Strelein
Mati had been waiting for this day. A day where the sun did not hide from her, a day where the clouds were thin and light and did not mask its glow. The young woman carried a bucket, a few gallons large, with the supplies that she wished to bring from her studio. Her favorite brushes, her pallet, a flat knife. All clunked around in her bucket as she traveled from her home to the lands of her brother and friend Strelein. For once in her life she traveled to the Cour des Miracles center, and not in the search of Haven. It was odd at first, when she did not head for his cabin, but for the hotel instead. But she was excited at the prospect, and could hardly wait to get started on the mural that Strelein had asked her to do.
She had the image of the painting in her head since she had met him. It played in her dreams, spoke to her the moment her eyes closed. It danced over her eyes as she blinked, the landscapes of the city and ocean calling with their colors of dark and light clashing. If she didn’t put the image to a canvas of sorts she was sure that her mind would melt from the intensity bottled inside.
As she walked she wondered how many windows he had, how much light would be given to her and what conditions his wall were in. thinking back to the day in the hardware store Mati remembered the supplies that they had collected and figured that had what she would need. Though Strelein would not be without a bit of painting himself, she would need assistance with certain things, and if he wanted a painting then he would have to help. The tall female strode towards the large building, her eyes roaming the roof, the windows and the long structure. A shutter or two were crooked, and the paint was peeling in more then just a few placed. But all was to be expected in a place this old.
There were large doors that led her into the hotel’s lobby, and in an instant the Dreamer was lost. She rested the bucket on a cushions seat that stood beside a rack that she figured maybe for a human’s coat. Violet eyes looked around the room, seeking any sign of her friend. Taking up her bucket once more Mati Church picked a corridor and made her way down it. Eyes danced along the doors, and her voice called lightly, “Strel?”