Well, this is odd. Carmina wasn't expecting the singer Ji-Woon to be sitting down at the campfire. He seems... different, too. Most likely because he's not bragging about his eccentric murders or flaunting his nefarious plans to make songs out of everyone's painful screams. This is not what'd she'd come to expect from him, dare she say it's a red flag and a warning for some trickery he's scheming.

But maybe he's not plotting anything. Just a thought, though it intrigues her to discover more. What if he's in the same predicament as her? As ridiculous and 'completely ignorant of the murderer sitting right nearby that could absolutely rip her to shreds' as it sounds, there's the slightest yet brightest of chances he's going through a similar experience to her's. The god must've gotten tired of his antics too. Now he's forced to face humility, a despising premise he doesn't dare touch, well, not until now if she's right about this. Only one way to find out.

Carmina unravels a rolled up parchment from her small supplies haul next to her log and brandishes a quill dipped in vantablack ink. After tearing out a piece of the paper, she scribbles down a compact but concise, direct but not demanding, note: "Why are you here? Did the god do this to you?" Hesitantly, she scoots herself closer to Ji-Woon, hoping he doesn't notice. But it's clear his attention has now diverted to the awkward lady struggling to not slip off the seat as she nears. Before he can speak, she reaches a hand out to him, holding the note between her fingers. She avoids eye contact, simply waiting for him to take it.

The shuffling and awkwardness of Carmina was very quickly noticed. Such a feeling was quite obvious to take note of. Why had she approached him? Well, they were an idol, but in this realm, that held little to no meaning, did it? Ji-Woon had taken the note, reading it a few times over. Did the God do this to him, he’d repeat. Well, that question was quite obvious, was it not? Though, with the questions they had been given lately, that probably wasn’t what the artist had been asking them. 

(@artists-plight)

James is startled by the bird's approach, but it turns to pleasant surprise when it offers a show of friendship. He's careful with the note when he takes it, as if he's worried one wrong move will damage it and make the crow's good graces disappear.

After reading it and observing the image, a sense of...comfort overtakes him, a smile tugging at his lips. He could almost laugh. The first compliment he's received since he's been in this strange place, and even they acknowledge the bitter. But he is thankful for the sweet, because he himself does not see it. The portrait is something he is confused by; who would even want to study him long enough to create such a work?

It is not signed, but the bird and the fact the art even exists at all is signature enough.

He gently folds the note up, careful not to give it any new creases as he tucks it in his coat pocket for safe keeping. He offers the crow a scratch under its soft feathers before sending it back to its master.

He wishes he could send something with it as thanks. Watching it go, the note echoes in his mind.

Bittersweet James. It was funny, something so straightforward and simple from someone who seemed to be so majestic once. He couldn't help but feel a kind of fondness for it.

Perhaps there was more to the Artist than even he initially suspected.

(@artists-plight)

Blood shows up exceptionally well on the sands of the Eyre, James has realized.

Even now, as his nose bled into his hands, the blood that managed to drip from his palms to the ground made him dizzy with just how bright it seemed. Being knocked on his ass didn't help the injuries he'd already attained, either.

He was breathing hard, heart pounding and hands shaking as he clutched his face. He swore the Entity pulled more strings in its realm than people thought; noses aren't supposed to bleed this much, right?

1 gen to do. He and David were the only ones left. Both injured, they'd retreated to a corner to try and at least heal up. James, with nerves making him less than steady, had fucked up with a medkit, and there was no doubt their feathered friend was on her way.

Everything between his mistake and David's fist connecting was a blur, and James couldn't even remember what either of them had said. He couldn't blame his frustration, exactly, but...

Not like it mattered. The killer was closing in, and both of them were too stunned to do anything about it. Even David stood over him in shock of what he'd done.

⭐ For Grades

Send your character's height and I'll compare it to mine.

Carmina: 7'