An Artist and her Audience
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Lucille had decided to have her lunch somewhere outside. She wasn't sure why, but the Great Hall felt particularly crowded today, and the chatter had been overwhelming. So, instead, Lucille had snatched a quick muffin and sandwich and exited, wandering with no purpose, taking bites of her sandwich every few steps. Wherever she went, students seemed to be walking in the opposite direction, eager to have a hearty meal before their classes resumed. On the bright side, the farther she moved from the Great Hall, the emptier the corridors became. It was this aimless wandering that led Lucille to the courtyard. It was, as always, pleasant, but more than that, it was peaceful today. A few students occupied the area, some involved in chatter and others playing some sort of game, but it was the perfect balance of solitude and company. Finishing her sandwich, Lucille settled down with her muffin, eagerly biting into it. One thing about Lucille was that she would always be excited for food, particularly sweets. Her eyes moved lazily, people-watching but not engaging, before settling on a girl seated a few feet away from her. She was painting, but that fact alone was not what called for Lucille's attention. Instead, it was the way she seemed simultaneously separate from the courtyard and perfectly part of it, like one of the statues that decorated it. Surprisingly, the other students did not approach her. That was odd, considering how when Lucille drew, it was often a magnet for students to look at her drawings, curiosity pulling them toward her. Unlike Lucille, this girl had a certain focus that made one think twice about interrupting her. Curiosity piqued, Lucille began to shift closer to her, until she was almost directly behind her, leaning forward for a better view of the art. For some reason, Lucille was not able to interrupt her, and so remained silent, although her presence was slowly becoming more and more noticeable. Ordinarily, Lucille would have spoken, asked questions, introduced herself, anything, but something about this girl made her second-guess herself, tongue-tied in quiet observation. She felt as if being a disruption would be an error, although this girl had done absolutely nothing to make her feel that way. | |
stats sta 7 eva 7 str 6 wis 5 arc 6 acc 4 abilities calming presence notes light godmodding permission was given |   |
| sta 7 eva 7 str 6 wis 5 arc 6 acc 4 calming presence | iNPC: Antoine de Laurent |
An Artist and her Audience
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| x | date and time: 6th October, 2025; afternoon location: Courtyard mentions: @Lucille Rosenhart speech 𓍼 thoughts charmer in effect |
◦ "𝔫𝔬 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶" ◦
XX𝕿he rays of the sun struck Violence's face and she frowned before turning in her bed. Her hand moving to cover her face, before she rubbed her eyes and slowly opened them. As her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, she realised that her dorm was empty. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was already 10.30. Avina must be in her lectures. A yawn escaped her mouth as she pushed the duvet aside and got up from the bed. Violence had decided to skip her lectures for the week. The ball had been tiring, both mentally and physically. And emotionally.
Violence quickly showered and got dressed. She put on a red tube top and cargos, put her hair in a loose pony tail and took out her books. She didn't feel like attending classes but she had to get her work done. 'Hmm, I'll start with Transfiguration. I'm supposed to write a foot on the proof of light showing both wave and particle characteristics. God, this is no better than Muggle schooling,' Violence grumbled internally before grudgingly taking out her quills and ink. She started reading the theory from her textbook, and then writing the necessary points on the parchment. Finally, she looked up, lightly throwing her quill aside. She checked the time and was shocked to know that it was 12.30 already.
Gathering her books and setting them on her nightstand, she wore her shoes and took her bag and left her dormitory. Violence skipped down the stairs to get to the Great Hall as soon as she could. She had to get some food in her system, she hadn't had breakfast either and Avina would kill her if she found out. As she entered the Hall, she saw that it was filled with people. 'No way I'm sitting here, I'm just going to take my plate to the Courtyard. I'll start painting too,' and so, she took what she had to eat from the table, before heading out. She found a spot and decided to have food before taking out her canvas and paintbrushes and paints.
Violence set up her easel and began painting. She'd been wanting to paint the decorations of the ball. She'd been enchanted that entire night. Thoughts of Dennis and Azzure flooded her brain and she was quickly lost in her own world. Her hand moved of its own accord, as she began painting the sky. The moon that Dennis and Vi had gazed at together, hanging over the sea as if trying to be a part of the festivities. It's light reflected from the tiny pearls and glossy shells, spreading the light everywhere. Violence remembered feeling as if stardust was sprinkled on everybody. How everybody was glowing, before Dennis' eyes flashed infront of her eyes. She could almost feel his arms around her waist again, as they were on the dance floor, him staring at her, her returning the gesture. She could faintly hear everybody's laugh as they enjoyed that day.
