BASTIEN
It had been the hardest installation of his life to set up.
The studio in the Artist's Sanctuary had been transformed. At the far wall from the door there was a table adorned with gold fabrics and several of Rexanna's favourite pieces of jewellery and other objects she had held dear. The one painting of her he had been able to handle looking at was above this alter, depicting her looking sideways out towards the audience, a hand coming up to play with her hair and her mouth slightly open, as if she was about to speak. She had sat for the portrait only a couple of weeks before her death and he felt it captured the woman she had been beneath the title of Queen: his wife, human and wonderful.
A small pot sat before the painting, containing a handful of ashes he had taken from the pyre. How much of what was in there belonged to Rexanna he could not know, but with no body left to display it was the next best thing.
From the alter rolled out a carpet in an aisle along the floor, blue with golden stars and swirling designs; the kind of glamour and beauty that he and Rexanna had bonded over and found solace in: this motif was followed through on the ceiling, which bore dark blue paint and hanging golden stars and moons, some of them lanterns which dimly lit the room as the curtains were drawn shut. On either side of the curtain were chairs in rows for people to sit and by the alter there was a podium for anyone that wished to speak to take; he would have it first, once they had all gathered.
For the first time, Bastien was nervous and scared to see people arrive at his sanctuary. Would they think this was enough for her? Would they think he had failed her? Had he failed her? Nothing would be sufficient to capture the person she had been and he hoped in his grief they might permit him some tropes and reuse of old ornaments. The point of the gathering was to honour her after all, not to show off his skills. Gripping the edge of the podium he looked off to the side, where Azrael slept in a cot next to the set up peacefully and Pittore dabbed at a painting underneath, kept quiet with the promise of as much paint as the little gremlin needed. His family, bereft and broken, waited in silence for guests to arrive.
--
Mini Event for Rexanna's funeral; please write your character arriving and sitting down or coming to speak to Bastien. Once everyone's in, Bastien will speak, then everyone else will have a chance to if they want to!
The studio in the Artist's Sanctuary had been transformed. At the far wall from the door there was a table adorned with gold fabrics and several of Rexanna's favourite pieces of jewellery and other objects she had held dear. The one painting of her he had been able to handle looking at was above this alter, depicting her looking sideways out towards the audience, a hand coming up to play with her hair and her mouth slightly open, as if she was about to speak. She had sat for the portrait only a couple of weeks before her death and he felt it captured the woman she had been beneath the title of Queen: his wife, human and wonderful.
A small pot sat before the painting, containing a handful of ashes he had taken from the pyre. How much of what was in there belonged to Rexanna he could not know, but with no body left to display it was the next best thing.
From the alter rolled out a carpet in an aisle along the floor, blue with golden stars and swirling designs; the kind of glamour and beauty that he and Rexanna had bonded over and found solace in: this motif was followed through on the ceiling, which bore dark blue paint and hanging golden stars and moons, some of them lanterns which dimly lit the room as the curtains were drawn shut. On either side of the curtain were chairs in rows for people to sit and by the alter there was a podium for anyone that wished to speak to take; he would have it first, once they had all gathered.
For the first time, Bastien was nervous and scared to see people arrive at his sanctuary. Would they think this was enough for her? Would they think he had failed her? Had he failed her? Nothing would be sufficient to capture the person she had been and he hoped in his grief they might permit him some tropes and reuse of old ornaments. The point of the gathering was to honour her after all, not to show off his skills. Gripping the edge of the podium he looked off to the side, where Azrael slept in a cot next to the set up peacefully and Pittore dabbed at a painting underneath, kept quiet with the promise of as much paint as the little gremlin needed. His family, bereft and broken, waited in silence for guests to arrive.
--
Mini Event for Rexanna's funeral; please write your character arriving and sitting down or coming to speak to Bastien. Once everyone's in, Bastien will speak, then everyone else will have a chance to if they want to!
Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
A generation lost in space
