to the elements

POSTED: Mon May 09, 2011 8:52 pm

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<div class="micahtearitdownooc"><p>Micah claiming a house! He's spray painting in the back, so CdA people in the village who hear the weird noise might wander by. ^^;</p>
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<p>Though Micah had been allowed into Cercatori d'Arte, the boy had spent little time there, too afraid of meeting those who also called it home. After growing up in a pack full of smoking, social idiots and being raised around shameless public sex and the like, Micah had surprisingly grown to value privacy and independence. Had he been able to survive on his own, the boy would have happily done so for as long as possible; however, Juniper Peace had been a place of vegetarians. What little meat that ate was ingested only for nutrients and strength, and their prey walked foolishly into their hands. Never had Micah been taught to hunt, and never had Micah been able to teach himself, either.</p>

<p>When he came to find the union of scents hovering over the small village west of the pack's territory, Micah realized it was where a majority of them spent a majority of their days. Many of the buildings were empty, while several others actively housing residents; Micah did not hold many possessions, nor did he wish to live in such proximity to others, but knew he would be able to build a shelter himself. Besides, the buildings' walls were excellent, wide canvases, and if he called one his own, surely he would not be penalized for drawing there.</p>

<p>He chose one empty, dusty house in the furthest corner and found it perfect: Its stone walls made for a better canvas than the neighboring wooden cabin, it was in a close proximity to a nearby lake and it was shrouded behind the living village foliage, furthering his need for privacy and a place to hide. He dumped what little things he had inside, creating a pile of found spray paint cans in a corner somewhere within the stone walls. Opening the shutters to allow sun in, the salt-and-pepper boy choked on dust before shoving a small desk over to the open window. His plants would do well there, exposed to such sunlight. He then gathered a red can of paint, stepped outside, and on the front door sprayed the iconic symbol, one that would prevent idiots from wandering in uninvited: the Chaos symbol. He did not exactly embrace it, knowing it associated it with his murderous father, but knew the Lykoi family back in Inferni would someday suit him better than any Juniper Peace had ever had to offer him.</p>

<p>With a nervous, shaking sigh, the boy then gathered his materials and broke through the thick foliage lining the outside walls, managing to clear a small path to the back of the building. Pulling his blue handkerchief up over his snout, the boy pulled back his long, black curls into a ponytail, and eagerly began spraying and spraying to his heart's delight, brightening the stone walls in wondrous colors.</p>

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POSTED: Mon May 09, 2011 9:35 pm

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<p>She had grown tired of the place she'd followed Mars to. The pregnant mutt female had begun to leave her home less and less, exposing herself to less and less in the way of the people of the pack; of course, in the confines of her home, she found herself bored. As she finished gathering her books, she realized it was time to step outside, even if it meant walking around Thornbury for a brief moment. There was no surety that she would run into anyone. There was no reason to worry. She grimaced at the thought, hefting the strap of her makeshift bag over her shoulder. Some place quiet would be preferred; it was the best setting to outline another fairy tale, something for Mars to read his children if he felt it necessary. He seemed to determined to be there for them. She'd come to realize that she couldn't stop him.</p><p>Her coat crinkled on the airwaves as she made her way across the small town, tapping her fingers together with each new step. She hadn't crossed the town since the weeks after her arrival, when she had sought out her own home amongst the stone houses. It was all too eerie. Her head shook, loose mohawk tossed around lackadaisically upon her head. Cercatori d'Arte was not like Nakzhi. In her home, everyone was everywhere all the time. There was noise, there was camaraderie. She had seen none of that since her arrival in early February. It made her miss Nevada.</p><p>A bright red mark stopped her trek, pink eyes widening curiously as she approached the door it had been painted on. The symbol was unknown, just a star-shaped circle in crimson. It was enough to pique her interest of course, so she approached in silence, reaching out to touch it. The mark left red paint on her white fingers. <b>"Weird,"</b> she mumbled, staring at her hand. The sound of hissing air drew her attention to the side of the house; someone was there, it seemed, and though she had not wanted to interact with others, the red mark made her wonder just who it was. With a distinct swagger to her normal sashay, she found her way toward the foliage that surrounded the time-worn home. Someone had cleared a small path, and she quickly found her way along it. <b>"'allo?"</b> Her call was not loud, but not quite, as she followed the trail toward the back of the building. There stood a peppered male, handkerchief over his muzzle as he painted on the wall with some loud canister. Krystalle snorted at the scent on the air.</p></div>
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POSTED: Tue May 10, 2011 2:38 am

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<p>Just as the paintbrush hit the canvas, so did his arm move back and forth across the wall, leaving streaks of color in its wake; he moved as if in a dance, muscles locking and unlocking as color breathed life into the wall's stolid, stony gray. Beneath his mask the boy smiled, an unmatched spirit lingering in his chocolate eyes and sweeping limbs. Her eyes, her lips, her nose — yes, he painted it to her liking, just as she described it in whispers at his ear. At times Micah laughed, engaged in conversation with the ghost, relishing what few moments of happiness they could share. Not often did Storm Lily come to appreciate him; not often did he manage to please her, especially not in his means of acrylic expression.</p>

<p><b>"I'll be able to store my stencils here,"</b> he remarked to his sister, wholly freed from his typical anxieties by the slow creation at the wall. <b>"They won't get wet and ruined anymore so I can keep reusing them. ...Yeah, I can make one of you. I can model it after this, but I was planning on just painting over it eventually."</b></p>

<p>That was not what Storm Lily cared to hear; his moody younger sister began to chew him out, and immediately he fell to a silence, his hands beginning to shake as they so characteristically did. His movements became stiff, his art ruined by the tremor, panic spreading through his veins — and suddenly there was a silence, only silence. A rustling of trees, and a soft voice. Chocolate eyes gazed wide at the source — a small, pregnant, homely-looking girl — and he quickly reached and pulled the handkerchief down with color-tainted fingers.</p>

