genius of love

aurora was someone who could appreciate beauty - probably like everyone else on this island, with the parentage considered. she’d always been a lover of artwork, particularly sketching. how could she not be, in the world of fashion? but it was rare for her to stumble across someone actually working as she was there, and she rather wanted to just stand and watch for a while. unfortunately, she was too much of a talker for that. ‘i would love that, i’m sort of bored of my own cooking.’ aurora returned the smile easily, easy as breathing. ‘i’m aurora, very new to the island. sorry to disturb your sketches, they’re beautiful.’

“Hey, at least you know how to cook,” Zooey joked, grinning up at the blonde. She was the type to overcook everything, no matter how hard she tried. She just didn’t have the patience to watch the food cook. She would get distracted with something, and by the time she returned, the food would be history. “Aurora? Pretty name. I’m Zooey, and it’s wonderful to meet you.” She couldn’t help the slight blush at Aurora’s compliment, not being used to showing off her artwork. “Oh––thanks. They’re just doodles, really, but it’s fun.” Glancing down at her sketchbook, she tried to see the sketches through Aurora’s eyes, but she couldn’t stop seeing them as scribbles. “Ah, well. Food? First things first, we need to get off these damn cliffs, yeah? Right this way.” Closing her sketchbook, she rose to begin the trek back toward town.

Margot let out a little smirk, she often had a resting bitch face that only made her look more intimidating. She extended her hand to the woman “Margot” her dogs followed her every move. “There are way better reasons to be sore than pilates” she shrugged “Just saying”

“Zooey. Nice to meet ya, Margot.” She said, reaching her hand up to shake Margot’s with a smile. “Love your dogs, by the way. What are their names?” Though she was more of a cat person, Zooey had a soft spot for pit bulls. She wanted to pet Margot’s, but she knew some people were weird about others touching their dogs, so she refrained. “Oh, trust me, I’ve been sore from other things, too. Pilates just kicked my ass, y’know? You don’t know a hurt like that ‘til you experience it.”

Sam wasn’t quite sure why he’d decided to continue the conversation –– it was unlike him to do such things when sober. He was more of a don’t fucking look at me sort of. guy.  But he’d sat down beside her; not really sitting with her, but close enough to have a conversation with her. ‘Everyone smelt like shit –– poor bastard,’ he feigned pity, ‘He finally reaches the only princess around, who probably bathed at least once a year, and turns out she’s dead. He’d probably still fuck her though.’ A dark chuckle slipped from his lips. Taking another sip of his coffee, Sam shrugged his shoulders before responding. ‘Villain’s are far better than hero’s;  we have way better backstories.’  He looked over her, studying her carefully. ‘It’s either homeless or hipster.’ 

“Oh, he’d definitely still fuck her.” She agreed, nodding vigorously. “I mean, he fought a fucking dragon to get to her, and then she has the audacity to be dead. What’s he gonna do? Go home?” She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, a look that said I think not. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little at his take on villains. It wasn’t that she doubted he had an interesting backstory, it was just that she had a hard time seeing him as a villain. Dark sense of humor, maybe––but evil? Then again, she’d known him for a total of 5 minutes, so who was she to say. “That depends on the villain, I think.” She said, busying her hands with uprooting blades of grass. At his final remark, she snickered. “Homeless or hipster? Who said they were mutually exclusive?”

“Perhaps let’s not think too hard about what could have happened,” Chloe said, thinking way too hard about what could have happened. A lot could go wrong out in the open. Her confidence faltered briefly. “I don’t mess too much with magic. More on the artistic side. Pressing flowers into bookmarks, gilding pinecones for coffee table centerpieces, using pebbles to fill vases, and the like. Some for work, and some for me. It’s not as… exciting as magic, but that’s just me.” With a little more resolve, she added, “But you’re welcome to do whatever you like with your findings! The possibilities are nigh-limitless.”

“I try not to, as a rule. The present’s all that matters, anyway.” In Zooey’s experience, dwelling on the possibilities only led to headaches. She tried not to think too hard about anything that was out of her control. “I don’t really mess with magic, either. At least not physical magic, I guess.” She wasn’t really sure if her powers could even qualify as magic, but even if they did, they dealt more with energies and auras than they did with potions and spells. “I like art, though. Mostly 2D art, but I’ve always wanted to try sculpture. Maybe this is just the push I needed.”

“Please don’t think I’m one of those girls!” Vanessa tilted her phone once again to get a better shot of herself in the sunlight, having seen someone over the edge of her phone looking at her as if she was posing in the middle of the street. Which of course, she was, however this wasn’t just for social media. “My gran won’t stop messaging me until I send her a picture of myself. She keeps thinking I’m dead and someone has my phone, because she can’t see me.” 

