#cursesmade

The coral pink has reached a rebellious age - or perhaps a puberty. Temper tantrums, tears, slamming doors... This argument is the last (paint) drop, he dashes ahead in his intentions to run away.

Only it ends up being just a few steps before the legs of the colour mix up splatting him on the street right by someone's feet. He rises his eyes but not to street level to greet a foot.

" Hello there, you don't need to mind me. I'm here to stay. At my level.... "

maybe L.L. should have gotten a bigger bag. or a bigger water bottle. actually, what was the largest water bottle she could actually get, without getting strange looks from people?? so, she's just going to ask @cursesmade this random thought that really wouldn't go away. ❝ which would be ... weirder?? better?? a bag filled with multiple water bottles or an extremely large water bottle?? ❞

HE DOES NOT KNOW this being, this curse ( for it cannot be anything but a curse ) but he recognizes the stranger for what she is. there is no mistaking it, that aching, sticky feeling of one of those things born from the vile non-sorcerers that crawl through the world like so many beasts.

curses themselves are a symptom, not a cause of anything in and of themselves, and though they are a symptom that suguru geto is, by now, more than adept at treating, he still cannot bring himself to think of them as anything other than proof of rot.

this one should, therefore, be no different, but even disgust is out of reach right now. the color that forms him presently is—sickly. a grey of a different sort than the one which shifts and undulates within this curse.

Welcome to scenic Isola Radiale, Mahito!

You will be housed in HOUSE 114.

You'll be returned everything you were given during your prior stay.

Enjoy your stay!

"This part of the city is peaceful didn't you know? So you best tell the truth if you don't want me to take action."

"Heroes are silly things, aren't they?"

"They can be turned to villains, depending on the perspective." Leaning back, they finally look at their company. "Well, what do you think?"

"No. I won't be buying whatever it is you're--" War gave the stranger a once over. "--selling?" He was preoccupied, sharpening his sword; chaos eater. Maybe the screaming souls in his sword had attracted him? Although, not many individuals besides War himself could actually hear said screaming; so he didn't assume as much.

"Anything I need, I obtain for myself, by myself."

"I'd lend you my box but..." He dangles the sodden structure of a cardbox box in his hand before letting it drop pitifully onto the ground. One corner of it sinks into a puddle and begins to visibly droop. The water itself is unremarkable except for the faint tendrils of green mixing into the puddle—remnants from Aurelius' shoes (or rather, his paint-made body) trickling slowly away from his feet.

Meanwhile, the rainstorm beyond the awning continues on.

"It's rather sad..." the seafoam-green man murmurs as he stares at the sodden streets. "I'm only one-day old, but it looks like I won't live to see tomorrow before this storm gives out."

Even without being told, he knew that water was deadly to his kind. At least the last person he met seemed friendly—and look, they were even the same color!

"Well...if I left some of my paint on you, could you carry a piece of me around after I'm gone?" It wouldn't even affect the other's original hue.