#ignatzlandscape

[aurheatum]

those closest to the light

@ignatzlandscape @sheerloyalty @macawbre

When Rhea had first suspected Faolán she had assumed it was information the cardinal thought improper to share with Rhea at that moment not this (whatever this was). That spell Faolán had used, and her words “the will of Saint Seiros” - indeed, she thought wryly, if she had not so recently seen her own blood she may have been tempted to check if it was still there.

(It’s there, she thinks. But is it, can it, change?)

Still, whatever name she goes by, whatever banner she flies, Rhea was made for war. Her students know this reality as well and so when they are so rudely warped out of the catacombs and into the gray backdrop of Garreg Mach’s outer defenses it takes them little time to form teams once more and strike back against the invaders.

Rhea would determine who and what these invaders were at a later time, right now all that mattered was that her sword struck true and that she was here to defend and lead. Four shadowy figures - different from the phantoms of before - face she and her students and Rhea runs ahead to strike at the one in a mockery of bishop robes. The strike lands but not deep enough for her to keep her opponent where she would like and when she pulls her sword back she is encumbered by the magical and physical blows of a sage and wyvern rider respectively.

Gritting her teeth, she shouts over to the rest of her group: “stay together! Do not by any means let them separate you.”

[resurrectionpact]

voyage to tomorrow

the Boys @ignatzlandscape @alfvangr​ @ceaselessblade​

There’s nothing to like about this. A massive beast, monster, demon hovering over Garreg Mach... and a young boy with a constant smile, claiming Sainthood, godhood...

Fomortiis roils inside of Lyon, as though indignant of the sudden competition.

[ Indignant? Hardly. They are naught but infants playing with dolls. What are they to me, who has existed since the dawn of man? ]

Dolls... Lyon recalls how that boy had dangled their friends before them. Toying with them, reduced to mere playthings. The thought of it. The memory of it. To be sound in mind but a slave to your own traitorous body, stolen and held hostage by another–

As Lyon enters the pillar of light, he presses one hand firmly against his mouth, the other on his stomach. Bile rises in his throat... it takes plenty of effort to swallow it back down.

-

“Father...”

This stage the boy set for them... it’s disorienting. With ground and sky all the same inky black, Lyon can’t help but wonder, is there an end to this ground? A cliff that will send you hurtling into the darkness? The idea of stepping off to his death, even with Alfonse’s rally–

The tiger prowls towards him. Surrounded by shadow and desperate for power, Lyon calls upon the Banshee spell to keep Gricenchos still. Dark wisps brush and grasp at the beasts’ paws, but to now avail. Its massive paws crush the shadows underfoot, as Gricenchos begins his assault.

Lyon stumbles back quick enough to avoid the first attack, but the second one almost sends him flying. Knocked back and laying flat on the ground, he hisses in pain before struggling to get up. I can’t die here, I can’t!

[verseandrhyme]

eurydice

@macawbre ; @ignatzlandscape

The next segment of the catacombs, to Mitama’s expectations, is darker and even less pleasant than the last.

How joyful.

Mitama sighs as she squints off in the distance. The glowing moss reveals no secrets before them, providing only the smallest amount of light down their passageway. As if the sight isn’t stressful enough, the echoing of voices dances through their ears, calling out to them.

It reminds Mitama of too many memories, both in Valla and in Fodlan, and she does not care to think on it beyond more than the moment. She shudders, lets out a quick sigh, then straightens herself up and pushes forward. As always.

Faolan seems just as displeased about the voices as any person with sense would, covering her ears and hobbling along next to Mitama. That does give the shrine maiden some pause as she thinks. The land they are exploring supposedly belongs to the church, did it not? One would assume then, that anything in it be planted there by the church...or at the very least they should be aware of it.

Mitama frowns to herself over her thoughts for a moment before waving to Faolan. “The sounds we are hearing, is it something implemented by the church? To deter thieves perhaps, or some other kind of security implementation?”

Faolán turns to Mitama, "WHAT?" Then, more sheepishly (but her voice still a little loud), "Ah, um... yes, the voices. After what happened with the Golem, I imagine that it's part of the defense system!"

Mitama winces, flinching back. She manages to bite down the initial response to Faolan, nodding through her explanation instead. She supposes...it certainly isn’t the most reassuring of answers to receive. “Hmm…does the church have any records of what it might be? If it’s magic of some kind, there should be documentation of the ritual.”

