This thread is permanently archived
(Minor Event) A certain rooftop in Central District.
| >Alongside him sits a girl, or, rather, a petite woman. Her clothing is what you could commonly see on the streets in this season, so ordinary that even if one was to look directly at it, the picture would escape one's mind. Her round face with a bit of freckles here and there was locked into an expression of fascination, as she observed another view on the city below grow on the canvas. Weird creature resembling an alien facehugger rested atop her burning red, long hair.
| "Does it have to be on fire?" — >The girl asks, turning to look at her companion face. Although the fascination is still strong, slight concern is showing on her face and in her voice. Despite the strong wind she speaks softly, almost impossible to hear,
— "Wouldn't it be better if it was peaceful? I love your soothing, calm pictures, but this one unsettles me."
>Blond teenager wears the same indifferent expression as his brush adds more and more to the fire within Downtown.
| "It doesn't have to be this way," — >he replies after a long pause, with melancholy in his voice,
— "But, unfortunately, it is. For me there is no choice but to paint it in fires, even if those fires can't be seen by a naked eye."
>The girl sat down on a small, portable chair beside the canvas and turned her eyes to the city below.
"Aren't you the one to always go like, 'there is no such thing as lack of choice, only an illusion of one!' ?" — >she asked, parodying his voice.
| >Teenager smiled wrily. Indeed, she caught him.
"Perhaps, my wording was unsatisfactory," — >he corrected himself in response,
— "For me, it would be a choice between staying true to myself, painting what I do not believe in or simply not painting at all. While I do have a choice, it's not much of a choice. Amusing, don't you think?"
>Girl took a long look at the boy, and let out a deep sigh before turning back to the city.
"I still don't understand your sense of humor."
| >The two would stay on the roof for the rest of the night, their conversation stopping and beginning anew, cars and people on the streets moving between their points A and B and C, planes taking off and landing at the airport, waves hitting piers at the West Port. All of it taken ablaze within the canvas placed on the edge of a certain rooftop in Central District.
>They would leave the roof with the dawn. Blond teenager would enter the door first, his canvas with him.
| >The girl would leave last, gazing upon the still dark waters of the West Port, as the sun climbed the sky in the east. Something was amiss in her eyes, as it was amiss in the eyes of the boy she loved without knowing. Deep in her soul she longed for something that she would never find.
"...Does it have to be on fire?" — >she asked herself, as the sea changed color.
>April wind took those words and the click of the rooftop door, and blew them far, far away.
This thread is permanently archived
| >The night is as cold as always. Be it the end of april, the middle of july, or early january — this high the wind always blows cold, bringing distant, faint sounds of the city beneath with it.
>On the rooftop there are two, again. Behind a canvas placed on the edge of the roof sits a young, blond teenager. Dressed in a clean yellow business suit, he gently lays strokes of color on the canvas, depicting city beneath under fire, even though there is none.