Aisling the art instructor [Short/Slice-of-Life] (Old Log)

SibattiSibatti Amidst vibrant flora and treesMember Posts: 275 ✭✭✭✭
edited May 24 in Roleplay Logs
Caveat: This log is SUPER old (2017-era) that I never got around to posting, but I really like it.

Sibatti learned that Aisling is a skilled artist and asked for her guidance, as she herself is struggling with the basics of drawing from life. Aisling gave Sibatti a sketchbook to practice in and told her to just start drawing everything she sees.

After a few weeks of following these instructions, Sibatti asked Aisling to review her work.

You have emoted: Sibatti claims a seat on the grassy roof, opting for a spot with a good view of the lake. She pulls out a familiar leather sketchbook and sets it on the ground between her legs.

You drop a leather sketchbook marked with a wolf's skull.

On the grassy roof of a barrow home.
The sun shines down warmly from the cloudless sky, standing at the apex of its arc through the heavens. A leather sketchbook lays open on the grass. Aisling Morrog is here.
You see a single exit leading down.

Aisling moves to settle beside you, dropping heavily onto her rear, eyes immediately moving towards the sketchbook. Straight to the point, as usually is the case with her, "Perspective could use work." She comments, quietly, and reaches out, as to turn the page, "May I?"

You say, in Mhun, "Of course!"

You say, in Mhun, "That's why you're here, right?"

You open a leather sketchbook marked with a wolf's skull to page 1 and begin reading.

"(untitled)", Page 1, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(The page is covered with rudimentary sketches, with many of them
overlapping as if the artist were aiming to use all available space
within the page during these rough drafts. Each of them are simple
objects - books, mainly, of many different sizes and with varying
details. The perspective is wrong on some of them.)

"(untitled)", Page 2, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(A few items are on this page, spaced out generously. Each of them are
symmetrical objects of easy shape - cabinets, tables, and boxes. The
artist shows increasing skill in drawing within three dimensions.)

"(untitled)", Page 3, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(This page has a rough, shaky outline of what looks to be some type of
horned undulate, but was hastily abandoned.)

"(untitled)", Page 4, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(Instead of sketches, this page is taken up entirely by the meticulous
markings of a tailoring pattern, which looks to be some sort of shirt.)

"(untitled)", Page 5, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(Dozens of flowers of an impressive array of sizes and varieties cover
the open page, each one described down to the finite details. Feathery
strokes give the petals a visible texture, and delicate shading contours
the blossoms into soft dimension. Each flower improves upon the prior,
marking improvement over time.)

"(untitled)", Page 6, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(More flowers cover the page as the artist tackles more difficult shapes
- larkspur, foxgloves, hyacinths and scintililies. A few bee are doodled
into the edges of the paper, great artistic liberty taken with their

"(untitled)", Page 7, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(The flowing form of an eland occupies the lion's share of the page,
accompanied by a minimalistic background. The eland's otherworldly shape
is forgiving of the lack of detail, lines moving artistically to
illustrate its shifting form.)

"(untitled)", Page 8, by Esrytesh Sibatti dur Naya.
(Simple but striking, the silhouette of a howling wolf is in the center
of the page, much reverence given to the sketch through careful and
deliberate strokes.)

Aisling begins looking through, never making a move to pull the sketchbook to her grip. She hums to herself, no approval or disapproval in her gaze, only a small, idle smile, "You really like scintililies." The Ranger comments, as she inspects the work.

You have emoted: Sibatti glances over at Aisling, ears low in the way a creature might placate someone for sympathy. "They were Kiyotan's favorite flower," she replies.

Aisling's gaze does not rise to find you, nor the pitiful, lowered ears, "I hate them." She murmurs, under her breath, before speaking up again, "You're definitely better, I can give you a few examples on perspective."

You have emoted: Sibatti palms the piece of lent charcoal, which she holds up between her index finger and thumb. It is barely an inch long now, whittled down by use. She smiles shakily.

Aisling glances up at the movement, and at the expression, she raises a brow, her smile fading, "Is something wrong?"

You have emoted: Sibatti manipulates the charcoal nub so that her palm is upward, and the drawing utensil in the center of it. "Oh, nothing, I... I so rarely speak his name. I jarred myself, heh."

You have emoted: Sibatti declines to comment further, glancing away.