A small huff left her lips as she was unable to get the angle right, before then a lightbulb went off inside her head. “Hey, you wouldn’t mind taking one for me, would you? If she sees just my head, maybe she’ll think I’m decapitated, I don’t know. Also, I just can’t get the angle right and it looks like I’ve spent about a year indoors, never seeing any sunlight. Please?”

@icariastarters​ open for anyone

Zooey had been watching Vanessa pose for the photo for a few minutes now, amused. Being the daughter of Aphrodite had certain advantages, and among them was an uncanny awareness of lighting and angles. Snapping a quick selfie in the street wasn’t foreign to her, and she didn’t think it was anything to be embarrassed about. However, watching the girl try to find the right shot was rather entertaining. She didn’t realize Vanessa saw her, too, until she spoke. “Sorry, didn’t mean to stare. It’s just mesmerizing to watch the process sometimes. And anyway, selfie-taking is a fact of life, there’s nothing wrong with being one of those girls.” Zooey herself was one of those girls.

Hearing the explanation for the selfie session, she smiled. “Your gran? Okay, that’s super cute. Sounds like something my grandma would do. I’ll take the picture for you, but only if you promise not to diss on selfie girls anymore, deal?” She compromised, holding her hand out for the camera.

aurora had tried her best to make her transition to icaria as smooth as possible - which had been easier said than done. it had been a little more effort than she’d thought, moving away from her job to setting up her own business, but she knew it would get there eventually. her mother had promised that much. as part of her move though, she had to make a point of walking around the island for at least an hour a day until she found the nooks and crannies: the places she’d be able to go to escape when things all got too much, and she just wanted to smite someone. trouble was, the walk had taken it out of her a bit and she was suddenly starving. as she reached the peak of the cliff, wind whipping at her hair, she caught sight of someone stood a little distance off. 

‘you know you’re the first person i’ve seen all day, and certainly the first person who could brave the wind. you couldn’t recommend a place in town to eat, could you?’

There were several places around the island where it was not unusual to find Zooey sketching, but the cliffs over the water was one of her favorites. Although she was an extrovert, there were some things she preferred to do alone, and drawing was one of them. The cliffs were perfect; being so high up, they rarely attracted crowds. She was there now, had been for some time, and was just beginning to grow frustrated with the wind ripping through the pages of her sketchbook when she heard a voice from nearby. She glanced up from her drawings to see someone she’d never met before. “I think you’re the first person I’ve seen today, too. Congratulations.” She smiled at the other woman. “I’ll do you better––it just so happens I was about to grab a bite myself. I’ll show you the best lunch place on Icaria, if you’re up for a little company.”

“What do you think about this?” Theodore asked, spinning back to her with a wide smile plastered to his face. This little piece was something he held dear to his heart; the inspiration came from his mother’s garden back in Ireland. Seeing the frail figure of her in that big, luscious garden, surrounded by plants and flowers of thousands of shapes, sizes and colors, was an image that always brought warmth to his heart. “I think it would fit you really well.” The man spoke as he slid the piece of paper across the counter, placing it infront of her.

Upon seeing the drawing, Zooey’s eyes lit up. It was perfect––the colors, the design, everything was exactly what she never knew she wanted. This was the type of art she would love looking at, the sort of tattoo she wouldn’t mind having forever. “I love it,” She said, and she had the smile to prove it. “It’s perfect. You drew this?” Zooey knew she shouldn’t be surprised, given that his job involved drawing beautiful things, but she hadn’t predicted she would be handed an idea she loved so much right away.

Everyday since she got to Icaria she enjoyed taking walks with her two black pitbulls, and as they ran around and played, she enjoyed a good book under a tree but when she came to her usual spot, a woman was lying there, asleep, a book on her chest. She watched as the woman woke up. “Well you weren’t here yesterday” she gave the woman a quick smirk. 

“Good to know. Guess it hasn’t been as long as I thought, then.” She blinked hard and stretched out her arms, trying to wake her body up again. She groaned as the movement made her aware of just how much her body ached. “Remind me not to sleep on the ground anymore. I haven’t been this sore since that week I tried pilates.”

Roman had noticed the woman sleeping under the tree, and with everything going on in town recently, he had to make sure that she was just sleeping and it wasn’t something worse.  He made his way over and was about to reach out and poke her when he saw her stir, and eventually wake up.  “It’s 2040, you’ve been in a coma for 20 years.  We honestly didn’t think you’d make it.”  The corners of his mouth turned upward into a smirk.

