Arts Room Coral Springs
More to come, multi-media abound. From a corner of stone blocks for printing and racks for paintings or paper art, to light tables, and cutting tables.
One might comment that Taka really puts himself into his calligraphy, as it's literally true to some extent. There are three large black feathers in his right hand, and they almost certainly came from his own wings. With deft and delicate manipulation of his wrist and fingers, he's able to control each feather individually. The practical effect is that he can lay down all three strokes in an Akiar'shak character in one move. It isn't as delicate as his own practiced hand with a proper pen, but that's to be expected.
He peers close at the most recent character, and frowns slightly. "tak eth'e," he muses aloud, and sets two of the feathers aside, taking the third to a paper cutter. He takes his own sweet time about setting it under the blade, and when he finally makes the cut, it shaves only the barest amount off, but to his eye, it's enough.
Returning to his vertically-hung sheet of paper and resetting all three feathers in his hand, he takes one swift stroke, and examines it closely. "Tan!"
The door to the room opens and in comes Besa. The guardian has been very busy lately, practicing with Rain with swords, or meditating about a lot of different thing. Today though, he is going to work on some more runes. And for that, the teen is dressed in his art clothes, meaning that the goth tee and jeans can get dirty. SAeeing he'll not be alone in the room, Besa offers up a small smile and hand wave. There's a fresh scar o his left forearm, "Hello Taka. Will I disturb you if I work in here?"
Taka looks up, then over to the voice. "Kie, Besa! No, I think you will not disturb me, unless you plan on augmenting your pottery with screaming, stomping and wailing, and I can not see how that would improve the ceramic." He grins broadly. "I am trying to give my mind a rest anyway, so even a distraction would be a welcome… oh. What has happened to your arm?"
Besa's eyes widen, but then he laughs, "No…I do not think I will be doing that!" Pretty hair sways as he moves deeper into the room. "Have you had any luck yet?" His smile fade ever so slightly as he glances down at his arm, "Rain hurt herself. I healed her." Unless Taka knows how Besa heals, that probably sounds weird. Moving over to the clay, "I am going to be making runes, so I will not even be trowing clay tonight."
Weird is a good word for it. "She must have been in great pain to have injured you like that," Taka says. "If I had known, I would have offered my help. Terran minds seem similar enough that I might have been able to dull her pain centers a little, or even put her to sleep so you could work."
He hangs a second sheet, smiles sidelong at Besa, and makes three swift slashes of his hand, all but instantly creating three characters in his own language, then takes one of the feathers and adds two much smaller characters in between the three larger. He pulls it down from the board and brings it over to his schoolmate. "You can hang this on your dorm room door. It says k'syr — healer."
Besa blinks, "Oh…no. It was not her fault. it is how I heal others." That probably doesn't help. "My blood. it has healing qualities." He smile,s "But thank you. I am sure Rain would ahem appreciated the offer." His head tilts as he watches the stange and beautiful work being written. Then it's being offered to him and his eyes widen again, as does his smile, "I can? Thank you! it is very beautiful!" He takes the paper gently. "I will have to make you something in return!"
"Your blood?" Taka squeaks, paling slightly. "I will still be most happy to help, but I may need to face the other direction when you actually work," he says delicately. Squeamish, it would seem.
With regard to the offered gift, Taka begins, "I…" with the tone of someone about to politely decline, then blinks once, and changes his tone entirely. "I do not know why I had not thought of you before. It would be well to have a correctly made inkpot, like the ones from home. I could show you what they look like. If you would not mind, that is. They are usually made from glass, but I do not see why pottery should not work." He glances back at the table he'd been working at; the ink is in jars, and for whatever reason, they are only adequate to his task, not actually correct. "I would not want to impose," he says, "but if you have it in mind to make me something, that is what I most need."
