Private Tales Blood is thicker than...Paint?

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
"Yes, they may teach you more...elegant insults."

The rest of the exercise went by rather predictably. Alistair was prepared to force Mariana back to her feet to continue when his mother stuck her head out and told them dinner would be ready soon.

Alistair looked up in the sky and noticed more time had passed than he realized. He looked down at the tired form of Mariana, and he just sighed.

"Very well. Head inside and wash up before we eat. We will do some reading assignments after dinner."

Mariana
 
The tween picked herself off the ground. Her muscles ached worse than the one time in Vel Lameus when she’d ran from authorities nearly the entire day. A silent blessing to Alistair’s mom.

A quick scowl on her face as he mentioned the dreaded reading and writing assignments. “Do we have to?” She whined as she passed him toward the door. The smells of roasting chicken and vegetables and fresh baked bread tickling her nose and making her mouth water. Every day here was heaven. She no longer has to dig in bins or steal scraps of food from tables to satisfy her appetite.

Sometimes when she saw something good, she still did it, unknown to Alistair, Mrs. Hursch, or his mom. But not often.
 
Alistair moved back to the house with his sack of bean bags in hand. All in all, she had not done too bad. She had a good sense of balance, so that could be refined. Depending on her understanding of depth and reach and she could be rather good with the sword.

"You lose what you don't use. If you finish it early enough then you can paint the rest of the night."

As they entered, Alistair just watched his mother and Mrs. Hursch prepare the table. His mom had been doing a lot better lately. Her stomach was sticking out, showing signs that his little sister would surely be on the way soon.

"Mariana, I was hoping to do some painting tonight, so you can join me." Alistair's mother said sweetly.

"Only once she finishes her work." Alistair cut it.

Mariana
 
Alistair's mother had taken Mariana on as if she was her own. Which was a wonder in itself, considering any other parent would be amicable at best to a bastard child. And Mariana had grown quite fond of her and their shared love of art. They spent most evenings painting or drawing together. She had even let Mariana take to painting some murals within the home's walls.

Every now and then those murals would come to life. Shimmering grass in a field with the smell of fresh flowers from the painting. But nothing too disruptive even with Mariana still learning to control her magic.

She was washed and sitting at the dinner table in record. All in the household would know that food was Mariana's first love language. Sometimes even above being creative. And no matter how many meals she got, she ate as if it was the last time she'd see food in awhile.

A glance to Alistair as she swallowed a big mouthful of food.

"But when am I going to get to practice with a real saber?"
 
"No time soon."

Alistair replied as he took his own seat at the table, looking like he had cleaned up a little bit as well. While the Head of the family, he would not risk earning the wrath of his mother or Mrs. Hursch.

"You finish the fretwork, and then we may start with wooden weapons. Then...maybe, I let you hold a real sword."

He had spent an entire two years with wooden swords when he was training, of course, that was when he was 5 and 6 and those weapons could end him just like any other weapon back then.

"There are no shortcuts to proper training, so we will take our time and-"

Alistair was cut off as the food arrived and his mother ended the conversation. She hated when Alistair talked about things like this. It was a reminder that she had not been capable of protecting her son from the horrors he experienced at the Academy. Alistair had tried to explain that she could do nothing to stop it, but she did not believe that.

Mariana
 
"Fiiine," Mariana huffed at Alistair's response. He wouldn't even give her a real sword? Sure, sure he probs knew best but it was an annoying, older brother thing to do. Protection, blah-de-blah.

As soon as she was finished eating and excused, she scurried up the stairs to get her painting supplies. Her easel and canvas was already set next to Alistair's mom's. And when she did join Mariana, they fell into an easy sort of silence and small chatter. It was clear they were comfortable and used to each other's presence by now.

"I'm glad Alistair found me," Mariana nearly whispered to his mom as she added a mixture of blues to the canvas.
 
Natasha Krixus was trained in the realist art style, as several of the portraits around the house were proof of. However, ever since her recovery, most of her art had leaned for more heavily into an abstract nature. She looked over to Mariana from her own painting and smiled.

"As am I, I am glad to have such a lovely addition to this family...And while he may not realize it, Alistair needed you just as much as you needed him. The boy was losing himself in his work...He is more like his father than he realizes."

As she said the last part, her face scrunched up in thought, wondering if that was truly a good thing.

Mariana
 
  • Aww
Reactions: Mariana
"Well I've been trying to teach him how to have fun," Mariana puffed her chest out a little and stood a little taller than her short stature was usually. "We went shopping together. And I even painted some of his plain, old black boots. He doesn't know about that yet but now he can look really cool."

She smiled proudly from behind her canvas.

She'd made a subtle pattern of knives and swords around the boots and even attempted to match some of his runes.

"I think he gets a lot of his traits from you, though." Mariana snuck a glance at Natasha. "Don't tell him I ever said this but he's thoughtful and kind to those he cares about."
 
Natasha laughed at that but continued her painting with an expression that said she was thinking of the past.

"He was always a thoughtful boy, maybe too thoughtful. Even before the Academy, he was one of those strange children that listened rather than talked...The kindness is new...No, that is a poor choice of words. He just hasn't had many to be kind to in the past."

Her painting waivered momentarily before she pressed her lips into a thin line as she steadied herself and continued.

Mariana
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back