(1866-07-01) Perfection in Ideas
Perfection in Ideas
Summary: Destrian and Emilia go out for a small ride in seek of art views and ideas.
Date: 1866-07-01 (OOC : RP actually done 10/1-10/2)
Related: None
Destrian  Emilia  

Outside of Roseguard - Ironwood
See scene….

There was never truly need for escaping along to paint, though these days, it was more need to find way about duties and responsibilities abilities. Even if many perhaps knew little of how much Emilia did about Roseguard, least til she had become a Huntress proper and even then…well her own cousin questioned that. But today, there was escape, for her foster-brother and fellow artist was returned! It begged for an artist venturing!

Emilia was already launching herself off of Onyie, not so much like a gymnast vaulting off their perch , but like a bird gracefully taking from a branch to float through the air. A glance back when Emilia did touch down, not bothering to secure the black beast, "Are you of coming?" This going to Destrian as she takes to darting across the meadow, ever the ethereally graceful creature.

A hand waved him over,"Come, come…" To where she eventually comes to a standstill. Emilia motioning,"Look, of see…was I not of saying good of view for of drawing…be worth of the ride. Of aye?" Her dark eyes darting a bit between the view and Destrian.

The view being that of Roseguard, just in the distance, not far, but they had ridden from the city proper and into the woods to the meadow. The opening revealing the castle onto them again in all of its splendor in that soft morning light.


The grinning, bearded knight - Sir Destrian - swings his right leg up and over the neck of his trusty horse, Old Friend, and slides down the left side of the animal to land nimbly on the ground. Turning to pat his horse fondly on the neck, the knight has a word in the animal's ear and leaves him to graze before breaking into a jog to follow along behind Emilia.

"I am of coming, thank you very of much," he tells her with just a hint of scolding in his voice. Fortunately, there is too much of a sparkle in his watery-grey eyes for anyone to take his tone seriously.

Keeping up with the girl is… difficult. It is not that the knight is unfit or anything, but Emilia's preternatural grace has earned legend of its own, as Destrian - her foster brother - well knows. "You know me, Little Firefly," he tells her behind lips pinched in an expression of wry amusement. "Would I ever turn down a chance to move in the green and the blue? To swim in currents of air and threads of light with my most favourite of family - oh."

He stops.

He looks across the meadow.

He turns to his little sister and lifts his chin. "You were of right, Firefly. How do you find such moments in the music?"


A brow rises as those dark eyes and stoic look get cast back to Destrian when that scolding tone comes, that hit of speaking like her…he was one of the few who could do so and not have her think anything of it. "Are you of sure? You are still alllll the way of back there?" Responding so easily in that deadpan Cassomir fashion, her own dark eyes having a mild sheen to them at the teasing interplay.

Where Emilia lacked in strength, physical strength, she did make up for in spades within that grace and speed of hers. "I am of knowing, and of no, you would of not. Not it is of being of your choice." She knew how duties pulled upon each in their own way and time, choices were not always theirs to make.

Emilia falls silent when he does finally come to see the view, the corners of her lips tugging upwards in that brief fashion of a smile as she watches his reaction. She knew he would like it. "It is not always of easy. But they are always of there to be of found. Having to of listen and filter out of the noise and of clutter, just at the right of moment. To not be of caught up within of the noise. Is like remembering of the sliver of light and seeking of it rather than of being lost to the shadows that come of closing of in."


"I could not have said it better myself," Destrian replies as he stands there overlooking the meadow, hands on his hips pushing his cloak out of the way. "You find the places with most music, Firefly. The songs with most colour. This is something I do not think the Church is yet to understand," he murmurs - half to Emilia, half to himself - as he reaches inside his cloak to draw forth a satchel for his sketchbook and charcoal.

Again, he half-sighs - having naught but charcoal to try and depict colour… a common issue for one who travels so much. Nevertheless, he settles down cross-legged in the grass and looks around.

"Shadows driving one's eyes to seek the light," he adds after a few moments of silence - in an effort to explain his earlier comment about the Church. "To speak to some… shadow begets only more shadow." He shakes his head and starts sketching, speaking again without looking up. "But only if one keeps one's eyes closed…"

He frowns.

"You're blocking my light, little sister."


Emilia’s gaze turns back towards the view of Roseguard, the way the soft light plays over the features, adding shadows and shades of colors within the soft light. “Have had much of time to go of looking, reason to be of looking, and of encouragement to be of doing so.” Even before…the incident, even with the war that raged on..Thorn and Rose…Emilia the youngest of so many had been given freer rein than many of her siblings, even perhaps been spoiled in some ways by her mother. It had been time to explore, and look, encouragement to do so. Noting softly,”The of Church, like of many, often are often not of able to of see the forest for all of the trees.”

Standing for a little while longer, with a hand absently raising and lightly dancing through the air, tracing things unseen before her. It is almost an absent minded sort of motion, yet with everything she does it comes with the unearthly sort of grace. An elegant and graceful dance without music of mere fingers.

