The Art of Perception
ReducioDate: May 11th
WC: 768
Mentions: @Skylar Blue
The thing about being perceived was that it did not instantly kill you, even if the signs seem to tell you otherwise.
Cirrus had half-expected the scene at the courtyard with Max to irreparably alter something in her routine, as though when someone finally connected a face to all the little nameless creatures speckling the castle then it would lose all of its magic. She imagined herself unable to carve without feeling watched; one person now knew who she was, who's to say that the incident was isolated? She had never really been a paranoid person as opposed to having bouts of anxiety, but she couldn't help feeling like everyone she walked past was watching her, like they saw through her opaqueness. Like they knew her. And, quite frankly, it was horrifying.
Yet, life possessed the irritating tendency to continue to roll on regardless of internal catastrophes. The universe wouldn't stop for her. Endless currents of students still flooded the corridors, the rain still struck the castle windows in syncopated rhythms, the trees still whispered their secrets to her when she'd roam the grounds. Though she could not deny that something had changed. She listened more carefully to passing footsteps, subconsciously searching for a similar sound like that of the boy from a couple days ago, for someone who matched his velocity and would impose themself upon her with their interrogation. She hated that she noticed she'd started doing that and hated even more when she understood why. A minuscule part of her that she kept under lock and key liked being recognised for her artistic value. She'd always told herself that it wasn't something she needed, that she'd prefer to live in the shadows and do things for herself. But Max's eager enthusiasm had her yearning for more interactions like it. It was deeply inconvenient.
This day, however, her focus belonged elsewhere. Cirrus had been wandering about the grounds, searching for a home for a new carving she'd conceived the night before. She remembers the pale shavings curling into spirals when she'd taken the blade to the cedar. Slice. Pause. Turn. Slice again. The rhythm came naturally to her now, adjacent to her musical endeavours but not entirely so. The carving that took shape was unlike any of the others she'd done before in every way except being small. It wasn't an animal this time. A hand; positioned as though it was either reaching towards something or pulling away from it, that much was up for interpretation of the viewer. The detailing remained unfinished, the jagged wrist disappearing into the rest of the wood she'd yet to carve, but its shape was unmistakable. Ironic, she thought, given that she was absolutely hopeless with other expressions of visual arts. Hands were something most artists struggled with and she, who had never taken a pencil to paper to even attempt such a thing, managed to make it tangible on a sort of interdimensional level.
Cirrus wasn't sure why she'd done it. Perhaps because human things are harder. Animals were very one dimensional, simple, honest. A fox never pretended to be anything other than a fox. Birds flew when they wanted to leave. Bears showed their teeth in the face of threats. But people buried meaning beneath indefinite layers of performance and aesthetic to the point where even kindness became difficult to identify. However, that boy from the other day broke that mold with his sincere fascination, he looked at her carvings like they mattered. And if other people knew who she was shared his opinion of her work, then maybe she wouldn't mind so much as to be discovered. Maybe. The thought sat strangely with her, annoyingly so.
During her somewhat aimless stroll, Cirrus had discovered a rather unique tree that she thought would be perfect. At first glance, it blended in with the indistinct abundance of greenery, but upon closer inspection, one would notice the trunk dividing cleanly into two. Each half did not grow equally; one side twisted outward, as though allergic to its other half, while the other melted skywards so as to impose superiority over its reclusive counterpart. There was something deeply human in its contradiction and she liked that about it. Perhaps it reflected the push-pull idea she'd subconsciously put into her carving. But was the hand pushing away or pulling towards? Perhaps both, perhaps neither.
Cirrus found herself on her tip toes, reaching upwards to place the hand at the junction where the two temperaments of the tree parted ways. Which side it played for would be up for interpretation to the viewer.
iNPC: Kullervo Ikonen
The Art of Perception
꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ ☾☼☽ +:｡.｡ ༺❀༻ ｡.｡:+☾☼☽ ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧x
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Sometimes, being observant has its benefits. Though Skylar may often seem loud or just aloof of her surroundings, she does have a keen eye for certain things. However, her observation skills are quite conditional. Take social cues for example. Skylar is terribly oblivious of others and can be ignorant of their moods. As the awkwardly social extrovert, she does not seem to grasp the concept of personal space too well.
But when it comes to the little things? Well, Skylar may know more than she lets on. Her eyes often drift away— not in a daze, but in constant motion. Always thinking, always searching. If one were to analyze her mental state, crack open the skull that holds her brain, they would find... a confusing mess. Her thoughts cannot be confined to a box, her ideas cannot be retained. Like fleeting birds, they come and they go. They circle the chaos she calls inspiration, and they may settle or leave. She constantly searches for enrichment, for something different.
