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Post by Kazn Ezel on Mar 8, 2011 21:08:03 GMT -5
There were times at night when Kazn could not sleep. Some thought he might be taken with fits of insomnia, while others whispered that the man was possessed. Given the circumstances Kazn would most likely agree with the latter assessment of his personality. Kazn was often possessed to fulfill some longing in multifaceted black gem that must have been his soul.
It was a matter of personal expression. Now he felt possessed to find some manner in which to properly express himself. A hefty bundle was pressed tightly against his left shoulder as he neared a window on the top floor of the Palace. His one free hand worked to open the latch and push it open.
He looked about cautiously in order to see if there would be any to interrupt his task. Truly, it would only be Naelona that he might expect to make an effort to stop him, but most anyone who happened across the scene would ruin the moment sufficiently that Kazn would rather just retire to his room.
He lifted himself upward and swung himself out against the window with the swiftness of one who had done such acrobatics before. Without any harnesses he scaled the side of the building and climbed to the roof with his bundle firmly secured against him. He might have been impressed with the feat if it was anything less than a means to an end. However, it was not even the prelude to tonight's actual act, and so it went unnoticed and unappreciated.
Well-made leather soles rested gently on the roof. Kazn was able to see rather clearly tonight--the gibbous made that certain. Clouds obscured the white light of the moon somewhat, but Kazn just appreciated the play between the light and shadows more.
Quickly and silently Kazn set up an easel and his paints so that it would not fall from its perch without constant attention. Kazn's eyes quickly scanned the scene to capture the moment. He noted the presence of another being on the roof and paused for a moment in striking curiosity.
Gently the man tapped his foot against the roof as he considered the woman from his current vantage point. He stared at the easel and adjusted it so he would have a better angle. Serendipity had placed the two of them here at the same time, and Kazn was not going to refuse the opportunity. The same force that had gripped him earlier to put him on this roof demanded that he paint the creature illuminated by the play of the moon and clouds.
Without even once making an effort to alert her to his presence, Kazn Ezel began to gently sketch out the scene in charcoal before moving to paints.
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Post by Jasmine Krisp on Mar 9, 2011 11:19:38 GMT -5
Night...
Something about it drew her to it like a moth to the flame. Nobody was out and about tonight, nobody making a fuss or fighting or making too much noise. Silence was a melody that sung clearly across the palace, a blanket to the persons on the floors below. The roof was drenched in moonlight and silence, a perfect location for Jasmine to sit this evening and relax her little mind. She loved evening such as this. Evenings with Shaehern running through the woods were fun and exciting, but one needs a break from all that. And such a hiatus was welcome on such a beautiful night.
The little woman moved a lock of violet behind her ear, the rest of her hair loose in a wave of lavender that moved with her black gown.
Hm?
The smallest of noises was interrupting the silence, and Jazz's ears caught them. The sound of something moving across the roof, of paper, or something moving across the paper, and of breathing. Glowing golden eyes moved from their blank stare to her side, following the direction of these noises. She stopped on the man, bathed in moonlight she could vaguely recognize his face, standing their sketching something. The moon? The sky? The view of Wonderland at night?
Or was he painting her?
Jasmine watched him for a few more moments, her eyes the only thing that had moved while the rest of her was still. If he was painting it would be rude to interupt him, and if he was painting her...moving would be even worse. But if the latter was indeed the case, she was flattered. A ghost of a smile touched her lips.
"So the father Ezel is an artist." Her voice was as much of a wisp as her expression. "I wasn't aware of that."
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Post by Kazn Ezel on Mar 9, 2011 18:28:29 GMT -5
With careful strokes of varying pressure Kazn was able to impress the scene before him on canvas and in his mind. Little things would change as time progressed--shadows and the position of the moon. For these reasons an artist would be pushed to work quickly to capture the single moment as best as he or she could manage.
However, upon marking the last line upon the canvas it would no longer matter to Kazn Ezel. The scene to be painted was now locked firmly into his mind. Mimetic art sought to represent things as the eyes perceived them. Kazn knew this and understood the very limited scope of its use--mimesis was not the general purpose of his art.
As soon as the brush was in his hand he could remember why it was that he painted and what it was that he painted. The image was conjured in his mind, evoked through his hands and onto the canvas, and abjured from the withering hands of time.
His art was produced for selfish reasons. Kazn Ezel did not share his works with the world--and there were certainly artists more willing than he to accommodate one's personal tastes should a fool desire a commission. The process was more important to Kazn than the end product.
It might have been that he was grateful for the subject staying still, but all that it meant was that he had the opportunity to capture another glance should he desire further embellishments upon the image in his mind.
Layers upon layers of color were added until Kazn found himself growing more satisfied with the image before him. The canvas did not reflect the objective reality of the eyes, but the subjective reality of Kazn's. The material would have been foreign to a human--they had no appreciation for aesthetics. The clouds and trees in the background seem to have character and life of their own. Each as an individual. The gentle breeze, too, received a nod in his work.
And yet, the subject of the image was still clearly the little woman near the center. In some ways an unwary captive to the canvas, and in other ways very much free.
Kazn rested himself against the roof. He remarked on the little beads of sweat that formed unnoticed during his stern concentration. His eyes now gazed skyward and he took shallow and measured breaths. There was still the climb back down once he had time to let his mind clear a little more.
