Imp was doing his absolute best to create a masterpiece. He was perched just outside the palace, on a little hill of grass, an easel laid in front of him and a complete mess scattered around him. It wasn't that he wouldn't clean it up; Isra'd have his head if he didn't, and anyway, he just wasn't like that. Usually.

The mess included paint-stained white cloth, two buckets filled with water, haphazard piles of paintbrushes and at least two dozen paint dyes in little pots. Three artists' palettes--already dabbed with various ranges of colors--were present: two in the grass, one clutched in Imp's rainbow-spattered forelimbs.

For once, his work didn't include a load of weird genitalia. He'd sort of gotten over that--mostly; an artist had to move on, after all. Not that he didn't sometimes revisit his origins, of course. (There was a new painting in his "studio" with a made-up Gembound sporting a very not-safe-for-work hat.) But right now he was struggling to capture the essence of the Palace, with a twist. While its columns and alabaster facades were just as elegant as the real thing, he'd tried to give it a formidable, almost ominous, appearance. White stone plunged into darkness at the edges, the sheer walls and razor's edge lines severe.

That being said, it was clear that he was having serious trouble. Regular lighting and color was hard for a new artist to capture; Voidlight was another beast entirely, and though he was struggling to simply paint what he saw, he found that his mind kept interpreting the colors as though the light were white. The result included yellows where they shouldn't be, purples that got way too dark, and pinks and blues that looked more pastel and cheerful than Void-like.

"Damn it," Imp said aloud, to no one in particular, and sat back. He dropped the paintbrush from his jaws, spitting it into his pile, and sat back. He looked from the palace to the canvas, then back, then at the painting again, before informing it dourly "You are fucking ugly." He sighed. "I think I need a break."

@Calazeth

You can have the weekends
We will live between them

The beast had, legitimately, not left Ursa for probably its entire life. The snowy mountains and glaciers had served as his home for as long as he could remember. It wasn't that he didn't know the way out, he just never found a reason to. Until now, apparently, so focused on his hunt that he'd accidentally slipped into the freezing tunnel that led out of his snowy home.

The large rabbit had finally been caught a few steps into Cepheus and quickly devoured - the chase had been exhausting and left his stomach rumbling, but once he was standing, licking his jaws to clean off the last of the blood, he finally realized. Huh, this isn't Ursa. He looked around, wondering if it wasn't good that he'd left. He was already starting to warm up a bit under his thick winter coat, but...well, he was here. Might as well explore. With a shrug, he set off.

He had never seen a palace before, and so found himself exploring around the outside, tilting his head at the strange architecture that was very very different from Ursa mountains. The lighting was...weird. Ursa was always a little dark, but this was like dark-light. It made no sense.

Calazeth probably wouldn't have even noticed the figure until it let out a sharp exclamation. He paused and turned, feet immediately turning to start walking towards the problem (or lack thereof). He stared at the creature, at first, and then at the thing in front and back.

"Hi," the beast rumbled, voice cracking faintly with disuse. "What are you doing? What is that?" He nodded towards the canvas. He'd never seen anything like that before.

calazeth

@Imp

Imp turned, jolting and swearing a hissed "Fffff-" under his breath, cut off as he realized he'd banged into the side of the easel. He turned, catching it with a wing, then grimaced and steadied himself.

He then blinked back to Calazeth, about one second passing as he got over the surprise of a voice next to him, and Calazeth's bizarre (but, admittedly, really cool--maybe Imp could paint him later) form. "Hey!" he answered brightly, before looking back at the canvas. "-This? This is shit. Shit. That's what this is. -I mean, it's the palace. Or it's meant to be-... Oh, you mean--like, have you never seen art? It's a painting!" he offered brightly. Feathers ruffled with pride as he fluffed himself up, adjusting his scarf. "I'm the palace artist. Imp! -...Is my name!" he added, realizing maybe the word 'Imp' on its own told this stranger nothing.

A moment later the fluff-throated pride had passed and he was glancing back at the palace again. ...Maybe Calazeth had been asking what that was. Imp scrunched up his nose. "That's the Palace. I'm an artist, so I make paintings. This is meant to be a painting of that," he went on, pointing from one to the other, "except I don't think I can get the stupid lighting right."

Then he turned back to Calazeth, blinking. "Never seen you around before! New to Cepheus?" he asked, grinning.

@Calazeth

You can have the weekends
We will live between them

As the alligator...thing startled, so did Calazeth. He hadn't really intended to sneak up on him so he was just surprised as Imp, flinching away and snorting with surprise.

He blinked a few times as he steadied himself, and then brushed past the shock, regaining his composure, moving his gaze from Imp to the canvas and to the palace in front of them. He was confused. "Shit? It doesn't look like...shit? Did you poop on it?" He said this very seriously, watching Imp with concern. Why would he have done that? Didn't make any sense to the snow beast.

But clarification was a wonderful thing. Not that Calazeth had any experience with art before and didn't fully understand the explanation offered. He looked between the "painting" and the palace again (he didn't know what a palace was either), squinting his eyes. "Oh. Why are you trying to paint it? It's right there. Why not just look at it?" It wasn't asked with any kind of malice to it, only a genuine curiosity and confusion. He didn't understand, but he wanted to.