There is a light little ‘hmm’ as he speaks she is blocking his light,”I am of not of blocking, I am of adding of shadows within the moment.” Though Emilia does drift to sit, a sketch pad being drawn out as well. It is settled upon her lap as her legs cross under her. “Many of like of that, seeking light because of the shadows, seeking of shadow when the light grows of to bright. People see only of darkness or of light, missing much of that is of being in between. Missing of the beauty that can be of found of yet within the shadows, missing of the darkness that is of hiding within of the light.” A small little rise of her shoulders comes in a turn of a shrug,”For of some, they must of see of see things so of simply, they cannot of take knowing of anything of else. Their minds are not of strong enough for of it.”


"Adding of shadows in the moment," Destrian repeats with a wry twist of his lips as he continues sketching. On the pages of his book an image takes form: a castle in the distance - Roseguard, of course - beyond a lush meadow… in which a young girl gaily dances. From his drawing, the position of the girl's graceful form casts patterns of shadow across the meadow…

In the space of a few minutes more, there are trees also added to the image - except that each limb is actually the girl's arms, drawn in various poses of a dance and added to the overall scene much like a montage of separate sketches with a central theme.

That being the girl.

He smirks to himself, then over at Emilia and parts his lips in a wide grin as he turns the sketch book around for her to see. "In that case, sister-dearest, you are blocking my shadow. Come now, and tell me you think; be kind if you wish - cruel if you must…"


The corners of Emilia’s lips tug slightly as he repeats her words to himself, mildly amused at the exchange. A bit of charcoal is produced as Emilia begins to make marks upon her own bit of pad. Lines that dance upon the page in the way her fingers move to produce them.

There is a light ‘hmm’ when he is turning his pad towards her and is asking for her thoughts upon his work. Her head cants along to the side, that braid flopping along over her shoulder in the motion. Her dark eyes sweep over the montage, the way the shadows are pieces to a greater picture,”I am of thinking that you have found the forest amongst all the trees, mine-brother. The life within of the shadows. That they are of something more, something of greater…so many miss of that. Would miss of it yet, even in of seeing of your work. How could I be of cruel when you have found of such grace, and even of turns of colors within of the greys. “

There is a mild tugging to the corners of her lips again,”Even if you of yourself, likely are not of seeing of the colors that are of there.” She knew well how he bemoaned the limitations that came with only having charcoal to sketch with.


Destrian smiles.

Laying aside the sketchbook for the moment, he leans back with his hands on the grass and simply admires the scenery. To Emilia he remarks, "You are the painter, little sister." The man's smile becomes a smirk and he tilts his head a fraction to the side. "At least until I master the art of painting as well as drawing - then you shall simply be the /greater/ painter."

After a handful of moments, Destrian picks up both charcoal and sketchbook and begins drawing on another page. This time, however, he amuses himself with sketches from memory - hastily, if skilfully depicted images of moments spent with his adopted family…

In and amongst the other images, he draws curious designs - sigils, perhaps - of various shapes and sizes, working them into the other sketches as part of the scenery. One particular sigil causes him to frown and he looks at Emilia.

"You drew lines in the sky, little Firefly, not long ago," he tells her. "This - " and he shows her the particular sigil. "Tell me of this one."


The sketch made by her foster brother is looked over a few moments longer, those dark eyes flitting between various details within it. A finger raising and doing the odd turn of a dance that follows some of the lines, perhaps going through the steps of the dance the girl has taken up within the piece.

“I am of being the painter because of having of the time of for it,” a slight pause,” and it came of a time, of a need for it. To find of myself within of the colors of again, to untangle of all of the noise and find of clarity. To see more than of darkness and shadows. You have never had such of a need.” It was true, painting had been a great aid in Emilia finding her way, herself again…after the incident. A sort of therapy. “Be of sides, you rarely of linger of long of enough to be of master of painting. Always of flitting of about, like of a butterfly seeking of the sweetest flower. Restless in seeking of next of adventure for telling of tales and of stories. Hmmm…being more working on mastering of stories, I am of thinking, in of that.”

Her comments coming as she goes back to her light sketching, there is the outline of the castle and the edges of the forest. While the eye might go to this as the focus of the piece, but there are tinier details flitting upon the edges, a little bird hidden within the tree. A small fawn at the trunk of one of the trees, a tiny face peering out over the edge of one of the ramparts of the castle and onwards.

“Of aye,” says Emilia as she draws her eyes up from her own work as the movements of her fingers earlier are brought up. “The shadows were of dancing, I was trying to be of following.” Her dark eyes drift to the sigil that he is pointing to, a faint turn of her head. “It is….of being a turn of a dance, but of a motion that of offers of invitation. Dances of another time and of place, lost to of the the ages, forgotten….of unknown in times of now. “ Her hand gently turns in the air as she speaks, recreating the motion..the sigil in turn. “So much…is being of forgotten, over of time. Some of things of important, some of not…some simply of changing, of involving. Some simply of fading of along like of shadows as of the sun of rises in of the morning.”



