Music and laughter fill the air, a stark difference to the sleepy, sombre silence that had filled Terrastella mere days before. There is a prance in everyone's step as they go to and from room to room, place to place. Fires crackle and the air smells of sweets, incense and the unmistakable smell of wood burning on a cold night. Lilac eyes reflect it all, sparkling with something akin to adoration as the Regent casts his gaze over the Throne Room, nodding his head in a soft dip as eyes also look and meet his own. At last, Terrastella is alive — living and breathing in the World. Just like the spring that threatens to now chase away the tendrils of dark and winter cold. They will thrive, but first, they celebrate. Here they paint themselves, some out of loyalty, their faces creased in concentration as they paint the Dusk Court's banners onto their skin. Warriors. Sages. The most steadfast of loyalists, they leave with their heads high and their pride worn for all to wear. Others stand huddled together, a muzzle to a soft cheek as paint brushes declare their love on their beloved's flesh. Silent vows which can be viewed, but their meaning never truly understood. It is for them alone, and for others to stand witness too. Then there are the pious ones, who mutter praise and quiet prayers to their patron God. Vespera's twilight colors splatter them in her loving hues, Calligo's night paints her devoted with dark abandon. Solis' people blaze in his gilded trappings and Oriens bestows quiet wisdom in the colors of dawn. Isorath is naked in comparison, startlingly so. His pristine white skin would make a crisp canvas, his leather wings a wall on which many murals could be hosted. It appeared he is not the only one to notice, as his gaze drifted outward again, he spied a gathering of foals, excitedly whispering to themselves as they glanced his way and then to the paint they had managed to procure. They look at his wings with a starry-like wonder, until one, who barely scrapes his shoulder comes forward. "May we paint your wings?" They chirp, an excited outburst that is quickly hushed down with a small start, as if they hadn't realized until too late. "Please?" It came out much meaker, barely above a whisper, but the Regent heard well enough above the throng. The Kirin spared a glance into those blue eyes and then the glossy, starry-eyed ones of the children not too far away. Why not? "Come, children." The Regent responded, voice gentle and welcoming, beckoning them forward as his head lowered to their level to better look at them all. They're splattered in paint, their cheeks striped and their hair flecked. A ember of warmth cascades through him and he cannot deny them. How could he deny such sweet faces? Who look at him so, paint pots quivering in their teke as brushes slosh in the twilight paint. His wings open, spanning across their heads gracefully to envelop them in their embrace. A clean canvas for them to paint, one that they took to with abandon, yet have careful consideration for. Swirls of lilac, blue, deep shades of royal purple soon began to appear in swirls and shapes upon them. Isorath watched them with an amused expression dancing across his face, occasionally flicking his gaze to take in the rest of the room. "How about a dragon? Or Vespera?" He commented idly, to the smallest of the group who seemed to be stuck on a decision. TAG: Open to anyone in the Court. |
