vrasa; mama's little monster.

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-- what's new?8/8: Added a Vrasa doodle.
| directory | disclaimer These updates will probably contain mature material. Blood, violence, death and language are likely. Other mature content is unlikely, but may occur. | credits Pixel by Draak. Div code by Unplugged. Tab code by alisonrobin. Disclaimer css by Hraeth. Bio art by Wind.
& also thank you to Wind for the help!
--

Please poke me on discord (wurm#2359) if you're near Vrasa and want an interaction.
Interactions may be super slow otherwise since I can't tab in much. :c


8/10: Cold featherball.



Mother make me a bird of prey.
— "Mother", Florence + The Machine

Pictogram read as 'shrike'.
Female.
About size 12.
9 years old developmentally.
Agreeable, gentle, curious, extroverted.
Loud, pesty, rebellious, stubborn.
Toyhouse.

Mini, owl mask, magpie antlers, grey pelt.
Granted to Greitai in exchange for a promise.
Atypical genetics; a combination of her mother's DNA and an unknown, shifting source.
Possessor of traits she shouldn't have.
Echoes words she likes back. Immune to all magic. Ages variably. Heals strangely. Marred by 'cobwebs'.
Walks with a limp. Right back leg is twisted inwards.

Greitai.
Acidya, Soet, Vittani.
Starless, Sky Sight, Winter Rose, Vithara.
---
Isobel, Ashira.
Devani, Fionnán, Qip, Sage, Clove, Ephire.
Crescent.






Inventory
A huge pack of crayons. (Ashira, Devani)
A giant pad of paper. (Ashira, Devani)
Six pieces of chalk. (Qip)
A light up pinecone that recharges when turned off. (Sage)

Vrasa's doodles.

WayfarerHart's picture

(No subject)

<3

&hearts;

Kaoori's picture

bOUT FRICKIN TIME

bOUT FRICKIN TIME

Yes &hearts;

Yes ♥

Signature by Terabetha
Pegasicorn's picture

>>

>>
Basen's picture

I'm here.

I'm here.
Vessan's picture

Yes! =)

Yes! =)
Silverfang's picture

&hearts;

&hearts;


Sig: Aihnna

Solaya's picture

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh ♥

Avatar by Awentia, signature by Wildflowerdeer
Makki's picture

*

*
gglidden's picture

Wait a second....how did I

Wait a second....how did I not notice this before?? That's got to be Cheshire in that top doodle isn't it! o:
Ring The Bells That Still Can Ring.
Forget Your Perfect Offering.
There Is A Crack In Everything.
That's How The Light Gets In.

(A part of the lyrics of Leonard Cohen's Song "Anthem")
wormwoods's picture

Everyone -- Thank you for the

Everyone -- Thank you for the tracks! ;v;

gg-- It is! Spooky little critter Cheshire is, she made an impression and got her likeness done...in crayon.
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Vanilliana's picture

"Are those crayons"

"Are those crayons"
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"Yuh." It's hard to speak

"Yuh." It's hard to speak around the crayon, but she manages it. "Thish is you." Vrasa proudly scoots her drawing over to Clove.
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The black dots roll along

The black dots roll along Vrasa's motion under the scrunched skin of his eyes. The squint intensifies. They dart from the drawing to the stranger, then back to the drawing. Hooves that formed fists are still keeping him supported as he leans in over the paper, letting Clove get a closer look at the child.

It's a child. Not only is it a child, it has -crayons-. With a whiff in her direction his face gets crumpled beyond identification. Spending a lifetime in Burger King, his sense of smell has deteriorated in his homeworld, but in this strange, heaven-like Forest it all came back around to him, heightened, even. On occasions like this, he makes good use of it.
She's coated in Forest scents, but the flesh is alien.

Another look to the drawing, another attempt to process that piece of information. The doodle is a naive portrayal of his self. Only the curvature of his mouth seems foreign. He can't make sense of it - and the constant wrinkling of his eyebrows make that obvious. Seeing the rest of the drawing though, he has to give credit to the kid. She draws better than he does.

"Cool"

He exclaims firmly. The end of that word curved upwards a bit in tone, but that rather went towards the origin of the crayons. Human objects.

"Where are those from?"

He raises a hoof-hand, prodding in the direction of the crayon box.
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"Yeah! It is cool," Vrasa

"Yeah! It is cool," Vrasa says, spitting out the crayon onto the forest floor. "You can keep it, Mister Bleedy-eyes." The feathers along her head and spine ruffle, then flatten again.

"Auntie Ani and 'shira gave 'em to me. Like how I'm giving you this drawing." Vrasa nods to herself. "I think it's called a gift?" She blinks owlishly, as if waiting for a response from Clove. Not that she waits long; she continues on whether he speaks or not.

