• Event • In the Eye of the Beholder

[Banshee]

5th Vhalar 718

/

It was a trial of beauty and sight, a trial when people paid homage to her domains even if they didn't worship her directly. To stand in the midst of it all, to drink it in, was wonderfully intoxicating and as such, Edasha rarely passed up the opportunity to visit Scalvoris during the Festival of Sight. It was a festival in her honour, although not all of the island's denizens seemed aware of that fact. Still, she didn't need them to know as long as they participated. Of course, she gained far more of what she craved when she walked among them in one of her beautiful guises: their attention and adoration.

The Immortal had opted for a particular, carefully chosen guise that allowed her to walk among mortals without being recognised. Her shape was human but with hair that might point to Aukari lineage, auburn at base with copper and gold woven through the silken strand in honour of the shift in season. She could appreciate the natural beauty of the leaves as they shifted, offering a magnificent mixture of vibrant colours as they spent the last of their energies before they withered and died. But the stunning woman that Edasha had become was not in the final throes of beauty, nothing finite about her fresh-faced features. She was a fair maiden in the blossom of youth with her clear, subtly tanned skin glowing with vitality. Dark grey-blue eyes glittered with silvery pinpricks like dust from a shattered mirror. Her features were finely sculpted, the nose sweeping down in a delicate line, perfectly manicured brows slightly arched over wide eyes and the full pink lips minutely parted to give this face the delicious expression of innocent surprise and wonder.

Vanity was her brother's domain but the Immortal of Beauty and Sight was enamoured by her own appearance, her personal vanity so powerful that she was prepared to spend eternity gazing at her own reflection in admiration. However, to be gazed at by others would be so much better, especially as she was likely to elicit many a response in her wake. It was that notion which finally spurred her to take to the streets of Scalvoris Town, finding herself among the market-goers, almost dancing between people, loose skirts swishing as she tried to decide where she would gain the most attention, the greatest portion of admiration and jealousy and lusty adulterous looks. How many could she reduce to their knees with her youthful beauty? How many women would jealously compare their own lacklustre appearances to her own or stare daggers at her as their lovers and husbands chose to gaze at her instead of them?

The mere thought of how others would perceive her put a spring in Edasha's step, settling on the perfect means as she spotted an artist. His quick brushstrokes rendered beautiful objects faithfully on paper, capturing them as souvenirs of the trial's events. They were sold of course, nels crossing palms as subjects were chosen and rapidly painted. Someone had interspersed the stalls with stunning artwork that wasn't for sale but merely there to be admired and it was these that the artist captured. Well, the Immortal could provide a far, far better model, at least for a little bit.

"Artist, you'll paint me," the woman declared, approaching him and leaving no room for disagreement in her words. It made him pause in his current work, staring at her like an animal caught unaware, unsure whether to flee or stand and fight, frozen in indecision.

"I... Give me a few trills and I'll get to you now," the man explained, going back to his work, slower now as he kept glancing at her, distracted by her smiling presence. When he finished, fanning the painting and passing it to his waiting customer, he quoted a price that made the Immortal laugh.

"No, I mean that I'll be your model. Others will pay for me," she assured him, grabbing a stool and jumping atop it. She balanced with one foot firmly on its surface, the other foot on tiptoe, her heel against her other leg. One hand went to her hip, bare shoulders thrust back while the other hand bunched the material of her skirt, spreading it out. She tossed her head, auburn locks cascading to one side, a dangling earring exposed although her gaze remained lively, searching the crowds as they drew closer, curious to see what was going on.

"Who here would like a painting of the most beautiful woman in this market? Who will step forward and pronounce me the most beautiful? Perhaps if you make a comely speech, you may have a painting without having to pay for it," Edasha announced, voice ringing out clearly.

At the mention of not paying, the artist's mouth opened but she silenced him with a swift look. She turned her attention back to those around her, scanning the faces as she issued her challenge again, daring them to step forward and declare her the most beautiful or condemn themselves by saying otherwise. As she waited expectantly for the shock and shyness to recede, the woman couldn't help but feel a sensation of something familiar, a tug at the edge of her mind as if something of hers was close by. An Elindria? She could check but surely they'd step forward and announce themselves... wouldn't they?

OOC information

This thread is part of this Cycle's Immortal Focus event. There is technically one available place in this thread so for those interested, it's first come, first served and you must contact me ASAP. As things currently stand, this thread is open to:

• Hart
• Albert Magnus

This thread is medium risk so there is a possibility of some serious injury, cursing (if you do things that irritate Edasha) and similar level consequences. Overall, if you aren't too silly, you should be all right though and ultimately, I want you guys to have fun!