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Post by Jasmine Krisp on Mar 9, 2011 19:15:27 GMT -5
Still as a statue, nestled there upon the castle's top, Jasmine continued to stay still for the Ezel man as he worked on his art. Whether she was the subject or not didn't matter too much to her, but rather, she didn't want to leave. From the corner of her bright eyes she was watching him. Watching close as he delved into whatever world Kazn created on that canvas with his paints and charcoal and strange mind. He was a strange one, if rumors and reputation were to be believed. As Jazz knew from experience and practice they were often so.
But sometimes she got lucky and cracked through that shell.
Minutes passed, maybe hours, but was anybody keeping track? The little plum noticed a change in Kazn and looked over now, completely turning her head. He'd stopped. "Finished?" she said a little louder this time, this time so she would be heard. She wanted to see this finished product regardless of the subject. Kazn Ezel was, to her and others, a complete enigma. She didn't know what to make of him. Sense and reason told her she shouldn't try, but when had she ever listened to those?
Turning her body a little more, bright eyes staring at the oldest Ezel, she wondered some more in the words of her birth.
"Tell me, father Ezel, but what are you doing out so late this eve?"
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Post by Kazn Ezel on Mar 10, 2011 21:40:05 GMT -5
He stared skyward through crimson-rimmed eyes into the darkened quilt of the evening. Little patches of light gray were pushed along by the howling winds and obscuring what might have otherwise been a starlit night. There was an earthy scent carried on the wind--wet soil from melting snow. Kazn understood that the temperature was at the cusp between ice and water. In some ways, it was a finely tuned solidus where the seasons could not quite decide whether they wished to turn.
And yet, they would turn. They always did.
It seemed like a foregone conclusion when a voice piped up to ask if he was finished. The response came clearly and without much consideration. "It would be no other way." The truth of the matter was that if he were not finished that he would still be working. A great many things were left unfinished, but he was finished with them. It was a peculiar play on words. He was not certain that it would translate.
Kazn Ezel pushed himself up into a sitting position. He almost wished for the cool embrace of the roof against his back once again as soon as he moved. The kisses of the wind were much less gentle.
"Your kind has the prerogative to omit needless titles from one such as I. You offer a peculiar query to which I must posit another query, albeit in a manner rhetorical: are we, as creatures, not nocturnal in habit?" Kazn's own use of the tongue was not matched to his position. In truth, it was always a mystery to the man that the children of the high-born were not required to be as well-versed as he. No one had told him that it was part of the secret to rising in rank.
"Our nature beckons us forth in a myriad of ways, Lady Krisp. Perhaps, it is veritable to say that I am obfuscating reality in a poetic veil. At times my austere manner is punctuated with interruptions of the creative sort." He did not need to say that tonight was one of those nights. His grandiloquent manner might have already set the woman off, but it was not often that he had an opportunity to speak in the manner he was most comfortable and hope to be understood.
"And you?" After everything else, it seemed such a plain way to transition the conversation back to Jasmine.
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Post by Jasmine Krisp on Mar 12, 2011 16:18:32 GMT -5
Barely a moment into speaking with Kazn and Jasmine could feel the first itches of a headache coming on. Goodness but he did flaunt his vocabulary. At least he knew the language well enough that he wasn't completely messing up the words whilst speaking. That would cause her little plum head to explode for sure. Interesting enough he also knew her last name...what in the world did Ezel's not know. Stepping down from the ledge the little Boogie took a few steps closer, her black gown covering her slippered feet as she moved.
"People's stories are simplified by their names," she started with her haunting smile, "If the title does not suit you then I will not use it...if you so wish, father Ezel." Kazn was quite right in his own question. If Boogies were monsters of night they were, indeed, nocturnal. It just seemed that time had turned them to the day-life, though a few lingered behind in the dark. Jasmine assumed her and the eldest Ezel were not the only two roaming at this late hour...but maybe they were.
Who could say?
Jazz laughed gently, a whisper in itself. "Still, with a reputation and history as your own, the hobbies do not seem to completely fit the man. But it is..." she searched her mind for the right word, "...pertinent, to your character...in some foreboding way." To her the conversation passed, her golden eyes floating from wherever they were wandering to lock onto those red orbs. They were the same kind of dangerous, powerful beauty that Boogies could be known for. "I am known as a night-walker, and tonight is no different. I just thought of coming to the roof to bathe in the moon-beams."
Tilting her head, her gaze changed to rest on the easel.
"Might I see the finished product?"
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Post by Kazn Ezel on Mar 12, 2011 17:05:32 GMT -5
He looked over Jasmine Krisp with the discerning eyes of an artist. Perspective could give people a variety of appearances. Some people seemed the same no matter how you looked at them. Kazn often wondered if some people were really that simple or if there was depth hidden under a mask or veiled behind smoke and mirrors.
"It would please if you would not refer to me as father." His reasoning was supported by a variety of arguments, each one irrefutable in his mind. Father was a word that carried many meanings, and only the least of them applied to him as an individual. This made the title highly inappropriate, even in the rare case when it was pertinent.
She made observations about his person, observations that were not totally inaccurate from a subjective perspective. Objectively, there was something to be said about it. He echoed her earlier response, "A person's story is often simplified by his or her name." Kazn seemed quite smug about that simple fact. That he would repeat it at all marked that he agreed with her earlier assessment.
"A stalker in the night bathing under the light of the lunar disc--an exquisite subject for a work. You may look, but know that I did not do it justice." Kazn firmly believed that if you wanted a good painting that you should go seek out those artisans who devoted themselves entirely to the practice. It was not something Kazn ever would have been able to do, nor that he had any such desire.
"Perhaps I may fabricate something more with you at another point in time. Your aureate orbs, in particular, would be enrapturing as a subject."
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