| Statuary, etc.; A studio, in disarray. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 20 2017, 10:11 PM (73 Views) | |
| CreepyEllie | Jan 20 2017, 10:11 PM Post #1 |
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Czar of International Intrigue
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January 6th 5,850 ATF The Pint-Sized Artist In a corner-lot, ground-level studio in the eastern-most portion of the Radiance, the slight woman was covered in marble dust to the point that she looked to be part of the statue she was working on. Crouched between the feet of the larger-than-life commission of Prince Alyxandaer that she'd had in progress for more than a month now, Rivka was fully engrossed in applying fine details to what was beginning to look like exquisite embroidery adorning the hemline of the beloved monarch's robes. The continuation of the decorative stitching depicted around the collar and sash was a more a matter of taste and style than a request from the commissioner of the piece. Regardless, she was positive that the extra attention to detail would be well-received. The face that she'd made corrections to nearly a week ago stared blankly across the room, the artwork's now-completed hair tousled over its sightless eyes by an unseen breeze. The likeness was utterly remarkable, and an accomplishment that she didn't even have the inclination to begrudge having missed the dragons her brothers had gone on and on about when they'd visited the day prior. A lot of things seemed to happen outside of this studio that she had little interest or awareness of- such was the intensity of her focus. Rivka was just 'particular about her work', as her mother always put it. Considerably diplomatic of the woman, considering the once-vehement disapproval of her daughter's chosen line of work. Her brows raised, causing the caked-on dust to shift and form crevices along her forehead, as the artist mused for a moment- and to think that woman would have had me marry some boring banker... the uncultured prat didn't even like art... I bet she'd have been happier if I'd gone into something more practical and lucrative. Like prostitution. She and her massive project were located along the south-facing wall, very near a large bay door that was presently closed and locked- the feature was a boon for getting blocks delivered, and priceless statues hauled away, and was also the entire reason that she'd chosen the place. Behind her and on the opposite wall (north-facing), was a doorway that led to the stairwell that would take her to the interior entrance to the second floor- her living quarters. The eastern wall held a door, and a window that had long-since forgotten its purpose - both facing the east-west street. "Statuary, Memorials, Busts, etc." was painted tidily on the outside of the window, in black that contrasted quite prettily with the greying dust that had settled on the pane's interior. The door remained unlocked while she worked- though she had little expectation of visitors. Today, the outside's oaken veneer reflected extra light into the area as it stood propped open by a heavy fruit bowl which- were it not for the deep granite tones- held what looked like delicious-looking apples, oranges, and a couple of more exotic-looking citrus and savory fruits. The project from somewhere in the 2nd or 3rd year of her university days was generally her go-to doorstop. She didn't have much use for it, but it had turned out so well that she was loathe to sell it or toss it out. A delicate breeze took a leisurely detour from the street to meander around the large space, pulling up a slight haze of dust from floor, walls, and various surfaces. Nose tickled, Rivka sneezed hard, stirring dust from her own shoulders and hair. "Excuse me, prince- do forgive me?" It wasn't as though the statue would actually answer her, much less actually offer a pardon, but she continued to speak to it in a low and affectionate tone, almost as though the Second Prince was actually there. "It was such a fine speech you gave the other day, I'm glad I decided to go, instead of missing the whole thing like last year. You really know how to throw a party..." Edited by CreepyEllie, Jan 21 2017, 04:40 AM.
