On the other side of the curtains,' you whom I hadn't mind waiting, even for the longest of hours.'
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Wandering Cat: Longing
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This time, the cat once again wandered, following that sweet scent, and he found himself at a village full of roses.'
The village was within Viridis, and as such was known for that assortment, stalls of boutiques' and flowers' lined up in each corner—no matter the occasion, one of them would be suitable, but that wasn't what the cat followed—the scent came from that two-story apartment, and somehow enough, it reminded him of what he and the 'guy' had always eaten.
Jumping off at the stones'—easily so, he was there in a second; the guy? No, he wasn't him—covered in sort of stains; overall, this one wears a different style of head, and mostly he was just plainer than him; thus, again, he hasn't found him.
"What are you doing here?"
...
Ashen Grey—one may recognize the name—was a renowned artist known for his painting of landscapes.' In spite of his young age, he was skilled enough for his arts' to be most prominently featured as displays.'
That was the case—now in a block, he'd traveled far and wide to gain back the inspiration that he'd lost. As he was in search of a place that did as that—Viridis came up the top—recognized for its beautiful sights—for sure he'd have no trouble finding a piece that suits his tastebud.
...
"No! No! It isn't this in the slightest!"
Another one of his canvas went to waste; that was the case all over again—however talented he might've sounded, surely that pile of empty paper thrown would only fill up if he'd continued in this phase.
Such agony—he hadn't been aware of such a feeling,' which pained him from even moving that brush near him—prodigy, they say?
——That isn't the case.
...
He was far from being born a genius; when taken aback, he worked from morning till dawn as an assistant—it is but tiresome days' and someway, truly, at those moments he'd felt nothing but happiness, but where have those gone off? Was this really what he aimed for?
——Ah, I don't want to remember.
After he had stopped contemplating, he let the fresh winds' overflow that space—opening the curtains, barricaded with the scent of colors and dyes,' and as though his problems from earlier had gone off to a wash—in front was a scenery that he had wanted for quite some time.
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Even with his expectations in shatter—to the feline, he'd forgive him—perhaps rather than that nice aroma, surely he felt his aura; ordinary as his look might seem, he was as kind as if he'd known him, for when the man had seen him eyeing out the food he was cooking, he knew he had to feed him—now they eat at the same table and had matching sets of cutlery.
Sigh—sigh—despite the food in the center, what came out of his mouth wasn't pleasant at all. Definitely, that was the case for the man who let out sighs while staring out, and as though he's just like him, he's ears would react at the minimal sound he'd heard from the house afar from him.
"You sure have an appetite..."
Despite that, wasn't the man busy looking to think he'd make out the amount he was eating? No matter, he'd take this to his advantage—pushing that bowl once more, he was asking for seconds.'
"Sure, sure..."
Taking into consideration the other party—without reprimanding him for anything, although he'd judge him—this man really is easy to communicate with, and for all he knows, he may not be able to find someone else that'll take him in; thus, he'd use him til' his heart's contented.
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Ashen wasn't really that of a person experienced in emotions'. Even when he'd been all alone since 'that' ended—even when he'd been forbidden from his line of work—and got in to be mistreated in the progress, he hadn't felt sad nor happy—and even he was unfamiliar with this 'thing' that makes his heart tingle when she speaks, nor this feeling where she'd be conscious had she looked his way—if he'd explained it, it'd be close to the kind of thing he'd felt when he once enjoyed his expertise.
...
What was this called anyway?
Beyond where he stayed, a woman was situated up ahead—her dark hair that resembled the current night sky and orbs that matched it—her appearance, sufficient in stealing his glance in the middle of those in the surroundings.'
In contrast to him—a man whose face you'd find anywhere—she was someone who was too complex for him to put into words. If so,
——What about paint, then...?
...
Although he thought of that, what'd be 'their' reaction? Never mind what he believes in, he was still an artist thanks' to their contribution—to take on a hurdle and change what he was recognized' in for a woman that managed to capture the common eyes of his—without a doubt, she'll ought to be a piece that'll differ from what he'd usually drawn, but—"No matter."
Simply taking a break and having her as his focus of study wouldn't be considered cheating, would it? Hence, at present, what is he feeling?
He held the brush ever tighter—staining that screen over and over, ignoring the used-to-be brush he couldn't even touch—hasn't he felt anything but trilled at the moment?
...
Within that tranquil space, among the many empty boards, one was placed, and there the sketched-out form of a woman was in play—he carried on as he'd been accustomed to how it usually goes on.
When said base was done, he put out pigments of colors' in stock—salmon peach for her fair skin, charcoal black that resembles her wavy hair, and bright eyes that measure up to it.
