#sunsage color theory

[sunluzhen]

Xiaotian watches Wukong with a blank look, tilting his head as his gaze drifts back to the muddled water once again. All this talk about colors-- but paint was just paint at the end of the day. Before applying color, a common method is to imply the values in grayscale. The sketch comes before line art, before color-blocking, before the final piece...

Nothing had changed. Not really. It only looks that way, framed in a way that exaggerates the pieces. But... "It's still going to be there, though, no matter how hard you try, won't it? Even after the city returns to the way it was."

He doesn't really know what to say to that. Looking down, Wukong watches the paint trickle off of him. Only a few streaks of paint are left on him right now and they are slowly sliding down, leaving him cold and colourless.

It's not really such an unfamiliar feeling, now that he pays more attention to it. It feels a lot like... a bad day. One where moving feels like an effort and he doesn't really want to do much other than sleep. Everyone has those from time to time, he's sure. At least he knows how to deal with it. Wukong smiles a little, trying to project a more light tone now that most of the panic left him. "I can pick a better colour later. It's not actually that hard, I had a few on me from just meeting people."

It's something that he was planning on doing eventually, but in the moment removing the black paint as soon as possible felt more important. Reaching up, Wukong swipes a hand under the bend of his neck and flicks the paint from his hand into the water. "Just not this one. It's not good for me. Or anyone, really. Better to get rid of it altogether."

[grymfared]

❲ @sunsage ❳

❝ Gold! What a lovely color, ❞ Legends said that dragons were drawn to precious metals and gems, and Malchior was no different- long ago he had lived in the northern mountains, chasing humans from the towns nearby and settling there with his endless treasures. Well, humans had gathered the treasures for him- he'd simply done what was in his nature. The mountains were a convenient place to live...

Long ago, he had been called Malchior the Black, the Dread Dragon, but he'd always wondered what it would be like to be Malchior the Golden. Maybe this was his chance to do so.

❝ It is a color that adorns kings- in some cultures I have heard that only the King would be able to wear the color. ❞ It was also a color that would line the underbellies of his kind- the great heat from the body of a fire drake rolling in riches would melt the precious metals so that they would add a new glitter and glow to the dragon itself. In his black scales, Malchior had been similarly adorned with silver and gold- but not now. Now he was a pale gold like the parchment of Rorek's grimoire, runes scattered here and there, but it would be so very lovely ...

Yes, dragons coveted gold.

❝ You hold yourself in the manner of a King- but are you a noble king or one that the common-folk would fear? ❞

[ciphertone]

@sunsage liked for a color theory starter !

From the moment he'd first woken up this morning - the fact he'd had to sleep at all brings forth a bitter feeling in his mind - he'd felt like a ton of bricks. Sure, he's got his lower half, but he means it metaphorically. Sometimes this sort of thing cropped up, but he'd been pretty good at shoving it aside for a trillion years. Now, though, where he’d once maintained his carefully curated mask of mirth to bury such feelings, a blanket of numbness was the only thing he had to supply. Not a great feeling.

He'd stayed holed up in his townhouse for a while, waiting for the feeling to pass, but it didn't, and the longer he'd dwelled on it, the worse everything got. He stays like that until he just can't stand it anymore and the thoughts are overpowering; he needs a distraction.

That's what he's on his way to find, waiting at one of the train stations between wards when he notices the near glowing golden being next to him.

“That color really doesn't work on you, has anyone told you that?"

[deathpacito]

sunsage​:

@deathpacito liked for a starter!

It’s not like Monkey King’s entirely unaware of all the mortal’s advancements in technology… It’s just he didn’t always have time (or desire) to actually learn about all of them. So yeah, while he knows what a gun is in theory, when the employee at one of the Boardwalk’s game booths gives him one, he’s not really sure what to do with it.

Looking around, he spots the victim closest person to him and waves him over. This guy probably knows how to shoot a gun, right? He has one right there!

“Hey, big guy, do you know how to use this? Can you show me?”

