Chen: painting yes but pass on single combat
Chen: problem maybe tell me first
Chen: and you'll owe me a favor if I help
Chen: also if this is an elaborate attempt to kidnap me, good timing =P
Chen: be down in a sec [url=https://www.lazoo.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Snow-Leopard-Cub-Male-JEP_2366logo-e1506731968995.jpg] :curious tiny leopard:[/url]

The sunset and the painting have Chen in a good mood. Good enough to hop down and share her work. Nowhere [i]near[/i] good enough to give Qui her epic fight though (If that mood existed, she was pretty sure it would cause linguists to create some kind of new word to describe the ultimate charity it represented). She grimaces when the second heart-shaped firework goes off. Was that really necessary? Really?

With a sigh that can't quite dim her excitement at the evening's work, Chen gathers her brushes, drying them on the grass, and her easel, which folds up, and places them both in a light tan leather bag that she slings over her shoulder. With the bag arm, she carefully takes her canvas and cradles it between arm and elbow, and with the other she takes hold of her crystal sword. The light within it dances in excitement, zipping up and down along the length of the blade and shimmering with a whitish glow tempered to lavender by the glorious notes of twilight. She holds the slim sword aloft, calling on the wind that is her family's ancestor and then points it forward and arches her body. 

If one of the bystanders had just returned from space, knowing nothing of sunshards and Princesses, they might think Chen drunk and falling to her certain doom as she leans off the cliff. But anyone who knows anything about swords and Princesses knows that sword flight is one of the keen markings of a Princess of high rank. Though she might not enjoy the role, Chen is more than talented enough for it, and so as she slides from the cliff, the wind takes her gently and her sword guides her forward in a swift but gentle arc down to the boat with the second heart-shaped firework. 

In less than a minute, she glides down to the deck of the boat, first her sword hand coming over the prow, then one fur-lined foot, the other still held aloft with her white wool coat flapping around the leg and her ponytail flying behind her. As she comes to rest, she lowers her sword and brings her back leg down with a practiced grace as the wind calms and her hair settles. For just a moment as she focuses on herself and her motions, she looks every bit the regal daughter her mothers would both want. Poised, graceful, and prepared to take on any challenge. When she's done though, she ruins it with a worried glance down at her canvas to make sure that the paints dried and not a drop was smeared. And, of course, she forgot to wipe off the dot of indigo on her lower lip in her hurry.