[CLOSED] Isley & Priscilla
Who: swordofthenorth and yetsleeping
When: Sunday, September 4th, Morning
Where: Isley’s home, East Anatole
Format: Paragraph
What: It’s an emergency! With paint...?
Warnings: A colorful mess is bound to ensue. I'd drop a Pocahontas "Colors of the Wind" pun here but I'm sure someone would smack me for it.
Dawn had come and gone again. The sun had risen above the treetops bordering the eastern edge of the property, and it hung now in the sky halfway between nine, and noon. Still a ways from reaching its zenith, it had cast unseasonable warmth throughout all of Anatole and throughout Isley’s home as well. Seeping in through the tall, arching windows of the snow-white manor were soaring beams of light. The luminescent trails walked across the polished wooden floor and painted in brightness the intricate crown moulding along the ceiling, framing doorways, and the archways at the top of the winding staircase in the front foyer. It was a beautiful morning, ideal for what Isley had in store.
Although it had cost him a small fortune in ivories, Isley had purchased recently enough paint to redo his entire front hall. Every color of the rainbow lay before him in trays all their own, accompanied by brushes of various types and sizes. Short and stiff, excellent for stippling; long and supple, preferred for smooth and flowing strokes; thick and many bristled, for covering large surfaces; fine and narrow, for intricate detailing-and more. There were as many types of brushes as there were colors to choose from, and pallets with which to mix new colors in as well.
The amassing of paints, brushes, pallet knives and other tools had not been for a singular purpose, but for two. The year mark for Isley’s arrival in Anatole was fast approaching. It had been almost as long since he had seen fresh fallen snow, or felt the cool, invigorating breath of winter kissing his flesh. He longed for it and for reminders of the northern land from which he hailed-for reminders of the bleak and ruthless Alfonse. He also longed to be closer to Priscilla. For that reason, Isley had called her here today to join him in the recreation of his homeland within his new home, to paint away the warmth with winter.
Of course, Priscilla was none the wiser. He had led her to believe she was meeting him to discuss a matter of urgency. Any moment now, she would be arriving, and any moment she would be bursting into his home through his front doors. Wouldn’t she be surprised to see him waiting with a smile and a paintbrush in hand?
A fortunate thing indeed there was no books nearby for her to throw at his head.
When: Sunday, September 4th, Morning
Where: Isley’s home, East Anatole
Format: Paragraph
What: It’s an emergency! With paint...?
Warnings: A colorful mess is bound to ensue. I'd drop a Pocahontas "Colors of the Wind" pun here but I'm sure someone would smack me for it.
Dawn had come and gone again. The sun had risen above the treetops bordering the eastern edge of the property, and it hung now in the sky halfway between nine, and noon. Still a ways from reaching its zenith, it had cast unseasonable warmth throughout all of Anatole and throughout Isley’s home as well. Seeping in through the tall, arching windows of the snow-white manor were soaring beams of light. The luminescent trails walked across the polished wooden floor and painted in brightness the intricate crown moulding along the ceiling, framing doorways, and the archways at the top of the winding staircase in the front foyer. It was a beautiful morning, ideal for what Isley had in store.
Although it had cost him a small fortune in ivories, Isley had purchased recently enough paint to redo his entire front hall. Every color of the rainbow lay before him in trays all their own, accompanied by brushes of various types and sizes. Short and stiff, excellent for stippling; long and supple, preferred for smooth and flowing strokes; thick and many bristled, for covering large surfaces; fine and narrow, for intricate detailing-and more. There were as many types of brushes as there were colors to choose from, and pallets with which to mix new colors in as well.
The amassing of paints, brushes, pallet knives and other tools had not been for a singular purpose, but for two. The year mark for Isley’s arrival in Anatole was fast approaching. It had been almost as long since he had seen fresh fallen snow, or felt the cool, invigorating breath of winter kissing his flesh. He longed for it and for reminders of the northern land from which he hailed-for reminders of the bleak and ruthless Alfonse. He also longed to be closer to Priscilla. For that reason, Isley had called her here today to join him in the recreation of his homeland within his new home, to paint away the warmth with winter.
Of course, Priscilla was none the wiser. He had led her to believe she was meeting him to discuss a matter of urgency. Any moment now, she would be arriving, and any moment she would be bursting into his home through his front doors. Wouldn’t she be surprised to see him waiting with a smile and a paintbrush in hand?
A fortunate thing indeed there was no books nearby for her to throw at his head.