(Untitled)

[is_a_ghost]

At a table, Silas is just about done with the painted board he's been trying to complete for a while now. He's just finishing painting in the black areas, roses colored a multitude of rainbow shades. He's stopped seeing it as a painting and it's turned into just splashes of colors in front of his eyes

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[mogget_cat]

There may be a soft, curious sound from the rafters above Silas' head. Something like a "mrrt?" sound as a cat peers at something (a painted board, perhaps) in curiosity.

[is_a_ghost]

He tilts his head up, looking at the cat just as curiously as it's looking at him.

"Hello up there," he says, still holding the brush loaded with black paint. He finds it to be a handsome little cat, if nothing else, but this being Milliways he does somewhat expect something else. "You can come down if you like."

[mogget_cat]

The cat blinks at him, slowly, before padding away towards the wall at the end of the rafter. From rafter to fireplace mantle, to nearby table, to floor, the cat drops with feline grace. Once on the floor, it slinks with apparent nonchalance over to Silas' ankle.

[is_a_ghost]

He watches the cat's descent, envying the grace of movement only for a moment before he feels the soft fur against his ankle. He almost reaches down to pet it, but doesn't want to mar the clean white fur, and so he merely smiles, and clears a space for it on the table.

"You're a pretty little thing."

[04_after]

Quatre stops to watch, curious, a respectful distance away-- he doesn't want to interrupt. He's wearing a three-piece business suit (without the jacket), but his hands are turned around a mug of coffee. (Decaf, in deference to the time. He feels his general practicioner should be proud of him.)

[is_a_ghost]

Periodically, he has to look up, to focus on something farther away than the painted board and blink extraordinarily pale purple eyes.

It's in one of these moments that Silas glances past Quatre, and smiles just barely enough to register on his face; he's still got a tiny line of stitches below the corner of his mouth, and a rigid brace on one wrist, but he looks alright otherwise. He's always going to be bone-pale from head to toe, colorless in skin and hair, like a spot in a coloring plate left blank.

[04_after]

Quatre smiles back. No concern registers on his face, though he does feel a brief pang of it.

"Are you an artist?" he asks.

[is_a_ghost]

"No," he answers, looking between the paintbrush in his hand and the board, only missing a few spots yet. "The bar gave me this as something to do while I dried off a few days back." He's very meticulous, which is good for the kind of painting he's doing, but he lacks the spatial mastery to create something realistic.