#Shoebill Scuffle

[expressandadmirable]

Art Fight 2018: Katü

1  Watching a meteor shower

“Well? Are you coming?”

Mykas rolled their eyes, stretching languidly over the broad, flat rock they had claimed as a day bed and curling an arm behind their head. “What’s with you and the surface, anyway? Can it really be that interesting?”

Kalique gave Mykas a withering look and tapped the sole of their boot with her trident. “Would you just trust me? Come on. When have I ever let you down?” She feigned a pout, the same she had used since they were children. The one Mykas could never deny.

With a pointedly dramatic sigh, Mykas rolled off the rock and onto their feet. “Never,” they replied with a grin. “Show me the way.” Kalique returned the expression, giggling with childlike glee as she kicked off from the sandy ground and up into the water. Removing their boots, Mykas followed close behind. Up and up and up, along the edge of the sleeping reef and past the array of bizarre fish that only showed themselves when the water was dark. Upward they swam, until, with a soft splash, they broke the surface.

“…Oh,” Mykas murmured.

It was the first time they had ever seen a moonless night sky, and the stars scattered across the heavens were brighter than they could have imagined. After a few moments of stunned silence, they tilted their head to look at Kalique. “Fair enough.”

Kalique’s eyes sparkled. “Just wait.”

Mykas lifted a brow but turned their gaze upward once again, leaning back until their body broke the surface. A ripple of water told them Kalique had done the same, and she crossed an ankle over Mykas’ to prevent them from floating away from each other. They waited.

When the first streak of light crossed the sky, Mykas gasped in spite of themselves. “What was that?!”

“What I wanted to show you,” Kalique responded with smug satisfaction.

As the pair watched, another pinprick of light shot across the sky and winked out on the horizon. Then another, and another. It seemed to Mykas as if the sky was falling. More and more lights streaked across their vision, each one twinkling as it soared past.

“What is it?”

“The scientific term is a meteor shower,” Kalique answered matter-of-factly. “But I hear the surface folk call them ‘shooting stars’.”

Mykas huffed a soft laugh. “Of course they do.” They considered for a moment. “I like it.”

“Yeah.” Kalique rippled the water with a nod. “Me too.”

(Art attack for @kitkatkatu with their Triton, Mykas)

[expressandadmirable]

Art Fight 2018: Saetje

2. Digging your fingers into fresh dirt

“Gonna grow tomatoes, gonna grow potatoes, gonna grow a million billion herrrbs!”

Immensely pleased with her rhyme but at a loss for how to continue it, Fiona contented herself with a tuneless hum as she shaped the mound of soil before her. Her large hands worked delicately, her tongue poking from the side of her mouth as she ensured the size and shape of the mound exactly matched the other mounds in her row. Giving the dirt a final pat, she sat back with a smile. “Mama! I’m finished!”

“Oh?” Using her rake as a staff, her mother straightened her back, sweeping the greying red hair from her eyes. “So you are! Well done, sweet pea! Gods willing, those seeds will grow up nice and tall.”

“When, mama?” Clambering to her feet, Fiona stepped carefully over the low rows of turned earth. “Will they sprout tomorrow?”

Her mother laughed. “No darling, not tomorrow. But soon. You have to let them grow in their own time! Just like I have to let you grow in your own time.” She reached out with a dirt-streaked green finger and booped the child’s nose, making her giggle. “I’m going to finish this row, then get dinner started. You go play for awhile, alright?”

“Okay!” Before her mother had even finished her statement, Fiona was already on her way through the vegetable patch and toward the gate at the edge of their property. She turned at the fence, waved, and let herself out. Her mother smiled and shook her head as she returned to her raking.

At the top of the gentle, sloping hill beyond their house stood a single tree, its trunk thick and knotted with age. Ducking beneath the low-hanging branches, Fiona reached into the hollow in the trunk just above her head and retrieved her treasures: a selection of dolls and figurines she had fashioned out of twigs, corn husks and coloured twine. She plopped down at the base of the tree and assembled her toys before her, picking up the story where she had left off the day before.

