Room 210; Friday Afternoon [01/17].

[white_oleander]

After making a quick trip for supplies, Astrid returned to the room, ready to get started on her next project, although it wasn't painting the wall. Not yet, anyway; that she might start on tomorrow, a good task to fill the weekend. But, for now, she'd taken a sheet and spread it out in the middle of the room, before settling down in the middle of it, with brushes and paints, mostly blue, and things to mix in to make various shades of blue, and a small stack of teardrop-shaped wood that she'd cut out and sanded in shop class earlier.

And so she set off to lose herself for the rest of the day in her work, occasionally stopping a moment to lift one of the shapes to her face and breathe in the once-familiar scent before setting it down and slathering it, covering it, burying it in blue.

[[ door and post are open! ]]

Comments

[white_oleander]

Astrid watched the pink blob move around her set-up, smiling faintly when it settled on the chair. "Better view from there, huh?" she asked. "Well, just make sure to make a noise if I forget you're there. I'd hate to accidentally sit on you.

"Do you have art," she added, conversationally, although she knew she couldn't understand the pink blob, but she had a feeling the pink could understand her, "where you're from? It's hard to imagine anyone being from a place without art, though. That's what all this is; it's going to be part of a bigger art piece."

[bookbeltof_love]

Foomy burbled his answer back at her. Oh, they did! They did! Not this kind, because it was sort of… human, really, though it was interesting to watch. A small piece of a big piece made sense to him! He was just a small piece of his family, after all, and together they made up a (much) bigger piece.

After trailing off there with a series of thoughtful beebles, Foomy launched into what was unmistakably a song, crooning the notes to form a melody.

[white_oleander]

Astrid strained a little bit, to try to listen more closely, to try and parse out some sort of meaning beyond the clear agreement and explanation, but all she heard were burbles. They were pleasant-sounding, though, so she didn't mind, smiling faintly again as the burbles turned into singing.

That was much easier to listen to as she continued painting. "That's very pretty," she said. "Would you mind singing to keep me company while I paint? I think that'll be nice, don't you?"

[bookbeltof_love]

Well, he could interrupt his song to agree but—wasn't it much easier, and nicer, to just keep on singing?

Foomy rolled around the chair-top before settling down more comfortably and continued singing. He'd sing all afternoon, if she liked. He didn't mind at all! He couldn’t get very loud, but it was a quiet room, if she was just doing her art, so he'd be heard…

[white_oleander]

This place. Astrid shook her head slightly. Where else but here would have her cringing and nibbling on bits of stale cookies in a volcanic pit one week, only to turn around and have her painting teardrops in memorial to the burbling singing of a tiny pink jelly-slime thing that she was pretty sure becoming her new friend?

And at least it was some small comfort knowing that there was more of things like the latter than the former...for the most part.

So she was just quiet, for a while, as she continued painting, just enjoying the moment for what it was...surreal, bizarre....but nice. Simple. Something she wouldn't mind sticking around for a least a little while, though it did feel a little undeserved.