The man in question, who's positioned, could only respond with a laugh.
——For sure, this idea of mine could only make me chuckle.
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And even with that defiance, what he'd done was sit there without letting go of his tools' once.
...
——I've thought of it without much understanding, but the applause of these people has me feeling nothing.
In the vast area, a showcase was being held; prominent people seemed to be gathered at the place, and the stage in the middle had been reserved for a single piece of artwork.
"You truly are a genius!"
Applauded by the lady in high nobility.
——Next.
...
"As expected of Mr. Ashen."
Said the man who's worn a suit by a known tailor in the industry.
——Next.
...
"What a wonderful painting!"
And praised by the others around him.
——Next.
...
——That'll be what I have to draw next.
In spite of the occasion, that was what he thought over and over.
The artist of the featured painting could only think of it—having that as his 'goal'—only for it to leave him nowhere but the wind that'll stray him away from the path of his direction.
...
——To think that I'd find it again.
Every stroke, every shade he'd made, every time he'd create—and even this time, he felt nothing but content, and as he worked on her portrait, in a matter of time, he was close to finishing it—if he hadn't encountered a problem.
...
"Ah, what dress should suit her?"
The man known as Ashen had already been seated there for hours,' in circulation of what he'd have the girl in canvas wear.
——Wrap dress that flatters? or sheath that'll suit her? Perhaps a gown would've—"No, no, no!"
For sure, they've been close since they met, but to be tactless and visualize such rude images, he couldn't go on any longer—"Perhaps she, herself, would've helped me..."
Compared with anyone—the lady he'd met had been accepting of him since—and per her usual demeanor, she would've replied in a positive manner and accepted it without skepticism—taunting him in a jest; however, he hadn't had a moment to tell her what he worked in—it'll be the perfect chance to do it,
"Perhaps that is so!"
——and maybe she would've even tried on some examples.'
Spinning around the winds' with the dress that they'd pick—she would've done it, and the only way to see what'll be her reaction is by asking the person herself; hence, as a kid blinded by what he'd discovered, the painter had gathered his work in process and swiftly visited the other.
...
——and to think that I'd lost it again.
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He'd been staying at the man's house for the last few days—mainly because of the food he'd serve; if he may, it was better than the last two he was in, but from his face, he wasn't fun like the girl nor attentive like the boy. Once he's done with 'work,' he'll go and stare off once more.
And by work, for some reason, it'll be another staring contest, this time on a pure blank canvas.
Was he that obsessed with thin air? Or rather, what was he looking out for?
Not regarding it's current state of dirtiness—the apartment where the man stayed would've been called exquisite—rent, living expenses, and other miscellaneous things are expensive in places such as Viridis, especially for tourists; if he'd recalled, the feline and the 'guy,' surely had trouble in instances where'money' is included; hence, a place as this that'd be more than enough for two to live in must've cost a fortune; thus, it's safe to think he wasn't envious of the distant room far from where they'd reside in.
The other place he'd meant; not only is it lacking in lighting, anyone could tell it hasn't been touched in the many years' since it was situated here—and even the 'guy' and him would've stayed somewhere more comfortable than it.
Then, what could it be?
...
Worry not, the feline would've given up sooner or later, for his own well-being, and in addition to the man himself—curiosity kills the cat, doesn't it? At present, he just pleads with the man to play with him—although he'd been a bother, the man hardly budged an inch.
He's stronger than he looks; in a bit more for sure—ah, now he'd have flown out to the corner.
"You really are troublesome."
In spite of his disturbance—he hadn't moved from that post he was in, but believe it or not, he was perceptive—at present, the man had started to bandage him from the wounds' he gained from self-injury—of course, the feline had felt bad for what he had done even to himself—hadn't he been a bit rowdy since he met that girl? Perhaps he'd just missed her playfulness a little, or sort of, if now he'd remember how he too had been used to the liveliness of'somebody.'
...
——Though it'll be worse if you too have gone quiet.
Regardless of how they've started—the lively creature was what had been 'luckily' added to his routine of nothingness—as it may be, one would've been disturbed by an anomity, but in any event, his self had attracted a fair amount of unusual things; therefore, for him, this'll be another one of those.
Even so, would this 'thing' be considered 'unusual'—he'd received nothing at the moment, and as a way sooner he'll have to put out what was rolled—but is this 'thing' really what came out of it? 'unusual' that'll be the right way to put it, or more preferably, wouldn't it be much accepted to call it 'adorable'?
"Felt bad, eh?"
Nevertheless, days' hadn't been unpleasant since it came here—however, be the man's situation in the eyes' of this unique creature.
...
