-An eagle flies up to a window, looking into one of the rooms-
-The one with a coffin in it-
-The eagle becomes a pale woman with pointy ears, yellow eyes and bad fashion sense-
-She climbs on inside-
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?Woods
Sam sighed and opened her eyes, peering through the darkness at the thin branch roof she'd constructed above her sleeping spot. It wasn't much, but she was glad she still remembered things like this from survival training. It didn't need to be anything fancy, just a place to go if she needed it. A place to sleep that was out of the direct effects of the elements..
Of course, that was only if she could sleep, and that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon. She pushed herself to her feet, walking out from under her makeshift roof. Her sleeping clothes shimmered, suddenly replaced by casual athletic gear, and she stretched her back out before heading off to take a walk around the nearby area.
-The room itself is....just as badly dressed, so to speak-
-Disorganized, disoriented, off-kilter-
-a veritable space of potential artistic energy just waiting-
-Some of the tools are familiar; pencils and pens, a well-loved sketchbook that should be familiar-
-And though the bed itself is absent, there are still signs of activity. There sits now a canvas, splattered with paint, and meticulous detail in equal parts, a fusion of both the nuanced microeffort, and macro-action-
-The paint on the canvas is dry, yet it looks incomplete-
[forum cryptid: it/it's]-Jack was stood in a forest clearing nearby-
-looking around for a moment or two-
-he held a garden gnome beneath one arm and glanced at a tree stump-
-walking over, he placed the gnome upon the stump-
Maybe that'll help... If I stay in hiding, they might pass over.
-it was quiet, and he felt a little awkward, being one man with a garden gnome that looked like Santa Claus in the middle of the forest-
-feeling alone, but he knew there was a chance of that changing, so his guard wasn't totally down-
1.5 imperial gallons of tea were consumed during the writing of this post-Sandra looks it all over, admiring one of the works-
-Thinking to herself-
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?-If it would mean anything to her, the words "Pollockian" and "Haringesque" might come to mind, levels of paint obviously thrown onto the canvas in manic energy, and detail painted on with fine attention below and around-
-Well, "originality" was never a word used by the creator of that particular piece-
-But they hadn't been painting before, had they? It was impossible to recall a time they had-
[forum cryptid: it/it's]There did soon come sounds of someone nearby, someone who didn't seem to care much about concealing their presence in the darkened woods. Snapping twigs and rustling leaves heralded footfalls that seemed to be moving vaguely in Jack's direction, but they lacked any sense of purpose or hurry to them.
-measuring the sound of the footsteps, Jack turned to face the direction-
Ho, is there someone out there?
-he called in a posh Londoner's accent-
-though his outfit by now was anything but high-class-
-rather like the gentleman was thrown out onto the street, and has been dragged through hell several times-
-no re-sell value on his once formal attire-
1.5 imperial gallons of tea were consumed during the writing of this post... I should really check on the ship. Who knows what beasts out there could mangle the engine, or destroy the plantation...
-The Andalite begins his trek outside, his eye stalks keeping an eye on his blindspots as he heads towards the forest edge-
-Keep calm Jovek, if that beast finds you, you can outrun him.-
Deer-She hummed, thoughtfully, then stepped out into the hallway-
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?"-on, I mean, not everything out there is dangerous! We're out there all the time just wai-"
Eires came up the stairs and turned away from Solace to look down the hall and stopped dead in their tracks, positively stunned.
Solace, not quite paying enough attention, bumped into them, recovered, and stared.
[forum cryptid: it/it's]-sighs deeply-
-though he hasn't noticed the presence of the onlooker just yet-
... Well, the gnome's really the bane of my existence, currently.
That's the only thing that's special about it... otherwise it's ordinary. Nothing magical.
Just an affirmation that anything really is possible.
1.5 imperial gallons of tea were consumed during the writing of this post-On the far end of the hallway from Eires are a pair of wide, glowing gold eyes-
-The darkness and shadows of the hall flood around her, imbuing her with their evil energies, then she propels herself as a mass of blackness, right into Eires-
-And snogs them against the wall-
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?

(smirks, turning to look down at Andersen)
Any swordsmith can put in hard work. But my swords proved themselves. Proved themselves in countless duels and countless battles. Defeated lesser swords and lesser armors forged by lesser smiths.
But I earned the right to call my peers "lesser smiths." Because my blades fought theirs, and my blades won. Without that, I wouldn't even have the right. No matter the work I put into my swords, if a Muramasa could not prove itself, then anyone could have the right to call it a third-rate sword.
(looks down at the molten metal on her anvil)
If I proved myself with talk and no action, I wouldn't have the right to dismiss anyone as being less than my peer.