Zooey snorted at his joke. “2040, huh? So, do we have hoverboards yet, or should I just roll over and go back to sleep?” She tried to smile, but a yawn that she couldn’t suppress overtook her face instead. When it subsided, she shook her head, trying to clear herself of weariness. “Gods, are you sure I didn’t actually die in the coma? I feel like I’ve been resurrected.”

“If I told you that it was a joke, I don’t think that you would believe me,” Chloe said sheepishly. “It’s been at least twenty-six minutes. I couldn’t tell you how long you had been knocked out before I got here to guard your unconscious body.” If she peppered some jokes into the conversation now, maybe Zooey would not have quite as many reasons to make fun of her. “Oh. I don’t read poetry like that, but I think I get it. Yeah, I’ve been making a point of collecting fallen flower petals, pinecones, feathers… Whatever I can get my grubby hands on that hasn’t been tied down for decor. Did you want to help? It is such a lovely day.”

She exhaled a laugh. Chloe was a bit odd, but Zooey liked odd. “Well, thanks for guarding me. Who knows what the heathens in this town would’ve done to me if you hadn’t?” She said it with a joking tone, but given the disappearances recently, there was a thread of sincerity there. “Sure, I’ll help. Clearly I have nothing better to do.” She said with a shrug. Zooey wasn’t exactly in the habit of sleeping the day away, but she did occasionally find herself with more time on her hands than she really knew what to do with, particularly on her days off. “What do you do with this stuff, anyway? Is it for art? Or, like, magic?”

“Uhm. It’s the year of the rat?” Chloe realized only after saying so that this was not the most helpful answer to this question. “I sort of got worried that something bad had happened to you, but your breathing seemed sort of normal. So I’ve been trying to gather natural supplies for some projects until you woke up. Which is now! It’s been at least twenty… six minutes, but not a decade.” A part of Chloe did worry what would happen if she had missed out on an entire ten years without thinking about it. Probably best not to think too much on it. “Boring book?”

Zooey raised an eyebrow, snorted out a hesitant laugh. “Was that a joke? The year of the rat thing, I mean.” The girl talked fast, and still being disoriented from her nap, Zooey was processing it all a little slow. “Twenty six minutes, huh? Feels like it was longer. I’m glad I didn’t sleep the year away, though. That would kinda suck.” She removed the book from her chest and closed it, seeming unconcerned with marking her place. She examined the cover, pushing herself back into a seated position as she did so. “Not boring, per se. Just easy to put down. Poetry’s like that. Honestly, I think the nap had more to do with the weather than my reading material. Hey, did you say something about projects earlier? What sort of projects are you doing?”

“Haven’t we all had drunken mistakes.” Theodore chuckled as he leaned over the counter, lightly grasping the girl’s arm to get a closer look at the tattoo. Luckily, it wasn’t that big of a mistake, and it could easily be covered up by something delightful. “I can certainly work with this. This is a rather small tattoo, so, only the sky is the limit.” Letting go of the girl’s arm, he quickly turned around in search for something that would fit her perfectly. Something small, yet eye-catching. Something that was detailed yet simple. “Have you heard about watercolor tattoos?” He asked, looking over his shoulder with interest twinkling in his green eyes. Theodore was finally in full flow. 

“Oh, awesome! I don’t know why I didn’t do this years ago.” The tattoo had been bothering her since she woke up the next morning after getting it done, but she’d never had the motivation to do anything about it until now. At the mention of watercolor tattoos, Zooey raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She’d been painting for most of her life. It was just a little hobby and nothing she was very good at, but it was something she enjoyed. “I haven’t, no. But they sound cool.” She could sense just how much he enjoyed his work, and it made her smile. The longer she spent at the parlor, the more convinced she was that she had made the right choice coming in.

Sam moved to the park bench beside the tree that she was sitting under. ‘Probably not,’ he shrugged, ‘some of them might have been dead.’ He cringed before a laugh spilt from his lips. ‘Would’ve been fucked up hilarious if Prince Charming went to kiss Sleeping Beauty and she’d been dead for months.’ He made himself laugh at the thought, only pausing to take a drag of his cigarette. Sam simply rolled his eyes at the woman as she called him a hero, ‘I’m more like the villain in the story.’ He added, then his brow furrowed. ‘You aren’t homeless, are you?’ 

