Colors of Remnant

Light as a feather alighting on the canvas, the brush swayed and stroked its mark with intent. The paint was black, as was the handle, the hand, the sleeve that belonged to the artist. Delicate silk fingers, fragile as glass, held it back for a moment, before applying more paint to the clean white that waited. Her movements were slow, calculated. The sound of the brush on the canvas echoed the gentle breeze that blew, rustling the green of the grass below and the calm that filled Sable's mind was appreciated in that exact moment.

The half-finished painting radiated her calm, reflecting it like a mirror. What she'd put to canvas so far spoke of the careful strokes she'd used, the color composition dark and sprawling from the upper right corner, working its way down toward the center. Blue, gray, black, and red, the form of the subject was impossible, the flowing of the paints as abstract as the grey of the clouds above, blending together without defined edge, splashing among itself in a sea of swirling gloom. It was a thought, a feeling, a beast, a demon, and one that she was all too happy to remove from her mind, releasing the burden of its memory and sealing it away on this flat, bright surface.

The thing, if one could call it that, which Sable now painted, had eyes. It had limbs, and teeth, and wings, with other appendages too strange to name, and with another light touch, she finished it, then placed her brush down, picking up another, smaller one from the base of her easel, dabbing it on to her palette which she clutched carefully in her left hand, switching now from black to grey. In the very center of the canvas, she began to paint with this new color, paying careful attention to her negative space. Her face remained focused, relaxed, but with an air of seriousness that furrowed her brow and gave her a determined look.

Sable never painted with white pigments. This fact had always perplexed her, why she never even seemed to consider using white paints, instead something compelled her to simply use the color of the canvas itself in place of it. Was it symbolic, to leave a bright area empty? Maybe. But it was also practical, she wasn't the richest Faunus in these lands, and she already spent a small fortune regularly on her other ones. She had a keen eye for the slight variations in color, and this showed in her palette, which had three shades of deep blue, four different shades of dark grey, and two distinct black pigments which, to the untrained eye, probably looked identical. Near her thumb, however, was a single smear of fiery red, by far the brightest color she worked with today. It had only been used once so far, in a small amount, framing the eyes of the monster she painted, the centers of its eyes a ghostly, empty white.

She sat on a small wooden stool, atop a small hillock near the edge of the forest. This was her favorite spot to paint. She was just outside of the campus itself, near a small path that ran between two of the buildings and deeper into the woods. She didn't dare enter among the trees, but this spot still let her gaze upon the beauty of the wilderness from afar whenever she needed inspiration.

The girl herself was a thin, pale thing. She wore a long-sleeved dress which ran down to her knees, an older one which she often wore when painting, as was evident by the various smears of color that dotted the folds of fabric around her legs and along her arms. Underneath its hems were long black stockings which hid the flesh of her legs, and dark silk gloves which concealed her hands. The only contrast to her sable appearance was the porcelain of her neck and face, her hair was tied back in a loose bun which she hadn't put much effort in to, various strands of hair finding their way about her ears and her shoulders. Above this there protruded two curved, carved horns that jutted toward the sky, the most recognizable piece of her unique appearance.

As time went on, the painting grew slowly, disproportionately with the minutes. She paused frequently between brush strokes, taking her time, plotting, planning...

Hmmmm~. Breath in that sweet fresh air! It was a beautiful day today and one not worth spending cooped up indoors. Showa couldn’t spend another hour sitting around when she could be outside stretching her legs and getting the blood pumping. Okay, maybe she would’ve liked clocking in another hour or five giving canvas a good thrashing on the end of a paint brush, but it was bad form to hog up studio hours. She wasn’t the only fish in the pond with an aching for heterochrome harmonizing. There was a bit of the oil stuff whining for momma, but Showa just couldn’t go to her little darlings, not today at least. A change of scenery was in order. Beacon was a top academic institute even putting aside its huntsman focus. The place had facilities packed away in gargantuan buildings that still made her giddy no matter how frequently she’d been making liberal use of them. Showa had access to some the finest Mistral had to offer and Vale could still pull out some surprises to keep her coming back for more and more. Agh, she had to stop thinking about those amazing studio rooms. It wasn’t helping at all with getting her mind off of painting! The path between the two buildings taking her to the edge of campus were left with a lingering touch of her hand gliding over the out wall of one of them before Showa put it out of her mind along with anymore thoughts on academy grade art rooms. Boohoo…

Haaaa, oh well, being out under the big blue sky was a treat in and of itself, and topping it off with the forest backdrop the campus tended offered additional delights to savor. Rolling greens lapping on the coastal spires of brown giants was a bit nostalgic. A black avatar? A little creepy, to be honest. The gothic looks definitely gave off witch vibes Showa could appreciate if the setting didn’t unsettle her so. Creepy woods in a creepy secluded area were just a few of the things her overacting imagination was riling her up with. The painting, on the other hand, was like setting off a store of Lightning Dust in her veins.