Faolán puts a hand to her head as she tries to think. "'Those who swear themselves to the Goddess swear to protect her for eternity, in life and death.' The Book of Seiros, Part VII. But... well, forgive me Lady Rhea, but that isn't possible... is it? Surely ghosts don't exist..."

Ah...Mitama has heard of some religions before where the devoted will surrender their bodies in death to become the very pillars of that institution...a morbid thought, but it would explain the voices... Mitama turns to look at Rhea as well, but midway through the action she freezes. Something in the distance...faint and flickering catches her eye. When she attempts to focus on it, it vanishes.

I just wanted to see the world.

Mitama swallows. “...Did anyone else see that?” She asks out loud.

@macawbre

[minorindech]

Ignatz had noticed Bernadetta on his way to get a drink. It was a rare sight to see her outside her room, and at a ball no less. Ignatz had only ever seen her during mock battles between the Houses, and it was rather hard to casually talk to your opponent on the battlefield.

He grabbed a sparkling water with strawberry syrup for himself and plain water for Bernadetta. He had heard that most people found sparkling water to be unpleasant, and he didn't want to scare her off.

Approaching Bernadetta, Ignatz held out the glass of water. "Hi Bernadetta. Are you thirsty?"

Bernie squeaks at the sound of her name, but doesn't shriek, and manages to turn to face the approaching person with only a fraction of terror on her face instead of full blown panic.

Ignatz...from the Deer, right? She hadn't spoken to the other student...not that she ever went out of her way to approach students in other houses. But...he seemed friendly enough right now, though that isn't hard when they're at a peaceful event and not on the battlefield.

Bernadetta glances at the offered glass of water. It could be poisoned...she bites her tongue from spitting out the accusation.

"Oh, um, thank you." She takes the glass from him and tries not to hesitate too long before taking a sip.

The silence that follows is awkward, a tad longer than it should be. She should say...something, right? Her eyes suddenly widen.

"Oh, stamp! Right, you probably want one of those, right?" She quickly fumbles out her stamp and offers her card. It's a bit difficult with one hand, but she manages. "I can do that!"

[cotharach]

👗- Ignatz sighed. He had been sketching the girls at the ball hoping to get the inspiration to paint the Goddess, but nobody stood out to him. Glancing over the room, he saw Flayn. "That's it!" Flayn wasn't the perfect Goddess of his dreams, but she was close enough.

"Flayn!" He called out, rushing across the room, sketchbook in hand. "Can I sketch you?"

For some reason, Flayn always seemed... heavenly to Ignatz, and he never understood why. "You just look amazing! Almost like the Goddess!"

“Ignatz!”

Flayn greets the Golden Deer in turn, a polite nod and curtsy directed to him as she acknowledges his call from across the ballroom. 

“You flatter me with your words— I know my radiance to be somewhat divine, but to be compared to the Goddess Herself makes me blush!" her hand goes to sagely stroke her chin, and her eyes gleam with a subtle brand of mischief, "Perhaps a comparison with a saint is more agreeable, hm?”

She lets out a knowing giggle. Had she let out too much? Ignatz wouldn't catch on too quickly, would he?

Flayn decides he wouldn't.

“Either way, I shall allow you to sketch me to the best of your abilities. Though I cannot leave your efforts unanswered to." she lifts her knuckle, tapping on the gleaming signet ring, "Allow me to exchange a stamp with you at the very least!”

[thyrosus]

💭

                  【 a glimpse into the noble’s thoughts / not accepting!  🌹】

❝A CURIOUS MIND.

I sense the makings of a truly great aesthete within him, and yet I sense hesitation whenever those who remark upon his considerable artistic talents bring the very idea to the forefront. What use is there in downplaying what has the makings of genius? What Ignatz could be innate; it could be the work of a lifetime of secrecy, if he’s so determined to diminish his own talents. Chances are, the lies somewhere in between—and it is of little consequence to me, if he is so quick to shy away from deserved praise.

                                                            Perhaps, however, with a little encouragement...❞

[radiantpriamos]

Priam had a vague understanding of how to dance, but he ignored all of that in favor of what REAL dancing should be in his books.

He hadn’t expected Dimitri to agree to it, much less be his partner. Priam figured he’d be going in lone wolf style, but the addition of someone else at his side was pretty nice. Twice the action, twice the impact.