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Common sign"

extra line here
Hart was enjoying the festival. He had had his doubts about coming to Scalvoris, but he had to admit that the last few days had been more pleasant than he'd expected, even with the whisperings of a cataclysm and the strange red rain. The rain had let up for the festival of Sight, which Hart and the myriad other festival-goers were glad for-- the rain had stained clothes and necessitated umbrellas. As it was, the sun was out, the clouds lingering hesitantly around the horizon. The last of the murky red puddles had dried up in the morn; it was late afternoon, and, Hart thought, an excellent time of day.

He had spent the morning wandering the markets, trying and failing to quell the urge to purchase many fine goods that had been prepared especially for this day. Throughout the morning he had enjoyed many small treats, a candied apple, caramel popcorn, roast chestnuts-- and bought a handful of pretty items, each of which had caught his eye. He knew he shouldn't be spending a lot of money, money especially that he didn't have, but he had long known that he had no self control when it came to spending.

Thus far, he had bought a strange shirt with wings beaded and embroidered on the shoulders; a gorgeous sea-colored shawl, intricately woven; a charming velvet yukata, decorated with curling roses; and a necklace like a wreath of golden leaves so finely made he couldn't possibly resist it. He had also happened across certain teas and dried berries that he was planning to try within the seven-trial. His purchases were wrapped in simple brown paper, and held securely under one arm. With a spring in his step, he bustled from booth to booth, chatting spiritedly with the craftspeople, asking after their wares, and sharing a roasted chestnut or two.

Despite the merry conversation, the last few bits Hart had found himself distracted. Something seemed to call to him from a particular side of the market, and so he handed the rest of the chestnuts to the mother of a child who had been watching them hungrily, and bought the child a large spiraled lollipop as well. He grinned at the pair of them, waved goodbye, and half-stepped, half-skipped away, eyes roving the crowds.

He soon came to a procession of fresh paintings hung on a line to dry, and easily became engrossed by them. After some minutes he looked away from the paintings in order to inquire after the artist, hoping to get in a quick compliment about the man's use of color. That was when he noticed a woman standing on a stool nearby. Hart heard her call out to the crowd gathered around.

The young woman was posing atop a stool as if upon a pedestal, in a manner that reminded Hart faintly of one of his favorite statues in a gallery in Melrath. There was something about her that Hart couldn't place; despite the fact that she was very beautiful, it wasn't that. Maybe, he considered, it was the look in her eyes.

As she challenged the crowd, one young man in his mid teens stepped forward as if to respond to her. He looked at her, stammered a bit, went bright red, and scampered back to his friends with his shoulders by his ears. The crowd chuckled; someone gave a whistle.

Hart stepped forward next.

"Do I know you?" He smiled at the woman. "It's only that you seem familiar-- you haven't modeled for the sculptor Adelaide De'wry or her husand Elias De'wry in Melrath, have you? There's a sculpture there--" he said, half to the woman and half to the listening crowd, "--called And here again. Did you model for it?" He paused for a moment. "You really do seem familiar," he said.

It was something about her eyes, he thought, about the strength of her gaze. She was beautiful, yes, and she knew it-- haughty, but in a delicate, noble way. He felt as if he should remember her. It was odd to him that he couldn't.

"Or perhaps not?" he finally said.

To the painter, who seemed a little flummoxed by all that was going on, Hart added, "Your use of color is phenomenal." The painter indeed had a great eye for color; the essence of what he painted was portrayed precisely by the colors he chose.

Hart made a decision on a whim.

"I would like to buy a painting of your remarkable model," he said to the painter, and grinned over at the young woman. "But, of course, if only she doesn't mind."

OOC: Hart thinks the woman is familiar because according to the lore, "A Mortalborn is always aware of when their parent is near." For Hart in the past, this has come across as a sense of familiarity, so I thought I'd continue with that.

sculpture

Yesterday once more by Luo Li Rong

purchases

winged shirt (wool, beaded, with passementerie and buckles, and dyed green) = 6gn, 6sn paid with gn
intricate shawl (wool, dyed blue) = 18gn, 5sn
velvet yakata (velvet, embroidered, dyed green) = 30gn
leaved golden torc = 25 gn
foodstuffs (candied apple, caramel popcorn, roasted chestnuts, lollipop, lemon drops) = 2gn paid with gn
dried bug berries (10) = 1sn paid with gn
pilar's tea (tea enough for 3 cups) = 3gn paid with gn
total = 85gn, 2sn corrected total = 73gn, 5sn

And, if you would Banshee, I'd like an estimate on the cost of the painting. Thanks!

