Artistic Installation

Yeah, certainly we ought! Like, remember during the siege of Helm's Deep where the Rohirrim detonated their sewer drain from the inside? And blew their own wall up? The tactics on display for that scene, I swear. Absolute legend.

[ Peter is so preoccupied with being sarcastic that his little pixel dinosaur leaps directly into the first fuckin cactus it sees. Rip. ]

I... don't, actually...

「 Now this is where she gets a little flustered! Resident peace micronation tends to forget all the war scenes or watch them with one eye open. She can't see suddenly, she doesn't know. But how embarrassing, that she can't remember such a crucial scene from a landmark fantasy! 」

Maybe we should watch the Lord of the Rings instead? I could use a refresher. We marathon those as well during this time of year, even though the seasons are totally different. There's also Nightmare Before Christmas...

「 Would he be up for those sorts of things though? Movies were a curl-up-on-the-couch-cozily sort of ordeal, and now that he was in a place not WayTooCold Degrees Celsius, maybe he'd want to do something outdoorsy... 」

Might be. I know quite a few people who'd cross a desert to bug their eyes out at the novelty of a two year old university student.

[ Are we jealous? Perhaps!! ]

... Y'know, I feel loads better knowin' other people also get stuck doin' stuff like this for fun all winter, and it's not just me! Go on, try again, you nearly had it that time.

In all fairness... deserts are easier to cross than seas...

「 This insight comes at the expense of her game-playing abilities, and she K.O.'s much earlier than expected. But it doesn't seem to bother her this time. In fact, she even shoves over her laptop for him to flex! 」

All the more reason that we advocate for you to get your own version of the Channel Tunnel. It's just an underground road, after all.

ヘタログ Pixiv ID: 60257831 Member: 5994820 - リイロ

15,000 people protesting for Palestine in Sydney, Australia.

Sydney, 2023.

He can only HEAVE THE BIGGEST SIGH OF ALL at what an absolute production this is being made into. Like, so heavy a sigh that someone would've had to be forklift certified to carry it around.

It's done fondly, of course, but-- like-- it's just as obvious that, shoved into this situation against his will, he can't not react like this.

"... I'd say, as you wish, if I were in any mood to play into your hand. Which, I'm not, and so I won't-- but I want it on record that I'd thought of it!"

Right. Fine. Sure! Whatever! He'll pick this gauntlet up!! He'll close his notebook and whole-ass set it down! This one's going to have to be off the top, as Peter prepares to defend his self-awarded title as the most well-read feat of engineering to ever (inexplicably) live.

"Um..."

"I fear my joke not land, or else you'd laugh, 'Twas but a badfic from 2006, Oft mocked online for all its author's gaffe - of a time-trav'ling mall-goth teenage vampire witch.

And here I've showed my hand, facetiously, admit I'd no intent to be sincere, responding to your challenge with a meme, avoiding mock'ry was my angle here.

My poesy doth wither under lens! Blood in the water, sharks catch scent of bars, and swarm around, still not as bad as friends so hell-bent to c check my sorry arse."

Now darling little Wendy is completely thrown off-guard with that! Whereas it took her almost a decade to write something down, and rehearse it, and then perform it—there Sea went!

Her mouth twitches into a wide smile. Improv was never her strong suit, but that was the Lectern of Wy for you! He's sharing!

I'm not dressed for this at all... she thinks. The transition from one art to another was not on her bingo card for the day. Half of her wants to dart inside. At the very least, to grab a crown and cape! But then again, if he has the Lectern of Wy, and she's the Artist's Principality itself...

Oh... well... here I go!

"... Hell-bent or heaven-sent? Without wings, or halo, 'tis I, a guardian angel in descent! Or perhaps a Muse—by the name of Wy!

Oh, the sword shall always lose, To the pen and its art. Share, please, if you choose. I shan't mock you—cross my heart.

Think me not as a cruel shark, Nor whale, as that is Mosman's ruse. I am dolphin—a contrast quite stark! And I would love to see, per se, what gave Azure the blues."

"What-- so you want me to go demandin' to see your unfinished sketches and whatever? You want me to ask if I can watch you draw? Over your shoulder? Is that right? That's the precedent you'd like to set between the two of us, then?"

Like... okay. This is, objectively, unfair. Everyone and anyone would rule it as such!

But, on the other hand... he's brave. He has courage. He's not a coward. He HAS TO do it.

