abraxaslogs | ( open & closed ) july catch-all

Entry tags:

( open & closed ) july catch-all

Who: aerith & you
When: throughout july
Where: solvunn, the horizon
What: catch-all for the month
Warnings: will update if applicable

( open and closed starters in the comments. if you'd like a custom starter or want to do something specific, please feel free to hit me up with a PM and we can go from there! )

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( there's a comfort in being out in the sprawling fields that make up the farmland of the secondary settlement--there's a sense of feeling at home among them, tending to those places where she knows her help is wanted, offering a free set of hands when able. tending to the crops and the animals is work that she can be proud of, something akin to the tedious labor of starting out her gardens back home: planting one seed will surely lead to planting another, and eventually, even if it doesn't always feel that way, things will expand and grow. her new talent is put to good use here, too: with magic to encourage the crops to grow, even just a little, she can coax the most stubborn plants to at least poke their heads out of the dirt for more sunlight.

of course, this also means tending to weeds, bugs, digging holes and getting dirty--it's one such afternoon of diligent weed-yanking, something that can feel almost like a game as she crouches along the rows of crops, walking carefully from foot to foot in order to pounce on little snippets of weeds crackling their way through the surface of the dirt. her hands clamp down on a handful, and--

--there's an immediate screeching, wailing sort of sound, piercing the calm of the afternoon around her, and startling her back. her hands let go of the plant; it continues to scream, and surprised, flat on her backside, aerith really has no idea what to do. )

Can you--can you--hush! ( there's an impatient sort of laugh, as she leans forward, sitting on her folded legs now, instead of crouching. ) What do you want...!

( if the shrieking weed has caught someone else's attention, too, maybe they'll know how to help. )

( it isn't really something necessary so much as it's something almost fun. after all, isn't it easier to just think a change into existence? close her eyes, press her hands together, and wish for something new? another row of flowers, perhaps, or a rickety old table inside the cottage, the sort that her and her mother used to sit at for tea--

or perhaps that's it, really: memories are too hard to escape, and doing something like this at least ensures that her little section of horizon isn't an entire replica of her abode back home in the slums, keeps memories from making her think back, longingly, to her place there, and the people there. there are flowers, of course, and trees, a small lake that sits nearly identical to where it might back home, but the house? the house is different, a small, cobbled-together thing that looks worse for wear than even her shoddy house back in midgar.

this house, though, is in need of a new coat of paint--and while it might be fun to dream it into existence, there's something to be said for hard work. and escapism.

so maybe you took a wrong turn somewhere, maybe you've met her before, maybe you're looking for an escape too: either way, you'll find aerith perched on her toes at one side of a rickety house up a stone path, a bucket of paint at her ankles and a large, oversized brush in one hand, carefully lining in some sort of drawing on the side of the house. not exactly professional, but hey, at least she's friendly--and will light up at any sight of company. )

( redecorating isn't really a hobby of hers, although it would seem to be something that's been on her mind lately, or something that she's used to escape it--practicing on her own area of horizon is one thing, but inviting herself over to someone else's, to leave some sort of changes there? she imagines that will take a little more effort, a little more focus and dedication. there's a look of determination on her face, certainly, as she finds her way to where gideon's place begins, and it's not like she's come empty-handed, either: a bottle of amorphous white wine is grasped between her hands, the neck of the bottle clutched against her chest upon her approach.

and really, it's like gideon said, isn't it? there's not much to look at here, yet, which is precisely the opposite feeling she has about the other--gideon is a breath of fresh air in a world that at times feels like it's trying its best to choke her under the weight of it. then again, the better way to look at it would be to see it like a canvas: there's so much opportunity here, so many different directions to go. an exciting venture, if nothing else.

her hands shift the wine to one arm, and then, playfully, she lifts her free hand to knock at the air--her lips curl up, a playful grin, as she leans forward, pretending as though she's peering through some sort of peephole, when there's nothing keeping her and gideon apart except space. )

Hellooo~ooo? Anyone home?