Literally.

He watched Dimitri hand his jacket off and grinned, running onstage ahead of him and leaping into a somersault. He righted himself with another jump, light on his feet, and broke into a dance that was, as in sync as possible with Dimitri, one of jumps, flips, and sheer spirit that had him breathing hard at the end.

They were an odd pair, Dimitri formal and pristine and Priam in a school uniform with rolled up sleeves, but in dance? He was certain they felt the same. Free.

ignatzlandscape​:

Style: 3

Choreography: 3

Technique: 1

Total: 7

To put it simply, Ignatz dancing was horredous. It wasn’t worth describing because the mere sight of him flailing his body around made one judge faint. Onlookers compared it to a dying bird.

@elegiac-boar and @radiantpriamos 

Style: 10

Choreography: 6

Technique: 2

Total: 18

It was an understatement to say that Dimitri was nervous. The prince was a little blond ball of nerves ready to explode, and it felt horrible. He had never felt nervous before a dance before- but this was no normal dance either. He and Priam had agreed to do something else and the idea sounded amazing at the time, but now he was filling up with doubt. In front of everyone… this would be a scandal. Faerghus was already unstable as it was with his uncle’s reputation, what would happen if someone caught word that Crown Prince Dimitri is flailing like a fish at a ball for nobles? A prince like him just going off the shits? Lambert’s son?

That’s more likely than you’d think.

At some point he just said to himself, “Curse it.” and removed his rich and embroidered jacket, handing it to a nearby servant before going to the dancefloor with his pair.

We boutta get funky.

Did he know what he was doing? No. He was infinitely grateful that hs uncle weren’t there otherwise the man would’ve fainted from laughing.

But mid performance, he felt himself smiling.

It felt jittery, disorganized, a hot mess, but it felt so fun. So free. 

He couldn’t help but look at Priam with a face of complete surprise at their scores, cheeks rosy from the dancing.

@radiantpriamos​

[theofficersacademy]

Here to say I got the url ignatzvictor so I'm switching Ignatz's blog to it!

Ignatz's URL ignatzlandscape has been changed to ignatzvictor!

- Mod Ree

[leicestersbeast]

↳snow it goes! || continued from here || @ignatzlandscape​​​

Ignatz panicked when he heard Raphael call his name. Even though they have been friends since they were kids, Raphael’s enthusiasm never stopped surprising him. The two were complete opposites.

After calming down, Ignatz jogged over to where Raphael was, who was already starting to form the base of the snowman. “Yeah, that would be fun!” Ignatz smiled. Besides, their snowman wouldn’t be any worse looking than the other snowman that had already been built.

“Alright! This’ll look great with the two of us workin’ at it—we can make him real huge! A snowman like no one’s ever seen!”

The snow’s perfect for packing and sculpting out of so they can get real creative with it! While Raphael’s eye for aesthetics has never been as refined or carefully trained (try as he may have, once upon a time) Ignatz will be able to pick up that slack.

Raphael takes a step back to look at the base he’s started, dusting the snow off of his gloves. “You can be the creative director, and I’ll do all the grunt work of packing the snow down so it’s real sturdy, yeah? It’ll come together in no time!”

He can see it already: a snowman that towers over even him, and twice as strong. They’ll make it so tall that Raphael’s gotta stand on his tip toes to bestow the finishing touches—that Ignatz has to stand up on his shoulders to, even! A real testament to the snow’s raw power! A symbol of winter’s strength!

The smile he turns toward his old friend is infectious. “Where should we start?”

[lockpicnic]

this is war!

True mastery with a sword is more than just swinging your weapon and embracing its sharp edge into your personality, but knowing what separates a true blade from something best left in the kitchen. A master smith from the castle town is offering a seminar to Officers Academy students on forging their own blades, so that they may learn what makes a sword a cut above the rest. For fun, he even makes it a competition–there’s no doubt that whatever you make will be terrible, but the one who manages to make the least terrible blade will be dubbed “the champion Forged in Fire” for a day! [ Grants Sword +1 ]

@ignatzlandscape

Patty liked to believe that she was good with a sword-- it was her primary weapon, after all!-- but she’s never made a sword. Many of the other sword users in Seliph’s army had their own special weapons, ones made for them and only them (sure they were Holy Weapons passed down from generation to generation, but it still wasn’t fair that she didn’t have one!), while Patty was left with her sleep sword. It got the job done, and that was all that mattered.

