Imp returned some fifteen minutes later, a "to go" plate clenched precariously between his teeth. There were sausages on this plate, and gravy, and hot mashed potatoes; and Imp set this aside as he started to look over his equipment.

At some point, he'd gone and restarted the record; as time went on he continued to do this periodically, often whenever he seemed most lacking in inspiration. In, as it were, artistic muse.

He examined the paints, which--for a hybrid animal--apparently included sniffing and tasting them. Thus, Imp wound up with a black-stained tongue and (for a little while) rather dazed expression. But, true to his word and to that boundless energy that drove him, he soon got genuinely to work.

Much of it was testing: experimentation, throwing things (sometimes quite literally) at the canvas and seeing what would stick. It took him time to figure out how to thin the paint and clean the brushes, as expected; it took time to figure out what colors mixed, and how long the paint took to dry, and which brushes were best for which strokes.

The palette knives he rapidly gave up on, though at one point he did appear to be trying to eat one.

He painted, in the end, a number of beginner's paintings: a line of flowers whose heads were little flames, and a bad, sketch-style painting of Farina with a large number of penis eyestalks (this one seemed far more celebrative, even reverent, of the master--as if these penises were a trophy prize)... He painted one canvas entirely black, and then as an afterthought (and it required a lot of paint, to cover that black with lighter hues) added a giant orange triangle, and an almost mysterious-looking pale orb beside it. And then, of course, Imp spent a very long time on the largest canvas he could find.

Upon this one he painted Master Vargas.

Except Vargas's hammerhead was distinctly malformed, twisted into a rather heart-like shape, bulbous and shining. A thick vein ran down his back, and his quills were notably absent--at least, in this iteration. Undoubtedly, there'd be more. His many toes, too, were bulbous--and notably each also bore a vein and was, rather obviously, clawless.

Imp laughed at this one, quietly, and cursed at the canvas now and then.

The entire time he worked, he spent time pausing to eat, or to wander off to loop the bizarre vinyl; by the end he was cheerfully singing along, having seemingly forgotten Aethril's presence, wholly in his element.

It was a whole new world, for Imp--and he was gonna paint it all.

When at last he'd finished, waning half the day away, he glanced to Aethril questioningly. "I think this one's my favorite," he admitted--pointing, perhaps surprisingly, not to Vargas but to the strange, black canvas with its brilliant-bright shapes.

As if in afterthought, head tilted, he leaned forward and made a tiny orange ring at the bottom--a signature, apparently, and one he went around adding to the bottom of all the rest.

"These are taking awhile to learn... but I think I'll get better at it with practice. I could paint all sorts of shit," he mused. "Maybe I'll sleep, and then paint Cetus. Home. Or Canis with all its bones. Or Hydra! I've been there, you know--I'm a Champion, twice. Once while I was blind!" Strange, he'd been so taken with all the artwork, he'd forgotten to brag about it all before. "...So I could paint that. Maybe I'll paint some sausages," he added, with a glance at his now-empty plate.

He certainly had experience creating their general shape, anyway.

@Aethril

For the most part, Aethril remained.

'Hanging out' might have been the most accurate descriptor-- but her attention was most rapt in the early stages of Imp's session-- his experimentation, examinations ("don't eat or drink the paint, you will get sick") and earliest work. Once or twice, she arose from the lounge to inspect splatters on the canvases when Imp was fumbling with water and paint thinner and cloths, before returning to her seat.

Once or twice, she left, too-- wordlessly, with little more than a dip of her head only if Imp happened to look her way when she glided out of the door. She was never gone for long, either. At most, it was half an hour before she appeared again draped on the chaise like silk finery, with a confectionary cup of grape soda from the theatre.

She fell asleep, finally, when Imp was implying purple paint to a canvas. He seemed to have the hang of it in that moment, and Aethril was more than happy to take advantage of the gentle scratching of bristles on textured fabric. When she awoke, peacefully and rested, it was to a neon purple chode on the canvas.

The Valkhand did not know why she expected anything less.

"I think that one is my favourite, too," she said-- and it was interesting to see how Imp was often painting as though he were still scrawling on cave walls-- even when he painted flaming flowers, he added no background. Perhaps that's why the abstract canvas took so much attention. "This is good work."

At the mention of Hydra, Aethril looked at Imp anew. "Impressive," was all she said-- but she meant it. He was twice the champion Overseer Cain was, which only made Imp even more of an engima. "You are not like most of the other Gembound here."

