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ambiguouscamp.livejournal.com) wrote in
paixaorpg2007-12-15 05:36 pm
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Entry tags:
Picture Perfect [Active]
Characters: Pegasus, Seymour, anyone else who feels like wandering in?
Content: Pegasus is back up to his old tricks again. Not stealing people's souls and cheating without getting caught..... but painting. Seymour shall appear as well, and hopefully an interesting time will be had by all.
Setting: H4-ish, or something. Wherever.
Time: Afternoon-ish?
Warning: Uh.... petting the dog moment? =D; Even villains need a break sometimes. Especiallygleefully flamboyant displaced artistic ones like Pegasus.
Content: Pegasus is back up to his old tricks again. Not stealing people's souls and cheating without getting caught..... but painting. Seymour shall appear as well, and hopefully an interesting time will be had by all.
Setting: H4-ish, or something. Wherever.
Time: Afternoon-ish?
Warning: Uh.... petting the dog moment? =D; Even villains need a break sometimes. Especially
It had been a long, long time since he'd done this. Far too long, in his opinion. But this place had stirred his hope of getting his Cecilia back, not by violence and trickery, but by the potential benevolence of the random and mysterious process that had brought him to Paixao in the first place. What a hope, hmm?It almost made him wonder if he were going mad. To think that of all the possible people in all the possible worlds, this Paixao would choose them both....
Well, a hope was a hope, no matter how farfetched. And it had encouraged him to spruce back up and find a place to stay, to comb the journals daily in hopes of spotting some clue to her existence, to get himself a few suits of clothing so he could live here comfortably for the time being..... and to pick up some supplies for his long-neglected passion. After all, it wasn't as if he was hurting for money here. All that time creating cards..... as interesting as it was, as artistic as he could make it, that was a commercial endeavor, not an artistic one. It didn't give him a full-sized canvas to love upon and work his magic with--his own, natural talent, rather than the magic of his Eye, which he knew he would have a difficult time explaining to Ceciliaif when she arrived.
So here he sat, somewhere deep within the city, perched on a bench with an easel, canvas, brush, and palette. A few more canvases were piled near his feet, ready for use; in the meantime, he was people watching, searching for interesting-looking people to immortalize along with the fantastic scenery. It was quite a Wonderland in some respects, wasn't it? Maybe he should try out his hand at Surrealism or Impressionism.....
Well, a hope was a hope, no matter how farfetched. And it had encouraged him to spruce back up and find a place to stay, to comb the journals daily in hopes of spotting some clue to her existence, to get himself a few suits of clothing so he could live here comfortably for the time being..... and to pick up some supplies for his long-neglected passion. After all, it wasn't as if he was hurting for money here. All that time creating cards..... as interesting as it was, as artistic as he could make it, that was a commercial endeavor, not an artistic one. It didn't give him a full-sized canvas to love upon and work his magic with--his own, natural talent, rather than the magic of his Eye, which he knew he would have a difficult time explaining to Cecilia
So here he sat, somewhere deep within the city, perched on a bench with an easel, canvas, brush, and palette. A few more canvases were piled near his feet, ready for use; in the meantime, he was people watching, searching for interesting-looking people to immortalize along with the fantastic scenery. It was quite a Wonderland in some respects, wasn't it? Maybe he should try out his hand at Surrealism or Impressionism.....
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But he was back in his own body now, and he had never been so glad to feel the air or see the pseudo-sun before. And it looked like he wasn't the only taking advantage of the day either, if that canvas set up nearby was any indication.
"An artist?" he asked, as soon as he drew close enough to be heard.
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And so, he delicately set his current brush into a glass of water, selecting a few tubes of paint--fortunately, he'd found quite a lot of metallics and jewel tones to help with the artificial scenery--to mix up some shades that Seymour might recognize as belonging to his hair and robes. "Why, yes indeed!" He confirmed, tilting his head invitingly at the other half of the empty bench beside him. "Though a sorely rusty one, I'm afraid to admit. Care to have a seat, good sir?" He returned to his brushes even as his attention was divided, putting down the first few strokes that would make Seymour a part of his work.
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"I see no reason not to - it's been quite some time since I last had the chance, after all."
And with that, he moved to take the seat the other man had indicated.
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He considered for a moment, brush pausing, and he offered an apologetic smile. "Goodness, where have my manners gone? Do forgive me, sir--my name is Maximilian Pegasus." They weren't in Japan at the moment, so those naming conventions didn't seem to apply here.... "And to whom do I owe the honor of this meeting, mm?"
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"Seymour Guado, formerly the high priest of Macalania Temple and Maester of Yevon," he answered, following his answer with the best approximation of a Yevon bow that he could manage while seated. After all, it wouldn't do to be less than polite.
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"And please, call me Seymour." Guado, was after hardly more than the name of the race he belonged to, after all.
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Before long, Seymour's face was recognizable on the canvas, and Pegasus started moving down, silent for a moment as he worked at getting the colors and patterns of Seymour's robe right.
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Of course, the fact that they'd claimed that Sin would disappear if humanity atoned for its 'crime' of using machina didn't hurt, and likewise for the fact that the Al Bhed made for a rather convenient scapegoat due to their use of machina.
That the maesters were at best hypocrites and had a general tendency to be Unsent... well, the general populace didn't need to know that.
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As it turned out, they wouldn't have had much longer to talk anyway. Pegasus was just putting the finishing touches on Seymour on his canvas when he flickered--not unlike a hologram, or mirage caused by the heat--and disappeared entirely, paintbrush dropping to the ground with a clatter. The canvas and all its attendant accessories remained at the empty bench--as did Pegasus' briefcase, in fact. If Seymour cared to look inside, he would find not only a fair bit of paperwork, but Pegasus' personal deck of cards and a Duel Disk, (speaking of machina) as well as a pistol and box of spare ammunition.
((OOC: And Pegasus is out, unless you want me to change something! Sorry to keep you waiting so ungodly long.... DDX)
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And in the meantime, he'd just pick up what the man had dropped. For safe-keeping, of course.