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| Hydro | Jan 23 2017, 05:01 PM Post #2 |
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Captain Switzerland
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The Bishop of Valencia It had been quite a long walk from the Minster Valorous to the Radiance. It was the bishop’s practice not to use his position to demand bespoke transportation for personal errands, but the near-hour that it had taken him just to reach the districts built in the shadow of the gigantic slab had him wavering on that stance. The edges of the massive stone platform that formed the Radiance was clustered with a veritable warren of buildings and interconnected walkways that more or less led to the top. At least they did for someone who knew where they were going. It wasn’t a district of the city that Pious spent a lot of his time in, and Valencia was too vast for anyone to hold an encyclopedic knowledge of all its paths and roadways, or not anyone mortal anyway. Pious had groaned at the thought of how many stairs there must be. Memorised directions from the scandalous redhead that he had met at the Prince’s celebrations led Pious past several corners crowded with shoppers and delivery men, along recently paved roads and under the brightly coloured awnings of shop fronts. At last the route brought him to a building much like any other, save for the large pair of doors - giant even by the halfling’s standards - clearly sized appropriately to allow rough hewn blocks of stone to be rolled into the workshop beyond. Pious peered up at the lettering painted onto a window too stained with masonry dust to see through. After a moment, the bishop reached up to knock on the ajar door. “Blessed are those who open their doors to a weary holy man.” he intoned, a faint grin creeping onto the corners of his mouth. “Especially those who do so at roughly quarter past two on a Tuesday.” He stopped just short of adding ‘added boons should they have a bottle of port stashed away somewhere,’ he wasn’t here to impose. Pious was, however, very interested to see what Rivka was working on. Edited by Hydro, Feb 11 2017, 12:38 PM.
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| CreepyEllie | Jan 24 2017, 04:31 PM Post #3 |
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Czar of International Intrigue
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The Half-Pint Artist Upon hearing the knock, Rivka stopped abruptly in the middle of what had evolved into a rather animated conversation - albeit, one-sided - with the statue of the city's monarch, whose feet she still crouched at. She appeared to be frozen in place for several moments, whether waiting to see if she'd be overlooked or attempting to place the voice that had called out from the door frame behind her, one could not be quite certain. Finally, she peeked over her shoulder, eyes lighting upon the halfling with immediate recognition. "Bishop!" Her tone and expression were united in a dance of delight and amusement as she rose to her feet. "Did you really bring yourself all the way up here? I hope you've brought one of those sermons of yours- I'm afraid I've landed myself hopelessly in the midst of temptation and sin. You look thirsty-" she was already making her way toward a cupboard along the wall, hands working furiously to pat away as much dust from her slender frame as possible. "- I've port, cider, and ale... Do come in?" As she rummaged through the cabinet, she glanced over at him- vaguely alarmed. "Wait- it's Tuesday? Already?" Her eyes swept back toward her hands, which snatched an envelop from a nearby table with rapid irritation- yanking an ornate invitation from it's already torn open maw. A frown settled firmly in place as she read it, shaking her head before finally throwing it back down onto the table with disgust; obviously, the artist was more angry with herself than anything. "I can't believe I've missed another one! The last invitation I got was two years ago- I'd been hoping for another so I could actually go this time, it would have been so nice to make some new potential clients..." She sighed, shrugging absently- over the disappointment faster than she'd realized it was there. "Art doesn't sell itself, but it doesn't create itself, either, does it?" Deftly, she extracted a bottle from the cabinet, offering it to the Bishop as she waved him in with her other hand. "How was your journey, my weary holy man?" |
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| Hydro | Feb 11 2017, 04:13 PM Post #4 |
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Captain Switzerland
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The Bishop of Valencia Rivka wasn’t the only one dwelling on the events of the previous evening - thought where she had missed them Pious was still making sense of everything that had gone on. In the moment he had been neither as clear in his faith nor as devoid of fear as he had felt that he should be and those failings weighed heavily on him. To his eye Vaelian had been destruction and carnage in moderation - as he had said the negative that makes all positives valuable - while the Accuser had been the same in imbalance; a destroyer who would not stop until all of the Last God’s creation was razed bare. There wasn’t any true equivalence, nor redundancy of faith implicit. Pious was thankful though for the intervention, that his reasoning had rung hollow and