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PRIVATE! rawr!
When she woke it was only a few tendrils of light that greeted her. They peaked through the spaces between the boards that created the walls of the Old Red. Straw tangled within the waves of her mane, old and stales stalks. It had been a needed resting place, though her form ached slightly as she rose and stretched. Her eyes still stung from the tears that she shed before she slept, and emotions rolled through her chest that made her stomach turn. Thoughts of the day before threatened to bring tears back to her eyes, and the young woman rose in the dim light determined to not let a depression fall over her. Her brother was prone to such a thing, and drinking alcohol it certainly seemed. Ares took her for a tramp, or so Mati immaturely thought. Her brother was either in love or infatuated by a loose female of Crimson Dreams. It tore her heart to pieces, unsure where to place her trust. She loved her brother, and in the past she would have stood beside him unconditionally. But there was a pull towards the gray male Ares that Mati could not ignore. She wondered how he thought of her, she painfully hoped it good.
The tall girl walked from the barn, hands holding the travel easel and her box of paints. She hadn’t been to the Manor for a few days, and as she moved towards the borders it seemed like she wouldn’t be seeing her bed for some time. She feared seeing Ares, or even Princess. Unprepared for the awkwardness that was bound to ensue, the Church girl walked until the weight of the easel was too much or the scenery fitting her mood. It would be hard to find the dreary atmosphere her mind brewed, for the sun sat high over her, and the sky as blue as water. It should be storming, or at least the clouds thick and black with rain. Instead the lands were pleasant, summer at its end and yet it seemed at its peak. It was the heavy supplies that caused her to stop. The brown female began to set up her easel, a scowl on her face and her mind fighting the anger that tested her very limits.
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[html] THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF WHAT WAS SACRED
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The boy walked slowly towards Crimson Dreams and once he had reached the pack’s borders he started to trace the borders, nervous of calling out for whoever he was calling. The young optime was slowly reaching for his father’s optime size, though he had not seen the demonic Lilium for quite a while now. He was happy and grateful for every moment he managed to stay away from his sire, because fear was his father’s closest comrade and collaborator. Conor was no longer the little child he once had been, but he was dreadfully afraid of his father and everything that the blue eyed man represented. The demon’s son knew what his father was and sought purer things in life than what his father’s world had to offer. He was grateful that he had managed to slip out and away from such a cruel life. Alexey was wonderful. She was his mother and father and best friend. Even if he was no longer allowed to sleep in her bed. He could understand why, but he missed her warmth.
The boy hesitated in his tracks when he saw movement in the distance. It was a woman. His mind was already wondering what she was doing. He knew he had not trespassed and that he should just jump into the new situation and ask about what she was doing and if it was okay that he walked into the claimed territory to visit his cousins. When she seemed to turn towards him the boy’s hand rose in a quiet greeting, because they were not yet close enough for normal speech. He did not stop before he was quite close to the woman, and now he was more interested than ever in what she was doing. ”Hello, what are you doing?” he wondered while trying to keep the uncertainty and low self esteem non existent in his pastel and slightly sad tones. He was who he was, still recovering from a horrible start in life. At least he did no longer run around and try to be nasty.
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Blacks, blues, damn it she was going to make browns. With rough hands the young woman took out the four tubes of paint that she normally used. It was all she would need, and perhaps she would live without the luxury of white. A punishment for her current situation, and for the lack of control over her emotions. She threw the tube back in the box, yes she would live without it.. A pallet, a canvas board (small in size), the tubes of paint, a handful of brushes, a jar of water. They all went onto the ground. She felt the rag, letting the dry brush scrap against the tattered fabric. Eyes looked out into the distance, the beauty of summer standing right before her. Browns, she thought with a frown, dropping the rag and brush she reached into the box for the last supply.
His voice frightened her. Mati turned, the pallet knife in hand and eyes wide with surprise. It was not his tone that scared her, just the presence that startled her. His voice was low, drab and yet an odd spark was laced in the syllables. The Church woman met the violet eyes with purple ones of her own. They were so similar, Mati had looked at the color of hers in a mirror in the Manor many times. She knew the color, and it was like she looked in that glass this very moment. They were not hollow like the tone of his voice, but held the deeps that she saw in the setting sun and then lights that told her of a lavender’s petal. “I was going to paint” She explained, still not sure where he came from and what he was doing here. And yet she no longer wanted to use only browns, and blacks and blues. He was a welcomed distraction, even if she didn’t know it yet.
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[html] THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF WHAT WAS SACRED
IF THERE WAS I'M SURE WE'D BREAK IT
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It was not before now that he fully realized that she had the most peculiar colour of eyes. Yes, they were like his. Never before had he encountered someone so similar to himself and he drew closer, feeling the magnetism draw him to her. Confusion rose almost immediately after the shock of seeing his eyes in another person’s face, because he had believed that Uncle Kansas and Aunt Savina and their children were the only close relatives he had in this pack. Eyebrows rose until they could no more and now the excitement took over.
It was not just their eyes. They both had brown as the dominating colour on their fur, though she was darker and his hinted more to cinnamon. His train of puzzled thoughts halted for a moment when she replied to his question. Going to paint? What was that? His ears flickered sideways with uncertainty, but he was intrigued enough to not ask for permission to visit his cousins just yet. He did not like meeting and talking to complete strangers, but he worked so hard to get over that uncertainty and distaste. More often than not, these strangers turned out to be nice.
His focus returned to the colours of her eyes again. Colibri was his half sister, and knowing his father, there probably was more. ”You look like me.” It was so true though, they had to be. His light cinnamon tail with its white end moved friendly back and forth. No one in his family seemed to have violet eyes, so this had to be a sign. Conor had often made up scenarios in his head, wondering if there could be another family out there. Unfortunately there had been people present at his birth, so he knew it could not be true. Dreams never hurt anyone though.
