ofaymerics - Tumblr blog

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

-

he can see he’s getting to them, but he can’t stop. it’s like he has no ability to dam up the part of his mind that shared his own opinion. he shrugs. “dunno. sometimes it’s nice to not go to bed hungry. i don’t like i ever have enough coin left over to buy something pretty to look at. if i did, i’d get a new shirt, or my daughter new shoes. not saying paintings are bad, just that they’re of no use to the poor. even if i got a free one, i’d probably have to sell it.” he suddenly felt like a horrible person. “maybe if your patrons paid me more, i’d get to buy a painting or two.”

“I understand,” they replied, bowing their head slightly. While Aymeric loved to pretend like they’d never experienced poverty in their life, they had. They knew what it was like to go to sleep hungry, they knew what it was like to have to split meager meals with their parents and their siblings. They never, ever wanted to experience it again, but they knew. And he had a daughter - Aymeric is grateful that his stomach is the only one he has to worry about. “I am sorry you have to worry about these things.” Glancing back up at him again, they feel selfish for not sharing what they have, and they know it’s going to gnaw at their stomach for the rest of the night if they don’t do something about it now. Reaching into their pocket, they fish around until their fingers close around some coins. Pulling them out, they offer them to him, trying to rid themself of the feeling of guilt while knowing that he could use the coin more than they could. “If for nothing else, for your daughter’s shoes.”

[ofaymerics]

eternalfiires​:

she looks shocked, not necessarily affronted. she had been raised in the church. she’d lived it. she’d been bred to love it. she couldn’t imagine anyone not loving the warm words of the priests’ words. they always comforted zofia.

“it was. you…you really ought to listen. you must always feed the flame inside of your soul,” she said with a small smile. “but ah…forgive me. you do not know me, and i do not know you. zofia. of the maiden myne.”

That nearly made them laugh - the conflicting advice they’d gotten in their many years of living in this city, between feed your inner flame and your inner flame burns too bright had always been amusing to them. But, again, they weren’t the sort to insult someone’s religion to their face; she had given them no reason to do so, even if they believe otherwise. “Aymeric Duchamp,” they replied, slightly bowing their head in greeting, their name and accent clearly marking them an outsider, even after fifteen years in Kærholt. “But I am glad that your inner soul was fed, even if mine went without.”

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

-

“having a fancy picture of yourself is what they’d laugh at. the bigness of the ego and all that. doesn’t matter if it’s a painting of the sea or some such, but if it’s of your face, just get a mirror. if it’s like a fruit bowl, just buy some fruit. folk who don’t have two coins to rub together would rather get the thing that helps them versus something that look pretty for no reason.”

A part of Aymeric felt like that was an insult - calling him out of touch with the people whose class they’d been born into. They can remember every single one of their family’s harvests - successful and poor alike. They can remember starving through the winter, not having two coins to rub together. The only reason things are different now is because they’ve caught the eye of the Lovelowes. If they lose their affection, though... Aymeric knows better than anyone that they aren’t permanently safe from a life of poverty. “I understand,” they comment simply, rubbing at the back of their neck. “But, sometimes, it is nice to have something pretty to look at when you are surrounded by nothing but sadness.”

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

-

he shrugs. “not got enough coin for a painting of myself, anyway. i was born down by the docks, still live down by the docks. it’s a bit different there than here inside the city walls.” he laughs to himself. “maybe i’d get a fish instead. never was good at fishing, but there sure is a lot of it around me. doesn’t matter, though. i’d have nowhere to put a painting of myself, and i’m sure everyone in the tavern would have a good laugh at my expense.”

It was curious, to Aymeric, that this man was born in the city, but wouldn’t want the flame in his portrait - ignoring the fact that he could not afford a portrait altogether; most people in the city wouldn’t be able to afford one -- Aymeric themself, before the Lovelowes took them under their wing, wouldn’t have been able to afford to commission any artist worth their coin. “Ah, yes, because art is laughable,” they comment blankly, looking at him. “I do not see what is funny about having a portrait painted.”

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

-

he considers it for a moment. “you are likely true. you would know better than i, eh?” he looks at the shapes again, squinting. “i suppose i have never had my portrait painted, but i would not want the flame there.” he frowns, thinking. “maybe ale, a deer. some meat. things that actually sustain someone.”

They consider him - not many people in this city would admit that they didn’t want the flame present in their portrait, from their experience. “Are you originally from here?” They ask, unable to distinguish his accent. “I would require more payment for a deer, but ale and meat could be done at the regular cost. A deer is a... unique, distinguishable creature. Much like a person, if you do not paint it perfectly, everyone who looks at the portrait will be able to see that the artist is not worth their coin.” They give him a little smile - only speaking out of fondness of their art. 

