Nel stared blankly at the unfinished painting, "[color=palegoldenrod]I'm afraid I don't quite get it.[/color]" "What is there to get?" Came a reply from a gruff man, a man Nel simply referred to as 'Painter' after an elongated exchange in which she only learned that the man loved painting, waxing philosophical, and performing linguistic gymnastics. He was a curmudgeon; graying, grumpy, and he seemed to have a permanent scowl set upon his thin lips. He was also the only person currently awake enough to speak to Nel. The pair sat, along with several other people, in the enclosed back of a re-purposed merchant's coach headed for the border. The man who had been so kind as to pick Nel up was a [i]coyote[/i]; one who smuggled citizens into and out of country's for a fee. The people here were criminals, political prisoners-- there were even a few people like her, poor people from any number of the villages dotting the country side who hadn't been accepted as they were. All interesting character, all sought asylum in the lands to the south. Nel wasn't planning on going that far, her stop was the bayou-- the coyote's coal-horses could push right through the swampy muck, making passage with him much more direct. She'd reach the [i]Blunderbuss Café[/i] before midday at this rate-- already, she'd covered more distance in a hours than she had in a whole moon! Nel tilted her head, squinting in the poorly lit cab, trying to understand the composition of the Painter's brush strokes-- for the life of her, it looked like black butterflymoth droppings! She tried to understand his question-- [i]What is there to get?[/i] "[color=palegoldenrod]I'm sorry?[/color]" "What are you sorry for?" Whispering, she parroted his question, "[color=palegoldenrod]What am I sorry for?[/color]" "That's what I asked wasn't it!" The cab bumped into something, the small oil lamp shook from where it hung, and with the bump, the painter made a harsh diagonal swipe, as if he wished to cut the canvas. The coyote called back to apologize to everyone for the bumpy conditions of the swamp. "[color=palegoldenrod]I suppose you did...[/color]" Nel adjusted her sitting position to get a closer look at the black Rorschach mass, "[color=palegoldenrod]Still. I'm afraid I can't answer your question if I don't very understand what it is you're asking![/color]" "Can't you?" the old Painter retorted. "[color=palegoldenrod]No? I think I'd need clarification to give a good answer.[/color]" "Do you know that?" He spoke with a tone an annoyed parent would speak to a child with. "[color=palegoldenrod]Sir?[/color]" "Do you know that you need some form of clarification to give answers?" He grunted, another harsh stroke as the coach met more resistance from the swamp. "[color=palegoldenrod]If they're to be good answers, I should think so![/color]" "Do answers need to be good?" "[color=palegoldenrod]I'd certainly prefer it if they were.[/color]" "Why?" "[color=palegoldenrod]I'm sorry?[/color]" "Why do you prefer good answers?" "[color=palegoldenrod]Uhm..[/color]" "If you've got the clarification..." His speech slowed as he began to get into the fine details of his painting, "... to lead someone else..." Was that a face he was painting? "... to a good answer... then why not just find the answer yourself?" Nel thought on the Painter's words for a moment, before an answer to his question shot to her mind, "[color=palegoldenrod]A different perspective?[/color]" He threw down his brush with a grunt at the answer, before turning to Nel in the cramped quarters, "Do you [i]'get'[/i] my painting?" "[color=palegoldenrod]I'm not quite sure there's anything [i]to[/i] get, sir.[/color]" "Mmm." The Painter nodded. "[color=palegoldenrod]It probably means something different to everyone,[/color]" This got another approving nod from the Painter, "[color=palegoldenrod]I am a little curious what it means to you, if you don't mind my asking, sir.[/color]" "Oh! You don't get off that easy, miss." He gave a mixture of a grimace and a grin, "I asked you first." Nel took in the black painting once more before answering with "[color=palegoldenrod]A lover's embrace.[/color]" "That's an interesting take," The Painter, who signed his painting [i]Barysheva[/i], he rubbed a hand through his scraggly beard, covering the thing in black paint. No doubt he was contemplating his finished work, he seemed very satisfied. "I was actually just interpreting what I was seeing..." "[color=palegoldenrod]Oh?[/color]" "Mhmm!" He clasped calloused hands together, "I was painting you." [hr][hider=The Painter's Masterpeice][center][img]http://img04.deviantart.net/0bbd/i/2011/256/6/4/hel__s_embrace_by_sash_kash-d49sgwd.jpg[/img][/center][/hider][hr] Nel followed a path of glowing pleurotus ostreatushe to the café, muck had already began to coat the bottom of her floor-length dress before she'd entered the swamp, with each step, she became more acquainted with the mushy loam. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling to her-- in fact, if she closed her eyes as she moved forward, she could almost picture herself back on the farm, it was just another misty morning after a monsoon... the fertile mud would give rise to lovely greens... Nel's eyes slowly opened, face to face with some horrid, draconic... thing! Instinctively, Nel jumped back, wrapping herself around one of the wooden pillars of the suspended café. The cameldragon yawned in response. Nel, unconvinced that the creature wouldn't consume her if she got too close, remained with the pillar, several feet away from the door. Was this Kettle's? It couldn't possibly be! It looked like it'd just as soon suck out the bones of a woman her size as it would accompany her as a mount! Or wait. Was she thinking of vampirecows? Nel didn't take her eyes off the creature, but her gaze softened. Perhaps she was getting her creatures mixed up again? Detecting movement, Nel looked to her feet. Climbing up her dress-- or rather, walking vertically, was a [url=http://i.imgur.com/f90BLxC.jpg]mushroom pixie[/url]. She didn't shoo it away, and instead watched as the small girl-like fungus confidentially walked up, sat down on her shoulder, and crossed it's legs. These things were considered good luck back home. Taking the presence of the mushroom pixie as a good sign, Nel tentatively walked past the Cameldragon and slowly opened the door into the café. What she saw filled her with terror unspeakable. [i]The [b]Skeleton Man.[/b][/i] With eyes wide and skin pale, Nel slammed the door shut and turned away. Whatever Kettle had wanted from her parents, it was [i]not[/i] worth dealing with the Skeleton Man again. Mushroom pixie luck was only so strong, and that guy was... [i]too spooky.[/i]