Dark eyes blink and Besa's smile softens. "I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you. She hurt her knee, I had to help her." His acceptance of the offered potential gift has the Guardian very happy and steps closer, "Of course. i would be happy to! Completing something may do my mind some good as well." Seems eh also has been rather heavy minded lately.
Taka smiles weakly. "I am not upset. I just prefer to have a relationship with blood that is… what is your phrase? Out of sight, out of mind. I do not even watch when I provide for my own personal blood bank, in case of injury. I could not take Terran blood. If there is a problem, it is mine and not yours." He chuckles softly. "So if I should ever be hurt and you need to heal me, do not be offended if I look away or put myself into a deep sleep. It would be only for my own peace of mind… and stability of stomach."
Taka considers a moment. "Nnh. I am thinking how best to explain an Akiar inkpot. I could show you mind to mind, but I know Terrans do not generally like mental contact." He twirls one of his feathers in his fingers, hangs a fresh sheet of paper, makes a few abortive tries at sketches… "Nnh."
Besa nods, not wanting to push the matter. "I understand." He eyes the sketch and then offers, "I do not mind…as long as I know you are going to do it." His best friend is Schuyler, after all.
"The mindtouch? it would be the easiest way, if you are willing," Taka says. "If it helps, I will only… nnh. Your language lacks the right word, but I will only 'hear' your active thoughts, what you are deliberately thinking," he explains. "I will probe no deeper. I will probably also sense any emotional content related to what you will be thinking. Of course, you will get the same from my mind. The link goes both ways. Do not be surprised if you 'see' things as well.
"Most importantly, if it seems too much, tell me and I will break contact immediately, or just move out of physical contact. I can not reach a non-telepath's mind without physical contact, so if it becomes too much, just let go and you will break the mental contact too. I should sense discomfort long before it becomes a problem and will break contact myself if I do, but just in case."
He holds out his hand: three long, delicate fingers plus thumb, slightly ink-stained. "When you are ready?" he offers.
Besa nods trustingly. "Of course." He smiles, placing his hand in Tara's feathered one. "I am ready." His hair falls into his eyes, but he's got his gaze not eh bird man.
Very, very gently, Taka eases his mind forward. (Okay. Is this comfortable? I don't want to cause discomfort.) If anything, his mental voice is much more casual, much more fluent than his admittedly stilted English. It's like hearing how he really speaks for the first time, rather than through the filter of a second languge. (Before I go any further, I just want to know you're okay with this so far.)
Besa blinks and amusement is apparent. ((Yes, it is fine. Thank you for asking.) Besa's own inner voice is deeper, more mature, although still accented. Dark eyes stay open and he smiles at Taka, (Yes. It is fine.//) The carefulness of Taka is appreciated though.
Under normal circumstances, one would say that taka was surprised by the age and depth of Besa's inner voice — but these are not normal circumstances. Well, they are for Taka, but probably not so much for Besa. In any case, yes, taka does find the contrast surprising, that's obvious through the mental link, without a single word being exchanged. Taka's not embarrassed by the 'revelation' — that's the nature of mental contact.
(Inkwells,) Taka thinks, and a clear image of a sunlit desk, almost a drafting table, comes to his mind and is shared across the mental link. Greenery. Space. Home. Homesickness, though Taka tries to control that. The room is probably vast by Terrestrial standards, but the sensation accompanying Taka's thoughts is one of coziness and comfort. (My workroom,) he explains. (It sticks out a bit from the rest of the home, for better lighting.)
Sticks out literally — judging from the view, Taka's home was spread across the canopy of a copse of trees, and the view is not going to be appreciated by acrophobes. (Oh, Gods. Sorry. I should've guessed thinking about inkwells meant thinking about my studio meant thinking about home and… nnh. Well, anyway, inkwells.) Taka's mind focuses sharply on one. It is large for an inkwell, with a broad opening wide enough to admit one of his feathers without having to squeeze it at all. It's stoppered with a glass sphere, and one side of the opening has a broad lip, used to brush out the feather and evenly spread the ink.