[Albert Magnus]

Albert had an unnatural skip to his step, a wide grin plaster near permanently on his face, brimming with energy.
The festival of sight was a…sight to behold.
He chuckled internally at his own pun. As bad as his joke was, he couldn’t help but feel giddy.
The season of Vhalar brought with it many festivals, one of which was the festival of sight.
With it, the skilled craftsmen of Scalvoris had an even bigger motivation to drive their arts to the limit. Moods were high and people were easy to talk to.
Everywhere he went, he was met with smiling faces and useful pieces of information and inspiration.
The many different statues, paintings, and other skilful displays of meticulous work lined the markets. His brain churned. Had he known about this festival earlier, he could have helped the sculptors in getting better, more malleable materials or tools, or imbue the paintings with more vibrant colours, or something. Argh! Such a wasted opportunity.
Still, it mattered little, as for now he could wander the streets and learn more about the various trades, as the proud craftsmen were more than happy to boast about how they made their various pieces.
Next Arc, however, he would be prepared to help. It had little to do with his desire for fame or fortune, and more to do with his innate wish to solve all problems through his own art; Alchemy.

A crowd had gathered around, creating a forest of bodies he couldn’t quite see through
He gently approached, pushing past the crowd.
‘Er, excuse me. Pardon-Pardon me. Please, do excuse…’

They seemed to all be collectively looking in one direction, mostly in what seemed too be shock and awe. Were they looking at some kind of artistic piece for the festival? Oh he just had to see this!
Pushing near the front of the crowd, he could finally see the artist.
Huh, his painting was still incomplete, what were they looking at?
His eyes drifted past the canvas, looking at the model on the pedestal.

His heart skipped a beat. Oh…by the fates, she was beautiful.
Her hair in the sun looked like soft waves of honey. Her eyes reminded him of the early night sky, as the sun reached its final moments before its light disappeared completely, and the grey blue sky revealed the shimmering stars that-

Ah. Ah! He was staring!
He averted his eyes, trying to clear his throat nervously, but instead it came out as a nervous whimper.

A man nearby shot him a quick look. He fought hard to hide his embarrassment and indicated to his throat as if to say ’Got something stuck in my throat’

He turned his attention back to the woman. He noticed one of the men step out of the crowd and try to converse with her. He listened attentively, occasionally raising an eyebrow as he tried to put together as much information about her as possible.

When he offered to buy a painting, his eyes widened a little.

‘A-Ah. I’d like one too.’ He hoped he didn’t look too…desperate. Fek.
Did he even have enough money to buy such a beautiful painting? Er, once it was finished….
He fought the urge to check his money purse and just decided to grin amiably and try and not look like some sort of desperate admirer...

OOC

Sorry for the late response. My University is nearing the end of the semester and that means a lot of assignments and an upcoming examination. Ill try to post atleast once a week. [sptitle]

[Banshee]

She'd felt it. The familiarity, the link so powerful that she knew that it belonged to her. When he stepped out of the crowd, drawing her eye to him, Edasha wondered how she hadn't recognised those notes from a distance. A Mortalborn, her Mortalborn, her sweet child. Of course she knew him! Her heart swelled, an unimaginable pride filling her to bursting point at his manner and appearance. Oh, she had chosen his sire well, the beautiful features of that man recognisable in the features of her son. He had his own beauty though, his own unique aesthetics that had blossomed. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him since he'd come into his own but she couldn't tire of the sight of him; she simply wanted to drink him in.

Hart didn't know her though, not really, but there was some recognition there. Still, he wasn't cowed by her beauty, wasn't left stuttering or too shy to speak up. Instead, he spoke to her with familiarity, a fact that brought an amused smile to her face. She wondered if he'd speak that way if he knew she was an Immortal. Would he talk to her that way if he knew exactly who she was? Well, she might be his mother but he didn't know her, not really. She was a far-off stranger, someone to be admired but who was destined to remain unknown. She wasn't the maternal sort, not really so she questioned how close she could ever hope them to be. She did care about him though. Very much.

His comparison with the statue from Melrath pleased her, the work one that she admired greatly although she hadn't personally posed for it; one of her marked had been the model though. He had a good eye but while he drew similarities, she could see the uncertainty in his gaze. The smile she gave him was cryptic, a mischievous dance in her gaze as she wondered if he'd work it out. Instead, he chose to turn his attention to the artist himself, a small pout forming on his mother's lips at having lost his focus.

Still, it gave her an opportunity to seek out other admirers, choose who to embolden with a personal look, a wink, a small smile. She found one man staring at her, utterly enraptured. While Hart was her son and she had love for him, she certainly loved being gazed at with such obvious awe. The man looked as if he'd never be able to look at her enough, as if he couldn't absorb enough of her through his eyes; he was quite right of course, there was no way to drink your fill of an Immortal.

