Rhythm and Brush
Interacting with @Zion Davis
I sat outside, the wind in my short hair, ruffling it beyond help. I grumbled before brushing it with my fingers back into place. It was a chilly weekend, the winter catching up to Hogwarts. The fall had been going slowly, moving at a snail’s pace from the vibrant colors or red, green, yellow and auburn, to leeching out into the listless skeletal grey of winter. I realized that my birthday would be coming up soon. 13 years old, what joy. My family would in all likelihood want to celebrate that “momentous occasion” with a grand party. I wanted to spit at the very thought of it.
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I didn’t want a party. I simply, like all other times, wanted to be left to my own devices. Was that truly too much to ask? To be left alone? I sighed. At least at Hogwarts, the population knew better than to engage me in trivial matters such as politeness and what such. I didn’t much care to know about the weather. If you are asking me about the damned weather, and you’re outside, same as I, why, in all the seven hells of Dante, would you be asking about the freakin’ weather?!
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I sighed again. It just astounded me the grand idiotesque, that people could often be. I turned my attention back to my drawing pad, which was irritatingly blank. What could I create? I observed as a bird alighted on a branch above my head. Before I knew it, my fingers were moving, rushing. Creating.
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I realized that there was someone looking over my shoulder and turned my head sharply to see who it was. There was a boy, with a shocked expression upon his face.
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AN: Not mine, I have a different one I created but I liked this one better.
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☞ Speech
☞ Thoughts
☞ Narration
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Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris to the Ground. Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris, ashes now.
❀ Crimson Sugar Curiosities! ❀ [OPEN!]
Rhythm and Brush
Made by Drago Thanatos-Kholodov at Hex and Hemlock
Interacting with: @Nyx Blackheart
WC: 248
Zion closed his eyes as he was laying down on a bench in the Courtyard. The cold weather reminded him of home. Detroit. He pictured every detail. The smell of the snow-filled streets. Playing football in the snow (The American one of course). Shoplifting ice cream and hiding them in the snow for later. Gettin a whoopin from his Mama for shoplifting ice cream. Those were the days.
Feeling like he stayed out for a little too long, the boy got up and began walking back to the Hufflepuff Cellar when he noticed a short-haired girl peacefully drawing something on paper. The way her hands moved, Zion could tell she was in her element.
He glanced over at her work as he admired it silently in absolute awe.
It seemed like the talented girl was drawing angels but with a twist. Each angel had wings of different birds. Of course. Angel wings were most definitely inspired by birds, but not all birds were alike. How anyone could craft something like this off the top of their head without anything to look at was beyond him.
His eyes glued to the artwork, Zion spoke up. "Pardon me for being an annoying lil shit, but your work is stunning. What inspired you to draw this?"
The Hufflepuff quickly snapped out of it as he turned his attention to the girl and made eye contact with her. "Sorry. I'm Zion. Zion Davis. First-year Hufflepuff."
He confidently reached forward for a handshake.
Rhythm and Brush
I jumped at the voice behind me. I turned to see a short Hufflepuff staring at the paper in my hands. I blushed lightly. He made eye contact with my before extending his hand, explaining that his name was Zion Davis, a first year Hufflepuff. I shook it hesitantly, offering my own name quietly. I said, gesturing to the paper that had held his attention so raptly before. "This? This is nothing. A doodle. I learned to draw when I was little, my parents made me take classes."
I scowled lightly at the thought of my so-called parents. One of them was dead, and the other one was off acting like a teenager gone off the rails. I shook my head at those thoughts. Not now. I asked him is he drew as well. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about art other than Mikey. While Mikey had good knowledge of the history of art, it wasn't the same as when speaking with another artist. They just automatically understood you need or desire to create something extraordinary.
I watched him carefully, wondering from where he was from. He had a bit of a peculiar accent that had me itching to ask.
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@Zion Davies ZION I'm so sorry!!!!!! Anxiety has been a kick in the head lately and I just realized that I hadn't posted my reply
Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris to the Ground. Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris, ashes now.
❀ Crimson Sugar Curiosities! ❀ [OPEN!]