Besa chuckles, both physically and in his head, (I am old, Taka. It is ok.) But then the unwell appress and he studies it interested. He empathizes with the homesickness, more so than his usual demeanor would indicate. (It is good. Your home is beautiful.) Thought sod the ancient teen's home flirts through his own mind, much sand and earth. The shape is studied, (I can try. the design may take me a few attempts.)
In the mental link, Taka picks up the inkwell in memory, as he must have done countless times. The weight. The size relative to his hand. Precisely how it's used. All these things are connected, bundled together in the otherwise simple concept 'inkwell'. (Take your time, and I scarcely expect perfection. Actually, that's one of the things I like about hand-made things. They're not perfect, like from a machine. They have character, and soul, and spirit.)
He of course catches a glimpse of Besa's home, and a fleeting, subconscious (it looks warm unlike here!) flits through the link. Taka chuckles mentally only, unlike Besa's audible one, which echoed strangely between the physical and mental sensations of it. (Would you like me to show you my home?)
That seems to make Besa happy, the idea that Taka /gets/ that art has a soul. The comment about ancient Egypt gets a grin and a happy feeling, (Sometimes. it was different heat. Usually tolerable.) A tour makes Besa have happy thoughts, (Yes, if you would like to. It is beautiful.)
(Well, I think so. It will probably explain why I spend so little time below, too,) Taka explains. (I'm going to change the view, so to speak. It may be a little disconcerting, and I apologize in advance.)
Understatement. All at once, the view is from outside, above, flying. Wind rushing past, suspended from strong wings under the most absolute, confident control. Ahead and below, a thick copse of tall, ancient trees, drawing closer — no, Taka is approaching it. Other than two flat areas at the top just above the treeline, evidence of a home is not until he/they/we (pronouns are so awkward in mental contact) are surprisingly close: windows, cantilevered landing decks, balconies. Touchdown so very lightly on one of the landing decks. Look around.
It looks like the sort of thing Frank Lloyd Wright might have designed for Tarzan. It's perfectly fitted into its environment, rather than imposed on it. And oddly, despite the knowledge that Taka himself is perhaps 16 years old, is the definite sensation not just that this is his home, but *his* home. His *own*. (What do you think so far?)
Besa nods gently, living in trees would eb very different than underwater. There's the briefest flash of fear, mostly a fear of falling but that quickly fades into excitement and joy at /flying/. (Heavens!) Laughter, despite the adultness of his inner voice, there's still an innocence there. (It is all very wonderful, Taka) It reminds him of the temples back home, where the priests would raise him before the sacrifices.
Taka catches, reflects and amplifies the joy — Taka himself clearly adores flying. It's when he feels *most* free. (It isn't one of the great cliffside dwellings, but I think I like it better. The trees make it feel all cozy and natural.)
The view wanders inside. It's clearly a home built for someone with wings — it's *vast*, at least by Terran standards, although Taka clearly thinks of it as his "little" home. And it's very definitely built in three dimensions: there are balconies that are only accessible by flying up to them, platforms suspended from the ceiling, and above all, room to spread one's wings. Besa may actually feel the sensation of wings attached to his back, spreading and shaking out before folding up again.
Only one slightly troubled thought crosses Taka's mind: (Sacrifices?)
Besa shivers slightly at the wing sensation. It's not a bad feeling, just….different. Realizing what he must have thought, the ancient, and it's clear he's seen many different centuries, pulls his hand away gently, "It is nothing to concern yourself with, Taka. Thank you. That was enlightening. I will be able to make you an ink well."
taka blinks and shakes his head clear at the unexpected breaking of contact. "I am sorry, I hope I did not intrude somewhere unwelcome." He tilts his head slightly and peers closely at Besa, as if trying to read him even without the physical contact. He can't, but old habits die hard.