She'd caught the feel of his gaze before Hart stepped forward, a beacon of worship that she couldn't help but want. He had become more shy now, perhaps thinking that his staring was rude when in fact, it was the point of this exercise. Sure, there were men and women here who stared at her as intently but their stares were different, full of carnality and desire. Those who had partners already, who had some mingling of guilt mixed in with their lust interested her obviously but the lust itself was not her domain. The worship she desired was purer in her mind, purer than what Syroa craved. This man though was looking at her as if he had never seen a more beautiful woman before in his life and that was something that she was quite happy to drink up.

When Hart turned back to her after declaring that he wanted a portrait, her other admirer also stepped forward, evidently spurred on by the fact that he wasn't the first. She chose to smile at Albert, beckoning him to come closer, a sweetness to her smile showing that she wasn't liable to bite.

"Well, artist, it seems that you'll be painting my portrait. Paint me once and then we shall see who deserves it the most," she told the man, moving back into position and remaining still as he worked. His brushstrokes were swift and decisive, choosing bold colours for her hair and lips, as well as the colourful skirt that she wore. More muted colours and fewer brushstrokes brought out the rest of her shape, the lines used more suggestive than truly defining. It took him less than five bits and when he was finished, he told her, the Immortal dropping her statuesque pose to step lightly from her perch. She stood before the finished piece, head tilted as she considered it. She beckoned her Mortalborn son and her admirer to stand beside her.

"I've decided that the two of you will judge this painting. You can tell me if it's good enough to capture my beauty, if you think it's complete and whether it should remain as the only one of its kind," she told them both with a smile, watching the artist grow paler at the idea that his art might not be good enough. Interestingly, he didn't protest and try to defend himself. Perhaps it was because he sensed the steel beneath her gaze, the danger beneath her smile.

"You clearly have an eye for art, dear heart," Edasha murmured to her son before turning to Albert. "And you have an eye for beauty. So tell me: does this painting do me justice?"

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Common sign"

extra line here
As Hart offered to buy the painting, another man stepped out of the crowd. The other man, younger than Hart and shier, stammered and seemed enraptured by the woman, which Hart noticed seemed to please her. Hart concealed a smile from the both of them.

The young woman declared that the two of them would judge the painting, and Hart stepped into his role as critic with a playful, mock intentness which, as he looked at the painting, shifted towards sincerety.

"The color is close to perfection," Hart started. Like the young woman, he tilted his head at the painting as he considered it. His eyes went between her and the painted canvas, as if to measure them both equally. "Considering that it was painted in such a short time, I think it's a phenomenal work," he decided. But as if to qualify the statement, he looked at the woman again.

His eyes swept over her not as one looks upon a person, but as one looks upon a work of art. He turned back to the painting, calculating almost as an academic does with numbers, and was silent.

Finally he spoke.

"While the painting itself is well done for what it is," Hart said, slowly at first and then with more surety, "The painter's focus on color and use of abstraction is... it's not quite enough." He looked at the painter for a moment as if in apology, then at the young man who had stepped up after him, curious of him and of his opinion.

To the young man he said, "What do you think?"

Hart continued, "In the current style, the painting lends its focus to palette, which isn't bad, but it means focus is drawn from the subject. In that way, it limits her beauty." He smiled at the woman as he said that, sensing that she liked to be complimented.

"With just a small shift in focus, I believe the painting could very well be great. Instead of a full-body portrait with a focus on color, I might suggest the painter narrow the focus of the painting to the model's face and eyes, her expression and especially..."

It occurred to him that the young woman had called him dear heart. It was something his biqaj mother called him, a term of endearment. Hart found his words lost for a moment. He looked over at the young woman again, momentarily caught off guard.

"...her sight," he finished.

Her eyes, he thought. That's it.

He'd thought before it was the strength of her gaze that had stood out amongst her beauty, and given her poise. But that wasn't quite right, was it? It was the clarity of her gaze. Her eyes were so sharp and clear. It was as if she saw all.

"In my opinion the painting should be redone, but only in a more classic portrait style," Hart finished. For a moment, somehow, he seemed inordinately serious.

Then he laughed, and the momentary seriousness was gone. "Or I've been to too many galleries and because of that, I think I know much about a subject about which I truly know little. Either way, the painting's beautiful." But the painter, with the right focus and a little more time, could do better, Hart thought. He could do to portray the model more clearly.

OOC: Sorry for taking a while!

[Albert Magnus]

If only he could have died just then, when the beautiful woman had beckoned her forward.
He’d have no qualms with such a fate, to have that face be the last thing he saw!