He looked at Imp and nodded. "Yes. I live in Ursa. I am Calazeth. I have never seen a "palace" before. What is it for?"

calazeth

@Imp

"Poop on--no, what-" A blink (of all four eyes) and Imp laughed, as he realized. "It's just bad." Further clarification applied.

He flexed his wings, turning to regard the palace as Calazeth spoke further; his gaze snapped between canvas, building and then Calazeth again.

His expression, and tone, quickly grew incredulous. "Why paint it?! It's ART!" he cried, disbelieving. Then, more calmly, "Like-... you can interpret it differently, y'know? Stuff can look different at different times of day, different weathers-... Mood can change, y'know? Like, I was trying for..." and Imp gestured weakly at the canvas, and sighed. "...Forbidding. Never mind. It sucks, like I said. But you paint stuff to EXPRESS yourself!" Enthusiasm quickly replaced his brief forlorn moment. "And you can hang it on walls. The walls in there were white as fuck," he added, looking at Calazeth again. (Four eyes again blinked.) "So you hang art in there and it breaks it up a little. Or--I could show you paintings of OTHER caves and you could maybe see places you've never seen!"

"And good to meet you! 'Calazeth.' Cool name," Imp decided. "Palaces are for lots of shit. There's a theatre in there. And a good kitchen. A ballroom, with some music. Well-... one music." The singular record, novel as 'music' was, had become grating even to Imp, who had for cycles rejoiced in playing its single song on virtual repeat. Loud and repetitive and annoying was sort of his jam and even he was getting sick of it by now. "Good music, though, and the theatre's got some good shit. I mean-... I guess that's not what the palace is for?" He squinted off at the building. It... wasn't really something he'd considered. It just was. It was a building. With people, and food, and stuff. "Aethril mostly lives there. The Valkhand? She's the one who appointed me," he added, with a note again of pride. "And Isra--she owns Cepheus," he added, blithely wrong. "There's rooms for visitors and stuff. I could show you around inside, if you want? I need a break."

He started to cap his paints, because while he liked to show off, he just wasn't feeling it right now. Then he paused, squinting, and looked at Calazeth. "-Wanna try?" he asked, on a whim. The paints and brushes were still arranged, and as far as Imp was concerned, his painting was a total loss. Though there was a reluctance to let others touch "his" artistic stuff, at the same time that artist part of him wondered if another Gembound--maybe an amateur--doing a couple colorful splashes across the canvas might add just the life it needed.

@Calazeth

You can have the weekends
We will live between them

At first, the short outburst had Calazeth's ears pushing back against his head and his head lowered slightly in apology. He had not meant to offend. And he would have apologized, but Imp seemed to be sweeping along just fine so Calazeth calmed and listened quietly, nodding along, interested.

He didn't understand, but he could get behind it. "So...you paint a place. And take it somewhere else. So you can remember the place. It is like a physical memory. That is cool." He nodded. He liked the idea of that. Maybe he should get paintings of places he visited and put them on the walls of the small hollow in Ursa Minor that he called his home. Or maybe, if he was going to be gone for long, he could get a painting of Ursa. That would be nice.

He wasn't sure about the whole "expressing yourself", there was a disconnect between brain and...brain about that concept. How did one express themselves through color and picture? He frowned at the canvas, wondering what he would paint if given the chance.

Cal blinked pretty blankly at Imp as he explained what a palace was. Theatre? Kitchen? Ballroom? Music? No, he had absolutely no idea what any of those were. Nor did he know Aethril or Valkhand or Isra but he continued to nod along as if he understood perfectly. He was not impatient to know, Imp would probably explain eventually, especially with how many words were spilling out of his mouth. Eager to share, and Calazeth was eager to know.

"I would like that," he hummed. "I would like to see the Music. And the...Three Tier? Kids Den? I would like to see them." He nodded, excited.

But first - painting. And oh, when Imp offered, Calazeth did not hesitate. "I would." He scooted forward towards the canvas and sat down, reaching with his right paw for the paint brushes. He was surprisingly dexterous with each of the toes, carefully lifting a much-too-small paintbrush in his grip, and made to pick a random color - a nice bright, vibrant blue.

He looked at the palace, then back at the painting, then at the palace, the painting. And he reached forward and began to paint. Or...try. He had no idea what he was doing and he had most certainly chosen the wrong color. The splashes of bright blue were random, uneven brush strokes decorating in random, senseless places. His dexterity and gentle grip was enough to keep the paintbrush from breaking in his grip but it was doing him no favors when it came to holding it steady.