Until now.

Word had gotten around of a smith from the town offering a seminar for crafting blades, and of course Patty wasn’t going to let that go. Sure, she didn’t know the first thing about metal work, but that was the whole point of taking a class, right? There would be nothing to gain!

She arrived at the seminar in high spirits, ready to learn so that she could forge her own weapon. Perhaps it would be one she could pass down to generations to come-- Yewfelle would be old news compared to this beauty that she definitely wouldn’t be messing up!

“You guys will be competing against each other,” the man says, tone jolly-- a stark contrast to his gruff appearance, “whoever makes the best blade will be the champion Forged in Fire! Alright, get craftin’-- I’m expecting some masterpieces by the time I’m back!”

Oh, it was on! The thief turned to the first person she saw-- a scrawny looking guy with glasses-- with a smirk on her face, pumping her fist into the air. “Hey, you! Ya better put all ya got into this-- I ain’t plannin’ on losin’!”

[15shadesofgray]

     “You’re kidding, right? These lines are sexy! And they’re just lines!” Gray scoffs, never one to understand why people are humble when they can just flaunt what they have, and glasses here definitely has talent. He would have continued to argue if it wasn’t for him saying: I could never ask someone to pay for these. A thought instantly comes to mind.

     “Weeeeell, if you insist. Do I have the perfect muse for you! Let’s see.... found her!” It doesn’t take Gray too long to spot a certain pegasus knight free from her usual armor and weaponry, donning instead a poofy white dress as if she brought the clouds along with her. “See that gal over there with the most perfect long blondes its practically gold when the light strikes it perfectly, the cutest bangs in all of Fodlan, and mesmerizing hazel eyes it almost feels like whirlpools” And why he’s here and not there was still a mystery to him. He’ll change that soon. “Think you can sketch her for me later? But not when she’s with some random bozo! I’m gonna dance with her, just you wait. I’ll owe you big time!”

     He flashes the signet ring given to him, a single decorated ‘G’ can be seen at the very center. “I can do practically anything for you, my man. Just say the word. If we have a deal, let’s trade stamps and make it official! Name’s Gray.”

( 😲 ) - Gray always considered himself as a true enthusiasts of the gods' greatest gift to the world: women. There's just something so captivating about them that sends him to the heavens every time. The numero uno appreciator of women, he declares himself internally. That changed, however, when he catches glimpse of a certain bespectacled student sketching away from in his own little space in the event area.

"Dude, these are... wow." Gray threw away all notions of personal space and privacy and playfully taps the artist's back as he gawks at his works. He knew it! They were sketches of the ladies! Sure they had their respective dancers included in the sketch, but the details on them made them pop-out more. Clearly, they were the main focus.

It was then and there, Gray knew, he found a new friend. "You being paid to do all these? They're amazing!"

Ignatz let out a light scream when Gray tapped him. Instinctively he slammed his sketchbook closed. “Ah... no it’s... it’s nothing!” Holding his sketchbook tightly to his chest, he anxiously waited for Gray to leave. After a few minutes, Ignatz relaxed, assuming he wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Well thank you but they’re not really that good.” Ignatz said sheepishly, “Just a hobby, I could never ask someone to pay for these.”

[verseandrhyme]

a brief lesson in art history

The catacombs are dark. It is an unsurprising thought. They are underground. But it had not occurred to Mitama exactly how dark they would be until the light was stricken away from them. The sudden plunge, along with Mitama’s mark growing more and more irate under her sock similarly plummeted her own mood.

The sight of a golem at the other end of the hall certainly does not help either.

Mitama sighs to herself, examining the walls as she grumbles and wonders why the religious heads of the institution did not think to deactivate their defenses before their arrival, when her eyes fall onto a mural that decorates the passage.

The shrine maiden hums curiously. It is religious in origin, clearly, but not anything the shrine maiden can recall hearing of in the preaching. Not that that was unusual either.

Her eyes drift to their newfound mystery guide. Mitama could easily use this as an opportunity to question Rhea and Seteth further, but it would not do well to leave any loose ends. "Might it be possible to receive an explanation of what we are seeing for those of us who are less informed in such matters?"