As soon as the woman smiled at her, and beckoned him to come closer, his whole body wanted to run straight toward her, not wanting to miss a chance to be in proximity to something of such beauty.
Meanwhile, his whole mind wanted to run away, to curl up in a ball, to hide back in the crowd.
Her gaze made him feel unworthy. It disarmed any measure of pride he had in his being.
At the same time, it was soft, as if she were merely amused by him.
As if she were used to reaction like his. He didn’t care, because SHE WAS LOOKING AT HIM!

Albert took a deep breath to calm himself.
It did not help, as all his calm immediately shattered when the woman uttered the words ‘Lets see who deserves it the most’.
Deserve? Wait, what did that mean? What did she expect them to do?

Albert mentally panicked while his body stood there like a statue. Motionless enough that one might mistake him for the model.
Except for the fact that there was woman with hair that shined in the sunlight like the purest gold, and lips as pink as…

He snapped back to reality as the painter set down his brush, finished with the painting.
How long did he spend thinking of similes?
Albert stroked his beard nervously. So, he was tasked to judge the painting….
Er…How? I mean, how was he supposed to know what to say? Was the winner whoever praised her the most?

She turned to say something to the man, and turned to say something to him.
Hearing her voice, a pleasurable shiver ran down his spine. Pleasure, tinged with fear.
There were probably people in the crowd who were jealous of him. If only they knew what kind of terror it was to be under the gaze of a truly beautiful woman.
The man next to him went on a full speech on the quality of the painting. He nearly gave up then and there, but being of the academic mind as well, he started to understand what he was saying.

Still, redoing the painting? Isn’t that a bit much?

‘Er…I’m no artist either, but I think I get what you’re saying.
I think…I think, given the way that she dresses, her beauty is derived not from her complexity but rather her simplicity. Most of the time, you can tell why someone is beautiful.
Its either her dress, her jewellery, her physique. Maybe even a good singing voice.
But in her case….’

He steeled his will and drew his gaze to meet hers, choosing his words carefully.
Trying to think of metaphors or comparisons. Anything better than those damn similes he kept using!
He soon gave up, realising it was impossible to put into words.

‘In her case, she just…is?’
He lingered on her for a trill more before continuing, clearing his throat.

‘A-ahem! But still, I believe that the painting is a good symbol of that beauty.
Sure it may not be able to perfectly capture her essence, but I think that slight bit of discrepancy makes one want to see….more.
A beauty that is inexpressible in words or paintings.’
His heart began to beat faster. Had he said too much? Did he just sound like a bumbling fool trying to make a point?

[Banshee]

The Immortal had often made men fight over her over the years, vying for her favour and attention, the losers inevitably jealous of whoever won it in the end. None of them realised how much she drank in from those interactions. Artists were always the most fun to toy with, often competing for unique access to her as their muse. Paintings and sculptures had been made and poetry and plays and music composed in her honour and that was without them knowing that she was Edasha. These men were not artists but it was still an interesting match, especially as Hart was her logical champion; he was her son so of course he was likely to have the advantage.

Perhaps she had expectations for her son that were greater than the boy could ever meet but she truly believed that he'd come out on top in this situation. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, she felt justified for thinking so much of him. The woman smiled to herself as he talked, doing her utmost not to look smug as she listened to the intelligent appraisal dropping from his lips. He wasn't just a pretty face and she could be proud of that. Beauty did not preclude brains. And he was so... confident and self-assured. It was very good but nothing less than she'd expected from him. He put on such a good show that she actually temporarily forgot the other man who'd stepped forward until Hart asked his opinion directly. Compared to her half-mortal son, this man looked as if he might faint if she smiled at him too much. In spite of that, he had stepped up and he hadn't run away yet. Still, it would be a tough act to follow and so she felt a little sorry for him.

When Hart finished his piece, his mother smirked, bowing her head in polite acknowledgement.

"So you would have the present work destroyed? Surely, if you consider it to be substandard then you don't think it should remain in the world?" she questioned with a soft laugh. "Well, I'll leave you to consider that one, shall I? Will you make this man destroy his work to make something better or will you have the old and the new remain side by side, one style with another?"

She waved her hand in the air dismissively, signalling him not to speak while she turned her attention to Albert, interested to see what opinions he had to offer and how they might have altered in light of what Hart had said. She clasped her hands before her, letting them hang below her waist as she watched the man expectantly.

His initial words drew a frown, especially at the mention of simplicity. Did he think that she had few layers? Was he falling into a trap of seeing beauty as flat and one-dimensional, lacking depth? If he knew her true Immortal nature, there was no way that he could view her as simple. Immortals were extremely complex beings, not fully understood by one another, never mind within the reach of true mortal comprehension. She tried to stop her hackles from being raised before she'd heard him out, not wanting to jump to any ill-conclusions. He was nervous after all so perhaps he'd misspoke or had a good explanation.