Suddenly her thoughts shifted from the ball to the escape room. She had enjoyed that quite a lot, being with people. She was glad she already had friends there, and was not just thrown between a bunch of people she didn't know. She remembered the soft glow of the algae, and the faint humming of the voice that sang the riddle. The picture of Esme being hit by a piece of algae by Milica made her eyes soften, as the canvas was covered in shades of blue and green, with pearls and dresses flowing like honey. She felt her throat itching and was brought back to reality as she remembered she was in the Courtyard. She blinked, her shoulders stiffening for a moment and she reached for her water bottle before she froze. She could feel somebody breathing down her neck. She was sure of it, the faint huffs as the person breathed. She sighed, before turning around.
Sure enough, a girl was standing behind her, looking at the painting, hopefully amazed. Violence noticed her features, dark brown hair flowed down her shoulder; her eyes were of mostly the same colour, lit up due to the sun. Her eyes were a bit bigger than what would have suited her face, but somehow they just highlighted her features. Violence was captivated by her beauty. She cleared her throat before speaking to her, "Hello, can I help you? Or are you just looking at the painting?" Violence gave the girl a small smile.
While she wouldn't mind her painting being complimented, she'd been sitting there because she wanted to be alone and Violence certainly did not like being breathed down upon. Her tone, however, was not rude, quite polite on the contrary. She was too tired to be arguing with somebody, besides, maybe the girl would be good company. Maybe she could sit in silence and watch her paint, so she offered that to the girl. "You can sit and watch me paint, I don't mind." Violence also liked to sit and watch her mother paint, but she wasn't about to explain herself to the girl. So she settled on just offering her. The girl could choose to stay, hopefully she wasn't embarassed. And Violence hadn't really been rude to the girl either, right? Yes, her words may suggest that Violence wanted to be left alone, but her expressions and tone wasn't rude, right?
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| XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX | wc: 902 notes: Avina is Vi's bsf, a dnpc outfit | x |
An Artist and her Audience
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As the girl painted, Lucille was enchanted. The image began to take shape, slowly and steadily and... was that the autumn ball? The girl was painting it in a new light, her experience evidently quite different from what Lucille's had been. When she painted the lights, they seemed to sparkle more than they had at the event. The moon shone brighter than it had when the lights went out, and Lucille couldn't see anything. If anything, the picture in front of her seemed more pleasant than the day it captured. Lucille thought back to her own autumn ball experience. There were moments of fun in the midst of bouts of terror. Fear was an odd feeling for Lucille; it was something she had been too sheltered to fully experience before. Nothing was scary, even when she was galloping on a heavily wooded trail, half expecting herself to fall off her mare, not knowing if a stray branch would hit her in the face. No, that was exhilaration, not fear. It was freeing, exciting. But the ball had been different. The ball had taken her discomfort of water and warped it to uneasiness and, sometimes, fear. She could still recall the haunting chants that rose from beneath the dance floor, and the eerie song that had greeted her in the escape room. And, yes, Lucille had had her friends with her, and they had made the night all the more memorable. In fact, she knew she would still have some form of fondness for the autumn ball in the years ahead, and that was entirely due to her friends and the fun they had all had. Lucille began to wonder what the ball must have been like for the girl in front of her. Her painting seemed so inviting, even to her, who had a healthy dose of skepticism with large bodies of water. But it seemed as if the girl's night had been enchanting, full of romance or friendship or laughter. Lucille began to wonder what it would have been like, had she only been a little braver. Without realizing it, she took a step forward, trying to get a better look. The girl seemed engrossed in her artwork, oblivious to Lucille until, before Lucille could move backwards, she turned and looked her right in the eye. Startled, although she wasn't sure why, Lucille stumbled backwards. She managed to catch herself but, for fear of making a fool of herself further, sat down on the floor anyway, cross-legged and with her elbows on her knees. The girl had sharp features, and her eyes seemed to see right through Lucille, as if she had identified her without ever knowing who she was. Despite her smile, and her tone being kinder than expected, Lucille couldn't speak. Or, rather, she couldn't find a good response. What was she supposed to say? Yes, just the painting. That felt rude. No, thank you. I don't need help. Also rude. Yes, can you tell me how the ball went? Absolutely insane. Before she could find the perfect thing to say, the girl continued, telling her she could stay. Lucille nodded eagerly, shuffling forward awkwardly, not exactly