( there could be something ominous about the request to meet, or it could simply be the passing of time: it's been a while since they saw each other, after all, a while since the flowers in geralt's hair and quiet wondering; a part of her wants to ask how long they lasted, if he diligently worked each braid apart, or simply tore the stems from the strands, wants to know what it's like where he's staying now or if things have been strange there, too. but it feels as though she should do her best to be patient: it feels as though there may be some other purpose for all this, something that she should sit and listen to, first. plenty of time for questions later.

it's a strange feeling, inviting someone to this place, as though the expectation of being a good host, in other instances, becomes something alarmingly simple here. what more would it take than just the blink of her eyes or a bit of concentration? still, as far as her thoughts go, there is some culling that needs to be done--the small field of flowers here, grown up around a rickety house that's half-painted, the windows shuttered, has gotten out of control; the grass is tall, the weeds are growing, and the flowers need pruning, a task that she's taken to doing diligently with her hands, instead of anything else.

it's where geralt will find her, it seems--tucked onto her legs in the grass, idly peeling back the petals of a particular lily to see if she's also somehow called ladybugs and other little insects into this place, too. )

Oh! ( there's one arm, shot up into the air, as though he might actually miss the sight of her in this place. ) Over here!

( with a smile, she looks back to the task in her hands, lips pressed together; even without looking at him, it's easy to sense where he moves, and how. )

Do you like tea? I forget if I asked that.

[She'd be lying if she said she wasn't hype for a cute girl to come over and check out her admittedly rather dull imaginary digs. She'd also be lying if she said she wasn't embarrassed. There's just not much to work with, when the majority of her experiences of stuff she actually finds pleasure in happened after being summoned. What would she call into being for herself? The dank and crumbling depths of the Ninth House, the dilapidated prison of her youth? The exquisite yet equally derelict First House, where the first friends she'd ever made had been horribly killed? No. These places are nowhere she would actively choose to be.

Instead there's...this. The crude imaginings of a Cohort barracks that she'd seen in a comic book one time, the inside of which is uninviting to say the very least. The place is echoing and quiet and empty, opening out into a utilitarian training area, with corridors branching off to the sides. There's nothing very much of interest down there - equally sparse rec room, canteen, dorms, and showers. Other than a few nudie pictures of hot solider chicks in the dorms (maybe she won't show those to Aerith...), there's nothing to suggest that Gideon truly resides here.

Still. When Aerith knocks at the empty space in front of her, Gideon laughs - gotta love a girl with a sense of humour - and in return she pretends to open a door. Bows swweping and low.]

Welcome to my humble abode. Big emphasis on the humble.

[ Hearing from Aerith is unexpected—not from the time passed, but because they only spoke once. She slipped his mind, in truth. So fucking much has happened since it feels like years rather than months since the Summit. Only when he hears from her does he remember what he promised her about Cloud.

Right. Shit.

He accepts the invitation. Finds Aerith in a lush field of flowers and unwieldy grass next to a little house that's seen better days. He arrives as himself, appearing no different than he had when she last saw him: plain black clothes, scuffed boots, his hair carelessly pulled back. A thin pink scar runs up his arm from elbow to wrist—the only new addition. It'll fade in time, but the cut was deep enough that the mark will remain for a while.

Geralt steps over her flowers, mindful not to crush her overgrown garden. He moves around them with surprising delicacy, like he's used to avoiding twigs and leaves on dense grounds that'll alert his presence—though he isn't trying to be silent right now. He's not here to sneak up on her.

It's pretty. Her garden. The smell of flowers and pollen is strong but not overwhelming. The sun is bright but not scorching. ]

I drink it. [ That's not quite what Aerith asked, but that's the answer she receives. Geralt finds a spot to crouch down beside her. ] You wanted to talk.

[ He doesn't know if this is a social call or if there's a reason she wants to speak to him, and he wastes no time finding out. ]

[In Aloy's continuing bid to not end up working on a farm, she takes it upon herself to venture out of the primary settlement and see what she can find. Traveling between settlements seems to be easy enough, especially for a seasoned survivalist like her, and it's not like she's short on time, when it comes to making the journey. What she finds is more woodlands, and then eventually, more farms. To be expected, maybe.

