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Quite honestly, there was never a dull moment in Taengea, particularly in those blessed moments when Basilides had the honor of entertaining the nobility with novelty and a word here and there. With that being said, he knew he had his favorites among the nobility - by favorites, he certainly meant the more generous patrons with which he spent the most time - and so he was not nearly as familiar with the Lord of Condos as the Leventi Ladies naturally were.
In the brief moments before he could offer an appropriate bow or greeting, Nana spoke on his behalf, offered a full introduction and essentially took all of the pressure away from him as it was needed. Unsure if he was more amused by the young noblewoman's candor or the expressions of the older nobleman and woman before then, he could only offer a mildly amused smile and took the opportunity to take a bow.
"My Lord Nikolias, it is a pleasure indeed," Basilides offered demurely, not wanting to add too many words to the existing flurry left by Nana of Leventi. It was not long before their exit was imminent, and he had seen enough shows on stage to know they were about to make their exeunt to anywhere but there, and managed to squeeze in another quick bow to both Lord Nikolias and Lady Evelli, "My Lord, My Lady." He gave a reassuring nod toward the mother of the Leventi girl, a silent promise not to let anything to befall her daughter.
At the potter's stand, sharing his benign amusement at the vase, Basilides had to stifle an audible snicker through his nose at her descriptor.
"Colchian, indeed," he replied, nodding in feigned sincerity as they turned away to allow a full smirk to spread across his features. At her suggestion of a few new gowns, he nodded, directing them and her small entourage of guards towards the fabric stand where he first admired the fabric for Zephyrus. They pondered there a moment, examining the fabric and holding it up to her skin to check for the appropriate tone before deciding to move to another.
Along the way, Basilides spotted the young model and the portrait painter, reflecting the perfect image of Dionysus upon the canvas. Basilides said nothing but nudged Nana and tilted his head in such a direction.
There was no doubt that Basilides' expression likely mirrored that of most of the women eyeing the young man posing at the God of Wine, Art, and Ecstasy. In that moment, he was grateful to the gods that his thoughts were trapped within his head and were not able to be seen by the others around him, particularly Nana. Fortunately, before his words or his body could incriminate him for the simple sin of attraction, a runner from Lady Evelli came to collect the young Leventi woman for departure.
Deftly kissing the young woman's hand and offering an appropriate bow, he promised, "I will write to you soon."
As he watched her golden mane flutter away through a parted crowd, Basilides turned once again to admire the display. Trays of wine, offered by the painter's patron he assumed, were passed around and the Producer offered several coins in exchange for a glass. It seemed only fitting to observe this inadvertent worship of the god while enjoying such an offering.
As the model rose and the painter completed his display, Basilides took a sip, solidifying his next decision as he crossed over to speak with the young man, adjusting his Children of Mnemosyne crest on his shoulder - making sure the masks of comedy and tragedy were seen clearly. He maintained a certain professional composure, despite the wine in his hand and the flitting thoughts in his mind.
"No better way, indeed," Basilides replied, his voice smooth and deep, "Both artists bear their talents and offerings well.." He offered his own glass to meet the rim of the other man's in a slight 'cheers' clink.
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Quite honestly, there was never a dull moment in Taengea, particularly in those blessed moments when Basilides had the honor of entertaining the nobility with novelty and a word here and there. With that being said, he knew he had his favorites among the nobility - by favorites, he certainly meant the more generous patrons with which he spent the most time - and so he was not nearly as familiar with the Lord of Condos as the Leventi Ladies naturally were.
In the brief moments before he could offer an appropriate bow or greeting, Nana spoke on his behalf, offered a full introduction and essentially took all of the pressure away from him as it was needed. Unsure if he was more amused by the young noblewoman's candor or the expressions of the older nobleman and woman before then, he could only offer a mildly amused smile and took the opportunity to take a bow.
"My Lord Nikolias, it is a pleasure indeed," Basilides offered demurely, not wanting to add too many words to the existing flurry left by Nana of Leventi. It was not long before their exit was imminent, and he had seen enough shows on stage to know they were about to make their exeunt to anywhere but there, and managed to squeeze in another quick bow to both Lord Nikolias and Lady Evelli, "My Lord, My Lady." He gave a reassuring nod toward the mother of the Leventi girl, a silent promise not to let anything to befall her daughter.
At the potter's stand, sharing his benign amusement at the vase, Basilides had to stifle an audible snicker through his nose at her descriptor.
"Colchian, indeed," he replied, nodding in feigned sincerity as they turned away to allow a full smirk to spread across his features. At her suggestion of a few new gowns, he nodded, directing them and her small entourage of guards towards the fabric stand where he first admired the fabric for Zephyrus. They pondered there a moment, examining the fabric and holding it up to her skin to check for the appropriate tone before deciding to move to another.
Along the way, Basilides spotted the young model and the portrait painter, reflecting the perfect image of Dionysus upon the canvas. Basilides said nothing but nudged Nana and tilted his head in such a direction.
There was no doubt that Basilides' expression likely mirrored that of most of the women eyeing the young man posing at the God of Wine, Art, and Ecstasy. In that moment, he was grateful to the gods that his thoughts were trapped within his head and were not able to be seen by the others around him, particularly Nana. Fortunately, before his words or his body could incriminate him for the simple sin of attraction, a runner from Lady Evelli came to collect the young Leventi woman for departure.
Deftly kissing the young woman's hand and offering an appropriate bow, he promised, "I will write to you soon."
As he watched her golden mane flutter away through a parted crowd, Basilides turned once again to admire the display. Trays of wine, offered by the painter's patron he assumed, were passed around and the Producer offered several coins in exchange for a glass. It seemed only fitting to observe this inadvertent worship of the god while enjoying such an offering.
As the model rose and the painter completed his display, Basilides took a sip, solidifying his next decision as he crossed over to speak with the young man, adjusting his Children of Mnemosyne crest on his shoulder - making sure the masks of comedy and tragedy were seen clearly. He maintained a certain professional composure, despite the wine in his hand and the flitting thoughts in his mind.
"No better way, indeed," Basilides replied, his voice smooth and deep, "Both artists bear their talents and offerings well.." He offered his own glass to meet the rim of the other man's in a slight 'cheers' clink.
Quite honestly, there was never a dull moment in Taengea, particularly in those blessed moments when Basilides had the honor of entertaining the nobility with novelty and a word here and there. With that being said, he knew he had his favorites among the nobility - by favorites, he certainly meant the more generous patrons with which he spent the most time - and so he was not nearly as familiar with the Lord of Condos as the Leventi Ladies naturally were.
In the brief moments before he could offer an appropriate bow or greeting, Nana spoke on his behalf, offered a full introduction and essentially took all of the pressure away from him as it was needed. Unsure if he was more amused by the young noblewoman's candor or the expressions of the older nobleman and woman before then, he could only offer a mildly amused smile and took the opportunity to take a bow.
"My Lord Nikolias, it is a pleasure indeed," Basilides offered demurely, not wanting to add too many words to the existing flurry left by Nana of Leventi. It was not long before their exit was imminent, and he had seen enough shows on stage to know they were about to make their exeunt to anywhere but there, and managed to squeeze in another quick bow to both Lord Nikolias and Lady Evelli, "My Lord, My Lady." He gave a reassuring nod toward the mother of the Leventi girl, a silent promise not to let anything to befall her daughter.
At the potter's stand, sharing his benign amusement at the vase, Basilides had to stifle an audible snicker through his nose at her descriptor.
"Colchian, indeed," he replied, nodding in feigned sincerity as they turned away to allow a full smirk to spread across his features. At her suggestion of a few new gowns, he nodded, directing them and her small entourage of guards towards the fabric stand where he first admired the fabric for Zephyrus. They pondered there a moment, examining the fabric and holding it up to her skin to check for the appropriate tone before deciding to move to another.
Along the way, Basilides spotted the young model and the portrait painter, reflecting the perfect image of Dionysus upon the canvas. Basilides said nothing but nudged Nana and tilted his head in such a direction.
There was no doubt that Basilides' expression likely mirrored that of most of the women eyeing the young man posing at the God of Wine, Art, and Ecstasy. In that moment, he was grateful to the gods that his thoughts were trapped within his head and were not able to be seen by the others around him, particularly Nana. Fortunately, before his words or his body could incriminate him for the simple sin of attraction, a runner from Lady Evelli came to collect the young Leventi woman for departure.
Deftly kissing the young woman's hand and offering an appropriate bow, he promised, "I will write to you soon."
As he watched her golden mane flutter away through a parted crowd, Basilides turned once again to admire the display. Trays of wine, offered by the painter's patron he assumed, were passed around and the Producer offered several coins in exchange for a glass. It seemed only fitting to observe this inadvertent worship of the god while enjoying such an offering.
As the model rose and the painter completed his display, Basilides took a sip, solidifying his next decision as he crossed over to speak with the young man, adjusting his Children of Mnemosyne crest on his shoulder - making sure the masks of comedy and tragedy were seen clearly. He maintained a certain professional composure, despite the wine in his hand and the flitting thoughts in his mind.
"No better way, indeed," Basilides replied, his voice smooth and deep, "Both artists bear their talents and offerings well.." He offered his own glass to meet the rim of the other man's in a slight 'cheers' clink.
It was perhaps too obvious that Hesiodos was offered a glass of wine for his service – however, he had a couple more, and since no one dared to tell him anything, he continued to indulge. He was finally dressed in, fittingly, in a wine red modified chlamys, made in a way that he could use two swords at the same time comfortably, though such weapons were stored somewhere else, alongside his lyre, which for him was as valuable and useful.
He was quite happy upon seeing the people admiring his painting, with comments saying he looked like Dionysus himself. A bold move, which might have angered the gods, but considering they were drinking and possibly drunk while saying that, he was quite sure the god of the vine wouldn’t mind one bit.
When spoken to by a voice he recognized, he turned his head, and a smile drew upon his face, “The gods must be honored, after all. Beautiful paintings, wine, laughter… and theatre”, he clicked his glass with him in knowing compliance and drank on his own. He introduced himself, but Hesiodos knew damn well who he was. After all, the bard was one of his greatest admirers, who composed a couple of sonnets for his plays on occasion.
“It’s a pleasure”, he said, trying his best to not to chuckle, “Hesiodos of Phossis, at your service”, he knew that as well, but since they were introducing themselves…
“I suspected I would find your handsome face here. It’s partly one reason why I came…”, he admitted without a hint of shame, “After all, artists are drawn to this kind of things like moths to a flame, aren’t we?”
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It was perhaps too obvious that Hesiodos was offered a glass of wine for his service – however, he had a couple more, and since no one dared to tell him anything, he continued to indulge. He was finally dressed in, fittingly, in a wine red modified chlamys, made in a way that he could use two swords at the same time comfortably, though such weapons were stored somewhere else, alongside his lyre, which for him was as valuable and useful.
