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 Posted: Sun Jul 19, 2015 5:31 pm
 Destry did a bridge, and then stood on her hands, legs held straight so her devoted little pony could place a colorful rubber ball on the top of her foot, which she then kicked back and forth from foot to foot, before "tossing it back to her pony" who with a long practiced movement of simply opening his mouth, caught, and then pranced in a circle around his human.
Still walking on her hands, she made her way in front of the pony and lowered a foot, touching hooves in a "shake hands gesture which delighted the tiny gathering of people who watched and tossed change into the colorfully patched case - which was actually an old metal lunch box with a fabric cover on it.
She did a flip, landing on her feet and doing a flourished bow for the onlookers. letting the crouwd disperse so she could pick through her earnings for the day. It was summer and it was the hottest part of the day, so people were frequenting the cafe's. She would have to move soon. Puppy - yes that was his name - was such a good little pony, but he was still a "large" hooved animal, and she didn't exactly have a permit.
She frowned at her lunch box earnings. There was enough there to maybe get a beverage, but not much else. Not nearly enough to feed herself or to pay for where Puppy was currently staying... So... well she would just have to make some money another way. Some shop owners were looking at her in a manner saying they were getting tired of the slight horsey smell - which in all honesty she considered delightful and earth. So she picked up and moved to a nearby by, but different corner, one where there was a little section of grass which would be a nice change of pace for the poor animals hooves.
She let him take a break, then she started one of their routines, one that she knew well, but used not quite as often as she would like. She would flip around, and somersault, and dance with with puppy who would prance around in a sprightly little canter that belied his age. And she would pull stranger to dance with her, usually only a twirl or two, so that for a moment the civilian was part of the act.
And with a skilled hand, she would steal things ever so swiftly. Not big things... but important things. Maybe they had a 20 dollar bill in their pocket... maybe it was a billfold, or a watch. And in her twirling away they would be stowed in the little sealing pocket sewed into the many ruffles of her skirt. Wallets and debit cards would be dropped off at local restaurants and shops, claiming they had been found dropped in front , but liberated of all their money. Watches and jewlery would be hawked.
She knew her limits, but she also knew she needed to eat... Plus, it was kind of fun.
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Posted: Sat Jul 25, 2015 5:07 am
Sometimes, Destiny City was full of s**t.
Other times, Destiny City was full of a different kind of s**t.
And on rare occasions, Destiny City offered him something worth drawing.
So Isaiah sat at the outside patio area of one of the cheap s**t coffee shops that dotted the area, sipping his low-calorie concoction of soy and milk and other allergen-inducing items, and eyed one particular performance that received as much interest as it did derision. Isaiah himself hadn't seen any manner of performances like this beyond the usual Sigmund and Roy acts fostered by the carnivals. To see it as one act, one girl and her pony, both invited interest and deep suspicion of their relationship. He half-considered drawing what he suspected went on between them, but ultimately settled on a more honest depiction to remember the moment.
Sometimes she engaged the crowd, he noticed. Finally he removed sketchbook from pocket, armed his charcoal holder, and started on the general mood in soft vine charcoal. Each stroke held style and whimsy while he sifted for a proper method to start this work. Sometimes he erased using the napkin he offered, leaving only a meager ghost of what he had before, but soon afterward he draw a more accurate image, a more adjusted line, better shading. Soon the vine was replaced with compressed, and in addition came a conte crayon and a separate holder for white charcoal. It seemed overkill to use quite so much color and effort on a marginal piece, on something that would remain on a page with four inches as its largest dimension, but the process of it felt more important right now.
Conte tinted the horse and her dress mostly, with charcoal and white taking care of the values between. Conte formed swift and subtle bursts of color to isolate the pair while he drew in the remaining background with quick suggestions of tables, umbrellas, shrubs and passersby. He resolved the pair while leaving the rest vague. And when he finished, Isaiah held a piece that captured both the marvel and the suspicion inherent in a bond that close.
A travel-sized can of hairspray was then produced, sprayed over the page, and returned to the small set of art tools that he often kept in his laptop bag. The notebook itself went into pocket and, upon finishing the rest of his soy latte frappu-bullshit that he swallowed down that day, he started toward the street for a closer look at this tragic duo.
Isaiah frowned evenly at the older-looking man that was picked out of the crowd, head bald and completely clear of returning stubble and clothes of marked splendor. He seemed at once perturbed and delighted to dance with a young girl and her horse, though he often looked down as if searching for s**t. The act looked like it was winding down, so Isaiah considered returning to the office. It was only a short walk, so he had the time to watch this odd businessman decide how much he liked his involvement first.Parue sorry about the wait~ con weekend here
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