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send me a ▲& i will put our character’s names into this generator and i’ll write a starter based on the scenario that comesup! » Lucia drawing Namie
Sighs of exasperation had become her new accessory of the day. Drumming the partially chewed end of her pencil against the sketch pad, she shot weary glances at her improv model, intimidated by both the beauty and confidence which she exuded. "I am telling you, please... it is essential for you to sit still otherwise I cannot capture the essence of you. Understand?" Control, the little she had, was put in practise as she attempted to control her voice -- still, a quaver here and a stutter there betrayed all discipline set in place.
As her newly discovered muse settled back into a suitable pose -- the position highlighting a certain allure rare in even the finest of people -- her blunt pencil began to move once more, a mixture of long sweeping gestures and concise flicks of the wrist creating creating the serene sound of lead against paper; a sort of soft scratching that slowly situated itself into the hearts of all those with art flowing their veins. An indistinguishable feeling consumes those who enjoy creation, it's a difficult thing to describe or to even pinpoint but through it passion is born; a raw and innate love which even time can not erase.
Time dwindles into nothingness as each painstakingly small detail is observed and replicated; although she has avoided art for a while, the skills previously acquired had yet to diminish. At this angle, the natural light illuminating the enchanter's expression; there is a sense of delicacy and air of grace to the soft features of the other female which contrast with the sharpness of her eyes -- the juxtaposition brings forth fascination in such an exquisite creature.
The distance between artist and art had gradually declined and at one point the tip of her nose had grazed against the surface. Frantic eyes darted from subject to sheet at an alarmingly repetitive (if not annoyingly so) rate. It was almost as though she was desperately trying to discover any potential missed detail; a single stray hair or faint freckles or anything of the sort. A soft murmur of reassurance accompanied the sound of pencil against pad echoed against the crème walls of the makeshift studio. "It's completed almost, just hold on for a seccie-- few pieces remaining."
Sitting upright (for the first time since god knows when), eyes squinting as though she was glancing at the direction of the sun rather than a person, she searched for the missing piece; the resulting in a reaction which reminded her that actually she was dealing with a human. Still, the desire to perfect this piece over weighed all responsibilities of attempting to be a socially acceptable soul -- she'd make up for that some other time. For now her only concern was completion.
