cherish the battered potter's clay

POSTED: Tue Nov 26, 2013 4:43 pm

This post sucks but here! He's in the Chien Hotel kitchen.

Clay coated his arms up to his elbows, creating yet another shade of brown to mingle with the colors of his pelt. The substance squished between his fingers, splattering down at the base of the sculpture -- an amorphous mass, perhaps a lopsided cow if one looked at it right and had an overactive imagination. With a few more squeezes and nudges here and there, it began to take shape once more, this time almost looking like a mammal that had a square torso in place of legs, and a tail that dipped and fell off.

It might have looked like pointless playing to anyone else who came across the scene, but Pascal Sadira was focused and happy. He wore no smile, only an expression more flat and withdrawn than usual, but his fingers quickly worked the clay into another shape, and another. He never quite finished one form, instead moving on to the next one.

Pascal was fascinated. He'd gone digging in the silt after a water bug the day before and found the substance, and found that he could work it with his hands. Skoll had helpfully told him what it was, explaining it could be made into pots and things, and left Pascal when it became clear that the Seigneur was very intrigued by the stuff. Now he sat in the middle of the kitchen floor (Skoll had brought him to show him the clay bowls), working the clay into various shapes, oblivious to the world around him.
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Luperci
tale as old as time
misfit prince

POSTED: Wed Nov 27, 2013 12:09 am

ooc Thanks for starting! c:

Her fur spiked around her torso and behind her neck, flaked with tiny bits of snow. She wasn’t cold just yet, her thick husky coat had yet to let the chilly breeze touch her skin. The four long scar marks across her flank burned in the cold as the only exposed flesh, but she didn’t care. Heck, she was hoping they’d fall off. Tasha stepped off the steps of the hotel yet again, where she had retreated to let feeling seep back into her cold paw pads. Now that she knew they were still there, she returned to the light snowing. So light, in fact, that the moment the flakes touched the ground they melted into droplets of water. Tipping her head and protruding her tongue, she could help but awkwardly smile around her open mouth as the flakes pricked cold on her tongue. Husky tail curled tight, Tasha, after a while, lowered her head from the cloudy sky to look out over the chilly-looking landscape, to the pale-colored grass and pine needles that clung to their hosts. She considered taking a trip to the barn to check if the horses had been brought in the cold, but thought better of it. By then, she would surely have begun to felt the effects of the temperature, and she didn’t particularly like being pulled to far one way or another. So instead, with one last glance outside, she turned and ascended the steps back up to the hotel.

She pressed her feet firmly against the carpeted flooring again and again to rid them of any clinging snow that thought they could get a free ride. A shiver pressed down her spine, shaking another coat of frost that coated her. Leaving a small trail of white powder behind, the girl began moving to the staircase at the other end of the hall, planning to return to her room to relax and practice her flute. But as she passed the hotel’s kitchen, a moving and rather messy figure caught her eye. Tasha stopped in the doorway, setting her hands on the frame as she leaned forward inquisitively.

What she saw was a boy that couldn’t have been many months younger than her. He had clay stuck to his fur all the way to his elbows, and he seemed to be molding. She tilted her head as she tried to imagine what it was he could be making, but it seemed that it changed every couple minutes. Either he gave up after each attempt, or was just playing with it, or… she wasn’t quite sure. The Takekuro couldn’t leave a question unanswered, of course, so she entered the room a few feet more, parting her jaws to speak. “Whatcha making?”

Photo by Frej Leilund | Texture by Ainhel
Tasha Takekuro

POSTED: Wed Nov 27, 2013 9:25 am



Someone spoke.

It took the Sadira youth a long time to draw himself out of his clay-splattered world. His hands started to mold slower -- maybe this one could be a vase if it were hollow -- and one ear swiveled back to acknowledge that he'd heard some form of noise. But he was loath to leave where he was, which was a far different place than reality, now, and only with difficulty emerged, as if from soothing water.