"Ah, of course!" Faolán steps in front of the group to get a better look at the wall.

Water and time have faded the mural's original colors, and there are parts where you see the bare rock rather than paint. However, you can still make out a large female figure daintly stepping onto a blue floor (tile? water?). Where her foot touches the blue erupts light, clouds and snow and magic, trees and flowers and the animals that leap after them.

"The Creation of Fódlan," Faolán whispers in wonder. "When the Goddess alighted on our world, when it was but a cloudless ocean... even when worn by time, its glory is arresting."

Mitama hums, thoughtful, turning her attention to the mural once more. She cannot deny that it is a gorgeous piece of work. “Why would such a piece be commissioned in a part of the monastery where none would see it?” She wonders out loud, crossing her arms before her. “Surely it would fair better to be displayed openly, for all to gawk at.”

@ignatzlandscape

[aurheatum]

For every order she gives the shadows they fight against provides them an equally united front. Ignatz has run short of his luck and Rhea tries not to look back his way as she dashes past Hana and Henry. This was what he had trained for.

(Hana stands tall, ever stalwart despite the the fact it is not Rhea who is meant to be her guiding star. And Henry for his part laughs in crimson whether it's his blood or the sick ichor of the enemy.)

"Stay down" Rhea shouts as she leaps in time with the dragon rider's lunge. Her sword and its axe both sing through the air but neither finds its mark. Rhea lands and turns back to look at the battlefield, eyes blazing.

Whoever these enemies were they were certainly not divine or perfect in nature but could she and her students outlast them. No, it was not a question they could dwell on. They would. They had to.

@ignatzlandscape

those closest to the light

ignatzlandscape​:

Ignatz felt like he was on the top of the world with his performance lately. He felt invincible, like nobody could touch him. He confidently drew an arrow and quickly fired it at the Sage.

1d20 + 2 = 8, Ignatz deals no damage to Shadow Sage due to its Serios Shield

“Let me paint you a-” Ignatz’s shouted as he fired the arrow, stopping as the arrow bounced off the Sage’s shield. “Darn, shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up…”

The Sorcerer takes advantage of his disappointment, and fired a blast of magic at Ignatz when he wasn’t paying attention.

Shadow Sorcerer deals 2 damage to Ignatz (8/10 HP)

Ignatz was knocked back, and he slowly got back up and readied another arrow.

@macawbre

Rhea wasn’t in good shape. He was already having a hard time keeping his eyes on all the kids scurrying around, let alone the head of the church. What would a chicken do without its head, anyway? Run itself into the ground? “Hey! Someone spot for her before she goes down! Rhea– Don’t die until you’re dead!” He doesn’t manage to utter the tail end of his sentence before it’s curtailed by a flash of healing light, unsealing the might of her truest abilities… and Mitama’s good eye.

“I’m telling ya, Mitama, you’re a juggernaut!” He thrusted out a salute in her direction before making a full pivot. Had to duck out of the splitting sparks from a sage only to get caught by a double-up from the sorcerer. Oh ho! Looks like they were out for blood too! This could get interesting… Pulling his weight, his hands parsed threateningly, prepared to strike the wyvern rider off his saddle— yet in a stroke of his own misfortune his aim was thrown off. And the moment his arm lowered, the sage rocketed down a bolt of lightning towards the crown of his head and hit him squarely where he would burn.

For a moment, his vision blurred, as the pain from both spells forced his fingers to cripple in sheer agony. “Haaaa!” His laughter, then, was barely that. By whatever force was keeping him up, Henry faltered on his feet, as the crackling darkness picked up clouds of dust and blood. A beggar, he was not. A chooser, he also was not. Shifting like shade, he made way closer to a healer who could clear the spots in his vision. 

Ignatz ate dirt too, it seemed. “Ignatz, hold your head on~!” By the dead and unknown, it appeared as though their section had very well committed to plummeting like stars. A failure by any other man, but on his name he knew this was far from failure. They were fighting for their lives—failure was no longer a sentiment that could played on the board. So either they died successfully or lived successfully. They had no other choice.

Attacks the SHADOW WYVERN RIDER with Mire, but misses. Both SHADOW SAGE and SHADOW SORCERER come in swinging with their spells, dealing a combined 3.5 damage, bringing him down to 4/10HP

“Kill me dead next time! Don’t try to-” THROB. THROB. “Pluck my feathers one by one!”