“I am Paladin Fiona!” she announced, brandishing the poppet adorned with fiery red yarn hair. “You have kidnapped the fair princess, foul monster! You took her from her home! That is…” she paused, searching for the right words, “very rude! I have come to rescue her and defeat you for ever and ever!”

Picking up a figure made of greying twigs, she confronted her own avatar. “You are a fool, Paladin Fiona! I will never let the princess go!” She poked a second corn husk poppet with tiny purple flowers tucked at its waist, narrating the princess’ fear with a whimper before loosing an evil laugh from the twig monster. “Meet your end, you orcish… fool!”

The battle was fierce and pitched, full of fevered narration and appropriately dramatic sound effects, until finally the twig creature fell dead at poppet-Fiona’s feet. Grabbing the princess with her newly freed hand, Fiona brought the two poppets close. “You saved me!” cried the princess. “Oh wise and lovely Paladin, the whole kingdom will love you just as much as I do!”

Of course, there was kissing, as that was how all the best stories ended. Fiona walked the two poppets up the trunk of the tree and deposited them safely in the hollow to live out their days in peace and happiness. She considered the twig monster for a moment, then placed it in the hollow as well, just in case tomorrow's story was a tale of dastardly revenge.

“Fiona!” Her mother's voice echoed up the hill. “Dinner!”

“Coming!” Emerging from beneath the tree, Fiona made her way through the grass toward her home, picking flowers as she went. After dinner, she would weave them into a crown for her mother. Someday, she would weave one for her princess, but for now her mother would do.

(Art attack for @saetje with their Half-Orc, Fiona Chulainn)

[expressandadmirable]

Art Fight 2018: Kimbles

19. Satin in candlelight

Desmond grimaced at his reflection and immediately regretted it. Aside from his dissatisfaction at the drape of the garment, his expression of disgust only served to highlight his preternaturally caprine features. He dropped his gaze, taking a moment to allow his face to return to neutral, then breathed deeply and lifted his eyes to the mirror to examine the fabric again.

“Your tea is ready, my lord.”

Without acknowledging the actual reason Madame Serah Potts had entered his chambers, Desmond turned toward her and gestured in frustration. “I don’t think I like it, malia. Something’s not working.”

Serah raised a brow. “Do you know what?”

“The fabric itself, perhaps.” Desmond whirled to face the mirror, pulling at his chin in thought as the half-finished robes whispered around him. “It looks… cheap.”

From behind him, Serah snorted. “My lord, nothing you own is cheap.” She was the only servant in the household able to get away with such impudence, and she knew it. Desmond gave her reflection a withering look. “If I may,” she continued, setting the tea tray on the lacquered wooden table, “the fabric is fine. You’re looking at it wrong.”

Desmond tilted his head. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Serah responded definitively. “And I mean that in the most literal sense.” Producing a matchbox from the pocket of her apron, she brought the flame to life and lit the wicks of a curling silver candelabrum. Desmond watched, head still canted in confused curiosity, as she crossed the chamber to the large windows bright with mid-morning sun. One by one, she drew the curtains, darkening the room until the only light shone from the candles on the table.

“Malia, what are you--”

Serah held up a finger for silence as she made her way back across the echoing wooden floor, lifting the candelabrum and approaching the mirror. She twirled her finger and Desmond turned obediently to face the glass. “Now how does it look?”

Desmond paused. The satin shimmered in the candlelight, moving like liquid around his slender frame. Shadows lingered in the folds of the fabric, interspersed with slices of coppery light. Slowly, he nodded. “I see.”

“It’s not a fabric meant for daylight. There’s no mystery in it. Even after dark, it’s a hard one to pull off.” Serah smirked. “You have to wear it like you mean it.”

Peering at Serah over his shoulder, Desmond offered a wry smile. “How did you get so wise?”

Serah shrugged. “I’m old. I’ve been around. Would you like the curtains opened?”

“No, thank you malia. I think I’ll work like this.” Desmond gazed into the mirror again, turning this way and that, watching the robes shift in the light. “It inspires me.”

“Suit yourself.” Serah stepped toward the door. “Don’t forget your tea.”

(Art attack for @kimbles with her Tiefling, Desmond Cagliari)