Unfortunately, Herbology did not offer the hook to catch Skylar's attention. Or maybe it did, but just not large enough to hold it. So there Skylar had sat, restless and trying not to draw attention herself. Her eyes scanned the classroom for anything that can be remotely interesting. No offense to the Herbology professor, of course, but Skylar just finds plants and herbs extremely unremarkable. Even though she enjoys drawing them, her desire to learn about their ecosystem is very, very low. Letting out a tired sigh, the Gryffindor's eyes drifted towards anything but the board itself.
And that is when she saw it.
By the greenhouse window, a little figurine sat there silently, watching over the magical plants. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a little fox. Curious, Skylar tilted her head at the small thing, suddenly extremely interested. Once the class was dismissed, she carefully made her way to the window, muttering excuses on how she accidently left something there. In reality, Skylar merely wanted to view the fox figure more closely. She did not have much time, however, before the next class had to come in. Quickly grabbing the fox, which she can now tell is made of wood, Skylar pocketed the little thing and departed from the classroom.
She hurried her steps as she made her way back to her dorm, the falling rhythm of her shoes echoing across the stone floor of the castle. Up and up she went, into the tall Gryffindor tower where she often resided. Once she is in the comfort of her own room, Skylar took out the little wooden fox.
The first thing she noticed about the figurine was that it was definitely hand-carved. Not in a bad way, but in that it had a certain charm to it. She could tell that it was a piece made with love. If anything, a little experimental as well. The carver seemed to be quite skilled in their craft, but they are just not to used to it. Perhaps it is a new hobby or interest they happened to pick up quickly on. A feeling of fondness grows within Skylar the longer she stares at the peculiar piece. She always had an affinity for small things, especially handmade ones. Something about them just radiate so much love and care that it draws her near.
Placing the little fox by her bedside, Skylar begins to wonder who this mysterious carver is. But there is too much unknown variables to consider, and not enough information to reach a conclusion. So for now she shall enjoy the company of the wooden carving, and perhaps the truth will reveal itself later.
The truth, however, was much closer that Skylar had thought. She was on her way to her afternoon classes when she spotted another carving, this time of a little bear. But that was not the only carving she had found.
There was a wooden frog by the lake, a raven on a window still, and even more wild critters that were placed in every nook and cranny of the castle. It was almost as if it were a game between the Carver and Skylar. The Carver carefully planting their creations, while Skylar attempts to find them.
With each passing day, the little figurines slowly become an anchor point in Skylar's life. She would find them in unexpected places around the school, still and unmoving even as the world continues around them. She had wanted to take a few, but ultimately decided against it. May the other carvings find more students like her, whose observant eyes were lucky enough to land upon the creations.
But every night when Skylar returns to her dorm, her eyes will land on the wooden figurine by her bed. She does not want to take more of the Carver's creations, but she cannot help but feel that the fox is getting lonely. That was when the idea struck her.
Why could she not just make her own?
So then begins Skylar's little endeavor of sculpting. Creating with clay was a hobby Skylar had when she was younger, yet she had to give it up in favor of drawing, which was much easier to just do whenever. Sculpting requires not only time, as all things do, but in needs patience and the right head-space. And hard surface of some sort. Evidently, sculpting was not something she could do on the go. While she can pull out a sketchbook by the lake to begin drawing, she cannot really take out a chunk of clay and make a masterpiece.
But after finding the curious carvings all over the castle, Skylar decided that it was finally time to revive the old hobby of hers. After requesting her parents to send over some clay and art supplies, Skylar begins.
In the beginning, her sculptures were mediocre at best. It has been a while since she sculpted with clay, and that fact was very evident. The anatomy was off, and the figures looked more forced than natural.
Despite this, Skylar remains undeterred and continues with her craft. She would often take inspiration from the Carver's works, sculpting as if making it a friends. If the Carver had made a dog, Skylar would make a small puppy. If the Carver made a crow, Skylar would make a sparrow.
Now the wooden fox was no longer lonely, as several clay figures now surround it. There was a wolf, a rabbit, and even toad. Skylar would smile to herself, proud of her creations. The girl's hands were now dry, the frequent contact with clay sucking out the moisture from her hands. Clay bits would be stuck under her nails, never leaving despite the thorough cleaning she always does.
Skylar has also taken the habit of bringing her clay figurines with her now. She had wanted to put her creations by the Carver's carvings, hoping to give it a friend. However, every time she was about to do it, she chickens out. What if the Carver does not want my pieces near theirs?