“Whatchapainting!?” Showa pretty much made skid marks in the grass getting in arms’ reach of the mystery girl and her easel, honey eyes taking in the abstract vision as soon as her fluffy hair settled back down after catching the tailwind of her sprint here. She couldn’t make heads or tails as to its subject matter, and the composition was utterly enthralling even in its incomplete state from just trying to piece it all together. She’s really pale. Are those eyes, maybe? Oh, she’s a Faunus? Those are some nice variations going on there. Her focus was going back and forth with her stance as Showa bounced on the spot, eagerly awaiting the girl’s answer as well as scrutinizing the image slowly taking shape with every brushstroke the girl’s delicate hand applied.

The coolness of the breeze was sentient and welcoming. The sky, placid grey. The trees were humming with the gentle touch of Mother Air, blending with the sea of Father Sky. It was all so calming. Despite the nature of this painting, she was enjoying herself...

And then, a screeching, horrifying sound suddenly exploded in her ears and a shiver so perverse bled up her spine that her entire body froze, clenching, her serenity shattered. Thankfully, her hand had stilled itself lest she drag a huge, compromising line of paint right down the center of her work, but her shoulders bunched up and her teeth clicked together and for a moment she nearly jumped out of her flesh.

It took awhile to calm down this time. That had been entirely unexpected. Eventually, she turned her head slowly toward the colorfully loud, energetic ball of frenetic energy that danced beside her. What was... This thing?

"I... Cannot answer that, for it does not have a name," she responded cryptically, her eyes boring unblinking holes in to Showa's bright clothing. Her face was without emotion, her head tilted slightly forward as her neck craned to match the twist of her face toward the exuberant creature that had destroyed the peace and quiet. She wasn't upset about it, though. This sort of thing happened from time to time. There would always be more of the peaceful nature abound in this place, she could put her meditations on hold for a time.

"And what of you? Do you have a name?" she questioned, then turned back to her painting and continued to work on it, with all the pace of an overly excited sloth.

Unsettling. Haunting, even. Empty white seemingly staring right back at Showa in another worldly intensity. Tri-tone back scales were positively shivering under its unblinking gaze. Maybe some primitive part of her brain was trembling under the pressure her conscious mind couldn’t quite comprehend oozing from the canvas. Or, maybe the fumes coming from the paint thinner were what was making her lightheaded… Kind of hard to tell when she was still working off the initial high that drew her in. She didn’t even know what in Remnant this was supposed to be, but that didn’t stop her from speculating. This enigma was unlike a lot of the artworks Showa knew of in Mistral and was something she hadn’t had the opportunity to take in when first starting off her career. No, it was more that she had grown distant from that part of herself. This painting represented “beginnings”, the sprout that would be molded into maturity where the artist would perform the same brushstroke a millionfold until it took root as instinct. Look at her, getting all poetic. Sure, painting might not have been on the table to indulge in right now, but watching someone else painting was just the kind of loophole Showa could dive headfirst right into to scratch the itch in her gill. The painting at hand was definitely a head-scratcher shrouded in an inky mystery dancing around enough touches of color to enrapture her attention like a pair of beacons in the dark. Ooh, what thing would be dispensed from this girl’s hand distilling her raw inspiration~. Showa had found a real treasure here! Despite it not even possessing a name, she doubted she’d ever forget it any time soon.

Wait a second, nameless? Did Showa have a name? Ah, she jumped the creek here…

“The name's Nishiki Showa! Sorry for barging in on you like that, hehe~. I saw you were painting and couldn’t help but rush over to see what you were making.” Geez, give the girl some breathing room, Showa. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Or was that her natural skin tone? Stunning, in any case. Looked so much like a porcelain doll. Her dark clothing also made her face a natural point of focus in the whole ensemble. Nice. Showa could appreciate a girl that dressed to her strengths. The splotches breaking up what would have otherwise been a stark black hinted at a history of many paintings before. Could this girl be a potential paint buddy!? Hold on, girl? She? Her? Agh, she hadn’t even learned her name! Forget the creek, she jumped the entire flipping ocean! Time to backtrack and hopefully salvage the mess she made of things before things went belly up. Last thing Showa wanted was to ruin someone’s moment of recreation. Especially because it was painting.

“Sorry again! I didn’t even ask for your name! Let’s start from the beginning; hiya! You can call me Showa, what’s your name?” Offering up her folded hands in a plea of forgiveness while she offered a nervous smile alongside her playful grimace at herself was all Showa could do waiting for the girl’s reaction.

Today had been mundane in a fairly interesting sort of way, but never would she have guessed to be meeting somebody like this on a day like today. Every movement, every fiber of this girl's being radiated energetic vibrations, and it was impossible for her to decide if it was alarming or inspiring. She was clearly one that could indulge in a fashion sense, and Sable calmly observed her for a moment while she looked at her painting, making her own observations while she waited for an answer. Despite her often distant gaze and the natural sense that she might not be fully present in any given room, Sable was nothing if not highly observant, and this girl oozed enough context across her entire body that Sable could easily formulate some truths that likely applied.