"Old lovers are a curse." Aisling murmurs, tone lowering, her words coming despite your clear discomfort, "Can never forget, and then, they cling to you in every other way."

Aisling Morrog says, "In a flower. In a scent."

You have emoted: "He's not a --" Sibatti clips her words short with a clicking of teeth, eyes darting about suddenly. "This is your life you are speaking to now," she points out.

Aisling rumbles, shaking her head, "And yet, a mutter of his name is enough." The woman comments, and makes to rise to her feet. "I'll send a letter with some sketches, exercises for you to attempt. Your work is getting better - all that is left is practice."

You have emoted: Sibatti leans forward, both of her hands coming down on the open page as she shifts her weight onto her arms. "Hey!" she objects, both ears flicking forward aggressively and brow lowering. "What's all this, now? You have something to say on this? Speak direct, none of this murmuring discontent."

You have emoted: The charcoal in Sibatti's grip is crushed underneath, smudging the wolf silhouette in her carelessness.

Aisling raises a brow at the display, offering nothing in return to the tension that she created. "I've nothing." The woman says, slowly, "Be at ease." It's almost a command, by her tone, but it lacks a straight posture and a firm look that usually accompany one from the Ranger.

You have emoted: The look of indignation Sibatti sends Aisling does not subside, and in fact only deteriorates further once she realizes what she's done with the charcoal and book. "Oooh!" she exclaims as she sits back, exasperation adding to the mix. She wipes her palm on her bare leg, transferring the smudge from hand to thigh.

Aisling manages a small smile at this, amusement, some hint of an apology to her words, "Easy, now." The woman says, and offers a butterfly emblazoned handkerchief she pulls from her belt to you, "It's really not important."

Little more than a square cut of white cotton, the attention of this handkerchief is placed on the embellishment at the center of the fabric. Embroidered in purple and golden thread is a butterfly with fanning wings to express its flight. Trailing behind it is a dotting of jade thread and chasing it is a white wolf that is outlined by black. Meticulous care has gone into the shimmering blue thread that creates snowflakes around the feet of the lupine that chases the fluttering insect.
It weighs 2 ounce(s).
The symbol of a single feather, its vane like cracked ice, has been etched into the piece.

You have emoted: The handkerchief is in Sibatti's free hand, and she is momentarily distracted by the embroidered design. It is enough to quell her indignation, though not enough to return her spirited demeanor as it had been prior. Her lips a thin line and eyes expressionless, she hands the small piece of fabric back to Aisling wordlessly.

"Are you upset at me?" Aisling asks, taking a moment to look over the handkerchief herself before carefully tucking it back in her belt, "I overstepped. I apologize."

Sibatti folds her arms over her chest, her tail snaking out to curve into a sinuous shape behind her shoulders. "I was," she answers truthfully, and a little grumpily. "You are forgiven, though. But, I do not feel the same as you when it comes to old lovers." Her face softens, the last remnants of her incendiary emotions snuffing out. She traces a claw gingerly over the sketched figure, smoothing away the smudge as best she is able. "So there is some difference there between you and I. Sorry that it brings you pain."

Aisling tilts her head, ".. I do not agree." She rumbles, "A curse, because it stays. It is carried, and the absence hurts." It's a slow movement, the Ranger lowering into a crouch beside you once more, tone growing quieter. Her chill is more easily felt, as if growing worse, "You spoke his name, and it shook you. I see scintililies, and it stirs something in me."

Aisling Morrog says, "Do you see?"

The tail swishes once, taking on a different shape in the air. Sibatti locks eyes with Aisling and says, matching tone for tone, "I do see. But ... it comes down to perspective, right? I won't sketch the same drawing even if we're looking at the same thing." The wolf silhouette is somewhat salvaged, with a lingering smudge on the page that could perhaps be interpreted as shadow. She closes the sketchbook gently. "I am happy to remember those things, and being sad or moved by missing them. It reminds me that I once had something that was so great, so meaningful, that I feel its absence so sharply!"

"Perhaps it is a matter of how they left." Aisling comments, quietly, mostly to herself. ".. I'll send a letter." The Ranger repeats, and makes to rise again, "You're so much like your sisters."

Sibatti perks up visibly at the mention of her sisters, an easy smile making its way onto her features again. She hugs the sketchbook close to her chest and gives Aisling a fond farewell wave.
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