He was quite happy upon seeing the people admiring his painting, with comments saying he looked like Dionysus himself. A bold move, which might have angered the gods, but considering they were drinking and possibly drunk while saying that, he was quite sure the god of the vine wouldn’t mind one bit.
When spoken to by a voice he recognized, he turned his head, and a smile drew upon his face, “The gods must be honored, after all. Beautiful paintings, wine, laughter… and theatre”, he clicked his glass with him in knowing compliance and drank on his own. He introduced himself, but Hesiodos knew damn well who he was. After all, the bard was one of his greatest admirers, who composed a couple of sonnets for his plays on occasion.
“It’s a pleasure”, he said, trying his best to not to chuckle, “Hesiodos of Phossis, at your service”, he knew that as well, but since they were introducing themselves…
“I suspected I would find your handsome face here. It’s partly one reason why I came…”, he admitted without a hint of shame, “After all, artists are drawn to this kind of things like moths to a flame, aren’t we?”
It was perhaps too obvious that Hesiodos was offered a glass of wine for his service – however, he had a couple more, and since no one dared to tell him anything, he continued to indulge. He was finally dressed in, fittingly, in a wine red modified chlamys, made in a way that he could use two swords at the same time comfortably, though such weapons were stored somewhere else, alongside his lyre, which for him was as valuable and useful.
He was quite happy upon seeing the people admiring his painting, with comments saying he looked like Dionysus himself. A bold move, which might have angered the gods, but considering they were drinking and possibly drunk while saying that, he was quite sure the god of the vine wouldn’t mind one bit.
When spoken to by a voice he recognized, he turned his head, and a smile drew upon his face, “The gods must be honored, after all. Beautiful paintings, wine, laughter… and theatre”, he clicked his glass with him in knowing compliance and drank on his own. He introduced himself, but Hesiodos knew damn well who he was. After all, the bard was one of his greatest admirers, who composed a couple of sonnets for his plays on occasion.
“It’s a pleasure”, he said, trying his best to not to chuckle, “Hesiodos of Phossis, at your service”, he knew that as well, but since they were introducing themselves…
“I suspected I would find your handsome face here. It’s partly one reason why I came…”, he admitted without a hint of shame, “After all, artists are drawn to this kind of things like moths to a flame, aren’t we?”
Nikolias nodded in approval of the Dionysus painting. "Someone, be it the painter or the gods themselves who sculpted that man, is very talented!" he could not resist admitting. He turned for a minute to greet Basilides. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well," he said, before Basilides seemed to go in search of Nana.
"Good day, Lady Evelli," he added when she said she had to leave. "I enjoyed your companionship as well." He meant it. They were not exactly friends, and their families had their share of land squabbles among other things. But neither did he exactly dislike her. Sometimes it was nice to have another parent to commiserate with, and it didn't really matter whom it was.
He continued making his way around the festival, pausing briefly to acknowledge the young man who was dressed as Dionysus. "Well done, lad," he said with an approving nod.
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Nikolias nodded in approval of the Dionysus painting. "Someone, be it the painter or the gods themselves who sculpted that man, is very talented!" he could not resist admitting. He turned for a minute to greet Basilides. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well," he said, before Basilides seemed to go in search of Nana.
"Good day, Lady Evelli," he added when she said she had to leave. "I enjoyed your companionship as well." He meant it. They were not exactly friends, and their families had their share of land squabbles among other things. But neither did he exactly dislike her. Sometimes it was nice to have another parent to commiserate with, and it didn't really matter whom it was.
He continued making his way around the festival, pausing briefly to acknowledge the young man who was dressed as Dionysus. "Well done, lad," he said with an approving nod.
Nikolias nodded in approval of the Dionysus painting. "Someone, be it the painter or the gods themselves who sculpted that man, is very talented!" he could not resist admitting. He turned for a minute to greet Basilides. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well," he said, before Basilides seemed to go in search of Nana.
"Good day, Lady Evelli," he added when she said she had to leave. "I enjoyed your companionship as well." He meant it. They were not exactly friends, and their families had their share of land squabbles among other things. But neither did he exactly dislike her. Sometimes it was nice to have another parent to commiserate with, and it didn't really matter whom it was.
He continued making his way around the festival, pausing briefly to acknowledge the young man who was dressed as Dionysus. "Well done, lad," he said with an approving nod.
It had been quite some time since Basilides last laid his eyes on Hesiodos, enough time for age to have made their marks on their faces and bodies. Only a missive or two had managed to pass between them as they were both hardly the kind to set their bags down long enough to receive letters. Still, on more than one occasion, his music and lyrics had their hand on several shows performed by the Children, and Basilides was ever grateful to have such a deft musician at hand.
As if completing the sacred ritual of a toast, Basilides lifted his chalice to his lips and watched the bard do the same, dabbing a stray drip of wine with the back of his wrist and humming in agreement as he spoke.
"The Children will come in a few months time for the Festival of Dionysus to truly honor his name," he replied matter-of-factly, one hand adjusting his brooch out of habit whenever the troupe was mentioned, "I'm here alone on business."
The word alone felt like a sin to mention, and his mind flickered back to his usual companions - and specific companion - for the briefest of moments.
Then, at Hesiodos' shameless compliment, Basilides' brows raised and seemed to choreograph a short dance on his features - from surprise to acceptance to shedding all humility and basking in it for a moment. He had to appreciate a man who was open enough to make such a remark, though his eyes did flick over towards some of the nearby festival-goers who shifted their glances in that direction.
"Indeed we are. Too much trouble in a small space, as they say," he grinned, noting the passing women who giggled flirtatiously and tried to cast a wave to capture the bard's attention. Before continuing, he noted Lord Nikolias arriving and acknowledging Hesiodos, and immediately ducked into a bow for the nobleman.
"Lord Nikolias, this is my friend Hesiodos of Phossis, a bard of great renown who has been more than helpful on many occasions to the Children of Mnemosyne. His music and lyrics are unrivaled in the realm. And so apparently is his talent for modelling."
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It had been quite some time since Basilides last laid his eyes on Hesiodos, enough time for age to have made their marks on their faces and bodies. Only a missive or two had managed to pass between them as they were both hardly the kind to set their bags down long enough to receive letters. Still, on more than one occasion, his music and lyrics had their hand on several shows performed by the Children, and Basilides was ever grateful to have such a deft musician at hand.
As if completing the sacred ritual of a toast, Basilides lifted his chalice to his lips and watched the bard do the same, dabbing a stray drip of wine with the back of his wrist and humming in agreement as he spoke.
"The Children will come in a few months time for the Festival of Dionysus to truly honor his name," he replied matter-of-factly, one hand adjusting his brooch out of habit whenever the troupe was mentioned, "I'm here alone on business."
The word alone felt like a sin to mention, and his mind flickered back to his usual companions - and specific companion - for the briefest of moments.
Then, at Hesiodos' shameless compliment, Basilides' brows raised and seemed to choreograph a short dance on his features - from surprise to acceptance to shedding all humility and basking in it for a moment. He had to appreciate a man who was open enough to make such a remark, though his eyes did flick over towards some of the nearby festival-goers who shifted their glances in that direction.
"Indeed we are. Too much trouble in a small space, as they say," he grinned, noting the passing women who giggled flirtatiously and tried to cast a wave to capture the bard's attention. Before continuing, he noted Lord Nikolias arriving and acknowledging Hesiodos, and immediately ducked into a bow for the nobleman.
"Lord Nikolias, this is my friend Hesiodos of Phossis, a bard of great renown who has been more than helpful on many occasions to the Children of Mnemosyne. His music and lyrics are unrivaled in the realm. And so apparently is his talent for modelling."
It had been quite some time since Basilides last laid his eyes on Hesiodos, enough time for age to have made their marks on their faces and bodies. Only a missive or two had managed to pass between them as they were both hardly the kind to set their bags down long enough to receive letters. Still, on more than one occasion, his music and lyrics had their hand on several shows performed by the Children, and Basilides was ever grateful to have such a deft musician at hand.
As if completing the sacred ritual of a toast, Basilides lifted his chalice to his lips and watched the bard do the same, dabbing a stray drip of wine with the back of his wrist and humming in agreement as he spoke.
"The Children will come in a few months time for the Festival of Dionysus to truly honor his name," he replied matter-of-factly, one hand adjusting his brooch out of habit whenever the troupe was mentioned, "I'm here alone on business."
The word alone felt like a sin to mention, and his mind flickered back to his usual companions - and specific companion - for the briefest of moments.
Then, at Hesiodos' shameless compliment, Basilides' brows raised and seemed to choreograph a short dance on his features - from surprise to acceptance to shedding all humility and basking in it for a moment. He had to appreciate a man who was open enough to make such a remark, though his eyes did flick over towards some of the nearby festival-goers who shifted their glances in that direction.
"Indeed we are. Too much trouble in a small space, as they say," he grinned, noting the passing women who giggled flirtatiously and tried to cast a wave to capture the bard's attention. Before continuing, he noted Lord Nikolias arriving and acknowledging Hesiodos, and immediately ducked into a bow for the nobleman.
"Lord Nikolias, this is my friend Hesiodos of Phossis, a bard of great renown who has been more than helpful on many occasions to the Children of Mnemosyne. His music and lyrics are unrivaled in the realm. And so apparently is his talent for modelling."
Over the years, Hesiodos changed quite a bit. He had longer hair, and he had more scars to show on his body, especially when naked – he had a fantasy about Basillides checking them, in the bedroom – but other than that, he was easy to recognize. At least as much as the man before him; he was as handsome as always, and he only aged like fine wine.
“Will they now?” he said with a tone that tried to hide his excitement, “Well, expect me in the first row. You know how much appreciation I have for them… and for you”, he had his flirty tone as always. He was rather amused upon seeing his subtle, yet noticeable, change of expression. He was truly an actor. As for the people that gave them odd looks, Hesiodos learned to just not care about them. If they said something, showing them a gleaming handful of sharp bronze was enough for them to shut the fuck up.
He didn’t ignore, however, the flirty waves of the women that tried to catch their attention. He waved back with a charming smile, and normally, he would have pursued them, but for now, he was focused on the handsome thespian before him. Or was, before the Lord appeared before them. He humbly bowed before him.
“You honor me with your compliment, my Lord”, he said with a smile, and let Bastillides talk to him. He didn’t say anything, or tried to make him see as more humble. After all, it was all true… he wondered if they knew the legends that came after him, “Well, you know what they say about bards…”, he chuckled and drank more wine, “As I was saying to my friend here, this is the best way to honor the god of the vine”, he could think of some other ways, all of them involving Bas, but he decided to try them… later.