It's the screaming that gets her attention--her first thought is that someone is in danger, so of course she heads in the direction of the noise. When she follows it to its source, however, it's not what she expects, and Aloy stops just short of actual intervention.]

Are you, uh--

[Not hurt, clearly. The plant is the thing that's screaming. That's. Okay. Aloy keeps a healthy distance, craning her body towards the scene like she's deciding whether or not to get closer.]

--do you need help with that?

[She has no idea what to do, but it seems appropriate to offer.]

( there's a sharp turn of her head, but the sound of the voice comes just slightly over the sound of the wailing from the plant; it's someone that she doesn't recognize, but that doesn't mean that it's anyone dangerous. the woman looks--well, she looks like she belongs and yet doesn't, which means that she's likely an outsider, just like herself. that much is something of a relief.

still, the weed isn't going to make any concessions--it's still shrieking as she tries to stuff it back into the dirt, though all that seems to do is slightly muffle its cries. )

I--I think so! ( there's something almost comical in her voice; she plucks the weed right back out of the slanting hole, and it screeches in her face--immediately, she sits up on her knees, presses the plant into her palms and--

--gives it a nice toss, right in the direction of her new friend, the stranger. the weed's wailing goes up into an arc as it passes through the air, almost like a whistle. )

Catch~!

Oh, it's....

( well, it's hard to put it into words, isn't it? when gideon 'opens' the door for her, she presses her hands in against her sides, bowing her head slightly to duck inside, past the invisible barrier--around them it looks like something of a desert, sandy and imposing, the sort of dry climate that might be found somewhere near the outskirts of corel, way outside of midgar. it's not the sort of thing she's used to: her thoughts have always turned to greenery, bright and lush and thriving with the spirit of living things. she isn't entirely sure anything lives, here.

still, she perks up into a smile, edging a little closer to gideon to give her a soft little elbow in the side. )

...Well, it's got potential, doesn't it...!

( her free hand lifts, points off towards the buildings--or at least, she thinks they must be buildings, somewhere to duck inside and escape the heat of the sun. to try to get a better look, she shields her eyes with that same hand, squinting in the shade of it to try to get an idea. what could be inside? it almost looks like a prison.

with another grin, she looks back up at gideon. )

What do you think about the outside? It's all sort of--well, sort of the same color, isn't it? Your favorite color, maybe?

( she really likes gideon, but if brown and tan are her favorite colors...they might have some trouble here. )

( the way he moves is interesting, and like a cat studying a particularly flighty bird, her eyes flicker to his steps, watching him artfully dodge this way and that, around the flowers, as though he's reluctant to step on them. she doesn't even have to scold him for it, for him to recognize that they're important; it's not like she couldn't very well conjure up a whole new set, here, or like it would be that hard to imagine them, with their perfect colors and petals. but the fact that he takes care of it means that he's a lot more caring and observant than he might appear--she wonders if everyone gives him that credit.

on her part, she's much the same: her eyes flit over his features as he comes closer, but so far, everything seems fit to memory. he still looks rugged, still looks tired, still looks like he has a lot of places he would rather not be and a lot of thoughts he might rather not have, a lot of burdens, maybe. there's a scar that runs up his arm, pink and new; but how new? she can't remember if it had been there before or not. )

I figured that would be your answer. We'll make some. ( she says it with a short dip of her chin, as though it's been decided. to his crouching, she reaches out a hand to pat him lightly on the shoulder. ) You can sit, you know. I haven't dug any holes for you to fall into or anything.

( to the flowers, then, she turns her attention back again--studying, touching, as though she's looking to pick some. )

I was hoping we could talk a little. I don't have many people to talk to, here. And I was hoping... Maybe, you've seen Cloud? ( there's a small tilt of her head, almost like she already knows the answer before she asks it. ) Maybe you've kept him safe?

I'm sorry. I know it's a little selfish, dragging you all the way out here...