It turned out that he did have a good explanation - at least in Edasha's eyes. Her lips parted although nothing exited them beyond air. He actually raised his gaze to meet her own, the nerve of such a thing obviously enormous and she found herself smiling, genuine wonder on her face. It was impossible to determine the source of her beauty, that was what he was saying. Her beauty was unquantifiable, inexpressible, and beyond words. While Hart had considered the artwork and done a masterful job of analysing it, Albert had actually considered the subject and determined that it was impossible to truly capture her essence.

And to think that she had believed that her son had the upper hand!

"Well said, sir. For something so indescribable," she praised him, secretly believing that it could have been put more eloquently. "So the question is... is this painting a symbol of me or a symbol of beauty as a whole? That begs the question about whether I symbolise beauty, which of course, I cannot. The true symbol of beauty - all beauty - is the Immortal who's honoured here to-trial. Lest we forget that there is a higher beauty here than anything a mortal can produce."

She looked from one man to the other, the artist and the crowd that surrounded them largely forgotten. "All beauty is in Edasha's purview but do you think that she is the origin of all beauty in this world? Can this man produce beautiful works because Edasha guides his hand and sanctions its creation or do he and others like him make their own beauty, which she claims?" she asked, reaching out to stroke a finger beneath the artist's chin.

What she'd said would have been blasphemous in the mouth of another. If she had heard any mortal deign to speak in such a way, she would have been livid. Worse still, if the answers to such statements had been anything she found unfavourable... In this case, she would accept blasphemies, even from her own son, but they weren't to know that; they didn't know who she truly was. She heard some titters in the crowd, a number of people turning away from such cockiness as they saw it. She even felt the thread of belief hum with pleas.

Edasha... strike down this audacious woman for wanting to steal your limelight on your own trial of celebration...

It was amusing to think that she was stealing her own thunder.

"If beauty is Edasha's creation then it would be sinful to destroy this work. If it comes from mortal hands alone then... well, it's more subjective, isn't it? Immortals are obviously a higher authority," Edasha commented with a laugh. She was eager to see if either would dare to answer and if so, how willing they were to risk the Immortal of Beauty's ire.

Off Topic

So, so very sorry about the delay. Life has been more than a little unkind of late. I do hope that this reply is enjoyable to you both!

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Common sign"

extra line here
The other man's answer was good, and Hart knew immediately that it was better than his own. He nodded to the man in acknowledgement. The woman seemed to like the second answer as well, and Hart concealed another smile. The two of them went well together. The man certainly knew how to give compliments; the woman knew how to receive them.

At Edasha's mention, Hart gave a brief frown.

He began to wonder if the woman might have some connection to the immortal. There was definitely something about her-- he had noticed it before, when he had asked if she had modeled for the statue. She certainly was familiar.

Then again, she could just be a worshipper. It was the Festival of Sight, after all.

Hart wasn't sure if the woman was speaking rhetorically or whether she wanted an answer to her questions. He opted for answering. He thought her very curious. More curious by the bit, actually.

Maybe it was in the questions she asked.

The truth of it was that Hart had never much considered what the immortals were-- or why they did what they did. They were gods and he had always thought them unknowable; beyond that, he hadn't paid much attention to his lessons on the immortals as a kid. Back then he had thought many traditional book subjects --like math or religion-- much too boring. He knew Edasha was the immortal of Beauty, Jealousy, Sight, and Adultery. That was about all he knew about her, save for what he had seen firsthand.

And, of course, save for what he suspected when it came to she and him.

"Have you met Edasha?" he asked the woman. What she'd said about the immortal had irked some of the lookers-on. But Hart just thought the woman all the more curious. He smiled.

He could imagine sitting across a table from her, his chin propped on his hand, drinking coffee and just listening to her speak. "I'm sorry--" he realized after a moment, much to his chagrin. Usually he had better manners. "I don't even know your name. And I didn't introduce myself. I'm Hart, by the way." He smiled again.

"If you're asking if I would destroy the artist's painting, the answer is no," he said. He glanced over at the person in question. To Hart, the artist seemed stuck between rapture that the woman had touched him and annoyance at them all. There might also be a bit of insecurity there. They were openly discussing whether or not to destroy his work, the poor fellow. "It is a pretty sight. And I do adore the colors. You call it substandard; I call it a first draft-- or rather, a first attempt. I have very certainly painted worse--" he was an atrocious painter "--yet I don't destroy every errant painting. I admit, sometimes I rather like them." He shrugged. "There is beauty --there is value-- in imperfection."