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Over the years, Hesiodos changed quite a bit. He had longer hair, and he had more scars to show on his body, especially when naked – he had a fantasy about Basillides checking them, in the bedroom – but other than that, he was easy to recognize. At least as much as the man before him; he was as handsome as always, and he only aged like fine wine.
“Will they now?” he said with a tone that tried to hide his excitement, “Well, expect me in the first row. You know how much appreciation I have for them… and for you”, he had his flirty tone as always. He was rather amused upon seeing his subtle, yet noticeable, change of expression. He was truly an actor. As for the people that gave them odd looks, Hesiodos learned to just not care about them. If they said something, showing them a gleaming handful of sharp bronze was enough for them to shut the fuck up.
He didn’t ignore, however, the flirty waves of the women that tried to catch their attention. He waved back with a charming smile, and normally, he would have pursued them, but for now, he was focused on the handsome thespian before him. Or was, before the Lord appeared before them. He humbly bowed before him.
“You honor me with your compliment, my Lord”, he said with a smile, and let Bastillides talk to him. He didn’t say anything, or tried to make him see as more humble. After all, it was all true… he wondered if they knew the legends that came after him, “Well, you know what they say about bards…”, he chuckled and drank more wine, “As I was saying to my friend here, this is the best way to honor the god of the vine”, he could think of some other ways, all of them involving Bas, but he decided to try them… later.
Over the years, Hesiodos changed quite a bit. He had longer hair, and he had more scars to show on his body, especially when naked – he had a fantasy about Basillides checking them, in the bedroom – but other than that, he was easy to recognize. At least as much as the man before him; he was as handsome as always, and he only aged like fine wine.
“Will they now?” he said with a tone that tried to hide his excitement, “Well, expect me in the first row. You know how much appreciation I have for them… and for you”, he had his flirty tone as always. He was rather amused upon seeing his subtle, yet noticeable, change of expression. He was truly an actor. As for the people that gave them odd looks, Hesiodos learned to just not care about them. If they said something, showing them a gleaming handful of sharp bronze was enough for them to shut the fuck up.
He didn’t ignore, however, the flirty waves of the women that tried to catch their attention. He waved back with a charming smile, and normally, he would have pursued them, but for now, he was focused on the handsome thespian before him. Or was, before the Lord appeared before them. He humbly bowed before him.
“You honor me with your compliment, my Lord”, he said with a smile, and let Bastillides talk to him. He didn’t say anything, or tried to make him see as more humble. After all, it was all true… he wondered if they knew the legends that came after him, “Well, you know what they say about bards…”, he chuckled and drank more wine, “As I was saying to my friend here, this is the best way to honor the god of the vine”, he could think of some other ways, all of them involving Bas, but he decided to try them… later.
If there was a place that was comparable to the heavens for Imma, then it was an art festival. The very definition of its existence was enough to lift her spirits and suspend them side by side with the sun. Whatever was necessary to ensure that she found her way there was a price she’d be more than willing to pay. Luckily with three of her sisters otherwise predisposed, she and Nana were the only real options left for her mother to busy herself with. As expected her elder sister bore the brunt of her mother’s interest. There was a far bigger fuss involved in ensuring that Nana was presentable when they went out. In the back of Imma’s mind the rationale of why always lingered. A small shadow of doubt that forever darkened her otherwise sunny disposition. Today, however, there would be no way to tether her spirits. So long as she was able to attend, she didn’t much care for where her mother’s attention would lie. In fact she would likely be a great deal better off if she chose to focus on Nana and ignore her all together.
There were preliminary hoops to jump through of course. Imma had to make certain that she was presentable in order to attend the event. That meant she took her time to pick out a chiton that was not stained with any number of paints or oils. A pretty peach piece that she coupled with a high zoster; just enough of a cinch that it hinted at the curves that existed beneath the fabric without actually carving them into existence. The chiton was folded at the top to further rob her of any semblance of salaciousness. Leaving the ruffle-like drape free to cascade past her breasts and the belt below them. The overall look was not a bad one really, it was feminine and soft, it just wasn’t very provocative. Not the sort of thing she expected to draw all that many wandering eyes. It was a perfect choice when the idea was to direct as many eyes as possible to her sister.
The length of her hair was braided and coiled, pinned in place at the back of her head. Small beads had been threaded throughout the braid itself to offer a bit of something spectacular to her appearance. It wasn’t all that much but she loved a little bit of sparkle. Despite the few loose curls that fell from the overall style to frame her face and tickle her neck, she’d done a rather good job. It was certainly good enough to get out the door and into the carriage. The quiet she offered throughout the ride was a direct contrast between the conversation that flowed between her mother and sister. What little was directed her way she was quick to agree to and move on. Imma knew her place well enough and it was not one she fretted. The youngest of the lot and the least desirable, she didn’t often assume there would be many expectations.
That she would be attended by guards and maids was really only a matter of protection. A reassurance that she would not be a liability to her family while her mother paraded her sister around. There was a moment where she almost felt bad for Nana, but then she doubted her sister really cared all that much about the festival to begin with. If anything she thought perhaps she would enjoy being flaunted. Nana always seemed the sort to enjoy the attention; whether good or otherwise. When they arrived, her concerns went out the window. All she cared about was getting out and exploring the wealth of experiences. Seeing what art was being produced and perhaps producing some of her own.
It took only a moment for Imma to decide she wanted to explore. Thankfully her mother had bigger plans to attend to than browsing the wares or partaking in the booths. It took very little convincing before she was allowed to go off with a small entourage of servants at her back. Making her way through the crowd she wove in and out of booths. While she wasn’t driven by a desire to be lost she wasn’t exactly being mindful of her keepers either. Which meant she undoubtedly lost one or two along the way. Imma was a tiny young thing and could easily be misplaced in a crowd, especially when she was flitting about like a hummingbird in a field of wildflowers. Buzzing from one beautiful piece to the next, beaming with delight. Pausing here and there to listen as artisans shared their wealth of knowledge. Time was the last thing on her mind, despite the hour long timeframe she’d been given when she set off on her little adventure.
As she found her way round to a new booth she paused to listen to the explanation that was being given. The artist in question was giving a demonstration on pottery and had a number of wheels set about the area for guests to try. There were a few brave enough to get involved, but for the most part they were men or women who had little reason to care for their appearance. Imma of course was neither. Today in particular she had every reason to remain clean and pristine. Which of course is why she stepped right up to the first available wheel and sat down without a second thought. As excited as she was she just didn’t think about the chiton or the fact she would have to ride home in the carriage with her mother. All that mattered was trying something new and having a good time doing it. Following direction she dipped her hands into the murky water in the bowl nearby, already muddied from whomever had come before her. Once her hands were slick she grabbed a parcel of clay large enough to fill both her hands and plopped it down on the wheel.
Getting the wheel in motion required actively engaging the pedal, which was simple enough. Once it began to spin then the real instruction began. Following along with the instruction she moistened her hands once more, cupping them to collect some of the water to drizzle over her clay. That of course is when the consequences of her actions started to take effect. Whipping droplets of heavily diluted clay upon her person and ensemble. Not that Imma noticed for even a second, she just went right on doing what was necessary to take her lump of clay from indiscernible to volcano esque. Holding her hands on either side and pressing as she lifted them up to encourage the malleable material to rise upward. That it actually seemed to be working left her grinning from ear to ear. Turning her thumbs into the middle she pushed back downward, pinching the clay as she urged it to spread. Creating the wall to her bowl.
Releasing the clay for a moment she slowed her spinning to look at the shape of it. Brushing a curl from her face only to leave a streak of red clay across her otherwise porcelain skin. Turning to the water bowl once more she gathered some more water, coating her hands up to her wrists in the pale sienna red. Going back to the pottery she started to press the pedal faster, making it spin rapidly once more. Holding the rim she shaped it with the pressure of her fingers. Trying to look up at what the makeshift mentor was doing and copy the process. It wasn’t painting or drawing, but it was fun. Certainly fun enough that she would have to look into adding a pottery wheel to her collection of art supplies at home. No doubt it would be the newest tool she used to unwittingly aggravate her mother. Though after forgetting about the time and slipping her security detail, there was probably not a chance in the world that she’d be humoring Imma’s desire for a new art tool anytime soon.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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If there was a place that was comparable to the heavens for Imma, then it was an art festival. The very definition of its existence was enough to lift her spirits and suspend them side by side with the sun. Whatever was necessary to ensure that she found her way there was a price she’d be more than willing to pay. Luckily with three of her sisters otherwise predisposed, she and Nana were the only real options left for her mother to busy herself with. As expected her elder sister bore the brunt of her mother’s interest. There was a far bigger fuss involved in ensuring that Nana was presentable when they went out. In the back of Imma’s mind the rationale of why always lingered. A small shadow of doubt that forever darkened her otherwise sunny disposition. Today, however, there would be no way to tether her spirits. So long as she was able to attend, she didn’t much care for where her mother’s attention would lie. In fact she would likely be a great deal better off if she chose to focus on Nana and ignore her all together.
There were preliminary hoops to jump through of course. Imma had to make certain that she was presentable in order to attend the event. That meant she took her time to pick out a chiton that was not stained with any number of paints or oils. A pretty peach piece that she coupled with a high zoster; just enough of a cinch that it hinted at the curves that existed beneath the fabric without actually carving them into existence. The chiton was folded at the top to further rob her of any semblance of salaciousness. Leaving the ruffle-like drape free to cascade past her breasts and the belt below them. The overall look was not a bad one really, it was feminine and soft, it just wasn’t very provocative. Not the sort of thing she expected to draw all that many wandering eyes. It was a perfect choice when the idea was to direct as many eyes as possible to her sister.
The length of her hair was braided and coiled, pinned in place at the back of her head. Small beads had been threaded throughout the braid itself to offer a bit of something spectacular to her appearance. It wasn’t all that much but she loved a little bit of sparkle. Despite the few loose curls that fell from the overall style to frame her face and tickle her neck, she’d done a rather good job. It was certainly good enough to get out the door and into the carriage. The quiet she offered throughout the ride was a direct contrast between the conversation that flowed between her mother and sister. What little was directed her way she was quick to agree to and move on. Imma knew her place well enough and it was not one she fretted. The youngest of the lot and the least desirable, she didn’t often assume there would be many expectations.
That she would be attended by guards and maids was really only a matter of protection. A reassurance that she would not be a liability to her family while her mother paraded her sister around. There was a moment where she almost felt bad for Nana, but then she doubted her sister really cared all that much about the festival to begin with. If anything she thought perhaps she would enjoy being flaunted. Nana always seemed the sort to enjoy the attention; whether good or otherwise. When they arrived, her concerns went out the window. All she cared about was getting out and exploring the wealth of experiences. Seeing what art was being produced and perhaps producing some of her own.