[ofaymerics]

isevlt​:

.

iseult can’t help the ‘are you serious?’ look that she gives the other, eyebrow rising in an inquisitive manner, even if they are not even posing a question at that very moment. “so, you’re just sketching in the middle of a festival?” they think it’s weird, that the other is just standing with a piece of paper in hand and drawing but they can also make their own hands bright enough to blind someone so, really, should they be judging? “and what exactly is the meaning behind all of…” iseult looks around, motioning to everything and nothing at all. “all of this?”

“I am,” Aymeric confirms. They can tell that they think it’s strange, but conformation has never been Aymeric’s priority. Plus, they’re certain that they aren’t the strangest person at this festival. There are surely others doing stranger things than sketching. The question, though, feels a bit out of their league. Despite them living in Kærholt for almost fifteen years, they don’t align with the religion of the city, and, therefore, with the festival. “It is religious,” they start, acting as if they know everything there is to know, when, truly, they probably should have asked anyone but Aymeric. “A worship of the eternal flame, of... the warmth it provides, during the cold season. So... hot food, hot drinks, hot... everything.”

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

baz and his loose tongue– he had a penchant for calling things as he saw them, including the pretty people around the city, but he should know better than to feed an artist’s ego. “everyone would say they’re one of their best. what kind of artist would you be if you said you were just in the middle? not one that gets coin.” he purses his lips and looks over aymeric’s shoulder. “those are good shapes. what are they supposed to be?”

“The Lovelowes do not sponsor the ones in the middle,” they point out, tilting their head to the side slightly. “After all, do I look like I starve?” When they first moved here, they were starving nightly. Using charcoals to sketch passersby in hopes of enough coin for a meal. Somehow, that got them attention, and attention got them sponsors. “Background details,” they answer, looking down to their papers. “This... is that pillar there. And this is the flame...” So many worshippers desired the fire to be behind them in their portraits. Aymeric would not admit that they’re growing tired of painting the flame. At least they could make it look different every time, ever moving.

[ofaymerics]

“And also on you,” they reply in their accented voice, despite not being of the same religion. They know better than to disrespect the fire in front of someone who clearly worships it in this city, after being here for nearly fifteen years. “I admit, I was asleep, though I am sure the message was interesting.” Boring. Don’t insult her religion, Aymeric. Not here, not now.

starter: open location: the eldrkirk

“fires blessings on you,” zofia says, voice low and scratchy. she smiles to the other person, inclining her head towards them. “the message this morning was quiet enlightening, wasn’t it? i always enjoy hearing the priests so early in the morning.”

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

-

baz squints at them in suspicion. as much as he’d love to not have to go to the lovelowe estate that day, he doesn’t trust just anyone with his deliveries. he pulls the package out of aymeric’s reach. “who are you to take this to the lovelowes? pretty thing sketching in a park… they your patrons?” he looks them over more, trying to add things up in his mind.

They can tell that he is suspicious of them, which is fair. He can remember days of his younger years, when every little thing that earned them money was precious, where losing even a single copper meant the difference between eating and starving. But Aymeric meant this stranger no harm. A little smile rose to their face at the question, knowing, but not sharing. “They are...” they replied, happy to be complimented - for they were a pretty thing, and they knew it. “I would say I am one of their best.”

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

-

baz stoops down to grab the package. “rush order for a rich family out on the border of the city walls.” he squints at the label. “lovelowe. the art bitches.” he catches himself from saying anything else once he realized the person he knocked over was an artist. “what are you drawing?”

Aymeric hadn’t been planning on going back to the Lovelowe estate any time soon, but they could make up an excuse for why this so-called rush order was late. “I can take it there, if you’d like,” they offer, reaching for it, amused by this stranger calling their patrons the art bitches. “Nothing in particular,” they replied, tilting their head and the paper to show him. “Just shapes that I would not want to forget before I can get my hands on paint.”

[ofaymerics]

isevlt​:

.

iseult feels both out of place and in their element, all at the same time. there are moments when kaerholt feels familiar, reminiscent of the same market they’d been brought up in — loud, crowded and seemingly never ending in its splendour. that’s why the sight of someone just… standing there, sticking out like a sore thumb. hesitation be damned, iseult makes their way towards the other and looks at the paper they’re holding. “what are you doing?” curiosity laces every syllable, eyes on the paper and his hand rather than his eyes.

