Samandriel is broken (ofimagination) wrote in childofeden_rp, @ 2014-04-21 20:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: derek hale, character: samandriel, location: crescent hills preserve, thread: complete, |week: 13, ~date: 09/september 30 |
Who: Derek Hale & Samandriel
Where: Hale Preserve
When: Monday evening/duskish - week 13
Why: Baby Former Angel allowed on Pack Land
Warning: Probably some growling, doubtful of anything serious but will update as necessary
The invitation had been a bit of a surprise. It was like the angel and the wolf were in a battle of wills and the pseudo olive branch was extended when the former proved to be far more tenacious for his own good.
So, Samandriel went out for the evening on land where he was absolutely permitted now half in hopes of running into Derek himself and half just wanting to sit in the woods and find peace. Pencils scratching against paper, a darker, softer one pressed between his lips before he switched back to it, he wasn't drawing anything in the woods. The woods were merely the location. Landscapes and still life was all well and good, but for Samandriel portraits were the best way he could express things, could capture their essence as he saw them.
The brother he was drawing was one he hadn't seen in a while. A while was, of course, relative to human time and not angelic. He knew what his vessel looked like, but with human eyes and human skill, he couldn't properly capture the glory of his brother's true form. He wouldn't want to. Dark hair and stern, critical pale eyes sat looking back at him, the basic outline of a face that seemed in perpetual contemplation with one brow ever so slightly furrowed in confusion. He was beautiful. They were all beautiful, of course, but even human, Imagination was skilled at capturing things which could not technically be seen by anyone other than an artist or a lover.
He was aware of nothing in the woods save his work and the rapidly dimming light as he worked to get as much of a start as he could. Another pencil tucked behind his ear and he went for a third, a fourth beating out a rapid rhythm in his off hand.
He missed his family. They wouldn't hear him now. It hurt far too much to think about, and Mitchell only managed to flail and worry when Samandriel cried. In the woods, he could cry, let a few stray tears hit his paper and leave stains spreading over fiber and graphite alike.