It took only a moment for Imma to decide she wanted to explore. Thankfully her mother had bigger plans to attend to than browsing the wares or partaking in the booths. It took very little convincing before she was allowed to go off with a small entourage of servants at her back. Making her way through the crowd she wove in and out of booths. While she wasn’t driven by a desire to be lost she wasn’t exactly being mindful of her keepers either. Which meant she undoubtedly lost one or two along the way. Imma was a tiny young thing and could easily be misplaced in a crowd, especially when she was flitting about like a hummingbird in a field of wildflowers. Buzzing from one beautiful piece to the next, beaming with delight. Pausing here and there to listen as artisans shared their wealth of knowledge. Time was the last thing on her mind, despite the hour long timeframe she’d been given when she set off on her little adventure.
As she found her way round to a new booth she paused to listen to the explanation that was being given. The artist in question was giving a demonstration on pottery and had a number of wheels set about the area for guests to try. There were a few brave enough to get involved, but for the most part they were men or women who had little reason to care for their appearance. Imma of course was neither. Today in particular she had every reason to remain clean and pristine. Which of course is why she stepped right up to the first available wheel and sat down without a second thought. As excited as she was she just didn’t think about the chiton or the fact she would have to ride home in the carriage with her mother. All that mattered was trying something new and having a good time doing it. Following direction she dipped her hands into the murky water in the bowl nearby, already muddied from whomever had come before her. Once her hands were slick she grabbed a parcel of clay large enough to fill both her hands and plopped it down on the wheel.
Getting the wheel in motion required actively engaging the pedal, which was simple enough. Once it began to spin then the real instruction began. Following along with the instruction she moistened her hands once more, cupping them to collect some of the water to drizzle over her clay. That of course is when the consequences of her actions started to take effect. Whipping droplets of heavily diluted clay upon her person and ensemble. Not that Imma noticed for even a second, she just went right on doing what was necessary to take her lump of clay from indiscernible to volcano esque. Holding her hands on either side and pressing as she lifted them up to encourage the malleable material to rise upward. That it actually seemed to be working left her grinning from ear to ear. Turning her thumbs into the middle she pushed back downward, pinching the clay as she urged it to spread. Creating the wall to her bowl.
Releasing the clay for a moment she slowed her spinning to look at the shape of it. Brushing a curl from her face only to leave a streak of red clay across her otherwise porcelain skin. Turning to the water bowl once more she gathered some more water, coating her hands up to her wrists in the pale sienna red. Going back to the pottery she started to press the pedal faster, making it spin rapidly once more. Holding the rim she shaped it with the pressure of her fingers. Trying to look up at what the makeshift mentor was doing and copy the process. It wasn’t painting or drawing, but it was fun. Certainly fun enough that she would have to look into adding a pottery wheel to her collection of art supplies at home. No doubt it would be the newest tool she used to unwittingly aggravate her mother. Though after forgetting about the time and slipping her security detail, there was probably not a chance in the world that she’d be humoring Imma’s desire for a new art tool anytime soon.
If there was a place that was comparable to the heavens for Imma, then it was an art festival. The very definition of its existence was enough to lift her spirits and suspend them side by side with the sun. Whatever was necessary to ensure that she found her way there was a price she’d be more than willing to pay. Luckily with three of her sisters otherwise predisposed, she and Nana were the only real options left for her mother to busy herself with. As expected her elder sister bore the brunt of her mother’s interest. There was a far bigger fuss involved in ensuring that Nana was presentable when they went out. In the back of Imma’s mind the rationale of why always lingered. A small shadow of doubt that forever darkened her otherwise sunny disposition. Today, however, there would be no way to tether her spirits. So long as she was able to attend, she didn’t much care for where her mother’s attention would lie. In fact she would likely be a great deal better off if she chose to focus on Nana and ignore her all together.
There were preliminary hoops to jump through of course. Imma had to make certain that she was presentable in order to attend the event. That meant she took her time to pick out a chiton that was not stained with any number of paints or oils. A pretty peach piece that she coupled with a high zoster; just enough of a cinch that it hinted at the curves that existed beneath the fabric without actually carving them into existence. The chiton was folded at the top to further rob her of any semblance of salaciousness. Leaving the ruffle-like drape free to cascade past her breasts and the belt below them. The overall look was not a bad one really, it was feminine and soft, it just wasn’t very provocative. Not the sort of thing she expected to draw all that many wandering eyes. It was a perfect choice when the idea was to direct as many eyes as possible to her sister.
The length of her hair was braided and coiled, pinned in place at the back of her head. Small beads had been threaded throughout the braid itself to offer a bit of something spectacular to her appearance. It wasn’t all that much but she loved a little bit of sparkle. Despite the few loose curls that fell from the overall style to frame her face and tickle her neck, she’d done a rather good job. It was certainly good enough to get out the door and into the carriage. The quiet she offered throughout the ride was a direct contrast between the conversation that flowed between her mother and sister. What little was directed her way she was quick to agree to and move on. Imma knew her place well enough and it was not one she fretted. The youngest of the lot and the least desirable, she didn’t often assume there would be many expectations.
That she would be attended by guards and maids was really only a matter of protection. A reassurance that she would not be a liability to her family while her mother paraded her sister around. There was a moment where she almost felt bad for Nana, but then she doubted her sister really cared all that much about the festival to begin with. If anything she thought perhaps she would enjoy being flaunted. Nana always seemed the sort to enjoy the attention; whether good or otherwise. When they arrived, her concerns went out the window. All she cared about was getting out and exploring the wealth of experiences. Seeing what art was being produced and perhaps producing some of her own.
It took only a moment for Imma to decide she wanted to explore. Thankfully her mother had bigger plans to attend to than browsing the wares or partaking in the booths. It took very little convincing before she was allowed to go off with a small entourage of servants at her back. Making her way through the crowd she wove in and out of booths. While she wasn’t driven by a desire to be lost she wasn’t exactly being mindful of her keepers either. Which meant she undoubtedly lost one or two along the way. Imma was a tiny young thing and could easily be misplaced in a crowd, especially when she was flitting about like a hummingbird in a field of wildflowers. Buzzing from one beautiful piece to the next, beaming with delight. Pausing here and there to listen as artisans shared their wealth of knowledge. Time was the last thing on her mind, despite the hour long timeframe she’d been given when she set off on her little adventure.
As she found her way round to a new booth she paused to listen to the explanation that was being given. The artist in question was giving a demonstration on pottery and had a number of wheels set about the area for guests to try. There were a few brave enough to get involved, but for the most part they were men or women who had little reason to care for their appearance. Imma of course was neither. Today in particular she had every reason to remain clean and pristine. Which of course is why she stepped right up to the first available wheel and sat down without a second thought. As excited as she was she just didn’t think about the chiton or the fact she would have to ride home in the carriage with her mother. All that mattered was trying something new and having a good time doing it. Following direction she dipped her hands into the murky water in the bowl nearby, already muddied from whomever had come before her. Once her hands were slick she grabbed a parcel of clay large enough to fill both her hands and plopped it down on the wheel.
Getting the wheel in motion required actively engaging the pedal, which was simple enough. Once it began to spin then the real instruction began. Following along with the instruction she moistened her hands once more, cupping them to collect some of the water to drizzle over her clay. That of course is when the consequences of her actions started to take effect. Whipping droplets of heavily diluted clay upon her person and ensemble. Not that Imma noticed for even a second, she just went right on doing what was necessary to take her lump of clay from indiscernible to volcano esque. Holding her hands on either side and pressing as she lifted them up to encourage the malleable material to rise upward. That it actually seemed to be working left her grinning from ear to ear. Turning her thumbs into the middle she pushed back downward, pinching the clay as she urged it to spread. Creating the wall to her bowl.
Releasing the clay for a moment she slowed her spinning to look at the shape of it. Brushing a curl from her face only to leave a streak of red clay across her otherwise porcelain skin. Turning to the water bowl once more she gathered some more water, coating her hands up to her wrists in the pale sienna red. Going back to the pottery she started to press the pedal faster, making it spin rapidly once more. Holding the rim she shaped it with the pressure of her fingers. Trying to look up at what the makeshift mentor was doing and copy the process. It wasn’t painting or drawing, but it was fun. Certainly fun enough that she would have to look into adding a pottery wheel to her collection of art supplies at home. No doubt it would be the newest tool she used to unwittingly aggravate her mother. Though after forgetting about the time and slipping her security detail, there was probably not a chance in the world that she’d be humoring Imma’s desire for a new art tool anytime soon.
The festival had begun to wind down as Evelli wandered through the people that thronged the area, still chatteringe excitedly as the day cooled down along with the hour. As she wandered, Evelli greeted as many as greeted her, smiling as she lingered with a few people to make conversations, but her eyes remained searching as she tried to find the chestnut locks that made up the head of her youngest daughter.
Too familiar was Evelli with Imma's ways. In a way, she was thankful, for at the very least, Imma was not creating issues with reputation and family name the way Evelli was desperately was trying to ensure Nana did not ruin herself. But at the same time, Evelli knew that Imma would be of marriageable age ... now, actually. And a young Grecian royal lady who was of marriageable age was not seen kindly upon if she were to seclude herself.
Biting her lip as she sifted through the people, her eyes lit up as she spied the peach color that Evelli recognized Imma had put on when they had arrived at the festival grounds.
Smiling politely to bid farewell to the noble she had been chatting with, Evelli was quick to make her way to Imma's side ... only for her jaw to drop a little, unbecomingly of coure, when she saw Imma sitting at the potter's wheel. While clay and pottery was not a foreign type of art to Greece and Taengea in general, a genteel lady at the potter's wheel wasn't exactly greatly favored, due to the unladylike way in which they had to sit in order to work the potter's wheel. It was why Grecian young ladies did embroidery, played the harp, sang, danced... but not pottery, and definitely not in public.
The elder Leventi's eyes snapped up, and frowned when she saw lesser retainers then she had left Imma with. As she moved towards her youngest, Evelli's mouth tightened when she saw the streak of clay across her skin, not to mention her hands in red all the way up to her wrists - unbecoming, for a daughter of a royal Leventi family.
"Imma?" Evelli murmured once she got within earshot, trying to give a smooth smile, but it was obvious within her hazel eyes the mother wasn't exactly pleased.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The festival had begun to wind down as Evelli wandered through the people that thronged the area, still chatteringe excitedly as the day cooled down along with the hour. As she wandered, Evelli greeted as many as greeted her, smiling as she lingered with a few people to make conversations, but her eyes remained searching as she tried to find the chestnut locks that made up the head of her youngest daughter.
Too familiar was Evelli with Imma's ways. In a way, she was thankful, for at the very least, Imma was not creating issues with reputation and family name the way Evelli was desperately was trying to ensure Nana did not ruin herself. But at the same time, Evelli knew that Imma would be of marriageable age ... now, actually. And a young Grecian royal lady who was of marriageable age was not seen kindly upon if she were to seclude herself.
