IC INBOX / BUSINESS CARD ( ARCHIVE AS OF 12/13 )

[manuscripture]

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[ Somewhere around town-- at the bookstore, the Tomoe-Kaname Bakery, attached to posts and notice boards --you find a small white notecard. On it is printed a little message and some numbers in ornate lettering. If you look closely, it reads the following: ]

Rohan Kishibe, Mangaka & Visual Artist
Owner Pro Tempore of Ebony Threads Tailor Shop
Highly Experienced.
Commissions & Advertising For Hire
Pay Negotiable.
Contact At: 512.66.730.91 for inquiries
Castle Lüvchaque - Directly North of Bavan per appointment ONLY.

(( feel free to use this as an action-based prompt too. any random interactions will MOST LIKELY take place in the form of walk-ins at the tailor shop unless it's pre-planned. just drop a starter in here! ))

Comments

coils around but in a friend way

[manuscripture]

[ Oh, she wants to leave. That's unacceptable. She's just gotten settled in and so has he. Not that he ever wants Yuzu to overstay her welcome. This time, he wants to utilize her. People run hot when they are upset, but Rohan runs deathly cold. No Jotaro, no warmth. He's got this one in the bag right at this second. ]

Hold on. [ He slinks back around to the front desk, making one perfect, discreet circle around her with the length of his body. Rummaging, rummaging, Rohan is looking for his book whilst the extraneous part of his tail moves backward and leaves his front half looking like it isn't moving at all. Yes, he's quietly trying to wind stacks of his coils around in that circle without drawing her attention too closely. ]

When you left a few weeks ago, I began working on something. You hadn't needed to stick around for it. [ Now he moves backward. Nonchalantly opening the book and thumbing, he neglects to acknowledge that he has her surrounded by literal dozens of feet of his tail-- yet none of it is touching her. He's keeping her heat in one place. He turns it to show her a page bearing her likeness frozen in her shadow-cutting maneuver he had wanted to see so badly. From the edges of her claws fly spatters of ink to mimic the shadow she hurled toward the canvas. Pointy horns, those extra eyes ablaze in black and white with her bow-shaped wings flared and glittering with a gradient to match her scales. She is throwing that shadow from one page to the other.

Like she is in a comic book. ]

I was so impressed with that ability you showed me. I would like to use it some time and wanted to keep it close for reference. What do you think?

okay kaa

[operadiance]

[ A little surprised by the request, she leans back against the stool, watching him dig through the desk. Her tail flicks a little to find a position to relax, her wings still folded in close; her hands grab the seat to keep it from skidding across the hard floor and knocking her to the ground.

He talks over the shifts of paper and shifts of scales across the ground; her claws tap at the underside of the stool seat, expression neutral. Like she's not going to notice a tactic like that... hasn't she told him before that she lives with a Naga?

When he brings the sketchbook her way, flipping to the proper page, she peers at him a moment before turning her gaze to the book. Of course, it's not the prismatic magnificence of the first portrait, but it is beautiful. There's a real sense of Action to it — like her arm really were in mid-motion, and that the sweep of the throw will resume in only a moment.

Here is his compliment: those blue eyes, whose color he worked so hard to capture, are focused on that page — but so too are the eyes that sit above them. Wider set, similarly veined with rivulets of gold like mortar, theirs is a different hue entirely, a reddish purple close to opaque ruby.

She hasn't opened them before him, before now — but she doesn't look at him with them. ]

I'm glad I don't have to deal with all that anymore. [ Something like a joke, a hand hovering over the page, fingers indicating the bars on her tail. ] It's amazing... your memory is really strong, isn't it?

[ A furrow, as she looks towards the ink crossing the page. ]

What do you mean, use it?

sure rojan

[manuscripture]

[ He's only guessed what that second set looks like. Thankfully any errors in his prediction of their color are absent in black, white, and shades of gray. Yuzu's everything always seems to be a surprise. There hasn't been a time he's seen her where something new didn't pop up.

She indicates the parts she's glad she doesn't have anymore and he replies to her physically with a shrug of his shoulders. ]

The memory is an artist's greatest tool, Miss Hiiragi. I've already told you they're my forte. [ There's a chance that might get her into Lecturing Mode and he continues without a beat. ]

For my manga, I mean. Or anything one-shot that I think it would be appropriate for. [ His finger hovers over the outline of ACTION YUZU™, following how smooth it is. ] The fluidity it possessed at a short distance like that could be useful if I need to grant an ability to one of my characters. Gargoyles are clunky creatures who are not often associated with such gracefulness. It is like when I watch Jotaro fly or when he tried to swim at the beach a few weeks ago. I'm astounded every time I get the opportunity to view something so intimate and exceedingly rare. Not many monster types surprise me anymore. Gargoyles pull things out of their hats that never cease to impress me.

[operadiance]

Clunky? [ The descriptor takes her by surprise. Yuzu glances up from the page, upper eyes closing quickly for shifting focus. (And though she knows she needs to practice using them if she wants them to be useful, it's too nauseating to take in so much excess detail for very long.)

Still, a word like that — it doesn't seem to match the ones she knows. Yusei was always so dexterous with everything, with white scales that mirrored the moonlight better than still water; Rio with her pale look, a source of fire somehow carved from a glacial shelf. The trepidatious darkness of Yuto, the strength and vigor of Suou, when those two still walked this world... ]

Maybe you just haven't seen the right ones.

[ A pause, considering. Then again, none of them were any good at dancing, and she doubted that Jotaro of his was particularly elegant.

She shrugs; within that motion, the lower bulbs of her wings unhook, allowing the limbs to hang out a little wider, less bound. There's no risk to anything knocking over, but with a greater surface area exposed, more heat enters the air.

Not as sneaky as he'd hoped. ]

Where do the others fall? The other forms we're forced into.

[ MONSTER HOT OR NOT. ]

[manuscripture]

[ That Jotaro of his is also built like a bulldozer so take or leave his definition of graceful in the terms of rock dragons.

His coils close a little bit on the air, siphoning it both around herself and trapping it against his scales. She's no doubt seen through his cleverly-constructed and lazy ruse. Until she hits him, he's not going to unwind. Nope. ]

Not counting nagas? I'm convinced that we are the most beautiful of all the monsters but that also factors in my penchant for vanity. [ He admitted it. Amazing. ] I like drawing harpies an awful lot. Mers too. Goblins are plain. Wendigos move in a manner I find bizarrely appealing...

It's hard to place a label on any one species because of how diverse they all are. You and Jotaro are excellent specimens of gargoyles, for one without my own bias. I have seen and drawn and painted so many things...

There is a troll girl who is one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever laid eyes on.

What about you?

[operadiance]

[ Nagas... the most beautiful.......nagas.. She can't help it. She bites both of her lips back as far as her teeth will allow, a curled hand pressing hard against her mouth, trying to suppress a tremble for a laugh. Sure, Kishibe might have that art house inkblot vibe going for him, the naga she thinks of first is Yuya — with his bright, clashing stripes and the cute (whip) viper in his hair and his candy-crayon coloration and the size and spectacle of his rattle, the easy target in the shape of an inflated human hand, like a mascot costume glove tied to the end, locked in the wide-finger splay of a wave.

She loves him, but beautiful isn't the word.

With effort she forces laughter down, steadying her mood the longer he goes on — for each type of creature he names, she thinks of who she knows bearing that pelt, who bore that skin before. The ones who are still alive, and the ones— ]

Me? [ Oh, her opinions. ] Eh, just on looks alone, or anything?