But soon, things will take a change. On one of her walks around the castle, Skylar decides to take a little adventure to the courtyard. The fountain always soothes her, and there are usually few students present around this hour. Though it appears fate had other plans.
There in the courtyard, two students were conversing. One of the students, whom Skylar recognizes as Max (@Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler), seemed to be in shock. "You! It’s you, isn’t it?!? You’re the one leaving those animal figurines everywhere!"
Skylar immediately stops in her tracks. Animal carvings? Does he mean the Carver? It appears she was not the only one noticing the little wooden figures. Looking over out of curiosity, the girl notices that Max was speaking to a Hufflepuff. That student must be the Carver! Skylar faintly recognizes the other from brief interactions and run-ins during school hours, but never got her name.
Quickly turning and leaving the courtyard, Skylar feels a new sense of giddiness rise in her. She knows who the Carver is! But... what is she supposed to do now? Wrapping her fingers around one of her clay creations, Skylar decided that she will thank the Hufflepuff for inspiring her. Or perhaps even befriending her. Making up her mind, Skylar decides to go back to her dorm and make something special.
So here she is now, walking around the school grounds when she spotted the Carver. There were few people around, so Skylar figures it would be the perfect opportunity to greet her. Following the student at a distance, she readies herself to greet the Hufflepuff. However, she pauses as she sees the girl go up on her tiptoes, seemingly putting another carving in a junction of the tree.
Skylar debates whether she should go up to the Carver, but she just seemed so... focused and peaceful. So Skylar stood there and waited until the Hufflepuff left. Slowly going up to the parted tree, she notices that the new carving was a hand. It reached out of the parted tree, almost as if breaking free. The branches parted ways, growing away as if to hide from the other.
Looking through her bag, Skylar attempts to find a fitting figurine. In the end, she chooses a dove and places it in the outreach hand. Doves often symbolize peace and freedom from conflict. Perhaps the hand is breaking away from the roots and shackles that bind it, all in hopes of finally reaching peace.
Skylar grins to herself at the poetic vision she and the Carver had created. Pulling out her sketchbook, she rips out a blank page and scribbles a note.
Thank you for inspiring me. — The Sculptor
Tucking it into a convenient crack in the wood, Skylar departs from the split tree. Perhaps the Carver will come back and see it.x
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
sta • 5 | eva • 6 | str • 4 wis • 7 | arc • 7 | acc • 6 |
Shop | ENCYCLOPEDIA | Gallery I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. |
Prodigal Flying Learner| Y2 | Y3 Y4 | Y5 | Y6 | Y7 |
The Art of Perception
ReducioDate: May 11th
WC: 1288
Mentions: @Skylar Blue
Cirrus had planned for her walk back to the castle to be leisurely, perhaps find some new branches on the way to collect. But she slowed before she really understood why she did it. Call it intuitive, like how some people can just know the deepest darkest secrets about a person before they understand how it is that they came to such conclusions. And her steps did not stop to lose their conviction despite her newfound uncertainty as she turned back around. The greenery was the same as it had been moments ago; same dirt path, same green grass, and same stubborn contradictory tree. Yet, something appeared- felt off about it. It wasn't obvious, it was the type of shift that accumulated in the absence of what should have been there. And perhaps she heard something that sounded like footsteps coming from where she had just been. She thought of the carving she had placed there just moments earlier, now suddenly concerned about whether or not it was still there. But she was also worried for who might be lingering, if they knew who she was. If they took her piece. Despite herself, Cirrus felt compelled to check.
She returned to the site where she had left her carving, reorientating herself with the tree, the half that stretched outwards and the half that reached above. It was just as she remembered from barely a few minutes ago. But memory was not the most reliable of things, it was fickle, it flattened details and constructed new information to fill in gaps. She wasn't sure she could trust that right now. So, she looked again, closer this time. And spotted it. Something she had not left there. Something was added and it did not speak the same language as her wood carving. It did not obey the rules of the grain, because it was not an oaken piece.
Cirrus moved to closer inspect the second presence that was anchored to the tree's junction next to her own piece; a dove. It was not a carving. It was a sculpture. Clay. Curious, she thought. She'd tried her hand at clay once - against her will, courtesy of art class at her muggle school - and found that she didn't like its texture, how it never listened to her nor bent to her artistic vision. And how it always seemed to engrain itself into the crevices of the pads of her fingers no matter how much she tried to wash it off. Who knew she hated a mess? But it was one of the many activities she'd decided to drop before she gave herself the chance to get good at it. Whoever made this piece had a nurtured skill in such a craft and that much she could respect. But that didn't come close to her reverence for the attention to detail of the symbol. Clearly, the viewer had interpreted. The hand was pulling away, but not in a reclusive manner like little children do when they're scared, or animals when they're hurt. It was pulling away from the chains of inhibition to welcome peace. It was very deliberate. Cirrus cracked the faintest of smiles, not entirely displeased that someone had been here. She was honestly more concerned by the probability that she was being watched (which has been a recurring pattern as of late...) but couldn't bring herself to care much at the moment.
