the darkest part of the woods; advanced roleplay discussion
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August stood at the edge of the fields. From where he stood it looked as if they went on forever, and yet he could feel the crops as if they were a part of him. The lands of the Autumn court reflected him and in turn he reflected them. They were one and the same, such was the nature of being a Prince. As endless as they looked he could count them all with his eyes closed. The harvest this year would be bountiful, bearing food aplenty as a reward to his people for their loyalty to him, a reminder of the good that would come of following him in spite of the rumours of a new Queen.
The Prince's soft red hair was rustled by the cool breeze that drifted over the plants causing the scenery to ripple like the waves of the sea underneath a sunset. It was still within the early hours of the day, the suns warm golden light adding to the beauty. Some would say that this was August's art, the very court they lived in was his finest work, but in that he bore little interest as he was silently awaiting the arrival of a painter which was why he was outside of the stone walls of his tower in which he normally secluded himself from the world.
Although the odd fae passed by none went to greet the Prince under the Oak tree where he stood beneath the shade of the rich golden leaves. Most were too afraid to approach him and others simply knew he wouldn't not answer them if they tried. They all disappeared from sight leaving him alone with the leather bound book that he held tightly in his arms and the ornate bronze and gold pen that rested comfortably in his pocket. He looked more like a young writer than a prince, wearing a russet brown wool sweater over a somewhat rumpled white collared shirt and a pair of tan coloured pants. Even still though, his raw presence and severity made it clear that he was not a common fae.
Acelin had finally arrived at the Autumn Kingdom. After the long trip from Spring, she went straight to the palace with her summons. She met with a palace worker and when asked where she could find the Prince, she was pointed in the direction I the Yellow Fields. It took her a while, but she eventually found them, and wondered whether to approach the Prince. She took the time to approach a palace guard, and when asked, he sarcastically replied that she should. Not understanding the tone of voice, she nodded, thanked him, and started to approach the Prince.
August's dark eyes had been glued to the the swaying wheat until finally an approaching figure caught his attention. His cool appraising gaze fell upon her scrutinizingly. For a moment he made no move to stop her nor to invite her to step forth. His eyes lingered, taking in details so that he would not forget her face. He then smiled at her although it did not meet his eyes. It was gesture of goodwill more so than an expression of joy. He waved for her to come over with his free hand. Perhaps this was where most people would call out a greeting, but August's permanent silence mandated that a sense of quiet would hang in the air, interrupted only by the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves and fields.
Acelin was about to start speaking when she felt his silence quiet her. She followed his lead and sat down next to him. When he still didn't talk she brought out her sketchbook and began sketching the field, just to keep her hands busy. All she knew was that the Prince wanted to commission an art piece, but needed to to work out the details. Until then, she would be quiet until he wished for her to speak.
The Autumn Prince observed Acelin as she sat down to sketch and decided that if they were to be there for any extended period of time the the might as well join her. He settled on the ground and watched as she set to work. The wind settled somewhat as August grew comfortable with the sound of her pencil danced across the paper sketching the fields. His gaze was studious, carefully taking in her technique, as if he was trying to learn how to draw which wasn't all that far from the truth. It was in his nature to study and learn things and so he took the opportunity to do so whenever it arose.
He began to wonder how long it took to hone such a skill. She was human, not fae, which meant that she must have been quite young, thought the prince. Many fae took centuries to master a skill and yet humans, with their pitiful mortality, managed to master their crafts through what he imagined to be sheer force of will. Although he was not keen on interacting with anyone let alone a human, his curiosity got the better of him and he let out a sigh, opening the heavy leather book that laid in his lap to a blank page. He then withdrew the pen from his pocket with his delicate hands.
Putting the copper toned tip of the pen to the page he began to write, the pen leaving trails of brilliantly glimmering gold ink which was no doubt the result of fine craftsmanship and fae enchantments. He wrote with great speed, having had centuries of practice. In a matter of moments he had finished and turned his book so that she could see what he had written on the blank page. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention. "When did you begin to practice the arts? Who taught you?" read the page in beautiful handwriting. August simply awaited her response in silence as he always did, his eyes settled on the artist with a calm gaze.
Acelin read the questions and smiled, flipping to the next page in her sketchbook to answer him.”I was taught by a group of artisans when I was young, ever since I could hold a pencil. I was first taught the visual arts and then taught poetry and language. To this day I still learn many things from my peers and those more skilled than me, your highness.”
Her dull and gray pencil lead probably looked ugly to him, but it was the best thing besides messy graphite for sketching. She wrote neatly and legible, but not as neatly as the Prince, who she knew had centuries of handwriting practice.
[Last post of the night. It's quite late, but I'll be back tomorrow!]
August was for a moment perplexed as she too went to write. For him, it was necessary to write out his words for try as he may he could produce no words, but as far as he knew, the artist did not share his . As she wrote he pondered the reason she chose to answer him in writing. Perhaps she didn't want to break the silence or perhaps she wanted to put him at ease by communicating as he did. August dismissed the thought, it was mere speculation. He would be best served focusing on the words Acelin had written.
