#silvermoonrays

"I'm probably older than you. That makes me the elder."

And probably a massive nuisance.

Peppy blinks at Inuyasha. Then narrows his eyes and holds up a scolding index finger with the other arm akimbo, voice stern and authoritative, while his ears lay back and nose wiggles.

"Perhaps, but you are also not in any authority over me, either in rank or position!"

Send 🗣 to meet an NPC in my muse's life (past or present). || Open!

Another stroke of her brush offered her subject the warm glow of the sun, light and heat seemingly captured through the woman's skill on canvas. A tilt of her head to one side, then the other. She dipped her brush once again in gold-tinted paint, hooded gaze focused on the fine details of a godly mask. She worked in a trance, her vision a driving force that spread from the bristles of her brush to spread in vibrant color across the canvas perched before her.

No other practice brought her as close to nirvana as engrossing herself in her art.

"No other has ever captured my likeness quite like you do."

Adena did not flinch from her work, focus refusing to part from the from the depiction of divinity to the god himself. "Is it once again a waste of breath to remind you that my workshop is not private?"

If the god registered her question, he chose to withhold a response, instead leaning over the Gerudo artisan's shoulder. A pleasant heat pulsed from his being, engulfing Adena in a comforting warmth that eased the tension in her jaw, the tightness in her arm as it languidly, easily, swept the brush across the canvas. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the white hot blaze of his eyes whose flames harmlessly licked her cheek. She made them more prominent beneath the mask in her painting.

Time slipped by, but the head artisan of the Gerudo barely noticed. The world melted away again, the god lingering at her side, behind her, shuffling through the sketch books that belonged to her or the other seamstresses architects and artisans strewn about the workstations becoming a faint presence.

At last, she set her brush aside and stepped back, sweeping the streak of white and the only sign of her aging back behind her ear. She scrutinized every inch of the piece, eyes darting along each line and curve, examining colors and how they blended. She could find no fault in it, not at the moment at least. But, finally tugged out of her trance, she felt the full weight of the exertion it took to produce settling behind her eyes, casting a fog over her mind.

She pulled a chair over from Lanu's work station and positioned it across from the god who seated himself at her own. The tendrils of his flaming hair licked the air, burning the same white hot shade as his eyes. His golden skin shimmered in the torchlight alongside the light he naturally produced.

"You could have at disguised yourself, " she mumbled with no real conviction. " If someone walks in, you're going to cause more than a stir."

"And you worry far too much. They'll stay away, as they always do." The corners of his lips turned up in a grin. "You prefer this form."

"It is far more interesting to look at." Adena smiled herself, leaning forward to untie the strings of her apron. "To what do I owe this honor, Karaaq? No portents of doom for our daughter or the tribe or the world this time?"

"No, this is a social call. I have simply missed my muse."

Removing her paint-splotched apron, she stood and hung it over the edge of her workstation. She took a taloned hand in her own, lips pressing to his palm as her saffron eyes closed. The fingers of her free hand danced along that sprouted from his wrist to his elbow.