After maybe 30 seconds of what some would consider painting, others would consider chaos, Calazeth lowered the paintbrush and looked at what he had done. If the painting hadn't been ruined before, it certainly was now. He considered it for a moment, head tilted, and then looked at Imp. "Yes. Shit," he decided, seemingly unbothered by his failure. That had been fun.

calazeth

@Imp

"Three-tier?" Imp parroted, even as he moved amiably aside to let Calazeth have a go at the painting. It took him a minute to realize what the stranger had meant. He took up position behind him, and to one side, watching from a couple feet off over Calazeth's shoulder. And Imp showed no disapproval of the wild splashing of blue--maybe he didn't care, or maybe he was too caught up in what he began to say:

"OH! Theatre! -No! Oh shit, you gotta see it if you haven't! You can watch MOVIES. And shows! -Nest Nannies kinda sucks whenever Nemean's in it, because she's still a traitor but there's some good shit too. And you don't SEE music. You hear it! Like-... LALALALA," and he cleared his throat before breaking into proper song. He imitated the record that played in the ballroom: "Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy--but here's my number, so call me maybe! It's haaaard to look right, at you baby, but here's my number--so call me maybe!" He, of course, put WAY too much flourish into it, but he could apparently hold a tune, so there was that. Then he cleared his throat again.

"Kitchen's for food. So if you like to eat, that's where it's AT." Where -what- was at, he didn't clarify. Probably food. "Or the const-... Consh... Concession? Concession! Stand!" He coughed. "So you can do food AND a show. It's good. -So lemme know if you wanna see any of that."

He then fell silent, squinting at the blue splashes. Art was art, and he'd INVITED Calazeth to wreck it so it was hardly something he'd get annoyed about, but he had to admit it didn't help him figure out where to go next. Maybe black against the blue-? It'd look... abstract, like some kinda statement.

"Cool," he said at last, with a shrug. "It's fun, right? You could always come by and paint with me some time. Takes awhile to learn. This paint doesn't even wash off with water, you gotta use the weird stinky liquid to clean it." Oils were a pain. "So you mentioned Ursa? That where you live? You have any problems with the--what're they. Drones? The big white bug guys? -Don't you get cold?" Imp asked, peppering Calazeth with questions as he moved to cap his paints.

@Calazeth

You can have the weekends
We will live between them

Calazeth continued to just stare fairly blankly at Imp, eyes blinking slowly as he nodded along. He was saying a lot of words that the beast had never heard before - movies, shows, Next Nannies, Nemean, music, concession...even the song went far over his head although it wasn't for any lack of talent on Imp's part. He just didn't know what having a "number" meant and why one would sing about it.

"I would like to see a show," he hummed, thoughtfully. "What is a Nemean? I would like food too. Food is good. What is your favorite?" He was sure that was a good thing to ask - from the sounds of it, they had options and choices to choose from. The rabbit he'd chased from Ursa seemed long ago, and it hadn't been very big or filling.

There was a lot of options being put in front of him and Calazeth found himself mildly overwhelmed. He grunt as he thought them over, eyes squinting a bit. "I would like to do...many things? What do we do first?" Food sounded good, but food and a show? And the music sounded nice, if it was anything like Imp's singing.

The question surprised him and he looked up, blinking slowly. "The...drones?" Big white things? There were many big white things in Ursa, the mountains being two of them. But as for bugs..."I see them, I think. Sometimes. I do not cause them trouble, so they do not trouble me." He shrugged. He couldn't even be sure if he had seen these Drones, whatever they were. But they hadn't affected him much. He kept to himself.

calazeth

@Imp

It took Imp a couple of minutes to pack everything neatly up, and then fold it back into the blanket kept in a little basket he used to carry everything. It wasn't a perfect system; he usually had to make multiple trips, especially for the easel. He left that, for now; the paints were more valuable anyway. It was a pain getting more.

"Good they don't bother you!" Imp answered cheerfully, oblivious to the possibility that Calazeth himself was a drone. It never occurred to him. "Still seems cold as shit, though." Deep wisdom imparted, he slapped the lid of the basket loosely closed and squinted up. "We can catch a show right now, if you want! Depends on what's playing," he added. "Nemean's one of the masters. She boiled another Master alive for awhile--Master Farina, the one who made me cool--but she's a traitor. She's free now. Might be around the palace somewhere," he added, sounding unconcerned. "Real tiny, buzzes her wings, pink and gold and really you can't miss her. Drinks a lot."

And, ah yes, the question of food was a good one--at least judging by the way Imp's face lit up. It wasn't just an absent stare, lost in the memory of feasts, though. He looked, if anything, suddenly excited to potentially share this food with a stranger. "Oh, you GOTTA try it. There's corn dogs, they're not real dogs though, which is good, because there's a dog in the Library, and that'd be weird, and there's cotton candy which is like spiderweb but sweet like berries and fuckin' delicious, and there's popcorn, which I guess is corn? -Nedies makes corn--but this stuff's poofy and dry but like, buttery and salty. It's really good. And in the kitchen you can get soups and roasts, and whole-ass cakes if you ask really nicely. -You ever had a cake-?" Imp asked.

He continued jabbering about food for a few moments, until at last he'd managed to flip the basket's handle upward, catching it in his jaws. Then he blinked four eyes at Calazeth and, words muffled by his grip, asked: "Wa'a 'ee a 'ow?" (Which translated, probably mostly understandably, as 'want to see a show?')

@Calazeth