[Oh, this is terrible. She hates this. Her first inclination is that someone should just stomp on it, or otherwise destroy it, but the fact that it’s making a noise indicates some kind of life, doesn’t it? Can it feel pain? Is it screaming because it’s being torn out of the ground? Putting it back, however, doesn’t seem to do anything either.]

Wait—

[The good news is that she has excellent reflexes, and before she can even process the situation, Aloy has her arms open to receive her new charge. She doesn’t fumble it, but the fact that it’s still screaming means she’s very tempted to drop it, event hough at this point she suspects that might just make it worse. Aloy had offered help, but now that she’s got the thing in her hands she realizes she has no idea what this is. Or what she’s supposed to do with it.

She holds it as far away from her body as possible.]

What were you trying to do?

[Thorne might wish to keep its prizes close, or to determine whether or not it can trust its new people — Jon is not sure which. Perhaps a little of both. But whichever it is, there is some freedom in the Horizon, even if he feels half a fool in getting there. There is fresh cool air, sometimes, because he wishes there to be.

What he has seen runs the gamut of ordinary wilderness, unfamiliar taverns, landscapes more genuinely like a dream or nightmare — and this. A house, a lake, flowers, and a pretty girl perched on the tips of her toes. She is painting on the side of the house. He has not seen anyone else in the Horizon today.

He tries to make enough noise not to alarm her. Ghost, silent as ever, is no help in this — and it might be that a big white direwolf does frighten her. But Jon’s footsteps are not quiet, even here, and his leather armor is just as he recalls it: it creaks softly as he moves.]

What is it?

[He means the thing she’s painting.]

[ Thancred never seems to tire of walks through the Horizon, and that is because unlike Castle Thorne, there is almost always something new to see. Sometimes there's a spot he'll notice is suddenly gone without a trace, a clear sign that someone has been returned home — or he'll simply take a different route and end up in a domain he's never seen before. There are some, like the sky-high towers of Amaurot, that tend to obscure the cozier spots.

Therefore, when he comes upon the rickety little house next to a small lake and a well-manicured garden, he can't help but be charmed by it all. This feels like a place he might have found somewhere in the Shroud, the plant life overwhelming everything around it.

He makes his way through the gardens first, making a vague attempt to see if he recognizes any of the plants or flowers before he moves on. It's only as he draws closer to the house that he realizes he's not alone. The owner of this space is here, fixing up the place with her own hands. Or as close as one can get in the Horizon, anyway.

While he is about to apologize for the unplanned intrusion, her face lights up the moment she sees him. Thancred tilts his head at her, then smiles crookedly. He can have this effect on people at times. ]

Hello there. Were you in need of a hand?

[ Surely that is why she's so enthusiastic about his arrival. He's someone who can help. ]

Edited 2022-07-25 03:47 (UTC)

[ He glances upwards, faintly amused, and sits on the grass altogether. He wonders if Aerith talks to her flowers here, too. Does it count when they're born of her mind in the first place? He watches her sort through her plants for a bit. Somehow, for reasons he can't explain, he'd expected a tidy garden. And yet now that he finds it is far from neatly trimmed, it feels more fitting than not. ]

You didn't. [ Drag him, he means. If he'd had no reason to come, he'd have not. But despite their brief encounter, he likes her. Finds her curious, at least, if only because he senses there's more to her than she lets on.

There's no easy path to telling someone their friend is missing. He does it the only way he knows how: bluntly, but not unkindly. ]

I haven't seen Cloud in some time. [ He can't confirm whether this means Cloud vanished or if something else happened. The Free Cities is large. The deserts are unforgiving. All he can say is he hasn't seen a body nor heard anything of the sort. ] He disappeared a few weeks ago. Perhaps earlier. I'm sorry.

[ She's said little of her relationship with Cloud, but the fact that Cloud has avoided contacting her despite clearly worrying about her indicates something he can't figure out. ]

( there is some reprieve, having the weed so far away, but it's still yelling, and at this point, she almost worries that they're going to draw the attention of someone else, who might come out and scold them for what they're doing. still: she can't help but laugh a little, unbidden, seeing the stranger hold the weed out so far away from herself.

cheerfully, she cups her hands around her mouth to be heard over the sound of the shrieking: )

I was trying to dig up its whole family and end them all...!