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Why was this new adulthood so complicated? She had lost her innocence, at least one form of it, when the collared male had attacked her. Now one thing after another dragged her along month by month. The new stirring of feelings that Ares brought her did not ease the confusion, and only enhanced it. The knowledge of her brother’s activities brought other feelings to the surface, and she could not help it when her thoughts returned to the Chance male again and again. Mati frowned upon the things her brother had done, and yet… why not?
All ideas were pushed from her mind as the male stood before her. Eyes matching her own and making her curious above all else. But, as he spoke Mati did not think of it as he did. “I guess me do.” was her response. Being related to any other then the brothers and sister that she had was not possible, and so Mati thought nothing of it. He watched her, with what looked like an odd sense of longing.
He was lighter, and held more red then she. Mati was dirt. It was best way to describe herself. Though she saw all the elements that brought every other beast’s coat to life she could not see that magic of color in her own. She saw the red of a setting run in his fur, as obscure as it might sound. The yellow melded with the crimson, but held enough dark that to any other he would be called brown. No, Mati was brown. This male was any but. She looked to his face once more, “We have the same eyes.” She commented with a soft, not so forced smile. Was it wrong to be jealous of his cinnamon tones? She held the pallet knife and awkwardly turned away to find the pallet that she would use, wondering if he was still staring at her…
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[html] THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF WHAT WAS SACRED
IF THERE WAS I'M SURE WE'D BREAK IT
She seemed not half as taken as he was. Perhaps it was because she was not desperately clinging to a dream that offered a pleasant change. It was right, he longed for the older woman that looked so much like him that it was only correct that they were family. He waited patiently for this amazing fact to come to her, but after a while he realized that it might not happen at all. She somewhat admitted resemblance and mentioned that they had the same eyes, but her smile did not seem as sincere and excited as he wanted it to be. The boy stood still in his tracks for a few more moments before he dared to take a few steps closer to the woman. Why did she not share his excitement and amazement? Conor was still a mere child and he could not always see the different perspectives on things.
Did she not realize how special that was? Or, were there several wolves with purple eyes running around in Crimson Dreams? ”We’re the same, I look like you and you look like me.” the boy said, reaching out for the woman a second time. He wanted her to realize, wanted her to see. His eyes had not yet left the woman, and he was not sure if he could move his gaze even if he wanted to. What was she doing? What was painting? Who were her parents and what her name was.
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Mati did not want more family members, or at least it was not something that she prayed for. Her family was something she could not choose or control and it mainly brought heartache. They were either insane, drug addicted, lost, or hurting her in some way or shape. If she had been asked if she wanted a larger more expansive family line Mati would decline. They would only hurt her, and bring her more emotional pain. The girl did not see this violet eyed young male as a possible relative, because that was not what Mati was searching for.
Pallet in hand she took the tubes of paint to begin placing the colors she would use in the order that she always placed them in. White first, and eyes looked back at the young male. He did not look away and even moved closer. Yellow, Mati raised her head to confront his approach. Looking at his coat and eyes once more. He spoke, repeating the concept once again. Yes, they looked similar, but Mati saw their differences. Red, she twisted the cap back onto the tube and spoke, “Are you sure? Have you looked hard enough?” Maybe he would learn to search beyond the primaries to the true colors that they each held. Blue, Mati paused in her thought and set the pallet down on the box that held her supplies.
The jar of water took a strong hand to uncap, and once it was freed Mati looked up at him again. She smiled, to keep him from being discouraged. The tall wolfess found it easy to direct him, and his personality soft and his age younger in maturity then months. She was the pupkeeper of Crimson Dreams and spoke to him as if one of her charges. “What colors am I missing, that you have?” She wondered how hard he would have to look and think to find the hues that he held and that she did not.
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I have a lovely new table, wohoo
Looked hard enough? Conor’s uncertainty was as obvious as the day was bright now. What did her words mean? Was she cold heartedly rejecting him in some way? He found no comfort in his empty hands, fingers entwining nervously. The boy remained silent, not willing to play a guessing game of what she meant with her words. Lilac eyes seemed slightly watery, but the boy was not on the verge of tears. He stood there, feeling oddly lonely and out of place. This world was an odd place, and he was not sure if he would ever find a place where he would fit in. Dahlia was his home and he was relatively happy there, but vivid dreams blessed both days and night, dreams of a better life where he would not have to hold back what he wanted to scream out.
Colours? Well. The boy looked down on his hands and arms. Well, weren’t both of them brown? Well, his had more cinnamons and golds gently mixed in with his father’s light chocolate and cream. It was an unique coloration, but the boy was too young and insecure to realize how blessed he was with his looks, such unique colours mixing together and full of harmony. ”Uhm.” the boy replied slowly, wishing he could understand this strange woman. ”Reds and yellows?” His ears were flat against his head and he wished he had not been this stupid.
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thats a sexy table
She found an odd pleasure in challenging him. And she stood to watch him puzzle and question what she had asked. She thought it a simple thing to looked for, and yet there was a chance that the young male would not know what she was asking for. He did well, looking to the fur of his limbs and searching for the answer, she held the pallet, imagining what primaries she would use to create the color of his fur. When he spoke she smiled, soft and accepting.
“I would agree.” her words approved and she wondered what he had thought during the search. Colors made Mati explore the past and future of every subject she looked at, even though it was the present that she wished to capture.
As if he had passed a test Mati spoke an introduction.
“I’m Mati.” She knew not that he was hoping to know her lineage or if they were indeed siblings. If she had wanted to know that things he did she would have added the name of her family, or some sort of surname. Where the ‘Church’ in her name came from was something that she had never been interested in enough to ask. Maybe she should have.
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