crawling but not really standing and walking either. Finally, she sat back on her heels, looking over the painting, trying to figure out how to explain what was going through her mind. This girl must have had an amazing experience; she must have truly enjoyed the ball the way it had been intended to be, not weighed down by irrational fears and worries. Lucille wanted to know what her experience could have been like to allow her to capture the event in this light. When the silence began to stretch a bit too much, she found herself growing uneasy, aching to break it. Finally, that was exactly what she did. "That's the ball," she blurted out, pointing at the picture. That's the ball? Really? Well, obviously! Hastily, she tried to continue, to clear up her meaning. "I mean, it looks better here than it did there." Lucille cringed a little; she wasn't even making sense. Giving up, she decided to stay silent, shifting to bring her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs, almost like a little ball. She rested her chin on her knees, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the art, not looking at the other girl, trying to appear calm and relaxed, even though she was making a complete fool of herself. | |
stats sta 7 eva 7 str 6 wis 5 arc 6 acc 4 abilities calming presence action | |
| sta 7 eva 7 str 6 wis 5 arc 6 acc 4 calming presence | iNPC: Antoine de Laurent |
An Artist and her Audience
____________________________________________________________
| x | date and time: 6th October, 2025; afternoon location: Courtyard mentions: @Lucille Rosenhart speech 𓍼 thoughts charmer in effect TW: MENTIONS OF BLOOD |
◦ "𝔫𝔬 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶" ◦
XX𝕿he wound on Violence's finger still had not healed. The blood had dried, yes. A very small layer of skin was also starting to form, but it still glistened in the light. The wound in Violence's heart, however, was much deeper than the physical one. Violence had not forgotten Azzure's panic attack. The way she had started to crumble when the lights went out. The way she breathed out, "Stop-" almost as if crying for help. That one whisper had cut Vi's heart out into pieces.
Violence had never imagined caring for some one in such a way. She had never imagined being cared for in such a way either. The feelings had been new to her and she had welcomed them with open arms. And then, they had brought to her a pain that she was not used to. She was used to being judged for her name. She was used to the side eyes, the passing looks, the weird names. She was used to the whispering. Pain, however, she was not used to. Azzure not talking to her had left her broken in a black pit and it felt like there was no coming back up. There seemed to be no anchor for her to hold onto. Still, she cared. And so, when the sight of the shard of glass being embedded in Azzure's wrist caught Vi's eyes. It had hurt her. It was Azzure's body, but it felt like Vi's soul was cut open with the shard. Even after them not being together, even if that was the first time she was seeing Azzure after wishing for her for months, she still cared.
'How long will the thoughts of that night plague me? How long will I be affected by her so deeply? Love is supposed to be beautiful, it is supposed to be nice and happy and charming and delightful. It is not supposed to feel like being crushed by boulders. Love at this age, okay, maybe it wasn't love, maybe it was. But it was supposed to be pretty. It was not supposed to be so painful and heart wrecking.'
Blink.
The girl. Courtyard. Lunch.
Violence was sure that this entire thought process had, in reality, been of hardly a few seconds. So, she turned back to the girl, just in time to hear what she was saying. And was... quite confused by what she said. More like spit out, as if the words being in any longer would burn her mouth. She frowned, 'What?' Her eyes darted back to her painting. 'It does look like the ball. Agreed, I'm not the best painter in the world, definitely not Picasso or Van Gogh. Might not be the best in Hogwarts, either. But I know that's the ball. I think it's pretty obvious? Maybe the girl is a bit... slow. I'm not judging her, at all. I'm just saying, what if she is?'
"I mean, it looks better here than it did there." 'Oh, okay, the girl isn't dumb then. Might have been nerves. Being an introvert is a struggle, I can understand her.' She looked at the girl, smiling, "Thankyou, I tried to include my experience of the entire night. It was an eventful one." Violence was relieved, the girl's response to her hadn't sounded like she was embarassed. So Vi had not been rude. Good. She felt proud of herself. With a satisfied huff, she turned back to her painting.
A soft breeze flowed through the air as she picked up her paintbrush again and raised her hand to her painting. It would only be fair for Violence to add some of the not so good parts of that night to her painting. She looked at her art supplies being spread out on the bench. And then looked at the girl. "I'm Violence, by the way. Violence Bloodthorn." She continued quickly, tired of adding this every time she introduced herself to some one, "If you're going to judge, do it silently. I have no interest in wanting to know your thoughts and opinions on my name." She knew this definitely sounded rude, and did not help her case when her name was Violence. But she wouldn't beg people to give her a chance.
