[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.
( . . . to paint away the warmth with winter. )
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.
( . . . to paint away the warmth with winter. )
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“My dear, don’t look so betrayed. This matter is truly urgent.” He swung her about so that she could better see the paints from where they stood, not far from the open doors. “You must understand that I could not wait to see you, Priscilla, and that these paints, open as they are, must be put to immediate use or else they will dry ( ... )
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The pale whites and blues, they all reminded her of snow drifts. The colors of the North, and the colors of Isley himself, standing under moonlight, or even under the sun on those wintry days of mist and pale blue skies. And she would have done something else - asked a question, maybe, or kicked him in the shin (at least that would be consistent with her initial impulse) - but instead she stops talking, stops swinging her feet, stops breathing for a moment, lost inside that kissHer reaction, unlike the rest of the encounter so far, was not unexpected. By the time their lips parted, she was nearly smiling ( ... )
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...first, she saw the snow. In her memory, it always swowed, every moment, and the drifts were always growing higher. And the moonlight (the moon... so it must be night) shimmered like silver across the icy surface of the snow, on the rooftops, on the evergreens. And in the sky... the purple streaked clouds wrapped around the glittering stars, casting shadows across the moon ( ... )
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Using circular motions, sweeping strokes to blend the paint outward, to utilize the natural dark tones of the wall, Isley applied the pale blue to his canvas. It gave the appearance of shadows moving beneath fresh ice, water in the midst of freezing and yet still flowing.
The colors that he was choosing were lighter than Priscilla’s were. Although the nights were longer, clearer in his memory, Isley remembered the days more fondly, more frequently.
He could recall Priscilla’s body tangled in the bed sheets as she slept, Raki next to her with eyes wide as he awoke. The sun always shone through the windows brightly in the morning. It washed over the pair of them, and she would stir in the warmth, limbs wrapping about the nearest body. Often he would stand in the doorway and observe them. He would smile at them, and for several long moments, it appeared neither knew he was there. And that was how it was, how it had beenDaytime also brought sword training ( ... )
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“Change is constant; the cycle of life revolves around that truth just as all things do. Why, even in death there is change.” It was in Anatole that he had first spoken those words to her. Since then, Isley had spoken them many times over. Was it was because he believed he was speaking truth, or because he was trying to convince himself? He had never bothered to find out the answer to that question ( ... )
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Isley pondered for a brief moment what might have been familiar to Priscilla at that time; the south was one possibility of many.
"It drew you in," he repeated with a nod. Like a moth to the flame, or maybe more like a spider to a fly. No, not that, either. Raki was greater than a mere fly. Even if they had first met him when he had been small and seemingly insignificant, the boy had incontestable passion and potential. Isley had taken to him for those reasons, and because...something in Raki reminded Isley of himself.
"Well, I suppose he drew me in as well. I also saw...familiar things in him."
And he had wanted to shape those things, to make sure that not one went to waste. He helped Raki hone his skills, strengthen his mind and his body. Before long, he wasn't just a simple human in their midst. Raki had become, at least in Isley's mind, family. Or as much of one as he could ever hope to have ( ... )
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It was probably not terribly mysterious. Reminisces, looking back to the time they had spent together with that boy. For Isley, the memory would be molding, it would be family. It would be watching Raki grow and become all the warrior he could be without becoming a hybrid, too. Human, but nearly as strong as a low-ranked soldier. And as skilled as a top-ranked one. That, she knew, was Isley's doing - his mark on Raki's life ( ... )
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