Livio blinks, drawn over by the colorful prizes pinned to the wall, and just, all of this. And the fake gun. He lifts it in his hands and eyes it.

"This isn't real, right? What am I supposed to shoot?"

Handled like a guy who has hardly ever played games, and never any carnival-type games, ever in his life! And has handled real guns for years.

Oh, those colorful things...the balloons?

[sunluzhen]

"I don't think that's dealing with it," he mumbles, tail idly swishing in the water behind him. MK does stop trying to get closer, at least, though not without a frustrated look briefly flickering across their face. (It's not directed at Wukong, not exactly.)

"Like— how's what you're doing right now a good thing?" he asks after a moment, glancing between the paint-stained water and Wukong's graying fur. It's so odd, seeing him so drained of color. (Yet, he's not rendered white. Gray, instead. Muted and muddled.) It leaves him feeling unsettled.

"What happened? With the ink."

"What's the point of running straight into it? C'mon, kid." A part of him is still annoyed at not being listened to, but he can't really muster enough emotion to get angry. Not at MK. (Only at himself).

Backing away doesn't have the intended effect, not when the paint keeps trailing after him, but he still moves away. The memory of his double circling him just like that is fresh on his mind and Wukong suppresses a shiver. Unwilling to look any more like a cornered animal, he raises his hands placatingly to keep some distance between them. "Can you just wait until I deal with this before you jump right into it?"

And maybe he's not only talking about the ink either.

[sunluzhen]

They give a little huff at his words, taking a couple steps forward even as Wukong tries to back away. They don't know why they're doing this, but there's a part of them that wants to be contrary for the sake of it— and another part of them that ultimately wants to comfort their mentor.

They're well aware of what the black ink represents, most likely. Maybe they should be just as apprehensive as Wukong about it remaining in the water, but...

"What's the point in running away from it?" They blurt out, steadily closing that distance. The white doesn't seem to be washing away — it's not exactly a color, after all.

They're not really talking about the ink stains.

They step forward and he steps back, diluted paint trailing off of him in the water.

"I wouldn't tell you not to if it wasn't bad." He reasons, looking at the inky black water with something like apprehension. This is also the first time he gets a full look at MK and the kid doesn't look so great either, all muted, deadly white. Some part of him that would stay even if turned fully gray hurts at the sight, wants to comfort his student, but he can't get close. Not while he's still dripping angry black everywhere.

He wishes not for the first time that someone who was better at this was here. Someone MK might actually listen to.

"It's - it's not gonna make you feel better, bud. I can promise you that much."

[sunluzhen]

Their expression twists as they watch Wukong. Not quite a frown. Uncertain. After a beat, they take a step closer despite his words.

"Is that a bad thing?" They ask, tilting their head as they glance down at the dirtied water. The waves will take it away from the shore before long. Probably. Something about that bothers them.

They take another step closer, letting the ink-stained water lap at their feet. It's a strange sensation. The water trying to wash away something that's not there; and the ink that hasn't fully dissolved quite yet. "It's just paint," they say, aiming for a light tone— their voice falls a little flat, instead.

It's not like Wukong could stop them, whispers a voice in the back of their head. It gives them pause.

He tenses up when he hears the familiar voice, but doesn't swear out loud, which is good enough. Enough of the colour washed off of him that everything feels comfortably muted, and uncomfortably cold. "Hey, kid."

Scooping another handful of water, he pours some over his hair, making more black (and gold, and orange, and blue, where some is still left) seep off of him. It's not a pleasant sensation, but it's better that way. Easier.

(Part of him still wishes MK didn't have to see this, but it gets quieter as he turns more gray).

"It's fine. Just don't come too close, okay?" He gestures at the mess of wet paint around him. "You'll get stained."

[sunluzhen]

"Monkey King?" Says a small voice from behind him, an MK that's been completely washed out of any color — even to Wukong's gold vision, white is... white (though, perhaps he appears a bit yellow-tinted).

