Respiro colorido


POSTED: Thu Sep 13, 2018 8:59 am

Near Black River Reserve :: Words→ 000
The old man rubbed a hand along his wrist joint, flexing the muscles to try and alleviate some of the aching pain. The old man could only hope that a lifetime of herbal remedies and stubbornness would stop his hands and fingers from ever shrivelling into useless digits, such a thing would stop Leto from doing the things he loved. That being said, Leto doubted anything would stop him from playing his guitar, even if he couldn't strum out a single perfect chord. Painting would get frustrating. Leto could live with playing poor music, but if his painting wasn't perfect the old dog wouldn't accept it. He himself wasn't allowed to look beautiful anymore, age and abuse took that from him. So the only things Leto could keep perfect was his daughter, and the skulls he coloured.

He'd ventured out of Amherst, heading East towards the smell of shore, before coming across a commune of rivers. The water was a soothing friend to Leto's dry throat, and a chance to settle down in the more gently flowing water ways to take some pressure off his aching joints. A mischievous crow crept close to Leto's old straw hat at one point, poking it's dagger-like beak at the delicate accessory. That had the old man flailing in the water, waddling his way over to waft the annoying bird away, where it screeched at Leto before flying a short distance to join other inky black birds all swarmed around something near the water's edge. Curiosity had Leto as to what the birds all squabbled over, and so he got up slowly with a hiss of aching pain, replaced his hat and limped over. Like a smokey cloud, the crows dispersed at the old man's approach, revealing their meal. The skeleton of a larger bird, with an impressive beak that sloped forward into a hooked point, was picked almost completely clean save for a few feathers and bits of meat.

Not wanting to waste freshly cleaned bones, Leto went to work collecting some of the carcass into his hat, including the feathers for Sabina to have for her rituals or just for a gift. Holding his loot close his chest, Leto walked slowly back across the river to his cart, offering the goats a quick scratch on the scalp. In the cart were the few jars of paints Leto kept just in case he got bored or twitchy whilst travelling, which Leto picked from. He chose the freshest jar, a blue toned paint made from berries gathered not too long ago, and dripped one of his stained fingertips into the liquid. Picking out the bird skull from his collection, Leto began stroking the ivory bone with the paint, turning the deathly white into a light blue as he worked silently by the river's edge.

POSTED: Thu Sep 13, 2018 8:43 pm

pretty lyric words are by daniel ♫

And the smoke clouds roll with the rivers
Streams of all the things we could not hold
There's something left just a sliver
Pieces of what came before...

The river snaked through sedges and saplings, its low burbling an accompaniment to the haunted melody that Canary sang -- feelings she hadn't quite been able to put into words, some bittersweet remnant of her time with a clan the world once considered ageless. Elvis' hooves set a four-beat rhythm as she swayed on his back, her slender fingers grasping locks of his thick black hair though she let him wander and steer himself. To her other arm clung an infant raccoon, the youngster peering nervously through the foliage as she was jostled in the woman's lap.

They were an odd troupe, but Canary was used to this, and thought fondly of poor dear Fish as she scratched between the coon's ears. She'd met and traveled with odder Luperci folk, too, in search of food and companionship and entertainment. Her easygoing nature helped with this.

And so her reaction to seeing a mongrel dog with a cart was a positive one. Canary yapped in greeting to him, a smile on her face, and nudged Elvis in that direction. Seeing that the man had a couple goats as companions made her smile broaden, though it turned melancholy when she came close enough to make out the bird skull he was painting. It reminded her of Inferni, and Virue too.

That's a pretty color you have, Canary said. She halted Elvis a polite distance away, her ears fanned out in friendly neutrality. The little raccoon clambered onto her shoulder where it felt safer, its dark little paws pulling strands free from her ponytail. My clan used to paint bone too, though they always liked oranges and reds.