He turned and craned his neck to see the other Luperci: Tasha Takekuro, a Viscountess, or so that was the simple name and rank he'd heard from his father. As a prince, he wanted to keep track of who everyone else was, or what they were. He didn't think he'd ever actually personally spoken with the wolfdog before.

But she'd asked him a question. His mismatched eyes flicked back to the clay, and then he made himself remember his manners, standing away from the mess and looking at her. "Nothing," he said, his tone naturally without inflection. "I'm just getting a feel for it. Skoll said I could get a pottery wheel and learn to make that kind of stuff." He tilted his head toward the clay bowls stacked on the counter.

"I'm Pascal," he added, because that seemed like the next thing you were kind of supposed to say, but he made no further move. His arms hung limp and clay-caked at his sides.
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Luperci
tale as old as time
misfit prince

POSTED: Fri Nov 29, 2013 6:10 pm

ooc [266]

Even several seconds after she’d made her vocalization, the boy did not move. She noted the slowing movement of his hands, and she tipped her head at a flick of his ear: he’d heard her, but hadn’t made a move to show it. She glanced to the molding again, the smooth sides creating an almost elegant shape. It was about this time that the boy pulled out of his daze and looked back, and Tasha saw mismatched eyes. He seemed to move and stand a polite distance from the mess of mud, his flat voice giving her an answer. Skoll. Where had her golden-furred uncle gotten off to, anyway? She hadn’t seen him but a handful of times after her venture over the border. She supposed it didn’t matter, and it didn’t really faze her at all. She wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up disappearing. After all, most of her relatives had vanished, leaving her feeling like the last Takekuro in the pack. Amaranth, Heiro, Niro, Skoll, Kable…

“Ah,” She nodded, looking over the mound of mold, and then to the professionally done pots. The husky mix sidestepped to avoid a stranded chair, crouching in front of the clay. She touched a finger into the soft and squishy substance, standing up and turning to the boy as she rolled in her fingers a moment, curious. “I’m Tasha.” She said, not knowing that Pascal probably would have already known her name. “Skoll showed you how to make things?” The Viscountess questioned, looking up from the small ball she had made between her fingers.

Photo by Frej Leilund | Texture by Ainhel
Tasha Takekuro

POSTED: Fri Dec 06, 2013 10:31 am

The grey wolfdog looked down at his work then approached. His ears twitched back instinctively as she came closer, but she made no move to mess with him -- instead reaching forward to touching the clay. He made a small noise in his throat that turned into a low hum, taking a little step back as she rolled a piece of his work (unfinished and practice as it was) between her fingers. Uncomfortable, he barely glanced at her as she introduced herself and asked a question.

Pascal watched the clay between her finger-pads. "No," he said. "Skoll just knew that's what you're supposed to do with it, I think he read it in a book." He wished she hadn't touched his clay. He wondered if he should try to protect what was left. Slowly, awkwardly, he crouched back down again and smoothed down the tiny piece she'd taken out of it, as if it hadn't ever existed. Something in him relaxed.

"I mean," he went on, awkwardly, stilted, "can you really see Skoll Haskel wanting to sit down and work clay?" He forced a smile onto his lips and hoped that she'd understand the joke.
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Wolf
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Luperci
tale as old as time
misfit prince

POSTED: Wed Jan 01, 2014 11:28 pm

ooc [321]

The husky mix turned to sit on the edge of a table, a few feet away from the boy and the clay. She examined the small piece she had between her fingers. It had grown warm with her body heat and was now easy to work with. A strange greyish-brown, she figured it had come from the earth, and proposed a resemblance to mud. But it was more solid than mud, and didn’t stick to your fur as easy, creating less mess. Even if it did make your pelt a bit clumpy. She wondered what had been done to the mud to make it how it was. She shrugged to herself, pulling her feet from the cold tile to cross in front of her on the table. Rolling the clay between her fingers again, she returned her attention to Pascal, who had smoothed out the small dent in his mound and now crouched to the ceramic material. Another question arised: how on earth did this soft, squishy stuff turn into solid, tough sculptures and platters? She’d have to investigate this new discovery. Maybe one of her books had something about it. She’d check when she returned to her room.