"No backsies, is all I'm gettin' at! I'm comin' for your WIPs next." He flips back through the pages of his notebook, on the lookout for something adequate. His handwriting's not the easiest to scan quickly, but she'd at least see that some of these sheets have, literally, like three words on them before he'd given up and moved on to try the next thing.

He stands up straight, with that perfect posture he keeps on hand mostly just for punchlines nowadays, and clears his throat.

She's left open-mouthed as he jabs harmlessly at her, and it hangs there until he's quite finished. The rebuttals in her mind fall as soon as they float to the top of her conscious—gardens are just so still compared to fortresses—and she'll have to come to them later. Now she's faced with the mystery at hand, which is... Azure Sun'rise Paranoia Seagull Way?

Despite often acting as though she lives in stories, Wendy hasn’t read all of them, including the online one this is from, so—tragically—she doesn’t get the comedic reference! And even more so—hilariously—she thinks these are Sea's own words, part of some elaborate joke! His pose and tone are like a court jester's, and one she recognizes immediately from gatherings past. He's nervous. She can totally tell!

“You’re not being serious," she points out, as placid as a clever child who realised the trick behind the magic trick while the class oohed, ahhed, and whaaa?d. "Unless you're going for a Princess Bride kind of satire against the fairytale genre, in a first-person point of view, and with a name like Katniss Everdeen... but I know you'd write it better than that."

She motions for him to wait as she retrieves something from the house. It only takes her a few seconds; it seems as though it's been prepared for similar occasions like these. In due time, she presents him with a coal scuttle and ashtray stand, both made of copper and sculpted together. Her Prince fashioned it himself!

“This—" she begins, with reverence, "is the Lectern of Wy. We, Wendy, Wy, and all Wyse use this before our speaking engagements. There's no scientific explanation as to why it can make the meek eloquent and the cowardly into the confident. You might even get new inspiration on the spot!" Having crowned his hands with this precious gift, she sits down politely to listen. "Now try again, Hamlet!”

Looking through some art from last year and stumbled upon this little Halloween series I did of the heta girls (from Himaruya’s Halloween art)

And I almost forgot how much I really liked these so here we are

I love how different forms of art are all obsessed with each other. A book tries to capture the feeling of music, a painting tries to depict a scene in a book, a song tries to paint a picture. And it's always insufficient. No single form of art can encapsulate another form of art and capture the essence of it – but it tries, and its attempts are impossibly compelling. All the forms of art are in love with each other and spend so much time trying to express what makes the other kinds of art so lovely.

yesterday’s sketchbook, words from sparrow by big thief

the world is a scary place when you are a small and edible thing

"Huh?" His attention washes back up on the shore of her sunny garden. In truth, she'd not interrupted much, only some very constructive and absolutely required and necessary frowning at his notebook. While... not actually getting any words down into it.

"It's because my writing's all rubbish, obviously!" He laughs airily, and thinks to counter her-- 'oh yeah? well, why aren't you published with your art?'-- but swiftly remembers that he doesn't have a leg to stand on in that regard. Because, like, she literally already is, kinda!

"You are, of a sort, aren't you? You do that thing with the art school, don't you?" He idly taps the end of his pencil against the top of his notebook, a blueprint-austere rhythm. Who needs writing, when he's got a promising calling as a living metronome?

"Right, and, anyway... I am, sort of, I used to be, only online though, not anything official in real life. I took 'em all down though, years ago. Always meant to revise 'em, now that I'm a bit less awful, and I s'pose I just never got around to it..."

Yet another casualty of Sealand's bad habit of picking up new projects just to drop them soon afterward.

"Yes, I am!" Resting inside—perhaps, even quietly observing the two young artists—is the visage of her prince at the age of eighteen, a monarch of an inner world without borders. "The Prince of Wy," as it were. What a feat, to be first published without even being pictured!

"That's still valid, though," she assures. "The wonder of the world wide web is that museums can be at our fingertips, not just in day trips. What's that one site called? Alexandria of Our Own? I adore the concept—a library that everyone can read from, and write to!"

But to reroute to what should hopefully be not a dead-end, but an alive-and-well-end to this investigation: it's not about lack of connection, it's one of confidence! And Wy certainly has something for that!

She hops down from her barstool with all the assertion of an ISTJ, ready to make an organised plan for a task at hand. Today, ENFP, we save the narrative (plural, if time allows)!

"Well! There's no time like the present for a present! And to present!"

One can never be too assured for lack of paint stains, so she wipes her fingers delicately on her overalls. "Are there any passages from drafts that you've got on hand, that you'd like to share?" And before he can protest, "I promise that we're alone. We're cut off from all of Mosman, after all."