Zooey was surprised when he sat down near her. She couldn’t sense very strong love emotions from him at all, and figured he had merely stopped to make a snarky comment and move on. She wasn’t complaining, though; he was entertaining. She couldn’t help the giggle bubbling out of her at the idea of dead princesses. “Don’t you think he’d stop once he got close enough to smell her rotting? Or d’you think everyone just smelled like shit back then, so it’d be normal?” She doubted anyone had deodorant in medieval times, but the scent of death seemed like it’d overpower something like B.O. “Villain? That seems melodramatic.” She laughed again, this time harder. “Do I look homeless?”

For the past minutes, Theodore had busied himself with flipping through his notebook of different tattoos that he had been wishing for to put on someone’s skin. Of course, he enjoyed tattooing patterns that the clients themselves have chosen, but there was something wonderful about letting his creativity flow endlessly. 

But, before he could lose himself even more in his own mind and own creations, he heard the sound of the door opening. Shutting his notebook close, the male quickly jumped to his feet with a smile very much evident on his lips. “Oh, that’s no problem.” An early client was always a good sign. They were always the nicest ones, the ones that you could have a conversation with, perhaps the ones without fear. “Tell me about the tattoo you want to have done.” Theodore side, leaning against the counter that separated them. 

She was relieved that he didn’t seem concerned with her earliness. Having never been to a real tattoo appointment before, she wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but he seemed competent enough and had probably been doing this for a while. She felt more at ease now than she had the whole way over to the parlor. “Oh, good. I’m just looking for a cover-up, actually.” She began, pulling up her sleeve to show off the shitty stick-and-poke. “You can laugh, if you want. This wasn’t exactly a sober decision, as I’m sure you can tell.” The tattoo had had time to fade over the last six years, and it wasn’t huge, but it was still unfortunate. The smiley’s eyes were uneven and the mouth curved around awkwardly. Zooey was fairly sure that she had been the tattooer’s first victim, and it showed. “I don’t really know what I want to cover it up with, so maybe you can help with that. I know flowers are kinda cliche, but I like them, and I think something simple like that would be good. I don’t know. Really, I’m just tired of looking at it.” Zooey loved art, good art, and at the end of the day just wanted something that she wouldn’t hate.

open starter;; the tattoo parlor

Wiping off his hands in a clean towel, Theodore made his way over to the counter. He would lie if he didn’t admit that he was exhausted - it had been a rather busy day with many clients, many of them wanting demanding and difficult designs to be tattooed onto their skins. It truly was a blessing that he enjoyed his work to the level of being excited for every costumer coming through the doors, despite him being drained of energy. 

While pressing his lips together, supressing a yawn, he quickly flipped through the big calendar. He still had one client before closing for the day. There was still some time to kill before he, or she arrived to their appointment, and so, Theodore took a quick moment to stretch out his sore muscles. 

Zooey had never been much of a tattoo girl. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them, she just had some trouble with commitment. The idea of having something stuck to her forever was rather terrifying, and none of her ideas seemed good enough. Her first and only tattoo had been a stick-and-poke, given to her at age 18 in the middle of a party thanks to a misguided dare. She had been wasted, as had the tattooer, and the result was a lopsided smiley face that looked more like a question mark. Nearly every day since, she’d looked at her forearm and thought about getting a cover-up job, but she’d never gotten around it ‘til today.

She had made an appointment; an actual appointment, so unlike her unpredictable nature. As she pushed open the doors to the tattoo parlor, she glanced down at her watch, surprised to find that she was not only on time but early. “Hi,” She smiled at Theodore as she approached. “I think I’m your 4-o’clock. Sorry, I’m a bit early. I can sit outside for a minute if you want.”

Sam wasn’t a good daytime guy; and no, it had nothing to do with him being the son of death, but he had always been attracted more to the nighttime scene. It was when all the fun happened. But since being on the Island and having a day time job, he’d been waking up earlier, a situation which he hated. With coffee and cigarette in hand, he strode through the park, looking for a nice place to hate everything, when he stumbled upon a woman sleeping. His eyebrow raised; this was unusually cliche with the poetry book on her chest and the sun framing her features. Before he could leave, she woke up. ‘Well, good morning Sleeping Beauty,’ his voice laced with sarcasm, ‘I’m the prince who was supposed to kiss you awake years ago, but you’re not supposed to kiss unconscious women anymore. It’s illegal’ 

Still groggy from her accidental nap, she pushed herself up into a seated position and stretched, causing her book to fall shut into her lap. “It may not have been illegal, but I don’t really think you were supposed to kiss unconscious women back then, either.” Was her retort, delivered with a shrug. “I think they just did it, those bastards. But look at you, respecting women. My hero.” Zooey was no stranger to sarcasm, and she returned it to him just as easily as she received it. She didn’t mind being fucked with––in fact, she found it amusing. There was nothing wrong with a little friction now and then.