KOVA
The library has come alive today. With Kova's constant presence here since Aisha brought him to Halo, he's done all he can to bug the absolute shit out of the librarians. Or, as he calls it, spice things up a little. Sure, he likes reading as much as the next person, but it gets real dull sitting around in the cold, watching life drag by. Aisha has that monster hunting guild she runs.. or something. So he's been left to his own devices.
The people here are so uptight, he thinks, so serious and cold.. bland. Like the snowy mountains they live on. They could use a bit of.. color, he thinks.
With begrudging permission from the librarians, he's set up a spare room for painting. Old sheets have been spread out on the floor from corner-to-corner, and he's been granted full permission to paint the walls in this dusty old room. Considering they'll soon be covered by massive bookshelves, suppose it doesn't truly matter how it looks in the end.
Cans of paint line one of the walls, with an assortment of brushes in a sloppy pile next to them. All sorts of colors are here. Green, purple, red, blue, yellow, orange, black, white. Any color you could possibly want.
There's already a brush in his hand, ridiculously long, dipped in a bright turquoise color that drips from the end of it. He takes a step back to look at the wall, bringing up his hand to his chin. In doing so, the brush he's holding flicks over his shoulder, leaving a thick lather of paint on his shirt. He seems not to notice.
"Hmm, what should go here..."
Open to 1 other character!
The people here are so uptight, he thinks, so serious and cold.. bland. Like the snowy mountains they live on. They could use a bit of.. color, he thinks.
With begrudging permission from the librarians, he's set up a spare room for painting. Old sheets have been spread out on the floor from corner-to-corner, and he's been granted full permission to paint the walls in this dusty old room. Considering they'll soon be covered by massive bookshelves, suppose it doesn't truly matter how it looks in the end.
Cans of paint line one of the walls, with an assortment of brushes in a sloppy pile next to them. All sorts of colors are here. Green, purple, red, blue, yellow, orange, black, white. Any color you could possibly want.
There's already a brush in his hand, ridiculously long, dipped in a bright turquoise color that drips from the end of it. He takes a step back to look at the wall, bringing up his hand to his chin. In doing so, the brush he's holding flicks over his shoulder, leaving a thick lather of paint on his shirt. He seems not to notice.
"Hmm, what should go here..."
Open to 1 other character!
Every moment just came together like
Two feet hangin' in the water
Two feet hangin' in the water