"So you like it? I gave you a smile 'cuz you looked grumpy," she says.
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As he sees the crayons get

As he sees the crayons get spat onto the ground, his mouth form the words "crayons" vaguely, soaking the sight of the object in.

Listening to the child, he didn't get the answer he wanted. No location, no origin. Just names he can't even comprehend. Not enough brainpower to go down that route, he moves on.

As he is officially granted the art piece, he touches it with a black finger. The paper crinkles - an exotic sound in the Forest - silently shooting through the cries of the insects and flashing into silence as quick as it came. Artificial. His ear twitches.

His left antler forms a hook and picking it up, he pierces it through the paper(the background part) and lets it hang above his forehead.

"I'm not grumpy," He snarls, pausing for a time. Thinking. He was never good with children.

"Give me a crayon." He reaches out with a foreleg, human palm open.
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"Ooh, you got magic antlers!"

"Ooh, you got magic antlers!" Vrasa observes, clearly pleased by Clove's morphing antlers. "You got lots of room to hang things on there. Why don't you got more?" She pauses to consider.

"I said you seem grumpy, Mister Bleedy-eyes. You frown lots for someone who's not grumpy at all..." Vrasa shrugs, then passes over a black crayon--luckily not the one that was just in her mouth--along with a piece of paper.

"You gonna do more to put on your antlers? Here, I'll help!," she says, scribbling furiously with her dark green crayon. It looks like she's working on some trees.
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Something struck him as the

Something struck him as the kid stared at him with amazement. Some sort of... pride? The squinting didn't let up, it only stayed as he was now peering into the distance. He was still taking his time indulging in being awed. Shutting his lids, he tilted his chin up a tad. "Yes," He saw a brief future in being a living art gallery for this young talent.

The black crayon rolled and bumped into Clove's leg. He grabbed it and eyed the paper that was passed over along with the color. He held it in front of his face, feeling the empowerment of creation.
The piece of paper didn't make him feel that.

So he side-eyed.

He helped himself up, getting hold of the crayon in his mouth and walking on fours towards the statue of the Twin Gods.
And began the unimaginable. He started scribbling on the very stone of the Gods. The black slid along with ease on the sacred luminous white stone. He began tagging it as it was nothing, not a flinch of fear, or rather, respect on his face.

(OOC: If anyone sees this IC, and perhaps wants to get involved in any way, feel free. :} )
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[Yes please, interaction is

[Yes please, interaction is welcome!]

Vrasa, knowing no better, immediately joins him. She studies his scribbles with an artist's eye, considering where to leave her own mark. She picks up a green crayon and goes to town, scribbling smiley faces all along where she can reach. Not that that's much--she's not exactly tall yet.

When the base of one statue is covered in approximately twenty smiley faces, she moves on to the next with all the patience in the world.

The statues will be beautiful.
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After finishing his hooligan

After finishing his hooligan texts, (the rest of the tags were more obscene) he turns to see what vrasa is up to in the meanwhile. The crayon drops from his mouth.
"Yo yo yo yo kid, hold up."

He lowers to the girl's level.
Squinting at the endless number of dots and curves, he nods slowly. "I respect your energy, kid. But where I come from, this is a form of art."
A hoof molds into a small hand and reaches for his crayon, drawing black strokes in her area.
"Express your variety."
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Vrasa watches him admiring

Vrasa watches him admiring the hand morphing effortlessly from his foreleg. Her brow furrows with pure concentration as she studies the lines. One black line...two black lines...And it's a whole new face!

The concept is fascinating. Smiley faces can have more emotion with a couple lines? It's a revelation.

"Mister Bleedy Eyes, you're a genius!" she says, with a wide grin.

Vrasa grabs a dark blue crayon from the box and goes to town. Every smiley gets eyebrows, though some of the eyebrows aren't quite centered. When every smiley has been fully eyebrow'd, Vrasa adds the finishing touches to the trees, giving the god statues in her image a nice 'makeover' as well.

It seems she doesn't quite understand what eyebrows are yet.
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Glancing at his own tags then

Glancing at his own tags then and again, he just watched the youthful energy vrasa was working with. And the more he stared, the more vulnerable he found himself to the danger that only his subconscious dared to name, "thinking". So he ruffled his spiky fur up.

"So anyways, you got any idea what the hell this is?" He motioned to the whole being of the statue, his head tilting. His gaze ran along all the intricate grooves etched in the stone, the cracks, the color. And the ethereal yet still somehow earthly material. It wasn't the urban concrete he was used to when doing casual throw ups.

"I've seen them move around and throw these crazy-ass parties when the weather was colder. I thought I ate something and it got me tripping on shit, and I -still- don't know if it was real or it was just all in my head."
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"Nope!" Vrasa chirps.

"Nope!" Vrasa chirps. "They're kinda warm but also they look kinda mad. So I gave 'em smilies." Vrasa nods to herself, clearly proud of her own work. She corrects an eyebrow on one of them; somehow it looks even worse after.