HIs whole face convulsed, delight and affliction straining the entirety of his being. The exertion was beginning to smart! Breath laboring, Henry shook it off for another round of struggle. Because when it came to war, that was all he knew. Wrestling by the hands of fate, and for what?

Henry breathed in.

To bite the hand that fed him, probably.

@sheerloyalty​

[thyrosus]

Ignatz wasn't close friends with Lorenz, but he felt bad about how he rejected Lorenz's invitation to the Ethereal Ball. His art wasn't worth paying for, much less the 10,000,000 G he had asked for.

So, on Lorenz's birthday, he approached Lorenz with an offer.

"Happy birthday... sorry for trying to rip you off... I'll paint you a portrait for free, just come to my dorm when you want it done."

TRUTH BE TOLD, his classmate's insinuations had long slipped his mind—perhaps an estimation a bit too high, for the level of craftsmanship, but Lorenz sees dedication and a burgeoning talent. And, for the briefest of moments, the demands met were an assertion. Unremarkable to most, but to a peer as typically reserved in disposition as Ignatz, worth taking note.

Lorenz offers a smile, accepts the apology with the grace it deserves—balks, inwardly, at the admittance of guilt (and really, the gall; speaking openly, honestly, Lorenz had staked no actual intention behind it, assuming the entire thing a jest)—and shakes his head.

"We may negotiate the price, as gentlemen do. To do otherwise would be a mark upon my character—unless you truly think me unable to properly compensate you for your time?"

[flowerofgoneril]

It wasn't often at Gareg Mach that Hilda had the opportunity to don something delicate and lovely and her smile widens as Ignatz points it out. Her gown couldn't be more different from the heavy, clunky armor she was forced into during missions and trainings. Tonight she felt like a delicate rose and she was overjoyed that someone noticed.

She was, however, more interested in the sketchbook he was holding. She knew better than to simply sneak a peak--she'd rather the ground open up and swallow her whole than for someone else to look upon her own sketches. "Ooo what are you working on? I'd love to see!'

👗"Oh wow, Ignatz! You look so handsome."

send 👗 to compliment my muse’s outfit

Ignatz looked up from his sketchbook at Hilda. His outfit was rather plain, nowhere near the high fashion some of the nobles were wearing. Still, the compliment left Ignatz a flustered mess. “Well... uh thank... you. Though I believe that... others... better looking than me.” Ignatz stopped, then added, “Like you Hilda, you’re like a delicate rose.”

[cruelsfate]

“Of course,” she says softly at his offer join him. Better someone more familiar than a complete stranger—at the very least, the night might go quicker that way, and she dearly hopes to be able to retire to her rooms soon enough, away from all the crowds of people.

At Ignatz’s next comment, Marianne studies the bowl of seeds in her hands, regarding them with a quiet curiosity. “Ah, is that so?” she muses, tilting the bowl to catch the seeds in the light at a different angle. She takes a few into her hands to observe for a moment longer, then follows suit and eats them as is their intended purpose.

“Um…they are a rather attractive shade of red,” she says after a pause. “I’m sure they would make for some beautiful paints.”

BOWL OF POMEGRANATE SEEDS — The Ethereal Ball menu has a vast array of both drinks and food alike, leaving Marianne to stare blankly at the selection before picking the one closest to her: a bowl of pomegranate seeds.

Now, however, as she moves silently through the crowds with her bowl in hand, she wonders if she should have gotten a cup of tea for herself instead, but they had none of her favorites and she'd not thought to bring her own. So remained the conundrum that Marianne greatly doubted her ability to finish all these pomegranate seeds by her lonesome.

A familiar face stands out to her—only by virtue of him being one of her classmates—and she makes her way toward him before her nerves can get the better of her. "Um, Ignatz?" she says quietly once she is by his side, offering the bowl in his direction. "Would you like some pomegranate seeds?"

"Oh, hello Marinne." Ignatz looked up from his sketchbook at her. Noticing the bowl in her hands, Ignatz smiled. “Thanks, I was just about to take a break. Care to join me?”

He set down his sketchbook and took a handful of seeds from the bowl. Examining the seeds he said, “I heard that pomegranates are used to make the most beautiful red paint. Maybe I should get some the next time I go shopping.” He let out a small laugh before putting the seeds in his mouth.