"As for the immortals, I profess I don't know much about them. Whether Edasha is the fount of all beauty or whether she is the manifestation of it, I wouldn't know. But I ask this-- are we not unable to dance?" Such a question might have seemed odd, but anyone with a rudimentary understanding of the immortals would likely understand to whom he was referencing. Daia, the immortal of Dance, had died long ago.

If the immortal of Dance had died, then how was it that people still danced, and with such joy? Hart had seen a trio of children dancing earlier in the day.

He himself did a rather poor pirouette.

"Perhaps Edasha is Beauty," he said, "Both its maker and its reward. I met her once--" Or twice, he supposed, though he could barely remember their second meeting. "She was very beautiful and yet... she was imperfect too." There was another disapproving titter through the crowd.

"She may be Beauty but she is also a person," he clarified. He spoke very certainly. "And people are imperfect, they just are."

"Would you like to get a coffee sometime?" he asked abruptly. He wasn't one to hem and haw over such things. "Or now, maybe, if you would prefer." He looked at the man, too, and grinned. "You could come with, if you like." It was obvious Hart didn't feel the same awe for the woman that the other man did. She was beautiful, yes. But Hart felt he was more drawn to her person. He had always liked interesting people.

"Perhaps the painter could come too," he suggested, and gave the painter --who seemed to want to throw his hands up in exasperation-- a devilish grin.

OOC: No problem. Real life always comes first. ^_^

[Albert Magnus]

Albert stood slack-jawed at the woman’s question. He was not the religious kind, nor did he particularly care about the Immortal of Sight. Being an Alchemist, the Immortals of Craft and Nature, Aeva and Moseke, were the ones he worried about the most.

Still, even he knew better than to blaspheme an Immortal on a day when they are to be honoured.
He looked to the crowd, wondering if this was a common occurrence in Scalvoris. There was shuffling of feet as people grew disgruntled with her misplaced confidence.
She was broaching on a topic that was uncomfortable, if not downright dangerous.

The man next to him spoke up, giving a reply that seemed to dispel the tension. For Albert, at least.
He invited the woman to get some coffee. When he turned to Albert, Albert gave him a nod.
He seemed to be a level headed person, extremely professional and courteous, much like Albert himself.
Er, except for when Albert and Hart both discussed the painting. Hart had analysed the paintings from a professional standpoint whilst Albert had resorted to talking about some ‘unquantifiable’ quality. How embarrassing, for an alchemist to speak of any property that cannot be quantified!

‘Er, Hart, was it? You’ve met Edasha before?’ Albert asked him, before turning back to the woman and continuing.
‘I work as an Alchemist, and my profession dictates that it is improper to make judgements without information.
I cannot make any comparisions between you and the Immortal herself, since I have never even met her.
P-perhaps if I ever do, I may answer that question. Until then, we will just have to take Hart’s word for it, since he’s actually met her once before.’
He finished with a halting, but hearty laugh. He stared at Hart with inquisitive eyes.
Hart had defused the situation, and prevented a riot by removing them from the restless crowd by inviting them all for coffee.
Perhaps it was just coincidence, but if it was truly Hart’s intention, then he must have been more level-headed than Albert thought.

Of course, it could just be Albert being sheep-eyed over Hart's professionalism, seeing things that aren't there.

ooc

Exams start on Dec 13. Might not be able to post this month. Maybe once a week at best. Wish me luck!

[Banshee]

Her questions were uncomfortable for her audience, she knew that. They thought her disrespectful and blasphemous, having crossed a line that they probably thought would lead to consequences - consequences that they wouldn't want to be near to when they struck. But no consequences would come. If it had been anyone else, whether mortal or mortalborn, had dared to say such things to-trial at her own festival then a curse would have been guaranteed. Even though it would allow negativity into her domain, she was more than willing to lay a curse down on someone who deserved it. Sure, she herself had - ironically - pointed out that she could not compare with Edasha herself but if she'd been watching from on high, she still would have been angered. If someone was to even entertain the idea that they might be a symbol of beauty, the Immortal would be pissed. The presently redheaded avatar knew how foolish she must sound; Edasha was known for being temperamental when it came to potential competition, even when it was based on self-declaration.

She could almost feel the discomfort in a tangible way radiating from both young men, a fact that amused her. However, the indignation that she might have expected or the carefully couched disapproval wasn't forthcoming from her son. Instead he asked a question that threw her, a rapid blink of her grey-blue gaze indicating her obvious bewilderment.

"Yes. I've met her. I know her," she replied slowly, choosing her words with care and eyeing Hart and half-wondering if he was going to ask her flat out if she was the Immortal of Beauty. She just had that feeling from him, that he knew or at least suspected and that he might be bold enough to state it aloud. Instead he introduced himself and she had to resist the urge to giggle. She couldn't help but smile.