Biting her lip as she sifted through the people, her eyes lit up as she spied the peach color that Evelli recognized Imma had put on when they had arrived at the festival grounds.
Smiling politely to bid farewell to the noble she had been chatting with, Evelli was quick to make her way to Imma's side ... only for her jaw to drop a little, unbecomingly of coure, when she saw Imma sitting at the potter's wheel. While clay and pottery was not a foreign type of art to Greece and Taengea in general, a genteel lady at the potter's wheel wasn't exactly greatly favored, due to the unladylike way in which they had to sit in order to work the potter's wheel. It was why Grecian young ladies did embroidery, played the harp, sang, danced... but not pottery, and definitely not in public.
The elder Leventi's eyes snapped up, and frowned when she saw lesser retainers then she had left Imma with. As she moved towards her youngest, Evelli's mouth tightened when she saw the streak of clay across her skin, not to mention her hands in red all the way up to her wrists - unbecoming, for a daughter of a royal Leventi family.
"Imma?" Evelli murmured once she got within earshot, trying to give a smooth smile, but it was obvious within her hazel eyes the mother wasn't exactly pleased.
The festival had begun to wind down as Evelli wandered through the people that thronged the area, still chatteringe excitedly as the day cooled down along with the hour. As she wandered, Evelli greeted as many as greeted her, smiling as she lingered with a few people to make conversations, but her eyes remained searching as she tried to find the chestnut locks that made up the head of her youngest daughter.
Too familiar was Evelli with Imma's ways. In a way, she was thankful, for at the very least, Imma was not creating issues with reputation and family name the way Evelli was desperately was trying to ensure Nana did not ruin herself. But at the same time, Evelli knew that Imma would be of marriageable age ... now, actually. And a young Grecian royal lady who was of marriageable age was not seen kindly upon if she were to seclude herself.
Biting her lip as she sifted through the people, her eyes lit up as she spied the peach color that Evelli recognized Imma had put on when they had arrived at the festival grounds.
Smiling politely to bid farewell to the noble she had been chatting with, Evelli was quick to make her way to Imma's side ... only for her jaw to drop a little, unbecomingly of coure, when she saw Imma sitting at the potter's wheel. While clay and pottery was not a foreign type of art to Greece and Taengea in general, a genteel lady at the potter's wheel wasn't exactly greatly favored, due to the unladylike way in which they had to sit in order to work the potter's wheel. It was why Grecian young ladies did embroidery, played the harp, sang, danced... but not pottery, and definitely not in public.
The elder Leventi's eyes snapped up, and frowned when she saw lesser retainers then she had left Imma with. As she moved towards her youngest, Evelli's mouth tightened when she saw the streak of clay across her skin, not to mention her hands in red all the way up to her wrists - unbecoming, for a daughter of a royal Leventi family.
"Imma?" Evelli murmured once she got within earshot, trying to give a smooth smile, but it was obvious within her hazel eyes the mother wasn't exactly pleased.
Poor sweet Imma had really never intended to do anything inappropriate. In all honesty she had just wanted to have fun and to learn a new artform. It never really occurred to her that the position was unladylike or that she was being even more so my mussying herself and her attire. That all of course came crashing down over her pretty golden head when she heard her mother’s voice. There was a tension in her tone that she’d heard before, though usually with one of her other sisters. In particular Nana, though the others were not immune to her displeasure. Imma immediately lifted her head, causing a few errant strands of gold to fall across her face again. Blinking wide dark eyes she looked every bit the part of a terrified fawn. Staring at her mother she felt the heat begin to creep up in her cheeks. Imma was definitely in a bit of trouble. Taking her foot off the pedal she sat back from the pottery wheel. Cupping one hand in the other and glancing down at their red state. Looks like she’d been caught quite literally red-handed.
Swallowing the lump in her throat she stood up from the wheel and thanked the artisan who’d been giving the impromptu class. “Thank you very much. It was very pleasant.” Stepping away quickly she made her way toward her mother, careful to keep her hands to herself. Chewing on her lower lip she tried to think of how best to make up for her silly little whim. The best she could come up with was a whispered apology. “I am sorry… I just wanted to try it. Just once.” That wasn’t entirely true. Imma had wanted to try it truly enough, but she wanted to do it again. It had been fun and she thought perhaps it would be nice to make her own pottery. That seemed unlikely to happen though given the disapproving, albeit slightly deceptive, smile upon her mother’s face. “I should have thought better of it…” That was true and quite genuine. Imma had been there as a courtesy and she took advantage of it.
Hopefully with any luck her mother would not linger in her unhappiness. Certainly the slightly sheepish smile that Imma offered her would help to alleviate some of her frustration. “It was enjoyable though and I am not terrible at it.” Glancing toward her bowl on the wheel she gestured errantly toward it before bringing her focus back around to her mother. The sheepish smile grew timidly, curling just a little at the corners. Using that sweet innocence to her advantage, even if she wasn’t consciously making the decision to. Imma hadn’t intentionally broken any rules, but she was certainly trying to make up for her bad behavior. “Has it been an hour already? Did Nana meet anyone nice?” Maybe she could distract her by changing the subject. That seemed a much better choice than lingering on her own mistakes.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Poor sweet Imma had really never intended to do anything inappropriate. In all honesty she had just wanted to have fun and to learn a new artform. It never really occurred to her that the position was unladylike or that she was being even more so my mussying herself and her attire. That all of course came crashing down over her pretty golden head when she heard her mother’s voice. There was a tension in her tone that she’d heard before, though usually with one of her other sisters. In particular Nana, though the others were not immune to her displeasure. Imma immediately lifted her head, causing a few errant strands of gold to fall across her face again. Blinking wide dark eyes she looked every bit the part of a terrified fawn. Staring at her mother she felt the heat begin to creep up in her cheeks. Imma was definitely in a bit of trouble. Taking her foot off the pedal she sat back from the pottery wheel. Cupping one hand in the other and glancing down at their red state. Looks like she’d been caught quite literally red-handed.
Swallowing the lump in her throat she stood up from the wheel and thanked the artisan who’d been giving the impromptu class. “Thank you very much. It was very pleasant.” Stepping away quickly she made her way toward her mother, careful to keep her hands to herself. Chewing on her lower lip she tried to think of how best to make up for her silly little whim. The best she could come up with was a whispered apology. “I am sorry… I just wanted to try it. Just once.” That wasn’t entirely true. Imma had wanted to try it truly enough, but she wanted to do it again. It had been fun and she thought perhaps it would be nice to make her own pottery. That seemed unlikely to happen though given the disapproving, albeit slightly deceptive, smile upon her mother’s face. “I should have thought better of it…” That was true and quite genuine. Imma had been there as a courtesy and she took advantage of it.
Hopefully with any luck her mother would not linger in her unhappiness. Certainly the slightly sheepish smile that Imma offered her would help to alleviate some of her frustration. “It was enjoyable though and I am not terrible at it.” Glancing toward her bowl on the wheel she gestured errantly toward it before bringing her focus back around to her mother. The sheepish smile grew timidly, curling just a little at the corners. Using that sweet innocence to her advantage, even if she wasn’t consciously making the decision to. Imma hadn’t intentionally broken any rules, but she was certainly trying to make up for her bad behavior. “Has it been an hour already? Did Nana meet anyone nice?” Maybe she could distract her by changing the subject. That seemed a much better choice than lingering on her own mistakes.
Poor sweet Imma had really never intended to do anything inappropriate. In all honesty she had just wanted to have fun and to learn a new artform. It never really occurred to her that the position was unladylike or that she was being even more so my mussying herself and her attire. That all of course came crashing down over her pretty golden head when she heard her mother’s voice. There was a tension in her tone that she’d heard before, though usually with one of her other sisters. In particular Nana, though the others were not immune to her displeasure. Imma immediately lifted her head, causing a few errant strands of gold to fall across her face again. Blinking wide dark eyes she looked every bit the part of a terrified fawn. Staring at her mother she felt the heat begin to creep up in her cheeks. Imma was definitely in a bit of trouble. Taking her foot off the pedal she sat back from the pottery wheel. Cupping one hand in the other and glancing down at their red state. Looks like she’d been caught quite literally red-handed.
Swallowing the lump in her throat she stood up from the wheel and thanked the artisan who’d been giving the impromptu class. “Thank you very much. It was very pleasant.” Stepping away quickly she made her way toward her mother, careful to keep her hands to herself. Chewing on her lower lip she tried to think of how best to make up for her silly little whim. The best she could come up with was a whispered apology. “I am sorry… I just wanted to try it. Just once.” That wasn’t entirely true. Imma had wanted to try it truly enough, but she wanted to do it again. It had been fun and she thought perhaps it would be nice to make her own pottery. That seemed unlikely to happen though given the disapproving, albeit slightly deceptive, smile upon her mother’s face. “I should have thought better of it…” That was true and quite genuine. Imma had been there as a courtesy and she took advantage of it.
Hopefully with any luck her mother would not linger in her unhappiness. Certainly the slightly sheepish smile that Imma offered her would help to alleviate some of her frustration. “It was enjoyable though and I am not terrible at it.” Glancing toward her bowl on the wheel she gestured errantly toward it before bringing her focus back around to her mother. The sheepish smile grew timidly, curling just a little at the corners. Using that sweet innocence to her advantage, even if she wasn’t consciously making the decision to. Imma hadn’t intentionally broken any rules, but she was certainly trying to make up for her bad behavior. “Has it been an hour already? Did Nana meet anyone nice?” Maybe she could distract her by changing the subject. That seemed a much better choice than lingering on her own mistakes.
It seemed that Nana had been quite wrong to assume that the festival would be insufferably boring. She'd already had a roaring time with her companion, and things only seemed to get more and more interesting, as the two passed by a booth where an artist sat, painting the likeness of a very handsome man, who had dressed quite minimally as to leave nothing to the imagination. If Nana's eyes hadn't been glued to the man, perhaps she would have reacted when Basilides gave her a nudge, but she did not. Instead, the lady's eyes widened and her mouth hung open in shock. She almost felt that she was vulgar to look on, but it seemed she wouldn't have much time to ogle the man, as she heard the familiar voice of one of her mother's handmaidens, come to fetch her back.
The Leventi let out a sigh, visibly disappointed that her time with Basilides had come to an end. Yet, even then, the merchant was able to get a giggle out of Nana with his theatrics. She gave his hand a quick squeeze before releasing her grip and pulling away. "I shall look forward to it eagerly. Until next time, my dearest Basilides."
And with that, the golden-headed girl went back to look for her mother, knowing full-well her company could not compare to that of her lower-bred friend.
