#priarch

Junelezen Day 11: Day

The meeting ended much the way meetings tended to end these days. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. No one was shot, shocked, lit aflame, or otherwise maimed tonight. That was a plus, the Keeper thought blandly as he watched Latika’a and Okuni slowly head for the steps down toward the bar on the bottom floor of Priarch. The pink haired catte animatedly looped an arm over Okuni’s shoulders, leaning in to likely whisper something conspiratorial. The way the Raen’s shoulders bobbed suggested it was some amusing observation or another.  Louvel had been one of the first down the stairs, rushing off like a cat with it’s tail on fire. Inwa had been soon after. The door slamming downstairs meant they’d both left the building. Edarien had disappeared to his office once the meeting was adjourned. The increasingly enigmatic Fae among them had likewise disappeared, and Lyrin’a had suspicions they weren’t even on this plane much less in the building. Elias had taken his leave, followed closely by Raasa, one hounding the other about something the Keeper hadn’t been able to keep track of.  Lyrin’a stared down at the teacup in front of him, the tea inside only half drank and decidedly cold by now. The sound of clinking china had him looking over to his right then, watching Silvaineaux gently set his own cup into it’s saucer. Ah, the knight was still here. And silent as he ever was these days. The Keeper frowned. What did Silvaineaux even think about all of this nonsense? It was so hard to read the man sometimes. But the sigh he gave as he moved to stand said plenty. Lyrin’a followed suit, picking up his cup and reaching for his staff. “...what do you suppose any of it means?” He looked up to find Silvaineaux already observing him. One dark brow rose in silent question. Could you be more specific, it seemed to ask. Lyrin’a shrugged somewhat uselessly. Which was how he felt anymore. Useless. He had no idea how to handle any of this. Or even what was happening half the time.  “Any of it,” he answered. The clockwork turtle, Cyprien’s lab, the Fae issues they were now steeped in. The Hunt, whatever that was.  Not to mention the dark assassins that had accosted them in Mourn. They had no more answers on that front.  The knight peered at him a moment, then looked down at the dainty teacup held in large gauntleted hands. “I can’t even begin to speculate,” came the slow measured reply. The tone said he could, in fact, speculate on some of it. But also that it was probably pointless. And Lyrin’a could sympathize.  “I suppose we’ll find out one way or another.”

picturs of FWens whom i tag (sorry if ping in middle of night) bc your chars are lovely and i will Have It Known Who You Are

cats: @gorgagne-viperidae @hiraethwyl @daylightrays

elves: @roses-and-grimoires @louvel-roche @reddevil-xiv

extra dangerous: @thedarknesssings @rinrin-rinalys and @liminal-storage

They’re never this synchronized, which is saying something. Dead Louvel and Mr. I’m-not-participating-in-this-circus-please-get-yourselves-together Silvaineaux speak volumes for our normal synergy. 

It was no longer a certain thing if this gift was worth finishing, let alone sending, and yet Louvel found himself debating the pros and cons of just scrapping the painting before him. He hadn’t been counting the bells spent on it over the last moon or so, but he knew it wasn’t enough to really be fussed over. Still, there was something a little disheartening about the whole thing. It was nearly done, after all. “No good deed goes unpunished...” He murmured to himself, the thought having been in the back of his head for moons now, but had quickly become such a prominent thing over the last twenty-four bells. What was the point of even trying? Wouldn’t this just be another wasted effort?

Despite his better judgement he settled in and plucked up a clean brush. It only needed a little more work. Just a couple finishing touches. A few gentle strokes of aether soaked paint to put a subtle glow to the flowers blooming around a statue of Nophica bordering the left side of the canvas. The lush greenery of spring and summer sprouted from the Goddess and stretched across the canvas until shifting into the warm hues of fall.

Tiny, precise little touches of metallic paint brought a little glint and shimmer to jewelry and armor upon a pair of elezen praying, their joined hands the center of the painting.

As the vibrant golds and oranges of fall faded into soft layers of snow, he added small flecks of crystal, carefully securing them into the paint so none would fall free before adding more distinguished shards of faux ice around a statue of Halone acting as the border of the right side of the image.

Well, it was finished, and with some lingering uncertainty he allowed it to dry once his initials were carefully placed on the back. He’d send it out soon, to ideally arrive for Silvain’s nameday, assuming the information he’d gotten was correct.