Ink and Old Bones

[Anonymous]

Mockingbird stared ahead thoughtfully, letting his gaze wander until it fell upon a subject--a small flower, no taller than his thumb, with four bright-blue petals in a star arrangement. He picked up his pen and sketchpad, and padded over to the plant, sitting cross-legged in front of it. After a moment in which he tried to memorize all its details, he began to sketch.

Although his lines started off thin and delicate, by the time he was finished he was using slashing, bold strokes that got as much ink on the page as flew off into the grass. Holding up the finished sketch, he surveyed his handiwork critically, noting points where the lines didn't follow the right curve, or the detail was messy. Overall, it wasn't such a bad job, he thought, brushing an errant strand of hair out of his face and accidentally leaving a trail of black ink on his cheek.

He frowned as he noticed an oddity in the sketch. From a certain angle, the flower and its surroundings formed the outline of a girl, or a woman--similar to himself in features, and vaguely familiar, although he had no place or name to go with the face. She had been appearing in a number of his paintings recently, no matter how he tried to avoid it, and it was beginning to disturb him. It was like he was being haunted, but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to be frightened. If she was from his past, he would be glad for anything to help him remember.

At any rate, he doubted it detracted from the quality of the painting. Nobody besides him had noticed the phantom girl in her other paintings. As long as she didn't interfere with his artwork, she wasn't a problem. He found a flat rock and laid the paper out on it, weighting the corners with smaller stones to keep it from blowing away. Waiting for the ink to dry, he sat next to it, closing his eyes and letting the sounds around him wash over him. He could forget the phantom, he could forget everything--he was a leaf, a breeze, with no concerns.

[Anonymous]

Amber walked quietly through the grass, her unusually red hair tossed about on her head like a lion's mane. Her eyes flitted from place to place, cautious in the way a person that has fought on their own in the world. She knew she was alone, and relaxed, her sword's handle glinting softly. She walked through the grass, graceful but alert somehow like a deer. She observed her surroundings with a careful eye trained for battle. She knew she was safe, but old habits die hard.

Suddenly, she spotted a man in the forest. She hid behind a tree and observed him. He was strange to her, but somehow quite interesting, intriguing. The careful strokes with his paintbrush....it seemed as if the brush was part of him, the ink laying on paper exactly what lie in his mind's eye. She thought such art was amazing, for she had never been good at such things. She simply never had the time. She wished she could ask him about his amazing skill, learn more, bit he looked so...peaceful. She didn't want to disturb him. She heard the snap of a twig beneath her feet, and froze still, eyes staring right at him with an anxious fear. She was the deer again, frozen, cautious, and almost seemingly part of the forest along with the birds and trees.

[Anonymous]

A small sound startled Mockingbird out of his meditation; he jumped, losing the rhythm of his breathing, and the world snapped back into focus around him. He winced. Such sudden returns to reality were always a bit painful. He scanned the surrounding brush, looking for a sign of a human (or humanoid, he reminded himself), but found none.

Ahh... It had probably just been a squirrel. Right. Squirrel. He glanced around nervously, unsure why he was as twitchy as he was. It was a squirrel. Small things sounded remarkably large with dry leaves underfoot. But so did big things... Big things with largesharpteeth and claws and flashingwings and blood and--

"Ah!" He jerked upright, staring ahead, frightened by the nightmarish flashback. What was that? It had felt--like a memory--almost--but the fear in it... Something predatory and inescapable, something monstrous...

Which brought him uncomfortably back to the thing in the brush, whatever it was. Standing a little shakily, he called out, "I-is anyone there?"

[Anonymous]

Amber watched him, feeling rather guilty. She hadn't meant to startle the poor man. She said, quietly, "I'm here..." She carefully stepped into view, a few yards away. She studied him a little. What a curious sort of man. He had such long hair, and looked the type to prefer art over fights. She hadn't met many people like that. She said, looking down at the ground, "I'm terribly sorry for startling you like that...it's just.." She looked up at him. "I saw your painting, and I admired it. I didn't mean to sneak up on you....what is your name, artist?"

[Anonymous]

It'd been a while since he'd last seen... Him. Jaks was constantly on edge and even now he'd just looked over his shoulder and he strained his hearing, his eyes flicking back and forth. The flesh at his lower back where the skin had been peeled was evidence that his month away had been quite real, the earrings on his one ear was more evidence. Too painful to remove, though Jaks would have dearly loved to.

Sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly he closed his eyes and wandered further, his sketchbook under his arm. The sound of voices sped him up a little, his long ponytail bouncing on his back before settling over his shoulder. "Oh." His mouth fell open slightly, apparently this was a good area for other artists too.

One looked spooked and the other looked apologetic. Jaks' natural elven talents kept his footsteps silent and he took a few steps closer, his green eyes down while he moved. Still weary of strangers Jaks swallowed and puffed out his chest, "Hello. Am I intruding?" Friendly. Friendly didn't get him kidnapped.

[Anonymous]

A slight noise startled Mockingbird, sawing away at his already-frayed nerves. He spun around with a muffled squeak, accidentally dropping his brush in the process.

"I'm here..."

His vision snapped to the speaker, a red-haired female of indeterminate species; she looked human, but one could never really tell. She didn't seem aggressive, though, so he forced himself to relax, putting on an outward semblance of calm, though inside he was still twitchy as a neurotic rabbit.

"A-ah," he said, proud of the only minor tremor in his voice. "Hello... I'm Mockingbird, who are you?"

Before the female answered, though, a third party stepped into the clearing--an elfin male. Mockingbird nodded respectfully to the newcomer, responding "No, not at all... who might you be?"

[Anonymous]

Amber quietly said her name as the other came into veiw. "Amber." She turned her head to the new person. Hm, another. She wondered if yet another person was going to come out of nowhere and peek their head out of the bushes, she hoped not. She walked over to Mockingbird, carefully picking up the brush he had dropped and handing it to him. Then she sat down quietly against a tree, still looking rather sheepish. She nodded to the newcomer. "Um, I just accidentaly startled him while he was painting. You didn't intrude.." She looked up at the sky, some of the hair that hung in her face being pulled back.