his convictions thrown into contradiction had made his failing all the clearer, all the more potent a learning experience and the holy man was never one to shy away from a revelation. That wasn’t what he had come here to ruminate on, though in part his visit was motivated by restoring a sense of normality to his life after so profound a shift in paradigm. “Pleasant enough considering the time of year.” Pious answered Rivka’s closing question, her earlier question of what he would like to drink rendered moot as the sculptor reached for a bottle. Bracing would have been the word used by younger, fitter folk for the walk in January’s chill air, to Pious ‘bracing’ was what you used to prop up old stonework, bloody cold was what it was. A menial mortal concern it was though all told and the Bishop was grateful that for the moment it was the largest of his concerns. He stepped inside and left the draft of the open door behind him, having worked with paints that had a quite strong chemical aroma he knew about the need for a fresh flow of air in an artist’s studio and the amount of marble dust piling on the floor told him all he needed to know. “You didn’t miss much yesterday,” Pious offered, half truth though it was, “the young war hero became an admiral, and the nobility were being themselves.” The Bishop reflected that his own dressing-down at the hands of the First Prince probably also made the headlines to hear anyone else talk of the evening but as far as he was concerned it was a matter of his own faith and he wasn’t quite sure he’d made sense of it enough to talk about it yet. He took the opportunity then to get a proper look at the statue, seemingly near-finished in the centre of the studio. Nodding appreciatively the Bishop noted the subtle folds of fabric seemingly caught on a breeze that wasn’t there, the quiet intensity of the Second Prince’s gaze, and the dishevelled curls captured in marble. Only the Prince of Parties, Pious reflected, could turn such a zero-effort hairstyle into a fashion statement imitated throughout the city’s elite. “Who’s the client?” Pious inquired politely, nodding towards the artwork. |
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| CreepyEllie | Feb 18 2017, 07:38 PM Post #5 |
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Czar of International Intrigue
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The Half-Pint Artist She nodded appreciatively at the brevity of the Bishop’s recap of the previous evening. “I’m glad it turned out as boring as I had expected it to. I would have been disappointed to miss something exciting.” The artist’s gaze followed Valecobble’s as she grinned with pride, watching him study the detail of the statue. “It’s for one of the noble families- the Monteblanc family. They’ve commissioned it to donate to the university on behalf of the Prince’s upcoming birthday later this year.” Her brow furrowed as her eyes settled on the hem of Prince Alyxandaer’s robes again. “The hem was missing something though, so I’ve been adding some texture to resemble embroidery.” She scowled at the offending edges, as her tone dropped a good octave and a half in mild frustration. “I feel like it would be much easier if I’d ever gotten a close enough look at some of the details that tailor is so fond of. I KNOW there has to be more to it than what I’ve been seeing.” The family she’d mentioned was not very high on the food chain so far as the nobility were concerned, but that certainly didn’t seem to be affecting the quality of her work in the least. It seemed more that she was just happy to have work at all. Besides, this commission would cover the rent for her shop and apartment for nearly the entirety of the year. A small knock from the doorframe behind them pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see a tall, lean boy hovering there as though uncertain whether he was interrupting her from important business or not. His arms were laiden with several containers of food- the contents of which looked delicious. She frowned, shaking her head. “You tell your mom her debt was paid in full last week, like we agreed. She doesn’t have to keep cooking me food. The contract was for six months-“ The kid cut her off by stepping in anyway with a laugh. “But she swears you probably wouldn’t eat if it weren’t for her cooking- I had to pick up the dishes from last week, and if I come back with these ones too, she’ll only bring them back herself.” He made his way to the other door, going thru it and heading up the stairs as though he was quite used to the exchange, yelling over his shoulder as he climbed. “Besides, she loves that memorial. It was much nicer than we’d hoped for, and you short-changed yourself because Mom’s not that great a cook in the first place.” His laugh lingered in the stairwell as she scowled after him, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. A few moments later, he came jogging back down with empty dishes, and left with a polite nod to the both of them, his eyes lighting on the Bishop now with an expression of youthful mischief. He glanced between the two short individuals before turning tail and running off to tell whoever might be interested. “I’m sorry, Bishop.” She smiled sheepishly at him. “For both the interruption, and whatever that boy is about to tell his mother. The woman gossips like it’s the only thing that keeps her alive.” |
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