#whispering-brushes

[kniiightt]

Edgar's eyes seem narrow, belonging to a man who refuses to let himself be connected, who turns away from the portraits in the halls, who can be captivated by the simplest of seasonal changes yet turned away by the simplest of human interaction.

At this moment, his judging eyes have fallen upon Richard Sterling. The posture, the finery, the expression. Even if Edgar didn't know if the knight was trying to hide a weakness, he almost hoped so, if only because he couldn't stand the thought of someone who held themselves up so high, who had such a seemingly unshakable confidence, and to have it be justified, to see someone who really was the nuisance their first impression painted of them. If anything, it may have come from not wanting to be cornered, not wanting to be backed into the place he was with Sarai again. But he can't escape the manor like he did his home. So he simply judges. So he stares, a huff escaping him. A noble though he was, the way he was expected to dance around the point in the name of 'politeness' was something he could barely stand on good days.

"Who is this sad little person?"

(Referencing the Devil Wears Prada prompts!) @whispering-brushes

━ 「  . ⁺ ┇ PROMPTS FROM THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA ︳ @whispering-brushes ✕ ACCEPTING 」

The invitation had lead him to this strange manor. The promise of finding the one he's seeking for were nothing but empty words. She wasn't here and now Richard was stuck in this place. It didn't mean he wasn't going to make the best out of the situation but there was a certain irritation in the back of his mind. If it where for him, he'd leave this place and never come back, continuing his search.

His mind has been occupied with different thoughts, yet from the corner of his eyes he could see the other. At first, he doesn't move, simply leaving his gaze follow something outside the window that he was standing nearby, unbothered by the presence of the other and his gaze. ( If he was being honest, it didn't bother him at all. The painter could stare all he wanted. It wasn't like Richard saw him as intimidating or anything of that sort. )

The voice from the other was enough to get him to finally shift his gaze from the window to Edgar, a small fake smile on his face as he did so. Politeness was not the other's strength but Richard was hardly one to feel attacked by such a thing. Here in this place with all those different people, he almost expected some of them to act that way.

" Quite the way with words that you have. " He looks at the other, from the bottom to the top, holding his own head high as he did so. "Are you addressing me? " The knight chuckles, almost taunting. " If so, whatever assumption you're having about me is wrong.~"

[ask-idv-soulweaver]

( @whispering-brushes )

A knock sounds on the actress's door, the painter attempting to keep his stance tall as he holds his completed work. "Happy birthday, Violetta." Even if the words do not reflect in his face or voice, the painting depicts delicate silk strings, as if gossamer, framing the stage at Moon River: though, artistic liberty is taken to ensure that it appears the stage is glowing even as light filters through the curtains at the side in visible rays, that the petals of all colors lining the floor like a carpet are bringing further life upon it. "If you need me to help hang this up somewhere, I can do that for you." Edgar was not one for portraits, and for once, instead of his shoddy and rushed sketches in matches, he wanted to paint something of importance. Something other than a quick impression that he had barely any time to properly put to canvas, other than the most surface-level kind of catering to someone possible.

When she opened the door her limbs froze in place, not expecting to see Edgar ( @whispering-brushes ) on the other side, even less with him holding a finished canvas. Thanks to the special occasion she has an excuse to take off her mask, giving her a small break from the role she's been playing for years. Her birthday... she doesn't know if it really is on January 2nd, no one ever bothered to tell her when she was born, not even the man she called her father. And yet, it just feels right, to have a whole day for herself.

"M-Mister Valden..." The woman with braids looks around in nervousness, unsure on what to do. Besides the happy wishes from most people and the costumes she was given, getting such a meaningful gesture isn't something she could've seen coming, much less something as intricate as a full painting from the other brunette. "There's no need! I... I appreciate it, a lot. Y-you went through the effort of making this beautiful piece... That's more that I can ask for." Violetta grabs the finished artwork, carefully, appreaciating the picture like it was made of glass, not wanting to ruin it with her hands. She hopes that he understands her reasons for not using his help, believing that it would be more of an inconvenience than she currently is - kindness isn't something that she takes for granted. At least one thing is certain: She loves the gift.