His breath catches just that little bit, when she paints the indigo figure down on the shore. An insignificant figure there, but the only one to be seen. His eyes lift back up to meet hers a second too slow, still caught by the figure there.
He nods at her explanation, watches her continue to paint. He tilts his head at the spectrum turned in a circle. The royal fuchsia joins right up to the lowest red, looking like it's just natural progression, while all the same setting old instincts alight, old things learned and taught up in the empire's structure, in the subjugglators. She calls it like it is; heresy. At the same time, he's painted royal violet and rust next to each other plenty before.
She explains more still-- his eyes moving over to the picture before him-- and at the end of explanation he winces. He hasn't the words that could suffice. He doesn't want to ask what happened. He doesn't want to know the details of it.
Again he hesitates over the silhouettes. Again he thinks, he shouldn't touch them, but he does. He's felt Mituna's fear-- he can draw it perfect around him. He doesn't know hers, hasn't felt it personally and that's strange in itself, to know someone without have felt that. He guesses the shapes of hers from the way she moves, how she's been in the past.
"Would she believe him if he said, when at he was young, he didn't know the spectrum were to be a thing up at all?" He asks. "THOUGHT THERE WERE ALL KINDS OF COLOR WHAT ALL HE HADN'T SEEN JUST WAITING AT TO BE FOUND. Not just twelve." He pauses in the confession to then add, "THIRTEEN."
He... does remember the shape of his. He doesn't want to paint that one's. But it won't work without all of them so, reluctantly, he does.
He continues, "Never painted for no one else. WEREN'T NO POINT." He gestures to the figure on the shore. It never really mattered much out there. "But it be true," He says, "In what utterances be of she. YOU CAN UNDERSTAND COLOR. You can take what don't make sense none and all as such it becomes a thing what all does. YOU CAN TAKE THE INTANGIBLE. You can make safe there. YOU CAN MAKE IT ALL SO THE PAINT IS TO BE KEEPING ALL THE FUCK SAFE." Clarity. Security. Prayer.
He hesitates even longer on the last and final figure. He has no idea who this is. A guess, sure, but no way to know.
Terezi's sitting out for a few rounds (she'll be there just listening in)
He nods at her explanation, watches her continue to paint. He tilts his head at the spectrum turned in a circle. The royal fuchsia joins right up to the lowest red, looking like it's just natural progression, while all the same setting old instincts alight, old things learned and taught up in the empire's structure, in the subjugglators. She calls it like it is; heresy. At the same time, he's painted royal violet and rust next to each other plenty before.
She explains more still-- his eyes moving over to the picture before him-- and at the end of explanation he winces. He hasn't the words that could suffice. He doesn't want to ask what happened. He doesn't want to know the details of it.
Again he hesitates over the silhouettes. Again he thinks, he shouldn't touch them, but he does. He's felt Mituna's fear-- he can draw it perfect around him. He doesn't know hers, hasn't felt it personally and that's strange in itself, to know someone without have felt that. He guesses the shapes of hers from the way she moves, how she's been in the past.
"Would she believe him if he said, when at he was young, he didn't know the spectrum were to be a thing up at all?" He asks. "THOUGHT THERE WERE ALL KINDS OF COLOR WHAT ALL HE HADN'T SEEN JUST WAITING AT TO BE FOUND. Not just twelve." He pauses in the confession to then add, "THIRTEEN."
He... does remember the shape of his. He doesn't want to paint that one's. But it won't work without all of them so, reluctantly, he does.
He continues, "Never painted for no one else. WEREN'T NO POINT." He gestures to the figure on the shore. It never really mattered much out there. "But it be true," He says, "In what utterances be of she. YOU CAN UNDERSTAND COLOR. You can take what don't make sense none and all as such it becomes a thing what all does. YOU CAN TAKE THE INTANGIBLE. You can make safe there. YOU CAN MAKE IT ALL SO THE PAINT IS TO BE KEEPING ALL THE FUCK SAFE." Clarity. Security. Prayer.
He hesitates even longer on the last and final figure. He has no idea who this is. A guess, sure, but no way to know.