Rebuking him—the feline couldn't let go of a criticism in an attempt to say something—had been cut off by the innermost sides' of the room—those unused canvas had felt over alongside him; and one can presume, it was empty and full of nothing, except for that one thing—a painting of a woman.
Must she be the reason?
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——All of it was but hope, I suppose.
...
On the other side of the curtains,' you, whom I hadn't mind waiting, even for the longest of hours,' had gone off to somewhere you best belong.
The once empty house was enveloped in a pleasant atmosphere and had gone emptier; its lone residence had left—where one couldn't even tell.
——Then, what do I do with this?
The lady who was visited by him in favor of being his model had set off, unaware of her departure—the painting held in his arms was nothing more than an incomplete piece of paper.
...
Clicking his tongue, he couldn't leave it as that—'Somewhere—I'm sure somewhere around here—" and as though find what he'd look around for—what he'd known her to be the teasing type, for certain they'd be a message in note—and there was it left out in the open.
'One week,'
That was it—"Haha..."
——You never change, even in times like this.
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To himself—he hadn't been bothered by anything else disregarding his work; he may be noted as 'that' famous painter; strict and hardworking, but deep in, he was still an artist in training—and more or less the one he looked out for wasn't 'them' but he, himself.
Growth came with expectations—that's what to be predicted; accordingly, he hadn't been aware of such emotions'—"Would this even make it?"
He kept on with such a line of thinking without having seen the outcome of it, and to tell the truth, it isn't pleasant at all, especially to someone like him, an outcast among them. He got famed owing to his work that ought to be submitted. If anything goes, it'll be harder to decline what fate gave him; he was that of a 'lucky' person, he guesses it—I meant who else could survive that 'day' to the many people he's with—who else could've been blessed to be taken on as an apprentice after; with his chosen passion added, who else could've been so fortunate as him to be respected even with his lacking talent?
But, needless to say, that was what he thought in his head, and as he is that person born blessed, he would've returned it all anyway; therefore, he'd put all of himself in it and compensate it twice as much as what they'd provide him with—all to rid of his debt that kept on accumulating.
From sunrise to sunset—all of it was used to what he'd set his heart on—exhausting—but it fulfilled him so much that he had dared say that he too had come into 'liking' it—so, why couldn't he move himself?
Had he gone weak? A deadly disease? If not, why couldn't he pick up that brush that he'd fallen over?
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One week, it seems' he'd receive the words' he had waited for—the man opened up the envelope that was sent to him, and surely enough, he'd smile a little and close it up.
After again, he'd left from where he sat and closed down the curtains of the windows.'
...
'I'm sorry, huh?'
——Well, it's better than nothing, and I guess it's fine to know your safety at least.
It was as short as how they'd been acquaintances—and by some means, it fits the lady more than writing a whole letter of words—he was an artist of scenery—and she, a scenery clad in clashing colors—by some means, this goodbye's suits them more.
...
——You, that I'd sum to be a good kind of luck, leans more in balance—and to that feline, hm...—I guess it'll be just a simple meet-up.
"I assume you won't come with me?"
The man who was intended to return a month earlier but held on for unknown reasons had the nerve to invite a feline in a search to join him on his own adventure; be his food the best in the world, it is unimportant if he hadn't achieved what he too had set out on.
Meow—Meow—"Right, right, you don't have to go that far; it kind of aches how much you dislike me; eh, so, it was my fault too, huh...?
...
"Matter not, i'll go off then; if you've found yourself near, just jump off again, and I'll treat you to something better—I'd even play with you for a change."
Better he say, huh? Well, that unknown reason must've been his reason for the shift—it doesn't make a difference, honestly, for the man was that kind of person—just as the feline had sense at the beginning.
Well, it's kind of nice to see his face as this—and upon closer view, he was at least decent-looking when smiling.
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Ashen Grey—a man said to have taken off in delay for a fresh image, had returned, and had brought forth another artwork—the best they'd seen, that was what they said.
At his rest—strange rumors seem to have spread—it was that about the man; the notable artist whose gaze is plenty to run a chill amidst those onlookers had fallen in love somewhere and had gone off to pursue the new interest. But all of it was deemed forgotten for when he'd brought out a figure of a creature—a 'charming' one to be exact—eating it's full of a plate of meat; somehow it had gained him another nickname: "The man in pursuit of a strange beast"—and maybe, as fate may have it, those two adventures in search of something have met ahead of the very path they've walked in.
No matter how the man changes, the people who've followed him since the start were those who've felt his determination towards' what he painted, and that of course has led him to create another work of a masterpiece—and to that 'other' painting, let us say it was hidden in a place that the feline wouldn't have attempted to stumble upon again.