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🎡
🎡 - what have you done to the character to make them unique to you? - I’ve sketched them. I know it sounds weird and can mean nothing, but it is not easy for me to simply to go on and draw someone, I need to have a muse in order to pick up a pen and do something.
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🛁
Munday! Send me some stuff! 🛁 - what does your morning routine consist of? How long does it take?// Usually, it takes me about twenty / twenty-five minutes to me to prepare myself for the whole day.From washing my face with solid soap (I usually use the ones made with natural ingredient because of my skin problems) and teeth to my daily makeup routine (The basic: foundation, face powder, eyeliner pencil and so on)Let’s add the fact I’m lazy af and as slowly as a sloth.
@decaerse
I did not encroach on their conversation. Did the curiosity of what was being discussed rouse? No, it had not. The priming had granted me self control. Sheer discipline, sheer loyalty. I held no resentment towards the supreme ones, they were cardinal to what gave me meaning. The heart that kept my carcass alive, that is what Master & the Chronokeeper became to me. Who was I upon their passing?
I lurk in the red of the moon. The grass wet from the rain, and the precipitation that adhered to each strand appears of blood. Shadows being cast, I look up at her. It was rather early in the morning, the abhorrent sun were to rise soon enough. No matter how long nights had gotten, I find myself hoping for her to stay stationary.
Wishful thinking was barely enough to keep me occupied with my thoughts, I hear the breach of gun, subsequently a bullet shattering the window of the residence where my superiors are. I briefly assess the surroundings, making my way inside to speak of the strike.
Empty. They must have sensed it prior to me and left immediately. The bullet hinting of their presence, and it only. I roll it between my clawed fingers and it dissipates into thin air.
❝Who are you trying to protect?❞
interrogation starters. [Always accepting] «What they attempted to bury, a long time ago, so Targonian may feed in their own ignorance, following their false, bloodstained Golden God...But they forgot those were seeds ready to bloom again in their own blood.»That was her answer to the man behind that golden, eerie mask. How was his expression while demanding her such a question? Worried? Curious? Mournful? Smug?Regardless of what kind of emotion the man was hiding with his mask, the Lunari was feeling pretty uneasy, just like an animal after recognizing the hunter’s smell.There was... Something wrong within his figure, a silent message now appearing inside her mind: “Don’t trust him”.«Why...Are you asking?Everyone is protecting something, this is natural, after all.»She then added, after a couple of seconds of intense silence, still carefully examining every single detail of his...From his outfit, the aesthetically pleasing contrast between the golden and ivory tones that marked out his clothes...To the weapon, he was carrying with him...And she’d never seen such a thing before on Targon.Where was he from, at this point?