( there's a grin, and then--she can't really hold it, waving a hand in front of her face as though to immediately erase the idea from their minds entirely. )

No, I was only gardening! Do you think we should take it somewhere else? Dig a bigger hole? Or is it lonely?

( playfully, aerith sits up on her knees, stretching her torso up: dramatically, she wraps her arms around herself, though they're dirty and caked with soil. )

Maybe give it a--a hug? See if that works, first?

( it's the creaking leather that gives him away, but more than that, it's the shape out of the corner of her eyes--it looks like something of a monster, a blur of white fur and sharp ears and for a moment, there's surprise, a rigid line to her shoulders that holds the brush, where it connects with the wood of the cottage, right in place. twisting to look at her new companions, properly, makes her deflate into a sigh of relief: the creature that's accompanying this man, whoever he may be, looks nothing like the monsters back home, twisted, wolf-like creatures that keep to their packs up near the nibel mountains and beyond; this one is certainly large, but its fur is the color of snow, bright and inviting, and there's something about its eyes that makes her feel, oddly, some sense of calm.

the man himself looks a little more intimidating; he's dressed in the leathers of a soldier, she thinks, though even that is a little different. he doesn't look like the soldiers back home, anyway, which tells her that he's likely from a different place entirely: likely different even from the various settlements in this world, and the cities beyond. with a smile, as though entirely unbothered by his presence, she turns back to the cottage. )

You know, it's funny that you ask that... I was trying to decide what it should be just now, myself.

( her nose wrinkles, but there's a soft laugh--and she whips the paintbrush away from the cottage, holding it out in the distance that remains between them. blobs of green paint drip and splatter onto the dirt and grass between them; her hands are stained with a variety of colors. )

I don't suppose you're an artist, are you? ( a playfully hopeful tone of voice. ) Take this, at least, and come see what you make of this... very nice green ball I've made, so far.

( taking a few steps back, she laughs--after all, it does just look like some very round, very green sun that she's painted on the side of the cottage, but whatever, she's trying! )

( and it's strange, isn't it? well, maybe not in a place like the horizon, but even so: to see a man wander through her gardens, seemingly wading himself past the grasses and the stems of flowers as though appearing out of nowhere, like some sort of fairy that's magicked itself into her lands, or an animal that's suddenly sprouted human limbs and climbed its way up from the ground; the idea makes her laugh, a small little hint of a smile, checked by the pinch of her teeth. the last thing she needs is this stranger thinking she's lost it entirely, after all.

need a hand? he offers, and there's relief in her gaze, glancing from the side of the cottage and then back to him at once. honestly, she hasn't really gotten very far at all: there are some faint sketches, rounded out in greens, blues, and purples off to one side, but most of the house is alarmingly bare. with a firm nod, she drops the paintbrush right back into the barrel, ignoring the way it splatters out onto her boots. )

I'm in need of two, actually. Do you think you can lend them to me?

( her own hands, matted with paint, end up tucked at her back, and she takes a few steps away from the cottage to ease in his direction. there's still a bit of distance between them--enough that he could turn and run if he likes, and she wouldn't stop him.

with a thoughtful hum, she purses her lips together as she looks at him. )

What's your favorite color, too? I'm sorry, I have to ask these things before I allow anyone to help, of course. Consider it... a job interview! Mm, something like that.

( --it's obviously a tease, by the way she's saying it all, lofty and warm. )

( it doesn't seem like an answer that surprises her, and yet there's a silence for a moment, as though needing to let the words soak in, or maybe to figure out the correct way to react in front of someone who is not quite a stranger, and yet not quite a trusted friend just yet; there's more a freedom to be honest, then, with someone who doesn't know everything about her and can take her at face value, but at the same time, it feels like a burden, a burden that someone like geralt likely wouldn't mind and yet one she wouldn't put on him all the same.

her fingers still, worked around the stem of a particularly tall flower--she tips the head of it towards her to look at the center, into the petals, and finds it easier to focus when she can concentrate on the slight lift of her lips in a smile. there's no need to feel lonely, really, when this is how it should be; there's no need to worry, when she knows that cloud will have likely returned safely back home. but it stings, despite knowing better: it stings, because it's easier to explain feelings than to actually feel them. )

Oh, okay. ( there's a warmth to her voice--but a thread of exhaustion there, all the same. ) That's okay. I figured as much, I think.