"What's a party?" Vrasa asks, squinting at Mister Bleedy-Eyes. "I think you 'magined it," she offers, nudging the moss collected at the base of the statues. "I don't think these move ever." she says, then adds "Ever," for emphasis.

"D'you think they'd want a...party? They look all lonely up here." Vrasa studies the Twin Gods' statues with a distinctly blasphemous curiousity. Not that everything else she's been doing today hasn't been blasphemous enough.
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While he was inspecting the

While he was inspecting the details of the statue, he couldn't help but get tangled up in Vrasa's eyebrow game on the statues. They were all over, and each one had him surprised with their newer and newer placements on the face. Eventually he nodded, There's talent,

To her question he turned to her with confusion, but quickly remembered that her origins were ambiguous. Despite the concept of parties being common knowledge, he had a hard time putting them into words. And not communicating with others on the regular sure didn't make it easier.
"Uuhh, you know, parties are when we... Have fun. We go wild, there's hella music, dancin', movin' and- All that."
He cut himself off. So far in this encounter with the child it only occasionally popped into his head that this here was in fact a child, and now was one of those moments. It kept his tongue from going on about drugs and other adult activities.

Her second question had him facing the Gods again. "Nah, statues are statues. They're not alive."

He turned his cheek to the Twins, his two dots of a gaze sticking on, staring. His words had a certain meaning but it left his mouth in a dubious tone. He was sure the festivals held by the "statues" he'd experienced before were real. Telling the girl he was uncertain about them was more of a pretend-common sense.
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Vrasa is thrilled by the

Vrasa is thrilled by the knowledge of parties. "Whoa! We should have a party. Like right now. I wanna do dancin'!" To demonstrate, she sways a little in place. It's not particularly graceful, perhaps owing to her twisted back leg and general inexperience with anything resembling dancing, but it is enthusiastic. She even hums a soft, childish tune.

"I think the statues would like a dancin'!" she asserts, nodding towards the unmoving lumps of stone. She doesn't seem to have a firm definition of what alive is or isn't. Either way, it doesn't seem to matter much to her.
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Clove turned his gaze towards

Clove turned his gaze towards the child. The way anything could spark wonder in her eyes loosened his wrinkles somewhat, smoothing his expression. Her innocent simplicity was a refreshing sight compared to his own half-sane mirrored self in the pond that he spent his waking hours with.

"I'd teach you how to breakdance if I weren't stuck with four legs." Taking a look at his hooves, he taps around with them(somewhere, an ocarina sounds up), imitating the rhythm of Vrasa's swaying. Maybe the time has come to explore the opportunities of this four-legged physical form. So he went on with the tapping, trying to study patterns of movement, experimenting.

"So anyways, what's up with you being here all by yourself? Did your parents ditch you?" He asked, raising a brow towards the kid. Now and again he returned his eyes to his legs, but mostly letting his intuition control them, eyes off the two spiky sticks.
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"Breakdance sounds bad," she

"Breakdance sounds bad," she observes, while continuing to sway. Unlike Clove, she doesn't think at all, merely swaying back and forth as she likes.

"Mama said I broke my leg and it hurt real bad." She lifts her twisted back leg an inch before setting it back down. "It healed real good though. So maybe if I breakdance, I'll still heal good?" She swears she hears some sort of faint music from somewhere, but she can't place it.

"Mama's around," says Vrasa, with a tilt of her head. "She goes n' hunts durin' the day a lot, but that's borin' and mean so I go an' play." Vrasa grins. "Sometimes I meet new people like you, Mister Bleedy-Eyes!"
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He grunts at the child's

He grunts at the child's notion of breakdancing. The legs stop tapping and he takes a look at her twisted leg. He didn't notice it before.

A more serious wrinkle arrangement took over his face, seeing the deformity. With what seemed like worry - for a split second - he switched to see her face: she didn't seem to be bothered by it, so his wrinkles set themselves back into their regular place, yet thoughts still remained at the back of his head.

"You know breakdancing doesn't involve legit breaking. It's just a type o' dancing."

He nods at her next words. "Good. Just don't go around talkin' to everyone. People here might be dangerous." He stretches his legs out, groaning. He's not used to much movement.
"You can call me Clove, by the way. But you can stick with Mister Bleedy-Eyes too if you wanna."
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"Coulda called it anything

"Coulda called it anything else if nothin' gets broken. Like flowerdancin'," she muses, doing a tip-tap with her front hooves.

"Mama says some people are bad but I don't meet many bads," Vrasa says. "You're a good." Another small tip-tap. "I'm Vrasa, Mister Bleedy-Eyes Clove." Vrasa halts as she finishes her sentence, pausing to listen to something in the distance.

"Mama's back! Bye Mister Bleedy-Clove. Thanks for drawin' with me, you're a good dancer and drawer," she says brightly, before taking off at her own pace.
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