- 487
- #1
Aster didn't have a lot to his name. A few bits in his pouch, a chunk of cheese and half a loaf of bread that was more crust than anything. Of course, he also possessed his art tools which he strapped onto his flanks, the straps wrapped around his back spikes. Some ghoulies, he'd observed, had long sweeping tails, with mouths that were content to help carry the extra load. Unfortunately for Aster he'd been born with the travel-sized tail, compact and content to twiddle its tongue at him whenever he tried to get it to hold something. How they could be connected to the same four legs and yet have such differing opinions about productivity was a source of much frustration for Aster. Still... they made do where they could.
Aster was an artist, to some extent. It was how he made a spare bit in his time. He wasn't very good at doing odd jobs, like heavy lifting or customer service. He could barely work up the nerve to talk to strangers, unless he could be certain they had something in common that could help break the ice. Like a similar interest in tea or artwork. So desperately did Aster want to fit in somewhere, to feel connected to somepony else... He would sit and paint in parks, watching parents with their foals looking happy as they walked together, smiling. He wanted that! To be included in a family. He didn't have any family to his name, but it didn't keep him from wishing for one. Surely somepony had to come along and whisk him off his paws, right? It was only a matter of time...
Speaking of paws, his had finally led him to the location he'd been searching for. He'd heard great rumors about the Starlight Bayou. Plenty of artists before him had come to the location to paint it at night, but he'd come in the daylight hours. Doing watercolor at dusk, without a lantern, was a tricky business. However, being among the few to capture the beauty of the bayou during the day... That seemed like a task he was ready to take on with ease. So, he walked over to an empty outlook and began to set up shop. He unwound his easel from where it was strapped to his flank and set that down, before he brought out his sketchbook, worn and thick. Then, he produced a small set of colors and a cup, dipping it into the water of the bayou - no one should mind if he borrowed one cup, right? He certainly hoped not. Finally, he procured a pencil to start sketching out the details of the landscape in front of him. It was so quiet around, save for the buzzing of insects around the bayou and the occasional croaking of frogs. A perfect time to start his art piece. What could possibly stop him? @houllow