POSTED: Sat Sep 15, 2018 6:22 pm

Near Black River Reserve :: Words→ 000
Against the soft bubble of the slowly flowing river, and between the focus Leto had that rendered his scenes partly muffled, the old man began to pick up something strange but not unwelcome. A song, caught and carried by gentle winds and past the old man and his cart. He knew music too well to ignore the sound or not be drawn by it, and for a time Leto seized his painting to listen, ear stumps moving as much as they could to catch the most sound. No words could be made out, but the harmony of the voice producing the song made Leto smile to himself. He couldn't yet see the origin, and wasn't planning on finding it whilst sticky paint stuck to his pads, but enjoyed the short verse of song.

Leto's magenta eyes focused back on the hawk skull for a short while, until a sudden yip almost had the old man dropping his prize at it startled him. The aged dog turned around with a small glare, that faded a little as the grinning woman approached looking pleased to see a stranger at this reserve. Leto would still hold suspicion against the happy woman, a mere friendly smile wasn't enough to make the scarred old dog trust a new face. The woman stopped a respectful distance away and commented on Leto's painting. If the old dog had ears, they would lift up with intrigue, though instead the stumps moved pathetically and parts of Leto's old, droopy face tightened ever so slightly.

"I paint with what colour I have. This is blue." Leto raised the skull a bit as if to prove a point. "But I use red and orange also, I use what I can find."

Leto lowered the skull, letting it rest carefully on the cart as he replaced the lid on his jar of paint to make sure it didn't dry out. A bit of blue paint still dripped from the old man's finger, which he absentmindedly turned into a small flower across his hand as he spoke to the coyote woman.

"I give colour to the dead. Blue, red, orange, and ah... more colours to make them better. Bone is ah, not good, so I change it." Leto finished explaining, trying his best to speak in the most common tongue. "You sing? I hear song just now, that is you?"

POSTED: Wed Oct 03, 2018 9:00 pm


The old fellow's drooping face appeared less than pleased at her intrusion, but Canary's body language was carefully crafted to soothe irritation. At the first sign that her presence would no longer be tolerated, she would leave; she wasn't too proud to stand and argue with a stranger, especially an old-boned dog loner. The coyote preferred to drift in and out without trouble, and she knew how to accept defeat despite her extroverted nature.

She studied the hawk skull streaked with blue paint, which the man rubbed on his hand as he closed the lid of his jar and explained his motivation. Canary smiled again at that. I understand. It is like giving life and beauty to them again, almost, since their flesh and fur has gone away. Inferni had painted symbols of family and strength onto their skulls, harsh blood-red lines and infamous stars scrawled onto the chipped, grimacing surfaces of old skeletons. Some, like Virue, dabbled in prettier demonstrations. Most of them got shit on by ravens in the end.

She leaned languidly forward onto the strong neck of her horse, dropping her chin against a crooked elbow as Elvis flicked his ear. Yeah, that was me, she said. I like to sing.

POSTED: Sun Oct 07, 2018 3:02 pm

Near Black River Reserve :: Words→ 000
Leto wished sometimes he could have lived a life that wouldn't make him nervous at every new face, but alas the old man's past made him bitter. Sabina was a sweetness to the old man's life, despite their bumpy start the girl had already done wonders to Leto's behaviour. The moment Leto left Uníon he planned to stay alone forever, then he made a life changing decision to pick up a lost pup, and now he was actually talking to strangers and getting to know others. So much for shutting himself out. The old dog had a long way to go, and some habits would never leave, but perhaps in time Leto would warmly welcome another's presence.

When the girl understood what Leto meant, his droopy face flopped even more as the old dog hastily nodded his head. "Sí! I paint to give colour. Like trying to make the ah... spirit? Sí, the spirit happy." Leto explained, glad to know his way of painting dead things wasn't odd. The old man wondered if the girl practised it herself, the art of skull painting, or perhaps she had just seen it before. Leto wouldn't ask.

"It is good singing." Leto commented, of all the conversations the old man could actively partake in, talking about music was the one to get him the most comfortable and open. "I sing myself, when younger. Old song is not so good anymore." Whilst Leto could admit his voice wasn't bad, the fact that the notes came out rough and gravelly just made the old man feel even more his age. "Now I play guitarra. My bones are old but they still play music well." Like a sudden itch needing to be satisfied, Leto reached across his cart to pull out his guitar from behind him, resting it in his lap and plucking a few notes to check it was in tune.

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