//the A R T Of Artwork//, [Anyone Welcome]

[K i r a]

OOC: Anyone is welcome to drop by, purchase some artwork, be intrigued by her song, etc. etc.

Lryia sat at the steps of her small hut, a flat piece of wood laid out before her. To her left was a array of bright colors on a slab of stone, to be mixed and then finally turned into a masterpiece on the wood. As she blended the dried pigmented chalk with water to form the colors, she sung an enchanting tune.

How I wish I could surrender my soul;
Shed the clothes that become my skin;
See the liar that burns within my needing.
How I wish I'd chosen darkness from cold.
How I wish I had screamed out loud,
Instead I've found no meaning.

I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain,
All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble.
Hides my true shape, like Gray.
I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble.
It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.

As she began to paint she felt at utter peace with herself. The light shawl that hung around her shoulders swayed in the balmy breeze haphazardly. She smelled the warm scents of the previous nights rain with great satisfaction. It made her feel one with the elements of weather and she loved it.

Today was a day like all the rest. She had woken up, had a small breakfast of fruit and bread, had fed her horse, then had checked up on her little garden. She did these things in a blank, burdened manner. Her foster mother had died just a short time ago and Lyria had still not recovered from the loss. The last time she had spoken was three weeks ago, saying her last words to her care giver.

She glanced up from her trance and gazed up at a mound where a small orange tree had begun to blossom. She had planted the tree a year ago on the grave at her foster father's funeral and had nurtured the tree with much care and thought. She still had not decided on what to plant for her foster mother. The funeral came and passed but she was still at a loss of ideas for what plant to bring to life. The painting, a calm scene of a full blooming garden, was coming along well. Lyria continued her work with diligence, not even stopping for a sigh. However, she took up the song again with much passion.

How I wish I could walk through the doors of my mind;
Hold memory close at hand,
Help me understand the years.
How I wish I could choose between Heaven and Hell.
How I wish I would save my soul.
I'm so cold from fear.

I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain,
All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble.
Hides my true shape, like Gray.
I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble.
Far, far away; find comfort in pain.
All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble.
It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.


OOC: Well...this is depressing...

[K i r a]

OOC: *Bumpcoughpokage*

[Winger]

(OOC: I've been meaning to reply to this for MONTHS. My sincere apologies.)

Bright eyes winked in the light as they surveyed the cluster of huts. A lithe body wriggled through the dense undergrowth, slowly shuffling closer to the village. The otter snuffed the air, smelling wood, and fire, and people-smells. He moved closer still.

Verin often came to the village, venturing down from the river that was his home. He had no practical reason to come - the river had food, shelter, entertainments; and besides, otters were not as adept at travelling over land as they were at slipping down the waterways. But curiosity, and a deeper feeling he could not name, prompted him to travel through the jungle to stare at the people. Someone might claim he was seeking human company, having lived as a lone otter for so many years. Indeed, he had not known he was human at all for most of them. Verin himself did not know why he came.

He just did.

A sound, unlike anything he had heard before, floated down on the breeze, and his small rounded ears flicked inquisitively. It rose and fell, twirling through the air - a but like the birds that clung to tree branches to warble out their song. Song. Was this...singing?

For the first time, Verin darted out of the undergrowth that hid him, and into the midst of the village himself. He pressed himself close to the huts, keeping in the shadows. A predator himself, he knew better than to charge into unknown territory with no caution. He followed the strange sound, weaving around pots and other scattered belongings. Finally, when he deemed himself close enough, he changed.

Shifting was still an unusual experience for him, but he was becoming more skilled at it. Once he was sure he was fully human, clothed and with no fur except on his head (and a few other odd places), Verin poked his head around the corner of the hut to see the singing female.

[K i r a]

Lyria was deep in the natural trance of an artist. The landscape spoke to her so deeply that she never grew tired of making it come to life on paper or wood. She felt the same as the portrait painter, who gazed deeply into the heart of their model just by observing them with a wise eye. She saw the world as a great face, waiting to tell its innermost problems and secrets, its deepest desires. She hardly saw beauty in herself and other persons, but she felt it in the earth, the sky, the rivers, the wind, and even the animals, but even more importantly, the song.

