Certified court jester

Tag organization:

Alder ambles - ramblings, either as its own post or in the tags of another

Alder answers - for questions

Alder writes - my assorted drabbles, writing, and occasional promo for AO3

Just at that moment, Home flexed its floorboards.

Creak creak squeak!

"Hm? The weather? It is quite nice today, Home." Wally replied.

Groaaaannnn slam!

The house let its door swing open with the force of the wind that eagerly filling Home with a cold, sharp gust.

"Oh?" Wally said evenly, despite being buffeted with the suddenness of the gale, having to close his eyes slightly. It made the tablecloth flutter, threatened to tug his pompadour out of place. Still, curious as ever, Wally set his paintbrush and palette down and braved the outside, stepping outside to see what was happening.

The trees were stirred in a mild frenzy in one direction, and as Wally turned to face it he could see-- what was that? A sort of whorl of air, a tight spiral of black and white and red and blue that was rapidly growing closer. Home closed its door with a creak of concern, but Wally faced it with a calm demeanour-- even as the strength of the cyclone pressed the small puppet against his yellow door.

It whisked itself right up to him before disappearing entirely, leaving a girl standing right in front of Wally! A puppet with white felt and long black hair, blue pants and a red shirt with a striped tie. Her grin was wide, sharp teeth on full display.

"You!" Izabel exclaimed, pointing a finger at Wally with a hand on her hip. Wally looked left, then right, before pointing at himself.

"Me?"

Izabel furrowed her brows, mischievous smile faltering slightly. 

"Yes you! What, did you think I was talking to the house?"

"Maybe." Wally replied. Home wiggled its shingles, and Izabel blinked at the abode before shaking her head rapidly, black hair whipping about.

"W-well, I was talking to you! I'm Izabel. I heard you are a great painter, and I wanted to offer myself up as a muse!"

"Hello Izabel, I'm Wally." He waved at her despite the two of them being less than two feet apart. Then, the slightest scrunch appeared in the fabric between his eyes.

"A muse..." Wally repeated lowly. Izabel was quick to speak.

"Yes! For your art! I'm the perfect study, aren't I?" 

Izabel crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one hip as she smirked down at the smaller puppet. Wally tilted his head to the left, then the right. Then, slowly, his eyes widened from lidded to fully open. He stared, and stared, and stared at her for enough time that Izabel felt a flicker of confusion (and possibly fear) before he relaxed and nodded.

"Sure. I can paint you." he said, gesturing towards the copse of trees just behind Home.

"Come... Help me set up."

Izabel blinked as Home opened its door and Wally walked inside without another word. She looked to the windows, where Home gazed warily back at her. For a moment, her smile softened, and she patted the abode's doorframe in a soothing gesture as she headed inside.

Izabel helped carry the stool and easel while Wally carried his paints and paintbrushes, as well as a water cup. She set the things up where he pointed before standing in front of the trees.

First, she jumped up into one of them, hefting herself up into the branches and sitting on one with her legs dangling.

"Here, paint me like this!" she said, switching to press her back against the trunk of the tree. She turned her head and bent a knee, placing her arm on it in a relaxed way.

"Okay." Wally said easily. He lifted his brush and began to paint. Slow, long strokes followed by shorter ones, then some soft pats and then more long strokes. It didn't take long before Izabel felt herself growing bored. Wasn't being someone's muse supposed to be fun and exciting? All she was doing was sitting there!

Izabel spoke up.

"Is it done yet?"

"No." Wally replied, tipping his head to look up at here. His expression was still the same, eyelids drooping and smile gentle.

"Ughhhh-- come oooonnn, I'm getting bored over here!" she said, huffing and dropping her head.

Wally laughed, three short exhalations.

"Painting takes time. To capture an image... you need to be patient."

His expression grew the slightest bit sharper.

"Both the painter and the muse."

Izabel huffed once more, but she relented.

"Fine! Fine. I'll wait."

"Thank you. Your patience is... appreciated."

Wally dabbed his paintbrush on his palette and continued to paint. Izabel, true to her word, reverted back to her reclined position. She frowned, then stuck out her tongue, then crossed her eyes before eventually relaxing her face.

Without much else to look at, Izabel watched Wally instead. He was a swell fella, wasn't he? Calm and kind, even to a stranger such as herself. He looked perfectly content with her sudden interruption and idea, simply happy to be painting.

Wally continued to do as such, dipping his brush into his palette or the water cup beside his stool, occasionally switching brushes too. Izabel found herself following the slight movements of his hands, the way his eyes switched from the canvas, to her, and back again. Eventually, though, Wally stood up from his stool and set his tools down.

"It's done." he said easily, and Izabel was grateful to be able to finally jump off the branch and stretch. The bark of the tree had not been forgiving to her felt.

"Awesome! Lemme see it!" she exclaimed, skipping over and whirling around to face the easel. Her bright, overconfident smile dropped slightly as she took in the painting-- now face to face with herself. Or, rather, a reflection of herself through Wally's eyes.

"Wow! That really looks like me!" she exclaimed.

"Of course."

Wally leaned towards Izabel, eyes lidded and mouth curled in a warm smile as he tilted his head up at her.

"You are very lovely to paint... I hope you know that."

Izabel found herself stunned silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Was that an insult? No, there's no way it could be. Wally looked completely sincere, even if he said it in such a monotonous voice. Izabel felt a warmth blossom in her chest, which she quickly squashed before replying.

"Well-- Of course I am! Glad you noticed." she said, giving the smaller puppet a wink.

"You may have been slower than a sloth, but at least you paint well!"

Wally looked confused at that.

"I'm... Slower than a sloth? Can sloths paint?" he asked-- and this time it was her turn to laugh, feeling a genuine smile crease her felt. What a silly guy!

The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon together, turning from new acquaintances to fast friends. And when it was time for her to go, Wally hung the painting of her up on the wall next to the ones of all his friends in Home. Izabel felt that warm feeling in her chest again as he did so.