Soot had been trying to maintain her normally cold demeanour and failing. Between her new formal outfit, the amount of skin it was showing, and Ruz barking instructions. She was mostly just staring at the back of the Vizier’s feet, following along like a hungry mutt. But the beauty of the lotus hall pulled her eyes upwards, she stood for a moment, mouth agape, taking in the sights of the room. She stared out to the palace grounds, soaking in the eventide sun as it lit the dining hall.

As Ruz spoke, her hand brushing against the painter. Soots' wits snapped back as she spun around, becoming aware of the room's inhabitants. She looked down to Grace-of-Heaven and tilted her head slightly, before stammering ‘Y-your Excellency’ and offering a clumsy bow, hampered by her unfamiliar outfit.

For being the palace painter, Soot had never come face to face with the Sultana. She assumed ‘I must have to prove myself before I'm good enough to paint her Grace’. Standing here now,  she had to admit, the monarch wasn’t exactly what Soot expected. When she had been awarded the position, she had looked forward to staring down the ruler who (as far as she knew) was the villain responsible for sicking the fire wheels onto the town. Those Rabid dogs who hungrily patrol the streets, desperate to take any coin, drink, or maiden they can get within arms reach. 

But Soot didn’t exactly see a villain resting on the couch in front of her; this girl was too scared to even lift her head to a lowly painter,

Suddenly she remembered she was working, and under Ruz’s steely gaze. She straightened her back and shook her head, restoring her usual professional demeanour. She started to pace back and forth, circling the Sultan low and carefully, taking in every angle. Akin to a predator, examining their next meal to find the perfect light in which to strike.

Soot stands distracted at a particular angle, staring at the disparaged Sultan in the evening light set against the grand window’s of the hall. Her expression softens. It was a sad air, the supposed monarch unable to lift her head in the presence of a peasant worker.  ‘Your Grace..’ Soot offered cautiously ‘Perchance, could you look up? For a moment.. N-new angles.’  Chuckling awkwardly as Grace-of-Heaven stared into their lap. Soot continued to pace.


“Their form is fertile ground…” Soot finally replied out loud, still staring at Grace-of-heaven “More galleries than have been built in Sjakal could be filled with her depictions and I believe no two canvases would convey the same message..” Soot spoke plainly, sounding like a scholar stating a simple fact. “Of course, any specific message could be coaxed out, by your request, Madam Vizier” Soot said, bowing slightly to Ruz.