Flesh-Stick: Thanks Ezekiel. But what hiding place are you talking about?
She blinks slowly. “Do not know. Just repeating what Sir tells the urchins when they are troubled. It seems work in the end, but not at first.” Ezekiel makes a humming noise, as if it’s thinking too hard.
Isaree gives a slight nod at the change in conversation, silently excusing herself from it. Glancing around the room, she notices a woman surrounded by books, charcoal in hand. She pulls up a chair near the desk and smiles. "An artist, are you? Those poses look complicated…"
edited by A Wayward Soul on 7/6/2016
The Dean knocks before entering, a bottle of mead in one hand and a rather full messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
/* Edit: if this is a private rp just lemme know and I’ll take my leave! */
"I do hope I’m not intruding! I was told this was the place for quiet study and discussion."
edited by Dean Lee on 7/6/2016
(OOC: It’s not a private roleplay, you’re welcome to come in.)
V. glanced up upon hearing someone address her, "I dabble a bit, but I wouldn’t exactly call myself an artist." She shuffled a few sketches together, "It’s only a matter of practice. Although I still can’t get these blasted proportions right…
Well, enough about me. Are you interested in the arts? I’m under the assumption most who come here prefer to read rather than look at pictures."
Flesh-Stick: I like to look at pictures. Big fat stuffy books can get kinda dull.
looks over your shoulder at the sketches
The Dean: strolls over to the window and nods appriatively at the garden outside before pulling a chair up to a desk.
He gingerly places the messenger bag down and opens the mead with a loud ‘pop’.
“Anybody care for a drink?”
“They’re very nice sketches, though. Proportions are tricky things…and originally I was here to read. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the arts, though I can barely sketch an apple,” Isaree comments and quickly glances in the direction of a ‘pop’. “I’ll be all right, thank you!”
Flesh-Stick: You can’t drawn an apple?? Even I can do that.
draws a circle, with a single line sticking off the top. Adds an oval at the base of the stem for a leaf, then sits back and looks at his handiwork
There! Now you know! And we all know that’s half the battle nods sagely
Ezekiel looks at Fleshy’s drawing. “Resembles pear.”
Flesh-Stick: So does your mother
(Oh noes. Your mom jokes exist in the Neath now).
V. wrinkled her nose a bit at the offering of mead. "I’ll pass, thank you."
"That’s not a bad apple, Flesh-Stick. Doesn’t resemble a pear in the slightest." Her mouth quirked into an amused smile, "Speaking of which, Ezekiel, do you even have a biological mother? You’ll have to excuse my prodding; I’m curious."
edited by EnigmaticVixen on 7/7/2016
"Not a problem," the Dean says to Isaree and V. He pours himself a glass just in time to smile into it at Flesh-stick’s retort. After taking a few sips, he strolls over to the group and examines Flesh-stick’s handiwork.
edited by Dean Lee on 7/7/2016
“What did your parents look like anyways, Ezekiel?
Why are you here in London, while we are at it?”
“Did not have parents in way humanlike would imagine.” Ezekiel chatters. “Came from somewhere else. Up high. But not here to talk about This One.”
“Well, of course you didn’t have oarents that raised you.
But what is your ancestry? Where did the fungal gametes that combined to form you come from?”
Ezekiel points up. “First memory is of falling. Nothing else is gleamed.”
Isaree turns to better face the group, tilting her head in interest. “Did no one witness you falling?”
“Sir did. Took This One in. Planted This One. Gave purpose.” Ezekiel breaks ‘eye’ contact. “Is not easy thing to come by. Perhaps Sir is mother.”