Through large crowds and small, Nana avoided being pushed or touched by the common-folk, following behind her guide closely, herself being followed by the guard who had been tasked with her protection for the day. It was not exactly a bee-line to where her mother was, but Nana could pick out the woman from a mile away in her brilliant teal chiton. It wasn't long before the young woman sauntered up to her mother's side and announced her presence.
With a sulky pout on her face, and her arms crossed, the second-youngest of Evelli's daughters looked quite childish. "I was having quite a good time, I hope you know. You shall have to invite Basilides to visit us soon, or I fear I may lose my sanity, Mother."
As soon as she was done appealing to her mother, the woman sent Nana to the carriage, which left the girl with a nasty feeling. Yes, the contraption was gorgeously made, but it hurt her rear entirely too much to sit in it for such long periods of time, on such bumpy roads. Nobody could expect that being a lady of such high breeding would require such pain!
But, the girl knew that her mother was quick to pounce on her if she did the slightest thing "wrong," so Nana shuffled back to the carriage, completely ignoring the servants that followed behind her, and stepping into the cab before flopping down in her seat unceremoniously. If Mother and Imma took more than a few minutes, Nana would be none too pleased, that was for certain.
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It seemed that Nana had been quite wrong to assume that the festival would be insufferably boring. She'd already had a roaring time with her companion, and things only seemed to get more and more interesting, as the two passed by a booth where an artist sat, painting the likeness of a very handsome man, who had dressed quite minimally as to leave nothing to the imagination. If Nana's eyes hadn't been glued to the man, perhaps she would have reacted when Basilides gave her a nudge, but she did not. Instead, the lady's eyes widened and her mouth hung open in shock. She almost felt that she was vulgar to look on, but it seemed she wouldn't have much time to ogle the man, as she heard the familiar voice of one of her mother's handmaidens, come to fetch her back.
The Leventi let out a sigh, visibly disappointed that her time with Basilides had come to an end. Yet, even then, the merchant was able to get a giggle out of Nana with his theatrics. She gave his hand a quick squeeze before releasing her grip and pulling away. "I shall look forward to it eagerly. Until next time, my dearest Basilides."
And with that, the golden-headed girl went back to look for her mother, knowing full-well her company could not compare to that of her lower-bred friend.
Through large crowds and small, Nana avoided being pushed or touched by the common-folk, following behind her guide closely, herself being followed by the guard who had been tasked with her protection for the day. It was not exactly a bee-line to where her mother was, but Nana could pick out the woman from a mile away in her brilliant teal chiton. It wasn't long before the young woman sauntered up to her mother's side and announced her presence.
With a sulky pout on her face, and her arms crossed, the second-youngest of Evelli's daughters looked quite childish. "I was having quite a good time, I hope you know. You shall have to invite Basilides to visit us soon, or I fear I may lose my sanity, Mother."
As soon as she was done appealing to her mother, the woman sent Nana to the carriage, which left the girl with a nasty feeling. Yes, the contraption was gorgeously made, but it hurt her rear entirely too much to sit in it for such long periods of time, on such bumpy roads. Nobody could expect that being a lady of such high breeding would require such pain!
But, the girl knew that her mother was quick to pounce on her if she did the slightest thing "wrong," so Nana shuffled back to the carriage, completely ignoring the servants that followed behind her, and stepping into the cab before flopping down in her seat unceremoniously. If Mother and Imma took more than a few minutes, Nana would be none too pleased, that was for certain.
It seemed that Nana had been quite wrong to assume that the festival would be insufferably boring. She'd already had a roaring time with her companion, and things only seemed to get more and more interesting, as the two passed by a booth where an artist sat, painting the likeness of a very handsome man, who had dressed quite minimally as to leave nothing to the imagination. If Nana's eyes hadn't been glued to the man, perhaps she would have reacted when Basilides gave her a nudge, but she did not. Instead, the lady's eyes widened and her mouth hung open in shock. She almost felt that she was vulgar to look on, but it seemed she wouldn't have much time to ogle the man, as she heard the familiar voice of one of her mother's handmaidens, come to fetch her back.
The Leventi let out a sigh, visibly disappointed that her time with Basilides had come to an end. Yet, even then, the merchant was able to get a giggle out of Nana with his theatrics. She gave his hand a quick squeeze before releasing her grip and pulling away. "I shall look forward to it eagerly. Until next time, my dearest Basilides."
And with that, the golden-headed girl went back to look for her mother, knowing full-well her company could not compare to that of her lower-bred friend.
Through large crowds and small, Nana avoided being pushed or touched by the common-folk, following behind her guide closely, herself being followed by the guard who had been tasked with her protection for the day. It was not exactly a bee-line to where her mother was, but Nana could pick out the woman from a mile away in her brilliant teal chiton. It wasn't long before the young woman sauntered up to her mother's side and announced her presence.
With a sulky pout on her face, and her arms crossed, the second-youngest of Evelli's daughters looked quite childish. "I was having quite a good time, I hope you know. You shall have to invite Basilides to visit us soon, or I fear I may lose my sanity, Mother."
As soon as she was done appealing to her mother, the woman sent Nana to the carriage, which left the girl with a nasty feeling. Yes, the contraption was gorgeously made, but it hurt her rear entirely too much to sit in it for such long periods of time, on such bumpy roads. Nobody could expect that being a lady of such high breeding would require such pain!
But, the girl knew that her mother was quick to pounce on her if she did the slightest thing "wrong," so Nana shuffled back to the carriage, completely ignoring the servants that followed behind her, and stepping into the cab before flopping down in her seat unceremoniously. If Mother and Imma took more than a few minutes, Nana would be none too pleased, that was for certain.
As Imma stared at her like a doe caught in candle light and in the wrong place, a part of her bluster deflated - how could she stay angry at her youngest, when she looked for all the world like she did not intend to cause such ruckus to begin with? Imma had never intentionally kicked up a fuss, and had only ever listened docilely to all of Evelli's instructions since the day she had started attending the smaller dinners and dances of the society. That Imma would forget her place was no surprise, for that was always Evelli's worry with her young girl. She was so caught up in her hobbies she barely noticed if she was dressed appropriately for an event, and it was how Evelli had started on the habit on checking on every daughter before any event of importance.
Nodding to thank the artisan as well as they stepped away, a part of Evelli was at least mollified to see that despite being caught off guard, Imma could still maintain her sense of polite and kind manner, until they made it out of earshot.
Once there however, her sharp eyes took in the clay covered hands up till her elbows, and the elder Leventi gave a sigh. Yes, she could have thought better of it, but what was done was done, for Evelli to harp on the matter would not help at all. She would speak to Imma on proper behavior once they returned home, but for now, she raised a brow when the young girl tried to change the topic. It was a look that clearly said Evelli was not done with the issue of her displaying herself in an unsavory manner to the people of Argothia, but nonetheless, answered Imma's query.
"Yes, you seem to do quite well at it. Perhaps Papa would deign to get you a wheel, as long as you keep such practices within our Macendia at home." Not even in Vasiliadon, for Evelli did not wish for anyone to venture into the old manor and accidentally see Imma covered head to toe in red clay, and sat with her legs wide open in front of a pottery wheel. That was a chance she wasn't taking, but rules and propriety in Macendia was a little more lax.
Nodding to the second question, Evelli pulled her chlamys off her, and picked up Imma's arms to begin wiping as much of the clay as she could off the young girl's arms. "It has been an hour, and Nana is waiting for us at the carriage. Are you ready to depart?" her gaze flicked to the younger one as she continued her cleaning duties, curious on Imma's reply.
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As Imma stared at her like a doe caught in candle light and in the wrong place, a part of her bluster deflated - how could she stay angry at her youngest, when she looked for all the world like she did not intend to cause such ruckus to begin with? Imma had never intentionally kicked up a fuss, and had only ever listened docilely to all of Evelli's instructions since the day she had started attending the smaller dinners and dances of the society. That Imma would forget her place was no surprise, for that was always Evelli's worry with her young girl. She was so caught up in her hobbies she barely noticed if she was dressed appropriately for an event, and it was how Evelli had started on the habit on checking on every daughter before any event of importance.
Nodding to thank the artisan as well as they stepped away, a part of Evelli was at least mollified to see that despite being caught off guard, Imma could still maintain her sense of polite and kind manner, until they made it out of earshot.
Once there however, her sharp eyes took in the clay covered hands up till her elbows, and the elder Leventi gave a sigh. Yes, she could have thought better of it, but what was done was done, for Evelli to harp on the matter would not help at all. She would speak to Imma on proper behavior once they returned home, but for now, she raised a brow when the young girl tried to change the topic. It was a look that clearly said Evelli was not done with the issue of her displaying herself in an unsavory manner to the people of Argothia, but nonetheless, answered Imma's query.
"Yes, you seem to do quite well at it. Perhaps Papa would deign to get you a wheel, as long as you keep such practices within our Macendia at home." Not even in Vasiliadon, for Evelli did not wish for anyone to venture into the old manor and accidentally see Imma covered head to toe in red clay, and sat with her legs wide open in front of a pottery wheel. That was a chance she wasn't taking, but rules and propriety in Macendia was a little more lax.
Nodding to the second question, Evelli pulled her chlamys off her, and picked up Imma's arms to begin wiping as much of the clay as she could off the young girl's arms. "It has been an hour, and Nana is waiting for us at the carriage. Are you ready to depart?" her gaze flicked to the younger one as she continued her cleaning duties, curious on Imma's reply.
As Imma stared at her like a doe caught in candle light and in the wrong place, a part of her bluster deflated - how could she stay angry at her youngest, when she looked for all the world like she did not intend to cause such ruckus to begin with? Imma had never intentionally kicked up a fuss, and had only ever listened docilely to all of Evelli's instructions since the day she had started attending the smaller dinners and dances of the society. That Imma would forget her place was no surprise, for that was always Evelli's worry with her young girl. She was so caught up in her hobbies she barely noticed if she was dressed appropriately for an event, and it was how Evelli had started on the habit on checking on every daughter before any event of importance.
Nodding to thank the artisan as well as they stepped away, a part of Evelli was at least mollified to see that despite being caught off guard, Imma could still maintain her sense of polite and kind manner, until they made it out of earshot.
Once there however, her sharp eyes took in the clay covered hands up till her elbows, and the elder Leventi gave a sigh. Yes, she could have thought better of it, but what was done was done, for Evelli to harp on the matter would not help at all. She would speak to Imma on proper behavior once they returned home, but for now, she raised a brow when the young girl tried to change the topic. It was a look that clearly said Evelli was not done with the issue of her displaying herself in an unsavory manner to the people of Argothia, but nonetheless, answered Imma's query.