Most didn't have the audacity to paint Masters as veiny penises, for one.

"I'll have the room cleaned out and fresh canvases for when you return, if you're ready to rest."

@Imp

"Thanks, Aethril," Imp answered, and it was mostly heartfelt--what of his heart wasn't currently distracted by him squinting at his finished works.

The lack of background was something Imp was noticing, too. He'd been scrutinizing, in particular, Master Farina's questionable portrait. The sheer white in the background-... there was something missing. It needs stuff behind it, Imp realized, his skill improving as a questionable artist. At length, in response to Aethril's offer, he pointed at it. "...I'm gonna redo that one," he decided, and then glanced sidelong at the fire-flowers, too.

Those, too, looked silly--amateurish--on white. Granted, he was an amateur--but he was trying to get better! "Maybe those, too." He looked up at her, bright-eyed. "I'm ready to rest," he confirmed, and then glanced for the door. He doubted he'd be offered, like, a hotel room here--but maybe Aethril knew a good spot out in the gardens where he could flop down, or something? "Know any good safe spots for an arteeeest to sleep out there?" he asked.

His mind, though, was half thinking of the Farina portrait--maybe he could draw her underwater, shrouded in boiling green fire.

And he already had another idea, too. "Also... You know if there's any gold shit I can use anywhere? Like, glittery stuff to put into the paint." He wanted to paint Astraea.

On a dark background, swathed in shining gold, his ruby eyes menacing.

With penises for antlers.

@Aethril

Aethril dipped her head, glancing over the portrait of Farina. "I'll leave it here for you to work on next time, then," she said-- she was idly lifting the canvas with the bright shapes up by its back so that she didn't touch the potentially still-damp paint.

She studied it for a time, before her attention went back towards Imp. The chair had been for him to rest in-- but perhaps it was not good enough for him, or perhaps she had marked it as her own terrritory too soon. "By the river, or under the tree on the hill," was her suggestion otherwise. Those were fairly prime napping spots for her, other than the Palace courtyards, which she would rather not give up.

Some things were just too precious.

"I don't have any gemstones to spare," she went on, speaking of precious. "But if you find any in a colour that you would like, I can give you something to grind them up with. If they're fine enough, you can mix them with your paint."

Aethril would know, with the amount of gold shit in her wardrobe.

@Imp

"Perfect! Thanks. I'll look for that." He was half disappointed he hadn't been offered some grand suite, and it didn't occur to him to straight-up claim the painting room as his new apartment, but he'd sort himself out.

Anyway... he wanted to explore, a little. Imp hadn't been able to fly properly in an age, and he'd been absolutely exulting in it; flying blind had been far too fucking dangerous. Now-? Now he wanted to fly around and look at everything--every color, every intricate shape, in all its grand minutae.

Hell, maybe he could paint it all later.

Again he fixed Aethril with a thoughtful eye. She wasn't his friend--he'd have liked to have claimed as much, but if she was one of the Masters or even higher up, he figured it was more a boss-employee sorta thing. It didn't stop his gratitude, and his "Hey, uh-... thanks. Again," was awkward but again heartfelt.

He squinted, a little, looking at her and then hastily around the room. "I'll find some gold shit," he assured her. "Then I'll rest, and I'll come back. Y'know, I was--blind, for ages? They ripped my eyes out. So being able to see again-..."

He hesitated. This whole "nice" and "honest" thing wasn't at all familiar to him, so he just shrugged his wings, after a moment, and said--"It's fuckin' nice, yeah? -I've got a lot to paint."

Then he turned, looking around--and glanced back, as if to make sure Aethril hadn't anything more to say just now.

@Aethril
(maybe exit? i might pop a new one up later though)

It was an oddly genuine smile that crossed the Valkhand's face; one that felt strange even to her. When was the last time she let a smile touch her eyes to someone she was not all that familiar with? She did not like the idea of being known for her bleeding heart.

But something about it rang with her: she felt sympathy for Imp. He'd been betrayed and attacked and blinded, and for what? A couple of drawings of Nemean's monster cock on a few walls? It didn't sit right with her, the... unfairness of it.

"You'll like the view from the tree," she said, softly. It wasn't compared to anything on the surface, but for someone who had only known the caves their whole life? It was more than fine. "I hope you find inspiration, where ever you choose to go."

She watched Imp leave and, a beat after his tail left the doorway, she turned her attention to the other paintings.

Where to put them?

@Imp
;;exit