( with one gentle nip of her thumbnail, twisting it up underneath the flower, she plucks it right off the stem. it's yellow and white, a flurry of petals circled around the center; she holds it in her palm, and moves her hand towards geralt, as though it's something of an offering. )

He had things he needed to do, so it's no wonder. Hey, have you ever played the petal plucking game? ( she seems to be carrying on with some cheerful tone, as she finally turns her gaze up to look at geralt's face. ) Maybe we can play it for a bit. If you don't have anything else you need to do.

( nevermind that she should be tending to the overgrown state of her garden, but: priorities. )

[ It's so subdued of a reaction, Geralt blinks at her. Not that he thinks she doesn't care. More...

He isn't sure. He can't put his finger on it. Perhaps it's that she feels older than she looks. Someone who's lived a long time, who's lost enough that it's no longer a shock. Just painful in that way that sits deep inside you, sinking into your bones and hollowing them out.

Or it may just be as she says: he's only confirmed what she has long come to realize.

Aerith changes the topic, and Geralt goes along with it. He's told her the news. How she wishes to process it is not for him to comment on. ]

I'm not one for games. [ He takes the flower nonetheless.

Yeah. All right. He can humour her. He has before, hasn't he? ]

Edited 2022-07-30 16:46 (UTC)

[He sees her stiffen, then relax again, and he tries to make no move that might frighten her. As he understands it, this is her place. He does not wish to trouble her in it, but he is curious about the other Summoned.

It's better when she begins to seem untroubled, and when she laughs.]

Oh, no, I'm no artist.

[What is he? Someone who kills and kills and kills so that others might live -- but not here. Not in the horizon and not yet in this world. It's dull sometimes, and Castle Thorne makes him pleased that he's never seen King's Landing, and it all keeps him away from what he must do -- but there is some peace in it, too, as there is in this meeting. Only one person he's known at home would ever have handed him a paintbrush, and she has been lost to him for many years, a little girl stolen and eaten by lions.

He accepts the paintbrush, then squints at the green ball. And for his part, Ghost sits quietly next to Jon.]

If there's something you wanted it to be -- I may not be the right --

Well, might be that here, I can do as well as anyone else. How do you feel about a big green apple?

[Aloy absolutely believes her for a split second--if this is a screaming plant, it kind of makes sense to stop the screaming. Even now, as she holds it at arm's length, she wonders if she shouldn't kill it. Probably she should kill it! Unfortunately, Aloy is more empathetic than that, and doesn't want to murder an innocent animal if there's something else they can do.

The more it screams, however, the more she's tempted.]

I'm not giving it a hug!

[Aerith cannot be serious. In fact, between the joking and the laughing, Aloy is wondering if she understands the gravity of the situation. What if it never stops?]

What is this thing, anyway?

[ As Thancred glimpses the side of the house, he's able to gather that the woman is painting some sort of mural. It seems to be in the early stages still, and so he can't quite gather what it will look like when it's all done. Or perhaps it's meant to be more abstract, a swirl of colors as she experiments with them? The beauty of the Horizon is that she can simply make it a blank slate and start over, if she wishes.

She isn't the least bit perturbed by his presence here despite the fact that they're total strangers, and that sort of openness immediately reminds him of Himeka. That alone allows him to ease up a bit as he nods in confirmation. ]

I can't claim to be much of an artist, but if all you require is for me to fill in the lines, I should be able to manage.

[ It depends on how creative she wants to be about this. She has made a mess, her clothes and boots covered in splatters of paint, but that also doesn't truly matter here. Even so, Thancred decides to shrug out of his own stark white coat and set it aside, leaving him in the black undershirt that he wears here in place of his body armor.