"Yes, you seem to do quite well at it. Perhaps Papa would deign to get you a wheel, as long as you keep such practices within our Macendia at home." Not even in Vasiliadon, for Evelli did not wish for anyone to venture into the old manor and accidentally see Imma covered head to toe in red clay, and sat with her legs wide open in front of a pottery wheel. That was a chance she wasn't taking, but rules and propriety in Macendia was a little more lax.
Nodding to the second question, Evelli pulled her chlamys off her, and picked up Imma's arms to begin wiping as much of the clay as she could off the young girl's arms. "It has been an hour, and Nana is waiting for us at the carriage. Are you ready to depart?" her gaze flicked to the younger one as she continued her cleaning duties, curious on Imma's reply.
There was much that Imma could learn from those around her, though none more so than her mother. Evelli had always been quite patient with her despite her unintentional mistakes, which she was eternally quite thankful for. As desperately as she tried she always did seem to make silly blunders. Ones that she would apologize for endlessly until she managed to get past them. Sometimes they bogged her down more than others, but today it was particularly hard for her not to be excited. At least she was polite enough to get them from one point to the next, but it did not take away the fact that she was still thrumming away inside like the plucked chord of a string instrument. That thrilling delight was what had taken her from rehearsed practicality to whimsy. Hanging on the possibility of adding another artform to her life.
Thankfully despite her mother’s look of surprise she did not respond unfavorably. When she agreed that she had done well Imma could not help the smile that came to her. It was instantaneous and caused the dried bits of red that had been smeared on her cheek to crack. “That would be so delightful.” The dreamy way she said it was akin to whispered nothings sweetly crooned into a beloved’s ears. Imma adored her hobbies and the idea of having a wheel at home to play about with was absolutely heavenly. Turning her eyes up she seemed to lose herself in thought, imagining where she would put it and what she would make. There were so many options. Bowls, pots, vases, dishes, and so on. The thoughts were still turning in her mind as her mother started to try and wipe away the mess from her arms. It would help a bit but she’d need a bath to really rinse away the red from her skin.
“Oh… Has it been an hour already?” The time had seemed to simply disappear. When she asked if she was ready to go, Imma peered up at her with an immediately sobered expression. Honestly she did not want to go at all. The festival with all of its artisans was exactly where she wanted to be. Leaving so soon broke her heart, but she knew her mother had a set amount of time in mind and Nana would only wait about so long. Sighing heavily she nodded but she didn’t say it out loud. Saying she was ready to leave felt like lying and she simply did not lie to her mother. If her family wished to be on their way then she was in no position to disagree. Besides, it had only been an hour and her clothing was already splattered with clay and her mother was feverishly trying to clean her. There was no telling just how much worse it could be if she was actually allowed to waste her entire day away there.
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Jul 10, 2019 18:41:50 GMT
Posted In Arts Festival on Jul 10, 2019 18:41:50 GMT
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There was much that Imma could learn from those around her, though none more so than her mother. Evelli had always been quite patient with her despite her unintentional mistakes, which she was eternally quite thankful for. As desperately as she tried she always did seem to make silly blunders. Ones that she would apologize for endlessly until she managed to get past them. Sometimes they bogged her down more than others, but today it was particularly hard for her not to be excited. At least she was polite enough to get them from one point to the next, but it did not take away the fact that she was still thrumming away inside like the plucked chord of a string instrument. That thrilling delight was what had taken her from rehearsed practicality to whimsy. Hanging on the possibility of adding another artform to her life.
Thankfully despite her mother’s look of surprise she did not respond unfavorably. When she agreed that she had done well Imma could not help the smile that came to her. It was instantaneous and caused the dried bits of red that had been smeared on her cheek to crack. “That would be so delightful.” The dreamy way she said it was akin to whispered nothings sweetly crooned into a beloved’s ears. Imma adored her hobbies and the idea of having a wheel at home to play about with was absolutely heavenly. Turning her eyes up she seemed to lose herself in thought, imagining where she would put it and what she would make. There were so many options. Bowls, pots, vases, dishes, and so on. The thoughts were still turning in her mind as her mother started to try and wipe away the mess from her arms. It would help a bit but she’d need a bath to really rinse away the red from her skin.
“Oh… Has it been an hour already?” The time had seemed to simply disappear. When she asked if she was ready to go, Imma peered up at her with an immediately sobered expression. Honestly she did not want to go at all. The festival with all of its artisans was exactly where she wanted to be. Leaving so soon broke her heart, but she knew her mother had a set amount of time in mind and Nana would only wait about so long. Sighing heavily she nodded but she didn’t say it out loud. Saying she was ready to leave felt like lying and she simply did not lie to her mother. If her family wished to be on their way then she was in no position to disagree. Besides, it had only been an hour and her clothing was already splattered with clay and her mother was feverishly trying to clean her. There was no telling just how much worse it could be if she was actually allowed to waste her entire day away there.
There was much that Imma could learn from those around her, though none more so than her mother. Evelli had always been quite patient with her despite her unintentional mistakes, which she was eternally quite thankful for. As desperately as she tried she always did seem to make silly blunders. Ones that she would apologize for endlessly until she managed to get past them. Sometimes they bogged her down more than others, but today it was particularly hard for her not to be excited. At least she was polite enough to get them from one point to the next, but it did not take away the fact that she was still thrumming away inside like the plucked chord of a string instrument. That thrilling delight was what had taken her from rehearsed practicality to whimsy. Hanging on the possibility of adding another artform to her life.
Thankfully despite her mother’s look of surprise she did not respond unfavorably. When she agreed that she had done well Imma could not help the smile that came to her. It was instantaneous and caused the dried bits of red that had been smeared on her cheek to crack. “That would be so delightful.” The dreamy way she said it was akin to whispered nothings sweetly crooned into a beloved’s ears. Imma adored her hobbies and the idea of having a wheel at home to play about with was absolutely heavenly. Turning her eyes up she seemed to lose herself in thought, imagining where she would put it and what she would make. There were so many options. Bowls, pots, vases, dishes, and so on. The thoughts were still turning in her mind as her mother started to try and wipe away the mess from her arms. It would help a bit but she’d need a bath to really rinse away the red from her skin.
“Oh… Has it been an hour already?” The time had seemed to simply disappear. When she asked if she was ready to go, Imma peered up at her with an immediately sobered expression. Honestly she did not want to go at all. The festival with all of its artisans was exactly where she wanted to be. Leaving so soon broke her heart, but she knew her mother had a set amount of time in mind and Nana would only wait about so long. Sighing heavily she nodded but she didn’t say it out loud. Saying she was ready to leave felt like lying and she simply did not lie to her mother. If her family wished to be on their way then she was in no position to disagree. Besides, it had only been an hour and her clothing was already splattered with clay and her mother was feverishly trying to clean her. There was no telling just how much worse it could be if she was actually allowed to waste her entire day away there.
Curveball Arts Festival
As the festival continues with great success, one particular artist speaks up above the crowd - "Come one! Come all! Partake in my experiment! Communal artistry - for all who might be interesting in partaking! Be a part of something wonderous as we make art together!" Having managed to clear an open space in the central square of Argothia from the beginning of the day, it is clear that he has taken most of the morning to line up and put together slabs of backed clay as his base for the work he calls the crowds towards. One entire area of the square has been given a second skin of clay; tiles placed together like a giant mercenaries board, each side the length of two mens' height. "Your feet are your greatest brushes, artists to be!" he insisted to those who would listen, holding the small dishes that offered a red and a blue paste. There were many more at his feet in every colour imaginable. "The floor is your canvas! Who will be the first to try our communal masterpiece? Just step up! Choose your colour and allow one of my assistants to labour your new brush with paint. Walk, jump, slide or dance! Just a silver coin to partake!"
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As the festival continues with great success, one particular artist speaks up above the crowd - "Come one! Come all! Partake in my experiment! Communal artistry - for all who might be interesting in partaking! Be a part of something wonderous as we make art together!" Having managed to clear an open space in the central square of Argothia from the beginning of the day, it is clear that he has taken most of the morning to line up and put together slabs of backed clay as his base for the work he calls the crowds towards. One entire area of the square has been given a second skin of clay; tiles placed together like a giant mercenaries board, each side the length of two mens' height. "Your feet are your greatest brushes, artists to be!" he insisted to those who would listen, holding the small dishes that offered a red and a blue paste. There were many more at his feet in every colour imaginable. "The floor is your canvas! Who will be the first to try our communal masterpiece? Just step up! Choose your colour and allow one of my assistants to labour your new brush with paint. Walk, jump, slide or dance! Just a silver coin to partake!"
Curveball Arts Festival
As the festival continues with great success, one particular artist speaks up above the crowd - "Come one! Come all! Partake in my experiment! Communal artistry - for all who might be interesting in partaking! Be a part of something wonderous as we make art together!" Having managed to clear an open space in the central square of Argothia from the beginning of the day, it is clear that he has taken most of the morning to line up and put together slabs of backed clay as his base for the work he calls the crowds towards. One entire area of the square has been given a second skin of clay; tiles placed together like a giant mercenaries board, each side the length of two mens' height. "Your feet are your greatest brushes, artists to be!" he insisted to those who would listen, holding the small dishes that offered a red and a blue paste. There were many more at his feet in every colour imaginable. "The floor is your canvas! Who will be the first to try our communal masterpiece? Just step up! Choose your colour and allow one of my assistants to labour your new brush with paint. Walk, jump, slide or dance! Just a silver coin to partake!"
Imma had all but given up entirely on staying at the festival any longer. That is until she heard the artist speak out above the crowd. The center of the square came to life for those who began to gather, eager to participate in the communal artistry. The sudden urgency to actually be involved filled her heart with an ache the likes of which she would never be able to truly explain. Turning her gaze to her mother her brows buckled toward one another and her eyes seemed to grow to twice their size. There wasn’t a puppy in all of Greece that could look more desperate or adorable than she did at that moment. “Mama… please…” There was the slightest shifting in her step and shuffle of her hands over her waist. Surely her mother could not deny her this opportunity?
If anyone was suited for this festival and all the glorious adventures it offered it was Imma. To deny her now was almost cruel. It would be like telling Nana that she could not go to the bazarre to partake of all the newest fashions and the finest silks or like telling Selene that she could no longer play her beloved harp. This was her soul and to deny it was utter torture. Looking back over her shoulder toward the people as they began to have their feet painted she whimpered, quite literally mind you, before turning her gaze back to her mother. “Please…” The desperation was only getting worse. If one were to have heard the way she was begging they might very well think she was a starving child desperate for some scraps of food. This was her sustenance. Art was what gave her life. Surely her mother had to understand that!