At the sound of a voice addressing them, Aymeric’s eyes move from the shapes of the nearest pillar to the person speaking. They obviously aren’t looking at him, but the paper instead, so they figure that they’re less referring to the fact that Aymeric is lingering, and more referring to the work that he’s doing. “What does it look like I am doing?” they reply with a teasing little grin, their light accent still touching their words despite how long it had been since they’d left their home country. “Sketching,” they finally provide them with an answer, turning the paper to show them a little bit better. “The shapes and colors of this festival are beautiful, meaning behind it all aside.”

[ofaymerics]

tragxics​:

-

baz was on a delivery run, anything to bring in a few extra coins during a time where spending money on the flame was the norm. he didn’t notice he’d barreled into someone until it was too late, his delivery order clattering to the ground.

“sorry,” he mutters as he stoops to grab the package. “you alright?”

Aymeric is startled when someone runs into him, but, luckily, their grip on the lead and the notes remains strong. It doesn’t seem like the other had quite a good grip, though, so they bend down to try to help him with whatever it was he’d been holding. “I’m fine,” they reply in their lightly accented voice, looking at him. “Are you? Were you running from...?” The something, someone is left unspoken, glancing over the man’s shoulder to try to see where he was coming from.

[ofaymerics]

open // somewhere like a public garden

They’d seen this festival every year for a decade and a half at this point. Flames this, flames that -- it seemed to Aymeric that this was the time of year that eldens pointedly ignored their own advice, letting their own flames burn too bright, as Aymeric had heard more times than they could keep track of at this point. Nevertheless, the celebration was good to look at, filled with colors that they’d only dreamt of in their childhood. So, they’d been going around, plucking flowers and staring at flames, trying to find colors to ask their patrons to provide for an upcoming painting, a piece of lead between their fingers, scratching over a piece of paper in their other palm. There were shapes as unique as the colors, and they wanted to get them down before they were forgotten to time.

[ofaymerics]

Aymeric Duchamp | artist

{ louis garrel, 38, demiman, he/they } ** whispers dart through the streets of kærholt. was that AYMERIC DUCHAMP that was spotted? they’re an ARTIST in the city and are known for being CREATIVE and STUBBORN. they DO NOT have magical abilities. the whispers say they are AGAINST the eldrkirk and are AGAINST the laws about magic. may the fire keep them warm. **

A foreigner, born and raised without a cent to their name. They never paid attention in lessons, barely learned how to spell their own name. They cared not for history or politics or even to continue their family’s farm - they had a younger brother for that. No. All Aymeric ever cared for, even in his youth, was art. 

They painted with anything they could get their hands on - ground up seeds from the farm, grapes mashed together, even dirt after the rain worked. After all, their family could afford nothing more than what they already had. 

That wasn’t enough for Aymeric. They had the name of a king, but the prestige of a farmer’s child, and they wanted more. Selfishly, they kissed their family goodbye and moved to brighter pastures - travelers through their small town had mentioned the free city of Kærholt many times before, and, quite frankly, it seemed like the best option for them. There was no king to bow down to, no Lords to obey, just the freedom to do whatever they desired. And they’d heard that there were plenty of patrons, as well - people who would actually pay for them to do art, as opposed to their art just sitting around, wasted in their family’s farmhouse.

They arrived in Kærholt nearly fifteen years ago. Since then, they’ve learned the ways of the city. They’ve learned of the eldrkirk, of their... proclivities, of their ways of life. They certainly don’t worship the fire - for fire is unstable, ever damaging. They’ll stick to their Old Gods, thank you very much. Those whose lives are devoted to the flames may see them as too self indulgent - his fire burns too bright. And Aymeric would never deny that - they’re a passionate person, easily excitable, quick to action. But they’re good at what they do - they love to paint, and it seems as if the paint loves them. Perhaps... too good at what they do.

WCs !!

Head & Spouse of House Lovelowe - Aymeric has been their patron for years. They know him, he knows them, and it’s mutually beneficial; they have one of the best (if not the best) artists in the city in their pocket. Aymeric wants more, though. He wants to share their bed. (this is totally up to the players of the head & spouse - it could definitely be unrequited desire!!)

Lovers - past & present! Aymeric is fluid in every way, polyamorous and bisexual, they will go to bed with anyone who presents interest in them (except for maybe members of the elden order, unless they have something to give to him in return).

Friends - he’s been in the city for fifteen years, he’s got some friends by now, they go out drinking, out dancing, out burning too bright. But isn’t that the fun of it all?

Patrons - people who have come to them for their art, whether it be a portrait of themself or a loved one, or of someplace or something special to them. After all, Aymeric is good at what they do - word does travel throughout the city.

And anything else tbh I can’t wait to vibe with yall

[ofaymerics]

A Faithful Man (2018) dir. Louis Garrel