The passion came from somewhere in her, the darkest corners of her wants, hopes, and fears, and from the beautiful words of her grandmother, whose wisdom was always past her time. She always told Lyria to step out beyond the boundaries that life seemed to trap one in. She would always shake her head and say that these boundaries didn't exist, and if one just had courage they could take that leap of faith. Lyria's only way of getting around her social limitations was making art. She still had not learned the courage to truly forget her fears. Perhaps she never would.

At first she didn't notice the stranger approach. However, she eventually drew herself out of her trance-like state with a sigh, and blinking into sunlight, gazed at her bleak work critically. She raised her head, and supported her chin on her elbow nonchalantly, gazing ahead with blankess drawn across her eyes. She blinked and gasped as a head, human poked from around the gate. He seemed to be male, young, and he was staring at her. She was nervous, but tried to remain calm in the strange male's prescence.

Yet she was getting that huge fluttering feeling that came when she was on the verge of transforming. She had not yet learned to control the power, and she was apt to suddenly change into an osprey when she felt scared, nervous, or extremely joyous. She managed to contain it for the time being, however, and drew her courage up to listen to her Granny's advice. She supposed she had to greet him, so she did so: "H-Hello?.." She kept her eyes locked on his face, her mouth still hanging open slightly. She curious as well as frightened, she had to admit.

[Winger]

(OOC: 0.o What do you mean no clothes? He has clothes! I DO NOT MAKE NAKED PEOPLE >>)

He started a little as she turned to look at him. Oh, he'd figured he'd have to greet her, seeing as simply standing and spying lost its attraction quite quickly, but he was still unused to interacting with others. The female was staring at him with wide eyes - that usually meant fear or surprise. Was he scaring her? He didn't mean to.

For a moment, Verin hovered on the verge of turning and shifting, bolting back to the safety of his home and the security of his otter-form. It was not that he was a coward, not even particularly nervous...but there was something about this villager that threw him off. It may well have been it was the first female he'd come this close to. Then she spoke, and all thoughts of running were banished.

"H-hello...?"

Ah, mouth-sounds. Verin grimaced briefly. It had taken him a long time to learn to understand them, and even longer to learn to use them himself. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and gave it his best shot. "Hello. I am Verin. I heard..." He knew the mind-sound for what she had been doing, but he wasn't sure how that translated to mouth-sounds. "I heard your noise. It was nice," he offered, and tentatively stepped out from behind the wall.

[K i r a]

((*Explodes* Phewww..I musta read it wrong. My, I was wondering how that would have worked out. o_o))

She cocked her head child-like when he spoke. Maybe it was that he seemed almost as uncomfortable as her that she forgot her strange fear and decided to step out of her boundaries. She stayed seated, but held herself poised as if waiting for something. And again she felt that hovering inside her heart, a bursting to fly away. She remained however. "Verin," She whispered softly, letting the name roll off her tongue and she shook her head slightly. This name was not familiar. "I'm Lyria," She responded, shrugging. What more could she say? She wasn't very good at human confrontation.

Then, she supposed, he must be a shifter, and what form would he be? As he stepped from the wall she found herself automatically studying him. She wasn't exactly sure of his age, but he seemed relatively young, but older than her. Suddenly, she felt herself thinking self-consciously about her own appearance. Her hair was a tangled, chestnut brown mess that fell in random locks around her feminin, but powerful shoulders. Her eyes were a rusty hazel and her tanned face was spotted with summer freckles. She felt her eyes move down herself, from the sleeveless blue cotton dress that unappealingly adorned her now appearing-flat chest and body and came to a gentle sweep at her knees. She glanced at that long legs that supported her, and the perpetually bare feet covered in dirt and grass stain and paints.

She moved a hand to brush a lock of hair from her face and mistakenly smudged yellow on her cheek. She couldn't help a small laugh at her filthiness. "I heard your noise. It was nice" He talked strangely, she thought. Nevertheless, she felt her face grow warm with the embarassement that he had been listening."You liked it? The singing?" She responded, timidly, letting her glance fall again, but a gentle smile beginning to play upon her lips. "Its all I really got, that and painting," She murmured more to herself than to her guest, and sobered for a quick moment as she realized she was staring at the orange tree above her Grandpa's grave. She shook her head as if to tell herself he was gone for sure, then brightened again. She moved the art from her lap and stood up, brushing chalk from her dress and trying in vain to tidy herself. Then remembering common courtesy, she spoke again, "Err..would you like anything?" She beckoned inside the hut awkwardly, and tried to let friendliness come easily.