01-29-2017, 02:22 AM
Luci does not laugh, but smiles warmly at the newcomer. She watches the ink drip steadily from his painting. Sometimes it would drip down, sometimes it would drip up. The raven's eye's seem to follow her movement.
"I think it's a very good color," Luci says, her bright gold eyes boring into the crow's black ones. "I think it's wise, I think it's honest, I think it can tell stories no other color can. But I think you are wrong. I think you can paint with more colors than me," Luci says frankly.
She pulls a white feather from behind her ear and press the tip lightly into the ink painting. Immediately the feather turns jet black, and starts to drip, forming a small pool at Luci's feet.
Luci begins to write on the wall, her neat letters morphing into an alphabet familiar to The Sage. He sees a kind of superposition occur; Luci is writing a description of a man, and as she writes each line, a physical image of the man grows and takes form on the wall above the words.
There is a man in a room lit only by a bright, white light.
The light shows streaks of charcoal in his otherwise black hair, his neatly trimmed beard failing to conceal a smile
His face does not show the wild exuberance of youth, but the warm nostalgia of the well-traveled. Joy is not a new emotion to this man, but he appreciates the feeling even more for this fact, and savors it.
Where the light shines on his sea-weathered cheeks is a deep bronze.
Where the light touches the palest areas of his body it appears grey, but shining with inner life, like sun peeking through a cloud on an overcast winter morning.
Where his body hides the light is a soft shadow, not dark enough to obscure the lines of his capable frame.
On his arms and chest he flushes with life, and streaks of tea-rose criss-cross his body.
Luci signs her name and the letters start to drip forever, and the painting blinks above the description.
She hands the feather idly to The Sage.
"It is a very good color."
![[Image: sage.png]](https://s30.postimg.org/lwnyatf8x/sage.png)
"I think it's a very good color," Luci says, her bright gold eyes boring into the crow's black ones. "I think it's wise, I think it's honest, I think it can tell stories no other color can. But I think you are wrong. I think you can paint with more colors than me," Luci says frankly.
She pulls a white feather from behind her ear and press the tip lightly into the ink painting. Immediately the feather turns jet black, and starts to drip, forming a small pool at Luci's feet.
Luci begins to write on the wall, her neat letters morphing into an alphabet familiar to The Sage. He sees a kind of superposition occur; Luci is writing a description of a man, and as she writes each line, a physical image of the man grows and takes form on the wall above the words.
Quote:Translated from ҨՅӴՅԖҴՒՅѼ Speech
There is a man in a room lit only by a bright, white light.
The light shows streaks of charcoal in his otherwise black hair, his neatly trimmed beard failing to conceal a smile
His face does not show the wild exuberance of youth, but the warm nostalgia of the well-traveled. Joy is not a new emotion to this man, but he appreciates the feeling even more for this fact, and savors it.
Where the light shines on his sea-weathered cheeks is a deep bronze.
Where the light touches the palest areas of his body it appears grey, but shining with inner life, like sun peeking through a cloud on an overcast winter morning.
Where his body hides the light is a soft shadow, not dark enough to obscure the lines of his capable frame.
On his arms and chest he flushes with life, and streaks of tea-rose criss-cross his body.
Luci signs her name and the letters start to drip forever, and the painting blinks above the description.
She hands the feather idly to The Sage.
"It is a very good color."
![[Image: V4Dvvfy.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/V4Dvvfy.gif)