He stands at the edge of the water, not quite stepping on, but blankly watches the black ink deep into water. Distantly, a part of him feels anxious at the sight. The rest of him just feels— tired. Resigned, maybe.

"...it's a bit late to go swimming, isn't it?"

The sea is far too cold this late in autumn but he doesn't seem to care, lowering his hands into the frigid water and scrubbing at his face, trying to rid of the dark paint stuck to it. The water around him is starting to look like an oil spill.

[grymfared]

He'll accept that answer, because in the end, things aren't so black and white, are they. It's often human kings that become tyrants- Malchior's seen enough of that to know. But it's also the non-human kings that see him for what he is. That's why this one's looking at him like that. Because he must know. The scales under his skin itch for a moment and he can't help but awkwardly scratch at his arm- as if that could really stop the Monkey King from forcibly shifting him back into his true form- From what it seems, though, he doesn't have to worry about that.

Could you tell me what color you are, asks the king, and Malchior gives a soft hum. ❝ Pale, I suppose. Like old parchment. ❞ Like the book where I was bound, like the paper body Raven gave me. I hope she is doing well, now ... He doesn't say that, but it lingers in his mind.

❝ But since I have been wandering around this place ... I've gained some colorful runes. Red, most of them- passionate and heavy... some inspire me, some feel like the weight of the world. ❞

��� Since you asked, do you only see in one color? ❞

He blinks, looking up at the stranger. Two images overlay each other in front of him: a human and something distinctly not. Sun Wukong looks away; those who hide in the skin of a human rarely want to be revealed by his golden eyes, and this one doesn't seem hostile just yet.

Though maybe that is why his response is a little softer than it would be, despite the question being more than a little unpleasant to think about (he can't help it, he always had a soft spot for dragons). "Thank you. And- well, I suppose it depends on who you ask, but I try my best to be just."

He huffs out a sound that is almost a laugh, looking over the stranger once again, just to see if he can tell what colour the other is sporting. It's pale, hard to discern. To Monkey King, it looks just as golden as anything else does, but he suspects that might not be the case. "Sorry if that is a weird question, but could you tell me what colour you are, at the moment?"

[ciphertone]

Awful character was usually what he'd go for as well - not out of any hangups with that, but just the desire to go beyond the surface level. He'd also usually put forth more of an effort to be cheery, a little less blunt with an insult; if anything maybe he'd feel more inclined to save the insulting for later and try to wind the other around his finger, if they had any future potential use. Now, however, the motivation for any of that is just void. The most prevalent thing in his mind is just the contrast between the two hue wise, how wrong it was, and the feeling spurring him to lash out.

His eye rolls at the first comment, a clear sign he doesn't believe the other. He does take pause at the offer, however. He's not the type to take handouts for any occasion. Usually when an offer was presented, he was the one making it, or the upperhand was otherwise with him. Than again, he wouldn't mind having his original color back - not the perfect shade of it, sure, but he doubts anyone is matching with him in that department. That, and he'd love to have literally anything else than what he currently does. If they decide to try and bring this up as a thing he "owes them for" later, he just frankly couldn't care less; he certainly wouldn't hold himself to that.

"Sure, why not - if you want to see someone who can actually pull off the color yellow work it, then hand it over."

Somehow it felt wrong, to just sit in his house and mope over the people he lost when there could be people that need help in the city. Such altruism isn't really in character for him (hasn't been in a while), but it feels right, somehow, so here Sun Wukong is, monitoring the streets. At least, that is what he was doing, until he hears a voice from somewhere around his knees.

A moody yaoguai of some kind. The color is something between blue and green as far as Wukong can tell though, again, that means nothing to him. But he doesn't... completely dislike it.

Could do without the attitude, though.

"No. People usually tell me it works great on me." Then again, most people weren't keen on insulting him to his face, lest they face his wrath (and the ones who do want to insult him usually go for his awful character rather than looks). But Wukong himself doesn't believe the color looks wrong on him, and that's what is important. "Why, do you want some?"

He doesn't mind sharing, really, if it makes the demon less grouchy.