She tried to image the golden-furred male sitting and sticking his hands into a mound of this stuff, and felt the smile on her face. She shook her head and offered a short, high laugh. “No, I guess you’re right. Not in a hundred years.” The girl agreed. She noted earlier on that the boy was not one hundred percent comfortable in social situations, and she searched for another topic of conversation. She found the first thing that came to mind. “How do you know Skoll?” She asked curiously, watching the small sphere of clay in her hands. She crushed it to a pancake and then continued in trying to craft a cube as she waited on a response.

Photo by Frej Leilund | Texture by Ainhel
Tasha Takekuro

POSTED: Fri Jan 03, 2014 11:27 pm

337 words.

Pascal didn't quite understand the magic of this substance himself, only that its feel was pleasant to him. Often hypersensitive to touch (though as he grew older it became easier to push most of his senses off to the side), he'd reveled in the feel of slime, of wet icky gunk as a child. Playing in mud and catching frogs had been his most common past-times, and so messing with the clay (softened with water in a bowl nearby) was almost a throw-back to that. Perhaps he'd do more than play around with his hands once he learned how a kiln worked, or had access to one, but for now it was more of a nice discovery and game than a serious new talent.

Tasha smiled, and laughed, and Pascal could feel happiness well up in him -- though he didn't externally show it but for an artificial grin. Jokes were hard for him due to his always-flat delivery, and the subtleties of language and tone were often lost on him when someone else was joking. He'd said something ridiculous and she'd laughed, though, so that was a good sign.

He patted the clay and swiveled an ear toward her voice, considering her question. His gut instinct was to respond that they were pack mates, of course they knew each other -- but there was knowing someone's name and rank, and knowing them personally. He formed a little head out of the clay he was playing with and spoke almost to it.

"Skoll helped save my life." His tail swept across the floor, and a little dust-bunny formed on his fur. "A bad man attacked me, and he and my father rescued me from him. Skoll killed him to save the Kingdom -- that's why he was knighted." Lest she think that was it, that it was mere hero-worship and perhaps unrequited friendship, he quickly added, "We're friends. We talk and we share books a lot."
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tale as old as time
misfit prince

POSTED: Sat Jan 04, 2014 5:52 pm

ooc [361]

Tasha had never been extremely girly. Yes, she would prefer not to get her hands muddy or dirty, and she occasionally brushed her hair, but that was only because she didn’t like it matted. If she had to stick her arms elbow-deep into mud, she wouldn’t complain about it. Especially not if it was to create something. Art was something new to her. She knew how to read and write, but the prospect of using the same pencil she used to create words to create pictures had not exactly crossed her mind. Using mud to create pictures certainly hadn’t. Now, she was curious, especially how you could get the mud-things to become hard and colored. She pondered as she worked on the tiny cube in her fingers, gently pressing the four sides back and forth to make them generally flat. After she had created a lopsided cube, she moved to a triangle, which proved much more difficult than the latter.

Tasha flattened out her curled tail against the table, brushing it back and forth once as she focused on creating three points, and the thickening the flattened shape to create a three dimensional figure. She didn’t really know there was a name between flat and three dimensional, only that she liked it when it stood out, more like something real than something on a page. After she’d managed that, she looked up to see Pascal’s smile and then his response. She nodded thoughtfully, watching as his hands worked the clay into random figures. “Skoll seems good at saving people. He found me sneaking outside the borders before I shifted. I probably would have got shredded by a bobcat. I didn’t that time. I did later…” The husky mix softly brushed her fingers down the exposed and scarred-over claw marks down her side, before remembering she was having a conversation with an almost-stranger and quickly returned to molding the clay in her hands. “He’s also my uncle.” She nodded, mind now turning to another topic he’d mentioned. “Do you like to read?” She inquired, gently brushing the sides of the clay triangle to even out any dents or imperfections.