For one, she got the feeling that this one's mind always raced, and never for a moment ceased in intensity. A complete contrast to her own, she supposed.

In just a few seconds, the girl managed to spew, backpedal, strike out her own introduction, and offer a completely new one. Meanwhile, poor Sable was sitting patiently, watching with wide, unblinking eyes and an entirely stolid demeanor that made her look statuesque upon this hilltop of hers, while Showa's face instead contorted many times in such a short while. She couldn't tell if this was making her mind cease up for a moment, or if she was just following her usual routine of thinking before she spoke, but Sable sat in silence for a few seconds before she answered the question.

"Sable Noir Citrine, how do you fare?" she responded finally, and her head turned slowly back into place while her hand continued to dab paint upon her canvas. A few more moments of silence, politely waiting for any retort that Showa might give, and then she would speak once more.

"I see you have an eye for art, is that correct?" she asked.

"Doing super!" Not really. There was a brush making moves and Showa wasn't on the side she'd rather be on.

Nnngh. Today was playing out like some diety having a laugh at her expense... Had any spots opened up at the studio while she was walking out here? The app on her scroll telling her just that was becoming a harder and harder fight to keep up. Can't... give... in... Come on, stop thinking about it, girl! Showa could make it one day without pa-agh. That almost sounded heretical. Her soul was about to implode if the full sentence got out and it tasted just as bad even if it barely worked past a rambling stream of thought.

"An eye, a hand, a head; heck, I'd say I'm the complete package deal~. Premium, of course. Nishiki Showa is nothing short of a work of art herself!"

Sable here got to show off how well those nimble little fingers positively danced on that canvas and yet here she was: a guest to a live performance without a gift in hand. Never come to a party empty-handed. Bad manners all around, but luckily, Showa had more than eyeliner and lip gloss on lock with her at all times. Showing rather than telling anyway was always something she was better at, look at her media feed if examples were needed cause that aesthetic popped. She was in her element using a language she was six ways fluent in! Give Showa some paint and she'd make straight-up magic happen. Give her a lot of paint and you'd be needing a miracle to get her to stop. Make no mistake, just because there wasn't a spare bucket laying around, that wouldn't stop a true blue artist! Taking a break from painting, ha! Like anyone could take the art out of an artist. It was like taking a fish out of water and this fateful meeting was the first breath of air she was getting since stepping out of the studio. Testament to that was the polished to a shine nail art decorating perfectly manicured fingers. Get out what you put in and did Showa get a set of lookers each a flowing stream of tasteful color streaks on a stark black backdrop. Not too shabby~. Running out of cyan was a bummer, but it let violet have a go and she couldn't be happier with the results. A neon beam! Saved and snapped.

"I actually had to stop myself from going in earlier, hehe. I go to a Huntsman academy that has top-of-the-line facilities! How am I not going to abuse that!? If they did punch cards for this sort of thing, I know for sure I'd be lugging around milestone rewards." Now that was an idea. Ooh, maybe she could set something like that up! Beacon Academy: Art Program! There! Already got a name and everything, which meant she could file it by afternoon and have a proposal drawn up and ready to slip to the faculty the following business day. Add pioneer to the list of accomplish and maybe dedicate a plaque in shiny gold to put somewhere in the hall for her contribution to this most prestigious of academy. It brought a fit of giggles just thinking about returning as an alma mater to find her name all etched into a solid piece of metal and look up to see a full-sized portrait that she did herself, of course.

Sable, there on the hill, among the birds and the trees and nature abound around her, was no longer feeling the pressure of her painting, the thing that was driving her to put color on canvas. It was too hard to focus on that. There was an incessant sort of buzz in the air, an energy, kinetic, frenetic, humming in her brain like a mosquito ready to suck the blood from the back of her knuckle. A distraction, and it wore orange and white and black, and soon enough, the barely-contained energy burst the dam and it flooded over her.

Showa's words filtered into her ears and positively pulled her out of her little daze, it was impossible to focus on anything aside from the other girl, and so, when she started speaking again, Sable reached down to place her brush on the edge of her easel, then folded her hands in her lap. She turned her face toward the other girl, giving her her full, undivided attention. What else was there to do about it?

"I see. Nishiki, was it? A pleasure to meet your acquaintance. You appear to be... Energetic, today. Is something the matter? Anxiety, perhaps? If I may be so bold, it is not unlike watching a sparrow in a can of worms, there is simply too much around you for you not to feed." She blinked slowly, her total contrast in energy levels apparent in this one simple motion.

"So you are an artist as well, then? Pray tell, what sorts of things might one such as yourself conceive of? I prefer painting nature, but... This particular piece is not so. A trifle more than a release of sorts. Seems to me like you are a painter without a canvas on this day. Nowhere left to channel that energy, hm?" Something about the energetic young Huntress in training here made her think a bit less about what she was saying... Which of course made her sound a little cryptic and strange, but what was the use? If she wanted a conversation, enough to come all the way up here to bother her for one, then why not oblige?