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Imma had all but given up entirely on staying at the festival any longer. That is until she heard the artist speak out above the crowd. The center of the square came to life for those who began to gather, eager to participate in the communal artistry. The sudden urgency to actually be involved filled her heart with an ache the likes of which she would never be able to truly explain. Turning her gaze to her mother her brows buckled toward one another and her eyes seemed to grow to twice their size. There wasn’t a puppy in all of Greece that could look more desperate or adorable than she did at that moment. “Mama… please…” There was the slightest shifting in her step and shuffle of her hands over her waist. Surely her mother could not deny her this opportunity?
If anyone was suited for this festival and all the glorious adventures it offered it was Imma. To deny her now was almost cruel. It would be like telling Nana that she could not go to the bazarre to partake of all the newest fashions and the finest silks or like telling Selene that she could no longer play her beloved harp. This was her soul and to deny it was utter torture. Looking back over her shoulder toward the people as they began to have their feet painted she whimpered, quite literally mind you, before turning her gaze back to her mother. “Please…” The desperation was only getting worse. If one were to have heard the way she was begging they might very well think she was a starving child desperate for some scraps of food. This was her sustenance. Art was what gave her life. Surely her mother had to understand that!
Imma had all but given up entirely on staying at the festival any longer. That is until she heard the artist speak out above the crowd. The center of the square came to life for those who began to gather, eager to participate in the communal artistry. The sudden urgency to actually be involved filled her heart with an ache the likes of which she would never be able to truly explain. Turning her gaze to her mother her brows buckled toward one another and her eyes seemed to grow to twice their size. There wasn’t a puppy in all of Greece that could look more desperate or adorable than she did at that moment. “Mama… please…” There was the slightest shifting in her step and shuffle of her hands over her waist. Surely her mother could not deny her this opportunity?
If anyone was suited for this festival and all the glorious adventures it offered it was Imma. To deny her now was almost cruel. It would be like telling Nana that she could not go to the bazarre to partake of all the newest fashions and the finest silks or like telling Selene that she could no longer play her beloved harp. This was her soul and to deny it was utter torture. Looking back over her shoulder toward the people as they began to have their feet painted she whimpered, quite literally mind you, before turning her gaze back to her mother. “Please…” The desperation was only getting worse. If one were to have heard the way she was begging they might very well think she was a starving child desperate for some scraps of food. This was her sustenance. Art was what gave her life. Surely her mother had to understand that!
It brought a pant to Evelli's chest to see the downtrodden look on Imma's face when she brought up how much time had passed. The trip back to Macendia would take some time, and as such they could not afford to leave overly late, which meant now would be as good a time as any to take their leave from the festival now. And knowing Nana, or usually impulsive and outspoken second youngest would not be too happy at being left alone for too long.
Nodding, Evelli turned to lead her youngest back to where Nana waited at the carriage, mentally reminding herself to have the servants take out the spare chiton frm the back of the carriage once they got there. The material was simple, far simpler then whatever regular outfits the Leventi daughters were usually seen it, but in a pinch, and especially with the state of Imma's current outfit after the clay making, it would have to do.
Just barely halfway back however, a loud resonating voice boomed across the festival grounds, making even Evelli's feet ground to a halt as she watched in interest with the way in which the artist had set up his space in the central square of Argothia. Mild curiosity fell across the trays of colored paste the elder Leventi recognized as the pigment Imma so often used in her own work.
At no surprise to the woman, she turned to Imma once the quiet whimper of her daughter's tone drifted to her audibles... and the woman gave a sigh. The young blonde was, while her youngest, also the one that gave Evelli the least trouble in general, at least in comparision to Nana. Besides, she was already stained from the claywheel... surely there was no harm in a few moments more. The idea the artist had was intriguing however, and Evelli found herself curious.
"Just for a moment, Imma." she murmured softly, digging in to the pouch by her waist to hand Imma one shiny silver coin. "And take care to not let your chiton go above your knees." It was a soft smile that accompanied her words, before she motioned at Imma to go ahead where the artist beckoned, and people were beginning to make their way to the blank space he had cleared.
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Jul 30, 2019 13:40:58 GMT
Posted In Arts Festival on Jul 30, 2019 13:40:58 GMT
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It brought a pant to Evelli's chest to see the downtrodden look on Imma's face when she brought up how much time had passed. The trip back to Macendia would take some time, and as such they could not afford to leave overly late, which meant now would be as good a time as any to take their leave from the festival now. And knowing Nana, or usually impulsive and outspoken second youngest would not be too happy at being left alone for too long.
Nodding, Evelli turned to lead her youngest back to where Nana waited at the carriage, mentally reminding herself to have the servants take out the spare chiton frm the back of the carriage once they got there. The material was simple, far simpler then whatever regular outfits the Leventi daughters were usually seen it, but in a pinch, and especially with the state of Imma's current outfit after the clay making, it would have to do.
Just barely halfway back however, a loud resonating voice boomed across the festival grounds, making even Evelli's feet ground to a halt as she watched in interest with the way in which the artist had set up his space in the central square of Argothia. Mild curiosity fell across the trays of colored paste the elder Leventi recognized as the pigment Imma so often used in her own work.
At no surprise to the woman, she turned to Imma once the quiet whimper of her daughter's tone drifted to her audibles... and the woman gave a sigh. The young blonde was, while her youngest, also the one that gave Evelli the least trouble in general, at least in comparision to Nana. Besides, she was already stained from the claywheel... surely there was no harm in a few moments more. The idea the artist had was intriguing however, and Evelli found herself curious.
"Just for a moment, Imma." she murmured softly, digging in to the pouch by her waist to hand Imma one shiny silver coin. "And take care to not let your chiton go above your knees." It was a soft smile that accompanied her words, before she motioned at Imma to go ahead where the artist beckoned, and people were beginning to make their way to the blank space he had cleared.
It brought a pant to Evelli's chest to see the downtrodden look on Imma's face when she brought up how much time had passed. The trip back to Macendia would take some time, and as such they could not afford to leave overly late, which meant now would be as good a time as any to take their leave from the festival now. And knowing Nana, or usually impulsive and outspoken second youngest would not be too happy at being left alone for too long.
Nodding, Evelli turned to lead her youngest back to where Nana waited at the carriage, mentally reminding herself to have the servants take out the spare chiton frm the back of the carriage once they got there. The material was simple, far simpler then whatever regular outfits the Leventi daughters were usually seen it, but in a pinch, and especially with the state of Imma's current outfit after the clay making, it would have to do.
Just barely halfway back however, a loud resonating voice boomed across the festival grounds, making even Evelli's feet ground to a halt as she watched in interest with the way in which the artist had set up his space in the central square of Argothia. Mild curiosity fell across the trays of colored paste the elder Leventi recognized as the pigment Imma so often used in her own work.
At no surprise to the woman, she turned to Imma once the quiet whimper of her daughter's tone drifted to her audibles... and the woman gave a sigh. The young blonde was, while her youngest, also the one that gave Evelli the least trouble in general, at least in comparision to Nana. Besides, she was already stained from the claywheel... surely there was no harm in a few moments more. The idea the artist had was intriguing however, and Evelli found herself curious.
"Just for a moment, Imma." she murmured softly, digging in to the pouch by her waist to hand Imma one shiny silver coin. "And take care to not let your chiton go above your knees." It was a soft smile that accompanied her words, before she motioned at Imma to go ahead where the artist beckoned, and people were beginning to make their way to the blank space he had cleared.
Hesiodos was ready. At the moment, there was nothing he wanted to do more than to go with Bas to the next tavern and get drunk, and see where the night led them. But his ears perked up by the announcement of a new work of art…
Communal artistry… the bard’s mouth turned into a grin as he heard, and as he looked at the thespian in front of him, “Come with me”, he half-asked, half-ordered before darting towards the great canvas that covered the ground, and without realizing it, he took him by the hand and dragged him there. He had the feeling he would enjoy it greatly, just as he did. After all, they were artists.
Thinking at the same speed than an arrow in flight, Hesiodos jumped towards a dish that held paint the same color as his robes, a rich wine red, and somehow he managed to not to break them. And without a second thought, he jumped towards the clay and began to danced – he danced in a particular way, as if no one was looking, and as his feet made the first parts of paint on the clay, he invited Bas with a gesture of his hands to join him.
He danced freely, playfully, with a rhythm of a song he only knew, but that everyone could hear by seeing him. His face was of pure joy. He posed naked earlier, he was tipsy, he had the desire to bed someone that wanted it too, and he danced as if he was possessed by Dionysus himself, while his feet were covered in paint as he made a particular kind of art. And his face also told that he would be happier still if the man he wanted to bed joined him.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hesiodos was ready. At the moment, there was nothing he wanted to do more than to go with Bas to the next tavern and get drunk, and see where the night led them. But his ears perked up by the announcement of a new work of art…
Communal artistry… the bard’s mouth turned into a grin as he heard, and as he looked at the thespian in front of him, “Come with me”, he half-asked, half-ordered before darting towards the great canvas that covered the ground, and without realizing it, he took him by the hand and dragged him there. He had the feeling he would enjoy it greatly, just as he did. After all, they were artists.
Thinking at the same speed than an arrow in flight, Hesiodos jumped towards a dish that held paint the same color as his robes, a rich wine red, and somehow he managed to not to break them. And without a second thought, he jumped towards the clay and began to danced – he danced in a particular way, as if no one was looking, and as his feet made the first parts of paint on the clay, he invited Bas with a gesture of his hands to join him.
He danced freely, playfully, with a rhythm of a song he only knew, but that everyone could hear by seeing him. His face was of pure joy. He posed naked earlier, he was tipsy, he had the desire to bed someone that wanted it too, and he danced as if he was possessed by Dionysus himself, while his feet were covered in paint as he made a particular kind of art. And his face also told that he would be happier still if the man he wanted to bed joined him.
Hesiodos was ready. At the moment, there was nothing he wanted to do more than to go with Bas to the next tavern and get drunk, and see where the night led them. But his ears perked up by the announcement of a new work of art…
Communal artistry… the bard’s mouth turned into a grin as he heard, and as he looked at the thespian in front of him, “Come with me”, he half-asked, half-ordered before darting towards the great canvas that covered the ground, and without realizing it, he took him by the hand and dragged him there. He had the feeling he would enjoy it greatly, just as he did. After all, they were artists.
Thinking at the same speed than an arrow in flight, Hesiodos jumped towards a dish that held paint the same color as his robes, a rich wine red, and somehow he managed to not to break them. And without a second thought, he jumped towards the clay and began to danced – he danced in a particular way, as if no one was looking, and as his feet made the first parts of paint on the clay, he invited Bas with a gesture of his hands to join him.
He danced freely, playfully, with a rhythm of a song he only knew, but that everyone could hear by seeing him. His face was of pure joy. He posed naked earlier, he was tipsy, he had the desire to bed someone that wanted it too, and he danced as if he was possessed by Dionysus himself, while his feet were covered in paint as he made a particular kind of art. And his face also told that he would be happier still if the man he wanted to bed joined him.