Destrian sets aside his sketchbook again and lies back down on the grass, resting his head upon his hands clasped behind him as he looks up into the sky. "Not everything forgotten is lost," he tells his little sister with fondness. "Not forever. Sooner or later a Seeker will find it - such as thy dearly beloved foster-brother, aye?"

The Knight-Seeker lets out a sigh - and then frowns as he discovers a burr stuck in his mane of dark hair from lying on the ground. Whilst trying to remove it, somewhat awkwardly, he glances again at Emilia. "Of course, dear Ember-in-the-Shades, finding one thread in a forest of many… has its challenges."

He smirks at that.

Challenge has never really bothered the bearded Gatefinder.

Then he frowns.

"Then all must be handed over to the clergy who could not trace a thread in their own robes, with a map and Divine guidance…'Tis an imperfect world, Sister-Mine. So little clarity in the murk."


"Of true, not all that is of forgotten is being lost of forever, not all that is of lost is truly of being forgotten." A slight pause comes as Emilia casts a glance his way,"And even of sometimes, mine-wayard and much of beloved of foster brother is finding of his own way back with-of-out having to send of a Seeker to be of retrieving of him."

Some turn of amusement flickers in her eyes as she watches him fuss about with the burr he has found in his hair,"Should I be of finding you of a comb? Old Friend says he will of allow you to borrow of his curry of brush if you are in of such need." A mild tease, though with the snort that comes…from Onyie as the two horses continue to graze, hard to be certain.

"You have always of liked your of challenges, why you have always ended up in such troubles for your mischiefs," notes Emilia. Her eyes drift back to the view before her own sketch pad is finally cast aside and she lays back, turning her gaze to the wooded canopy above them. "It is being of an imperfect of worlds, filled with imperfect of people. But would be much of boring, I am of thinking if all was of perfect. If all was always of clear…we would not find of such delight and of joy when true moments of clarity were of found. " Her head turning to him,"Or such of triumph when that one of thread is found buried within the wilds of some distance of Forest..not seen by eyes for many of generations. If was of easy, more would of do it."


As if on cue, Old Friend - that shaggy-maned faithful stallion of Destrian's - makes his way over to where his human lies on the ground, lowering his muzzle to breathe hot air in his human's ear - and eat a particularly long blade of grass in his human's hair.

Destrian, having been just about to reply to his little sister, gahs! instead and reaches a hand up to bat his horse away… if somewhat unsuccessfully. Chuckling, his eyes squeezed shut with mirth, the Knight-Seeker eventually manages to discourage his horse from 'helping', and sits up.

With strands of grass and burrs still caught in his umber locks.

"If the world were perfect, a man could lie down in the grass and still have enviable hair upon rising, no? Instead…" and he indicates his head with flat gesture of his hand to his temple.


Dark eyes turn over to peer as the shadow falls with Old Friend wandering over to 'help' Destrian with his grooming issues. The corners of her lips slowly pulling upwards as that 'gahing' sound comes. "He /is/ just trying to be of helping with of your troubles, especials," offers Emilia ever so helpfully and in that stoic Cassomir fashion.

Turning her head this way and that, even as she yet lays back, taking in that new look her foster brother sports,"Hmmm…the bits of green could be of something. But lacks of pattern and fashionable of placement. Color without of purpose, be of better with having of crown of proper making, I am of thinking."

"So..of indeed…not exactly of enviable, needs of work. But it is of being a start… Of alas, our world is not being of perfect. " Rolling up to sit again, a few blades of grass also now poking out of her braided locks of dark, brown hair.


Destrian snorts.

He has little to say at this point, except to reach for his sketchbook once more and start scribbling down an image in charcoal - all the while smirking over at his foster-sister. Some moments are taken, mid-drawing, for him to peer at Emilia - or at least to make a show of peering at Emilia - before resuming his artistry with particular relish.

His eyes gleam.

"The world is indeed as you say, my dear little Firefly," he tells her whilst drawing - sitting there cross-legged in the meadow. Grass in his hair. And traces of horse-slobber. "Every flaw should serve as inspiration to make something beautiful of it…"

He turns the sketch around to show Emilia a charcoal likeness of herself sitting daintily upon the meadow floor. The image is more or less perfectly drawn except that she now has a shrubbery for a head of hair (no doubt inspired by the strands of grass lingering there), with curls of leaves and flowers trailing past her impish ears, and her horse, Onyie, stands behind her casually nibbling at the foliage.

Destrian smirks.

"There is perfection in ideas, sister-mine," he remarks. Then he glances at the drawing. "Perhaps not this one, but I like to give myself room to grow." And with that he hands her the sketchbook, grinning smugly.

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