Then, her attention narrowed as her eyes traveled lower to the other object that she most certainly did not place there. Paper, neatly folded, tucked between fissures of the bark. Also curious. Cirrus figured it was intended for her - notes expected to be read - even if her instincts were telling her not to associate herself with whatever this was. She took the paper from the bark to unfold it, and it crackled louder to her ears than it had any right to. While she wasn't sure what words it would contain, she was certainly not prepared for what the paper spoke to her. Thank you for inspiring me. For a moment, she simply stared as the word echoed inside her skull. Inspired. Inspirational was not something people often associated with her character, nor did she ever regard herself to have the ability to inspire. It certainly wasn't criticism, but it was quite praise neither. Somehow, that made it worse.
Cirrus had spent the better part of the year convincing herself that her carvings disappeared into the castle's scenery the moment she left them behind. It was safer to imagine that no one cared enough to look closely. Yet, someone had. And not in the way Max did. Max discovered her, the person. But this sculptor had discovered her, the artist. The sculptor had a similar creative drive to have recognised intention, enough to create something because of it. Because of her. This was a vastly different feeling to when she played music for other people. Invigorating a small crowd with her sound was one thing, but to inspire another person to personally create something was so much more moving. She didn't quite have the words for it. Cirrus would assume that most people who saw her work would think 'that's a wood carving' and get on their day. The sculptor saw her work and thought 'someone made a choice here'. For someone as private as Cirrus, that was worse than being perceived.
Cirrus had always imagined that people moved through the world like ships crossing a dark sea, vaguely visible to one another before disappearing into the thick fog. Close enough to acknowledge one another's existence, perhaps, but never close enough to get to know the other, or to elicit the urge to even squint into the darkness to see. Every person remained locked behind the barriers of their own mind, expressing their thoughts and ideas through layers of performative gestures, hoping remnants of meaning would survive the journey. Most of the time, it didn't. The numerous conversations she'd witnessed dissolve into misunderstanding, the arguments that stemmed from it because people attached different meanings to the same words, were proof of that. Even in music, Cirrus often held her own meanings to the lyrics that would differ from the creator. It was apparent to her that everything seemed to become more granular when in transit. And the sculptor seemed to understand that as well. It was certainly so much worse than being perceived. They thoughtfully entered the conversation with rehearsed deliberation in a way she could not dismiss. The hand asked and the dove answered.
Cirrus' fingers clutched the note tighter, just enough to make it softly protest without crumpling it. Her eyes rolled over the words again and again as though they would magically change if she looked away. Inspire. It allowed something warm and uncomfortable to settle in her chest and accumulate with each passing second. It wasn't panic - panic was sharp, painful - but whatever this unnamed emotion was, it was equally as alarming, if not more. It was as though she'd become acutely aware of herself as a being, as though she could feel her pulse in her wrists or the very particles of oxygen travelling through her veins to her lungs. Or like she could view herself in third person. It was ridiculous, she thought, that a scrap of paper could make her feel so visible. It overwhelmed her to the highest degree, and she simply could not dismiss it.
"Who is there?" Cirrus called out into the trees, uncharacteristically desperate to hear another voice call back to her. Ironically, it was her who now had to discover the identity of the sculptor, if they had not yet left.
iNPC: Kullervo Ikonen
The Art of Perception
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| x | WC - 1471 |
Mentions - @Cirrus Mooney |
Date - May 15th, 2026; afternoon |
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OOC Note - Holy yap bro  sta • 5 | eva • 6 | str • 4 | wis • 7 | arc • 7 | acc • 6 Prodigal Flying Learner |
Inventory Reducio Wand Wind chime (Already hanged) Sketchbook Journal Snacks For emergencies: (Antidote to Common Poisons Antidote to Uncommon Poisons Bruise Removal Paste Burn Healing Paste Band-Aids) |
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sta • 5 | eva • 6 | str • 4 wis • 7 | arc • 7 | acc • 6 |
Shop | ENCYCLOPEDIA | Gallery I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. |
Prodigal Flying Learner| Y2 | Y3 Y4 | Y5 | Y6 | Y7 |