Photo by Frej Leilund | Texture by Ainhel
Tasha Takekuro

POSTED: Wed Jan 08, 2014 4:49 pm

285 words.

Pascal glanced up from the clay he was playing with to see the female pushing it into different shapes, first a sphere and then a cube. The amount she had to work with was very small, but she still made these simplistic shapes, even while the Sadira boy was creating amorphous lumps in his -- ones that only resembled any object or animal if one used their imagination. He felt like he'd need someone else to teach him to make real bowls or statues like Skoll hinted were possible to create, but for now, he found the texture very comforting. Perhaps pottery wouldn't end up being for him, but he rarely felt this calm when he wasn't reading a book.

Tasha replied to him as she messed with the clay, and Pascal looked at her scars as she indicated them. It made his ears flick back with discomfort. He had his own scars from the dog attack, but they were minor -- not large marks branding him for life. Most of his were hidden by the thick fur of his scruff, sore as the wounds had been when they were just healing. "What'd you do to get shredded by a bobcat?" he asked, his voice quieter as he abandoned the topic of the golden-furred Knight.

He'd started to abandon playing with his bigger lump of clay, focusing instead on her little pyramid. His tail wagged behind him at her question. "It's probably my favorite thing to do," he confessed. "Skoll and I share a lot of books -- stories about knights and princesses, and far-off jungles, and castles that move. I don't think I could ever read enough stories."
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misfit prince

POSTED: Fri Jan 10, 2014 3:18 pm

ooc [477]

She was glad her finger’s weren’t very broad. They proved useful in many things. She could gently flip the page of a book without much contact, she could tenderly capture a wandering butterfly without crushing it, later releasing it to let it fly again. She could reach in small places, and now, work with a small portion of clay without much difficulty. Slowly the lump began refining into sharp points and smooth edges, creating a figure she had seen before. A pyramid. Though she couldn’t exactly remember where… shrugging to herself, she continued to polish the figure, vivid eyes focused on her work intensely, before the boy asked a more complicated question.

Tasha looked up to him, tipping her head and letting her tail curl again. She thought back, not really wanting to, but forcing herself. “That’s a good question. Nothing, really. I was drinking from the river. I guess I got in its way. It leaped on me.” That’s as much as she told, not really wanting to go into what happened after that. She didn’t think she’d ever felt worse pain before. The scars on her side were visible, but they had healed a lot since then. Her thick husky fur was a gift in this case. For you to clearly notice them she’d have to lift her arm and turn to you, otherwise it took careful scrutiny to see the absence of greyish fur and faint pink flesh. They were there for life, but she was grateful they hadn’t been worse. She’d seen some wolves with ugly scars.

Once the conversation returned to books, Tasha perked her ears. She’d read similar stories. The castles and knights were her favorite. “Same here. I have lots of books. I’m bored a lot of the time, so I’ve read them over and over.” Suddenly, she remembered. Sliding from the table, the girl sat across from Pascal, crossing her legs. Taking a handful of clay, she propped it in front of her. She once again began the process of sculpting. Smoothing out four sides and bringing them to a point, it took her only a minute to create something that resembled what she was going for. “I read a book about these once. They’re called pyramids. The humans created them. Hundreds of feet tall and made of stone blocks.” Tasha slowly dragged one of her claws across the four smooth sides over and over, creating indents in different layers. They represented the different blocks. “I think the place was called Ee-jipped, or something. The boys wore skirts and put dark chalk around their eyes.” She smiled at the idea. It was weird to think about some things on humans: hairless with flat faces and no tails or claws. But instead, she’d imagined the humans and turned them into Luperci. It sat better with her.

Photo by Frej Leilund | Texture by Ainhel
Tasha Takekuro

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