"No. It was my fault. And no…it is not something I do not talk about. I assumed it would upset you." With the disliking of blood and all. His eyes are large as he looks back at Taka, "There was a pack my priests made, to sacrifice myself to a particular demon." It's said rather…casual. He then gives a small smile, "But I am attempting to change that.""
"Demon," Taka repeats. "Everywhere I turn here I bump into someone who is supposed to be a demon. I am starting to think there are none, really."
Besa blinks and the frowns slightly, realizing what Taka is commenting on. "Oh." A small step backwards, 'You may believe what you will.' He's not going to argue it, he's learned that perceptions can't be changed with words. "I will work on you inkwell after I am done with my runes."
"I don't know what to believe anymore," Taka says with some resignation. "Ryuu says he's a demon, but I have been inside his mind and back without injury. Keith looks like a demon from my own mythology, but I know he is not. It is… confusing." There's an understatement. "And you say you were raised to be sacrificed to one, but here you are." He returns the small smile. "I think I like the idea of no demons best."
Besa turns away, the Ryuu situation is just…weird. So he just shrugs. He frowns, turning back to look at the bird boy. "I am cursed. i come back to life. I have done this many, many times, Taka."
"That is nothing unusual," Taka says. "I am sure I have lived and died many times. That is the way of things. You do a little better each time through life, and eventually you get it right and the Gods take you in. There is no curse in that, that is just the way things are."
Besa's frown deepens. "No. It is not usual. I come back in the same body. It is not reincarnation." He sighs, moving back to the clay. A hand raises and he rubs his eyes, not looking at Taka. "Do you have a preferred color you would like the inkwell ?"
Taka looks ready to argue the point. "I…" he begins, then falters. "…suppose things are different on this world," he finishes softly. "You do not follow my Gods, I am sure, and I do not follow the ones here. I…" he tries again, without any more success.
His mouth opens, but what comes out is, "Black. With a yellow stripe. Like my wings." From the confused look on his face, that's not really what he wanted to say.
Besa just nods, "Every world is different." The clay is grabbed and taken to the closest table. He doesn't say anything, but glances up confused . "Are you sure of that?" He gets the idea of having it match Taka's wings.
"Of the color? Yes," Taka answers. "Of everything else, not so much." He glances upwards as if looking through the ceiling. "It has been a long time since I have done any of the rites. The ordinary ones. I am no priest who can do the major ones."
Whitley pages: Anyway, I'm gonna head to bed. Should be on tomorrow.
He starts to flatten clay into disks, dark eyes staying on what he's doing. "If you know how, and they will bring you peace you should then." The disks are a little bigger than a quarter. Besa's fingers twitch and then he picks up a tool to carve into the flat surface.
Taka watches closely — originally, he thought, in case he might need to offer advice, but clearly Besa was paying very good attention. Now he watches simply because he has no ability to create things, only words, and the process is fascinating. "I would, but there is nowhere appropriate here. And I am told that being clad only in the sky is not considered appropriate on this world." He shrugs, and his feathers rustle softly. "I think the rites are only to make us mortals feel better. I can not think how they would make any difference to a god."
Besa's shoulders shrug as well, "They are very worried about nakedness in this time…" He thinks it's weird too, honestly. "If they make you feel better…then they are working." Dark locks fall forward as Besa leans over to get closer to the disks as he carves.
Taka lays out one of his feathers for scale, since his feather will need to be able to fit inside it. "I do not know that they ever made me feel much of anything. Other than tightly linked to family and friends. Much closer than the mental contact we had, but of course, all my people are telepaths so it is easier. Are religious services here like that?"
Besa glances to the feather, "May I keep one here for scale?" He's a little more reserved than before. "They used to be. I have not been to one in…" He frowns in thought, "Over 100 years…They may be very different now." The runes carved intuit eh disks get more complicated, so Besa goes quiet to concentrate.
Taka nods. "Of course. And I thank you again," he says quietly, and leaves Besa to his work.
(feel free to tag the log with character names of those involved!)