- Messages
- 95
- Character Biography
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Vel Anir; Noon
Ispir would walk along the bottom of the ravine planning out his next song to sing whenever he got to his next stop. Would it be something upbeat? Something somber? A poetic piece recounting some ancient myth or legend? His tongue would stick out in concentration as he crossed out yet another idea from his parchment. The list resembling less and less a running creative process and more and more a toddler's furious, jagged scribbling as he neared the bottom of the page.
That thought certainly didn't help things either. In fact it only made him pout a bit at how hard it could be to get the creative process flowing when it simply didn't want to. Many people, well, MOST people, simply had no idea how difficult it was to try and force creativity. To force oneself to write or compose when the inspiration simply was not there. When the well ran dry, the pump bore only dust, when the canvas seemed to physically reject any idea you attempted to place upon it rather than letting the idea flow across the surface.
Blessedly few were the times when inspiration seemed to fall, as if heavens-sent, right onto a struggling artist, right into their noggin.
That was when something fell, not-quite-heavens-sent, right into Ispir's noggin.
Having been so engrossed, so utterly enraptured by his own creative troubles, Ispir had failed to notice at all something, or in this case someone, tumbling down the ravine before slamming right into him with a startled yelp! This left Ispir, and his impromptu bowling ball associate, sprawled out onto his back, groaning in pain as his aquamarine eyes blinked open....
Only to find himself looking up into starkly golden eyes staring down at him.
Blinking rapidly Ispir would, perhaps to their surprise, not react with anger as their page and quill fluttered away on a breeze but, instead, he smiled up at the girl with the golden eyes and, one of his twin tails tangled in her chocolate hair, would simply chirp.
"Oh! Hello there friend! Umm...."
Fiddling with the tangled knot of forcibly joined hair Ispir would clear his throat and wheeze a bit.
"..... if you don't mind.... while I untangle our hair... you're kind of sitting on me....."
Zinnia