He blinks in her direction when she asks for his favorite color. ] Then I suspect if I tell you I don't have one, that I'll fail said interview. [ He taps one boot against the dirt path, taking a moment to consider. His thoughts shift to Ryne, and a moment later a can of paint appears near his feet, almost exactly matching the color of her burnt orange hair.

He stares down at it, briefly taken aback. ] — Well, I suppose that answers that.

Edited 2022-08-02 01:47 (UTC)

( it's a good thing that he sheds that stark white jacket--her eyes are drawn to it almost immediately, thinking of all the ways that she could paint it, instead of the cottage; in reality, it's not like it would do any harm, given where they are, and were they back in the actual world of this place, she wouldn't dare tamper with someone's clothes like that, at least not a stranger. still, what he's wearing underneath looks good for painting: she addresses it with a short, prompt nod of approval. not like he needs it. )

Well, not necessarily...If you said you liked all colors, then--

( then? it isn't a possibility that they have to address, it looks like: the man falls into thought, and to her surprise, a can of paint appears, right at his feet. bringing her hands forward in a clap of pleasure, she inches a little closer, crouches down and wraps her arms around her knees so that she can get a better look at it.

it's a pretty orange color, the sort that looks almost like a sunset, or the flames of a burning orange fire; pleased with it, she glances back up at the stranger, but he looks a little overtaken, like he hadn't expected that to come up at all.

straightening up again, she brushes out the skirt of her dress. )

Let's see what we can make with this color, then! You pass the interview. ( with an open palm, she gestures towards a bit of blank space on the end of the wall. ) It's a very beautiful shade, I think.

( it's amusing, in a way, because the stranger reminds her of some of her friends: the way that she looks aghast at the suggestion, as though it's the most ridiculous thing she's heard; she must be the serious type, then, something that makes aerith laugh again, but mostly in pleasure.

still, there's work to be done: at this rate, they really will draw the attention of the garden keepers, and she pushes up onto her feet, brushing dirty hands against the skirt of her dress. )

It looked like a weed, when I pulled it up...! ( she's still shouting, but at least now, she's looking to close some of the distance between them; she's carefully maneuvering around the lines of crops in the field, stepping over them on the toes of her boots. ) Oh, what about a pot?

( maybe it would feel better, smothered neatly in dirt? hugged by the ceramic? with a wincing smile, aerith points out with one soil-smeared arm towards a small shack, just a few feet away, full of gardening tools and the like. )

Let's head there...! Be careful with him!

A big green apple...! ( she repeats it with a tone that speaks of some sort of marveling to it, as though it's something that she never would have thought of herself. ) I think that's a great idea.

( after all, what else could it be? she supposes it could become one of the various monsters from back home--perhaps a particularly plump cactuar or discolored hedgehog pie, or a ball, like she said, or even a sun, clouded out by smog. but a large green apple feels more uplifting, somehow, and she actually likes the idea. with the paintbrush relinquished, anyway, it means that it's all up to him.

she lingers, though, wandering close to his side--her filthy hands link in at her back, and some paint gets smeared on her dress there, but it doesn't matter. things in horizon can be altered with just a thought, she figures, so she can either wipe herself clean or actually wash her hands in a basin, wring her dress out in it too; instead, her eyes swing from the green blob to the wolf-like creature, sat patiently at his side. )

...She can't paint, can she? ( it's just a guess, she isn't entirely sure of the gender. ) I can get more brushes...

( there's a kind smile, spared to the creature, before she looks back up at her companion. )

Oh, here I am getting you to paint apples, and I haven't even introduced myself. My name's Aerith. Aerith Gainsborough! I'm a famous painter back home. ( and then, with a laugh-- ) Okay, not really.

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( open & closed ) july catch-all

OPEN: SOLVUNN

OPEN: THE HORIZON

CLOSED: GIDEON

CLOSED: GERALT

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i lost this notif, i'm sorry!

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no worries at all!!

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