery, was rising up in him at the sight of bowls and bowls of colors. He had never been so close to seeing color, wet color, trapped in a bowl and how Artisans did what they did. The whole mystery of their craft tugged at him and there was that desperation in seeing something he might never get a chance in his lifetime to see. A secret being revealed just for them.
Slowly, he started to set out. His eyes looked to the adults and saw that they showed little interest in the magnificent secret before them. Some smiled at them, amused to see the little ones move ahead with wide-eyed awe. Turning, he lingered behind, just close enough to make out the feathers and the colors in the bowls. Blues like the color of the sky above at dusk, red of the color of holly berries, and green like spring saplings. His eyes watched Mulberry giggle as she was splattered and paint a large, already painted, bard. Another fledgling, Fiachra, approached the paints. The brushes sat on the ground, begging to be picked and Aspen felt an itch in his beak, to bite something, to hold the brush, that he never felt before. Eagerness to do. To perform, and at this age, to be noticed and praised for doing something good. Already his mind was crafting ideas of stepping away from a adult Sentinel, sporting beautiful colors, to the awes and oohs of the adults that would crowd around him, praise him, take him home with them.
Slowly, he moved closer and went up close to a bowl of green like the ivy that grew near the Minder’s enclave. “It’s looks wet like the Swift River, like a puddle, but it’s green. How did you make the water green?” he said, looking up to Poppy.
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Posted: Fri May 30, 2008 1:19 pm
Eyes boggling at the messy scene, Fiachra jumped back instinctively, though at his distance he wouldn't have gotten hit, anyway. Watching as the rambunctious female got splattered with paint, he forced a small smile at the amusing scene and the jovial grin on her face, her cheerfulness that he could never pick up for himself.
Maybe he'd have to change that.
Flinching at the sound of Poppy's melodic voice, flicking his head up quickly to catch the sight of her bright feathers first, then focusing on what she had actually said. Swallowing into his dry throat, he nodded clumsily, his voice a half squeak, half mumble,
"Yes, please. I-I mean... I'd like to t-try, it looks like a lot of fun," he lilted quietly, raising hopeful eyes that didn't quite meet the ones of the Artisan, but they were close.
The feather floated in the air, aided with her Will, and he loosened his wings in wonder, not realizing how tightly packed to his sides they had been at his apprehension to even attempt walking forward, walking closer.
Evidently, things were alright.
Things were more than alright.
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Posted: Wed Jun 04, 2008 11:42 am
"Hoo!" Birch hoots, and winks to Mulberry "Do your worst girl!"
“It’s looks wet like the Swift River, like a puddle, but it’s green. How did you make the water green?”
Poppy's first reaction was to guard her trade secrets as jealously as ever, but seeing the curious glint in the young eyes makes her reconsider. These were fledglings, they were not trying to steal her recipes away. For all she knew she might stand before a future colleague or apprentice and she doesn't want to scare them away from choosing this task. She relaxes and sleeks her feathers down a bit. No harm in showing them.
"I'll tell you, but you two have to promise to keep the secret," she says and smiles. She lifts a small leather pouch with her Will and urges Aspen and Fiachra to step closer. She opens her wings slightly, shielding the pouch from other prying eyes. Then the drawstring moves and the pouch opens slowly, revealing a dark green powder.
"This is what makes the water green", she whispers, "I get special plants and rocks from the Apothecaries and then I can grind them up like this."
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Posted: Wed Jun 04, 2008 4:43 pm
Mulberry giggles at the funny bard's encouragement, feeling more and more secure in the irreverent act that she is contemplating. Still, it is with a deep breath and quite a lot of butterflies in her stomach that she actually puts the brush to the bard's bright feathers.
Her first line becomes more of a squiggle, but the next one is better. After a moment's careful contemplation, she connects the two so that the first one won't look quite so squiggly anymore. After some thoughtful humming and unintentional chewing on the brush, she adds one more. There is almost enough colour left in the brush to draw the full line.
"Now we need red!" She declares, accidentally dropping the brush when she speaks. "Ops." Picking the brush up again, she bounces around to the colours, trying to find the red one.
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Posted: Thu Jun 05, 2008 6:59 pm
Aspen curled in, accepting the outspread wing as he had always found comfort in them. Lowering, he leaned in, neck stretching out as he let his beak gap open as he watched. It felt as if he was finding out a hidden secret that no one else was going to find out. Well, aside from the other fledgling next to him. Watching, he didn’t know what to exactly expect. A magic powered, a potion of some sort, or a magic companion. What he saw was a dusty powder, a deeper green than the color, but pure in color and untainted in any way. When she said it was from rocks and plants, he closed his beak, skeptical.
“Rocks and Plants?” He could see green coming from plants. Plants were green, but they where….well, plants. “Plants are too squishy to be powder and rocks don’t give color. They’re too hard.” She said, confused. Regardless, he turned to look at the bowl. The proof was here. “Still, it’s very pretty.” Stepping to the bowl, he peered into the murky color. “Have you ever tasted it?”
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