She learned from her from her peers. What a decidedly mortal way to do things. August had once been similar in his way of doing things. He learned from the Princes and the Queen, but time broke them all apart. His brows lowered, but he then averted his gaze, staring back out to the fields. He considered how he would continue. After a pause his pen once again touched down on the paper and in clear view wrote: "Were you told why this painting was commissioned?".
((Alright, see you tomorrow!))Acelin wrote down her answer,
”No your highness, all I've been told is that a painting has been commissioned. I came to get specifications.”
She hadn't been told anything about the painting, or even anything about the Prince. She had so many commission from so many different sources she rarely got any information of the person who commissioned it. She didn't know if the Prince was might, deaf, fond of silence, or just playing with her. She tried to stay, or was rather kept out of, any sort of politics inn any kingdom. But everything she did she did with an air of reverence and respect, and with the intention of making people comfortable and at ease.
After a short pause with the Prince looking rather...for lack of a better word, unsettled, she decided to ask, still writing down her words.
”Is there something troubling you, your highness?”
August shook his head coldly after reading the second half of what she wrote, not meeting her eyes. It was the past. What happened was a necessary part of time's progression, their bonds withered like the autumn leaves and that was how it was meant to be. Or at least that was what he told himself ever since the Queen died. The world was different and though at times doubt trickled into his thoughts, he banished it just as quickly as it came. This world was his and as such it was perfect. It was exactly as it needed to be and he refused to show regret.
Not acknowledging her inquiry any further, he began to write: "Each year a painting of the fields is made. They serve as a visual record, making it easy to observe the changes in the crops between harvests. Your work will hang in the Autumn tower and will be used to determine the changes between this year and the next. It is far quicker to look at two paintings than it is to read two harvest reports.". The Prince's explanation, though long, was swiftly transcribed onto the page.
Acelin could see how her question disturbed the prince, and panicked for a small moment, before his answer revealed he would just ignore it. She was thankful he just ignored it and didn't get upset at her, and she went along with his example.”In that case it is an honor, and I will do my upmost best to reflect the beauty of your kind of, your highness. I do believe that answers my first question about style, as I will make it as realistic as possible, but what about size? It may be as big or as small as you like, but the bigger it is the longer it will take.”
She wanted to show her gratitude, but also get the answers to what she came to ask. She hoped to be able to make the best possible piece for the prince.
August paused for a moment at her question. He hadn't thought of the size although he supposed it would be best to match the scale of the other paintings. The Prince stared down at his own hands. He was attempting to form a sense of scale. He had become familiar with how the stone that composed his tower compared to him and he could picture in his head how the stones compared to the paintings, he simply had to bridge the gap. He mimed a few different sizes to himself unconcerned by the artists presence next to him. Eventually he found an estimation that seemed accurate. Using this scale he then put his arms out to indicate the scale. It was to be about a meter in width and approximately sixty centimetres in height. Once he was comfortable with his choice he nodded assuringly to himself and turned to Acelin with an imploring gaze, attempting to communicate that he wanted it to match the size he was indicating with his gestures and outstretched arms.
Acelin smiled widely and nodded. She knew what pre-set size he was talking about, but she made a mental note to confirm with him before starting the painting. ”I believe I know what you need, but perhaps you could show me the other paintings just to be sure? I want to be absolutely positive I do this right the first time, your highness.”
She made a note of the pre-set size and then showed the prince the note. She could already see everything in her head, the brush strokes, the composition, and more. She was going to make sure that this was the best painting she had ever done at the very least, but she was aiming for the best painting of the fields in recent history. She knew this was an ambitious goal, and she was going to try to not let it drown her in perfectionism, but she liked the vibe of the prince and wanted to make him happy.
Plus if she failed it could ruin the recording of history, and she would hate to be a barrier to posterity.
[Before I respond, would it make sense for them to head over to the Autumn tower to see the paintings? I wouldn't want to change the setting if you didn't want to.]
August nodded in acknowledgement of her words. Her request was not unreasonable nor had she proven herself disagreeable. He had no reason to deny her this request and so he promptly shut his book with a sharp snap, and tucked his pen back into his pocket. If they were to be done with this in any reasonable amount of time it wouldn't be wise to dawdle. The Prince rose from his spot, once again fully feeling the cool autumn breeze. His eyes took in the sight of the golden fields one more time. There was a certain surety in his movements as he began to walk away. August knew where he was heading and without question a few guards scampered out from their hidden stations to follow him from a distance. Although he didn't wait for her immediately, the Prince slowed his pace after a few steps, sparing a glance behind him to ensure that she was following along.
[I'll let you respond and then I'll post in the library of the Autumn Tower where they can look at the past paintings.]
((sounds good!))At the snap of the book, Acelin quickly packed up her stuff. She shut her sketchbook, packed her pencil, was quick to follow the Prince. She didn't realize he would want to go there right away, but was thankful for his consideration in her having to meet a deadline. She was also shocked he would take her there himself, and felt honored to be so accommodated.
[I posted over at the library. It isn't my best work, but it'll do for a start I suppose :p]
