#indivines

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this smell," he says, pinching his nose together. He actually HAS gotten used to the scent this man carried with him. Something that the older male probably was unaware of and those around him. He's not talking about his BO, but of what he is.

Michael will be dropped for you!

Crimson bleeds across his pale silver like a wound, like the scourge, and Ardyn stares for a moment at the person he'd managed to bump into. Someone radiating an aura not so different from the daemons, from Adagium, and as he was, it was rather unsettling. Maybe when things went back to normal, he wouldn't feel like that. Maybe they'd ... they'd what? Get along? Ardyn's form of destruction and anger was directed at a single person, at Somnus.

This color reminded him of that battle. The one where Somnus lured him back to Insomnia and drove the sword through his chest. The day Aera died, and with her his faith in the Astrals. Where had the Six been when he wept for her, when he was brought to Angelgard and faced a gruesome punishment? Where were they for the 2000 years where he died and came back over and over and over?

To think he still prayed before meals ...

Strange barely scratched the surface of his day so far. First, he gets booted to the back of V's head with the rest of the imaginary friends. Then, he has to abide by the laws of physics in it. Anybody else in his position wall call it less than preem. And to top it all off, he was starting to feel hungry. Was V not eating? Bastard. V should take better care of the body more ( and he was not thinking that just because he cared for the goddamned merc; he has shared custody now too ). There wasn't a Buck-A-Slice or Caliente in sight here, all normal-looking restaurants untainted by corpo greed ( as far as could be said on the surface ). But he'd rather take his chances on the vendors by the street.

He's been having a horrible time ever since he gained this cyan coloration, really. His best guess what it was supposed to represent focus, goals, all with a rational frame of thinking; the catch was - and he'd never admit it out loud - he didn't really have a clear goal right now. The most recent goal he'd had was the portal, but even then calling that recent was a stretch; that, and it was definitely done with. That's what he keeps having to remind himself at least, since this stupid thing kept screwing with his head, giving him brief bouts of fixating, planning best on how to get a portal built, only for him to remind himself of his failure again, kick starting all those negative emotions he was attempting to avoid, and making the entire cycle he's got going on worse.

He's finally fed up with it now, and spotting a paint can across the way, he figures this might just be the fix he needed. Prying it open with his claws reveals a deep red within. He had a good guess as to what that might be, but considering his last color related incident is what caused this whole problem, he'd rather be sure before he applies it towards himself.

He's never been fond of others telling him what he should or shouldn't do- but it seemed to happen over and over again, whether he wanted it or not. At least, this time, it wasn't about some magecraft related thing ⎛ he had spent far too long pretending to actually care- so much so that he had made a name for himself as a top rate professor; he served as Lord of the Mineralogy department, and all he had ever wanted was to leave all of that behind... If he'd been able to fight his way through the war, wouldn't he have gotten his wish? ⎠

As an artist, Kayneth was naturally curious of the world around him, and when he was curious, he took notes. Or sketched- especially freed of the watchful eyes of the Mage's Association, sketching had been his primary method of understanding, of recording and learning- but maybe getting caught sketching people who walked by wasn't ... He couldn't think of any reason sketching others wouldn't be socially acceptable. ❝ It is only a sketch- ❞

doodle meme