Violence uncapped the bottle of red paint, and dipped her paintbrush into it, speaking softly, "I know the painting looks better here but not the entire night was so pretty. You'll understand soon." Violence leaned in, the sun hitting her canvas at the perfect angle. She moved her wrist, slowly and steadily, drawing arcs. Clockwise, then anticlockwise, joining to form circles. She filled those in and added a speck of white to make it look like droplets of blood. She leaned back, trying to look at the painting as a whole. The shards of glass would look pretty, if placed correctly. Violence played with her paints in a palette before settling on one shade and drawing the shard. 'Yes, this looks better. But maybe if I add... No, it needs a splash of-' Her strokes continued on the canvas. Watching it go from white to colour was truly a sight. She hoped the girl wouldn't mind the blood. She looked at her from the corner of her eye, trying to see if anything disturbed her.
𓍼
| XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX | wc: 884 notes: sorry for the chaotic post, im dying outfit | x |
An Artist and her Audience
date
06/10/25word count
647outfit
⁺₊ ☀︎ ⁺₊speech
#8C2626mentions
@Violence Bloodthornnotes
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The girl seemed a bit confused with Lucille's presence and her words. She supposed that made sense, considering she had snuck up on the girl earlier and was now intently staring at her painting. Still, she, in turn, said something that confused Lucille. She spoke of her experience of the night. Lucille's brows furrowed slightly. How, exactly, did one show their experience in such a way? Lucille was no stranger to art; she wasn't half bad herself, but her drawings came across as pleasant, appealing squiggles that invoked a shape in one's mind, not a concrete experience. But, then again, that could be part of the experience, couldn't it?
As she mulled over this statement, the girl spoke once more. She introduced herself as Violence Bloodthorn and, before Lucille could process her name, quickly added a warning. Lucille glanced at her then, a little uncomfortably. Her first impression of the girl's name had been that it was simply a part of wizard culture that she did not know, so the brazen interruption of her thoughts was more startling than the name itself. After all, if one could be called Hope or Lily, how was Violence any different? She didn't voice these thoughts, though, instead nodding slowly and then softly speaking. "No, no, I didn't even think of anything." The closest thing that might describe her tone was a squeak. Somehow, Lucille seemed much smaller than she normally did, now that she wasn't bouncing off the walls like she normally did. Instead, she was content to sit quietly next to Violence, a rare sight.
Despite her words, it seemed Violence had no intention of not living up to her name. Telling Lucille that the entire night had not been so pretty, she squeezed out some red paint, beginning to add it to her canvas. Lucille watched, wide-eyed, as the piece slowly took shape, the dark red covering the blindingly white sparkles that had attracted her in the first place. As Violence worked, the piece developed into a concerning combination of a beautiful backdrop interrupted with arcs of blood.
Lucille could feel Violence's eyes on her, glancing at her periodically, and so she stayed rigid, not wanting to give a reaction yet. She stared stubbornly ahead at the painting, but her mind was beginning to work overtime. She tried to recall her own experience of the ball, trying to remember if someone had bled out. As far as she could remember, there had not been a stressful occurrence like that; instead, apart from some panic and fear, the ball had not been physically harmful. But, it seemed Violence was, in fact, violent.
Lucille shifted uncomfortably, thinking of the harsh way Violence had warned her to not judge her name. She shook her head, deciding to do just that and taking her word for it. Finally getting her thoughts in order, she glanced at Violence, catching a glimpse of the little wound on her finger. That must be from the ball. Determined to not let Violence think she was deterred by the picture or her name, Lucille spoke again.
"Is this because of that?"
Once again, the question came out stupidly, the phrasing odd and incoherent. And, once again, Lucille cringed in embarrassment but, this time, she was able to add on to her humiliating statement. "The blood. Did you hurt yourself at the ball?"
Lucille almost felt pride now at finally speaking the way she typically did. This was quite unlike her but, truthfully, Violence intimidated her. Somehow, Violence was making her second-guess her words when, ordinarily, stopping the flurry of words that threatened to spill from her mouth was a feat. Lucille's eyes began to drift from the canvas to Violence, observing her now, hoping her reaction to Lucille was not so harsh and blunt. And, perhaps, if she did so, Lucille's regular courage might return.
| sta 7 eva 7 str 6 wis 5 arc 6 acc 4 calming presence | iNPC: Antoine de Laurent |