<p><b>"He-he-hello,"</b> he stammered, sinking into his shoulders. <b>"Umm, am I... am I bothering you? I'm s-sorry..."</b></p>
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POSTED: Thu May 12, 2011 10:33 pm

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<p>His stammer caused her to laugh faintly on the fume-laced air, glancing to see his masterpiece. It was lovely, for sure, though it didn't represent the young man himself. Perhaps some hidden lover, locked away in the world of his mind. Lucky boy. She smiled, the shifting features lighting up to resemble something pretty and pleasant, like a normal girl should have been. Her approach was slow, and she left some distance between them as she studied his art. <b>"Not botherin' me, no. Just came to see who was back here. I heard the noise."</b> With all her curiosity about the art itself, she reached out one red-stained hand to touch the wall. <b>"Saw the thing on your door. Figured 'd come and see what it is."</b> The red star was an entirely new symbol, but she assumed that it meant something to him. Her head tilted as she took in the features of the hybrid on the wall. <b>"It's pretty. Who is it?"</b></p><p>Her attention returned to the boy, studying him as if searching for some invisible indication of who he, also, was. She didn't know many of her pack members. In fact, she knew almost none of them. She hadn't had the desire to. As time progressed, she had seen that the pack she'd followed Mars into was not the place she wanted to live; now, it wasn't the place she wanted to raise children. But this artist had caught her attention for the moment. Her smile brightened even more, arms crossing below her chest but above her distended stomach. <b>"'m Krystalle. I live,"</b> she paused to turn and point toward the shops that made up the region her home was located. <b>"Live over there, ch'know? Are you new?"</b></p>
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POSTED: Fri May 13, 2011 5:31 pm

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<p>"All the noise"? Long, peppered ears flicked back against skull, shameful eyes bowing nervously at the ground. He had hoped, amidst all the foliage surrounding the small stone cottage, that none would hear him at work or be attracted to the noise. Micah <i>wanted</i> to be a part of the pack, yes, but did not know the means to do so; he hated attention, hated knowing those around him only grew interested in him because of his work, but it was inevitable: He was horrible at introducing himself and giving any other reason to be worth meeting. After all, Micah Lykoi wasn't good at <i>anything</i>. That was what his sister told him, and she was only a spirit. Surely she knew best of how the world worked, forced to only observe it without input.</p>

<p><b>"M-My little sister,"</b> he mumbled, fidgeting his fingers when she moved forward to touch it. Her hands left remnants of scarlet when pulled away; his ear twitched with visible displeasure, but the boy only dipped his gaze once more and made no argument. <b>"She... she died. She's very pretty, though."</b> Storm Lily mumbled something with a level of mild pleasure at such a remark, but once again fell into a disappointed silence at his conversation with someone — anyone — else.</p>

<p><b>"Umm, yeah,"</b> he replied to her final question, chocolate eyes child-like in their anxiety. <b>"I'm... I'm Micah. I don't know anybody yet..."</b></p>

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POSTED: Sun May 15, 2011 4:21 am

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<p>His artwork was indeed truly beautiful, and pale pink eyes took in all aspects of the face reflected on the worn building. Mars was a musician, and she herself had minute skill in the department of tangible artwork, so she was glad to see the skills offered in the young male who had painted the piece. Her curiosity was natural, she supposed — it was rare to see another wolf in any of the art she had found back home. The artist explained the identity of the face in the paint: his sister. She remained fixed upon it until his voice expressed her death, and then she turned to gaze at him. Sympathy would have found its way into her face, if she had been capable of feeling it. <b>"'m sorry to hear that, ch'know? But it's good ya remember what she looks like, <span title="my dear">mi querido</span>."</b> And it was, oh it was.</p><p>Her assumption was correct, and this young man — now known to her as Micah — was new to the pack and without acquaintances. She let out a laugh and maintained a smile. <b>"You know me now, don't cha? Bet you'll make friends real fast, Micah. Kids always do."</b> He wasn't really a kid, certainly not in the normal sense of a puppy, but she wanted to comfort the anxiety she sensed in him. There was no reason to feel nervous with her; she was friendly, and enjoyed conversation, even if it meant invading the space of another to get it.</p>
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POSTED: Thu May 19, 2011 6:38 pm

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<p class="ooc">OOC/WC</p>

<p>Her curiosity was natural, he figured. His painting was nothing traditional, both in appearance nor in form. The male progressed through great efforts to find supplies — especially those still functional — and although it seemed he was wasting them doodling on the back of the building. Storm Lily approved of what had been painted thus far as well, but it was not until Krystalle complimented it that a sheepish smile lightened his lips. Still he hid in his shoulders and behind his long, dark curls, but the beginnings of confidence blossomed in his chest.</p>

<p>As for what Storm looked like, well, was it appropriate to speak the truth? The boy cast a quick glance over his shoulder, exchanging a look with his ghost of a sister that lingered there shrouded in disapproval, before turning back and beginning to bite at his lip. <b>"It's hard to forget,"</b> he mumbled, speaking the truth while leaving out the necessities of it; he knew none of this pack so far, and the last thing the speckled coyote wanted was to be ostracized for insanity.</p>

<p><b>"I-I hope so,"</b> he said finally, swallowing a lump in his throat and pulling uncomfortably at the handkerchief at his neck. Recalling that Cercatori composed itself of artisans and the like, his following question was inevitable: <b>"D-Do you paint?"</b></p>

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OOC Ending: Micah and Krystalle chat for a little while longer, and eventually part ways.
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