"Hart... a pleasure to meet you." Again. Properly, she added silently, her smile a sweet one as she inclined her head in politely acknowledgement.

He launched into an in-depth response to her questions, earning that startled blink again, her gaze shifting to Albert while his rival spoke, unsure what he was making of all of this. He seemed to be a man of few words compared to her rather verbose son but there was nothing wrong with being succinct. It spoke of a particular type of mind, a more clinical or scientific one. They had their place; not everyone had an artistic disposition and they were just as capable at embodying her domains.

Still, he had an excellent point about the Immortals, namely the ability to dance although Hart's own ability was... questionable. Well, at least he was mostly graceful, just... not when he did whatever that was. She could remember Daia though, the sheer joy of the woman and she wondered if what remained after her death was the same or if it was more of a residue or echo of what had come before. They could dance, yes, but without that fount of joy, could they dance the same way? The Immortal wasn't actually certain, some part of her self-centred nature wanting to believe that the world would not be the same without her in it, would not have the same beauty. Obviously, she wasn't the original source of Beauty. She was a simulacrum, her Original model dead and gone, the Immortal's
embodiment of her domains perhaps a bit hyperreal. Perhaps they all overdid it, trying to make up for something that they could never be.

Oh that wasn't a train of thought to be considering right now and she wasn't going to tell these people her thought processes; they were too revealing and the Immortal couldn't afford to make herself or her brethren appear vulnerable. They weren't vulnerable (except they were because Daia had been killed) but were in fact all powerful beings (who were at risk of shattering like their progenitors if they overstretched themselves) and so it was only the idea that they were weak that could be inconvenient - especially if they became determined to kill one of her kind again.

This was why Faldrun's pro-Immortal, anti-mortal view was so important, so... natural. Aside from her doubts of course.

The various thoughts flitted through her mind in trills, an easy smile coming to her face with barely a thought when Hart commented that she - Edasha as he'd met her before - was beautiful and freezing in place, taking on a slightly manic edge as her eyes did a rather unattractive bulge.

"Imperfect?"

The word came out a little shrill, shock and horror evident in her wide eyes.

"You're going to equate an Immortal... an Immortal to... to one of you?" she questioned, the high pitch persisting now that her smile had fled altogether. Oh not him, not him, did he not know better? Mortalborns!

Too late, she realised her error. She'd said 'you' instead of 'us'. At this moment, she was meant to be mortal, a lowly mortal without the right to so much overconfidence. Oh no, and there were witnesses. Witnesses to her little 'I am better than thou' moment. Maybe nobody would notice? Suddenly being the centre of attention was a very unfortunate circumstance.

And then he asked her out for coffee. Oh dear, that sounded suspiciously like a... date. No, no, she was his mother, that wasn't appropriate but... if there were others...

She turned her attention to the alchemist - a scientific mind, she'd been right - in an effort not to scream at her son. Albert was now favoured with her smiles, his unwillingness to draw a comparison between herself and the 'real' Immortal greatly appreciated. It was wise and it was safe. Right at this moment, she was particularly glad that he wasn't inclined to make sweeping judgements about a goddess who wasn't meant to be here.

"Someone who has met an Immortal can still judge them very poorly. They can get it wrong," she reassured Albert, less than subtly taking a dig at Hart's 'experience'. "You'll come have coffee with me? Good, I'm glad. Oh and with Hart," she added, waving vaguely in the Mortalborn's direction. "I didn't catch your name before. I'm Ada," she explained, skipping the briefest of beats before she gave the false name, offering him her hand to shake.

With introductions passed, she moved off to have a quiet word with the artist, coins discreetly changing hands before she took the painting, passing it to Albert. "Could you carry this please? Thanks. Now I know of a place, if you'll follow."

The woman hummed to herself, her good spirits seemingly returned as she led the way out of the crowds of people, expecting the two men to follow her like obedient dogs. She appeared confident about where she was going so obviously, she couldn't be leading them astray, even if she seemed to be taking quieter streets... right?

Her step was light, buoyant even, her skirt swishing about shapely legs. However, when they were in a sufficiently quiet spot, she turned on them both, her beautiful face becoming a livid mask. "Imperfect? Imperfect? You dare to say that- And you! You just let him say it, you wouldn't even defend the Immortal of Beauty!" she hissed, rounding first on Hart and then on Albert.

She closed her eyes, taking a brief, calming breath. "Have you anything to say for yourselves now that you haven't got an audience?"

Her gaze flicked from one to the other. She didn't want to curse her own son, knew that such a thing would be contrary to her purposes but she could be fickle at times and right now, she was feeling less than kind towards him.