There's no other proof

Strelein von Rosnete · 03-28-2010, 05:35 PM

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300+
delayed, as always. Mind if we backdate it to yesterday?

Once, in the city, the redhead had found himself an unopened, actually well preserved drawing pad that was still entirely usable. He took it home with him, along with a box of pencils that had numbers and the letter B on them in various combinations. They produced a dark smudgy kind of mark but it was a brilliant find for him. No longer would he have to work on canvas scrap with charcoal. Sure, he wasted page after page of designs he would never make, but after half the sketchbook was filled, he noticed it was getting slightly better. But the amount of pages was simply the thing that put the cherry on top. It was far more effective and it allowed him to play around with the designs, albeit drawn on some very strange looking figures. The limbs were too long and lanky and the head was not realistic really. The only part of the funky drawings that Strel could do that was accurate was the torso and shoulders, though male versions were more inaccurate than female versions.

Strel sat on a ragged, once gaudy couch in a room near the entryway. Usually, he would have been sitting in his studio but this felt significantly more comfortable than lounging on a stiff backed chair in that bright room. Every now and then, he gave a grunt of annoyance and rubbed with a pink eraser at the thick, dark lines. The thing he was drawing at that moment was just not working with him, but the idea for it was only a lingering idea in his head. Every few strokes he would erase, realizing that it was not what he wanted to do. He was getting more and more frustrated that finally, he just chucked the damn thing across the room. It crashed into the wall with a light thud and fell to the floor with a soft thump. Pulling a pout, the Marquis crossed his arms and moved his body to lay fully on the couch.

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