VacaHombre

"Hello," Rasputin greeted the others in her monotone voice. "Nice to meet you." She retreated slightly as they started another song. Finding a spot to sit that still afforded a good view of the band, the dark-eyed girl pulled out her sketchbook. Her pencil moved about the paper in quick, sharp swipes. An image of four figures began to take shape. They bore a likeness to the ones performing but seemed to be oozing (or melting into) a veiny, fungal type substance that spread into the area around them. That area was less distinct, made up of masses of muscle and skin. Wherever the fungal ooze touched it, the fleshy mass was surging up. It swirled up and around the figures in the center, branching out into almost tree-like shapes.

As more people started gathering, Grout irritably retreated to Rasputin's backpack. The dour looking girl was thankful the creature preferred solitude. Less time prying him away from other people's shredded pant legs. Rasputin had already packed up her art supplies when Jem beckoned her over. Shouldering her backpack and carrying her supply bag, she made her way over to where they were setting up. Should she call out a greeting? No. Distracting. Unnecessary. Jem had already acknowledged her presence. Simpler. A wave. Like Jem had done. Yes, that seemed appropriate. She did so. Rasputin clapped before and after their song. It was stiff, mechanical, and looked as though she were mimicking the motion (which she was). During the performance, her bulbous, dark eyes never wavered from the band. She didn't focus on anything specific, but stared fixedly at the entire tableau. It was interesting. She was pretty sure she... liked it? Yes, 'like' was the word. The music was... the music. But what caught her attention was how the music wove through everything else. The passions of the band members on stage flowed and twisted about each other like a lava lamp. The emotions of the crowd, good and bad, flashed through it like bolts of lightening. It was... alive. Messy, imperfect, and ALIVE. A great, roiling, writhing mass of life encompassing their little area. The only dead spot being the girl in the ratty yellow vest and worn cargo pants. But that was just who Rasputin was. A gray spot amidst the psychedelic colors of the world. As a child she used to wonder if that should bother her, but it didn't. She was who she was, and that was that. Rasputin repeated her rehearsed clapping motion as the song ended. When Jem caught her eye she waved again. Social cues. Friendly encouragement. Jem seemed to appreciate her attempts at a smile before, so she repeated the gesture.

Art History went by as enjoyable as ever. Rasputin liked studying the artwork from the past. History vibrated up from the earth, through her feet and pleasantly tingled her spine. The professor could be a little dry at times, but his words spun from his mouth and exploded like fireworks in such a way that Rasputin was always entranced. Afterwards she sat at an empty bench near the art building sketching idlely in her sketchbook. Grout took the time to hunt for beetles, grubs, and pinecones.

The other girl's presence flared for a moment before pulling back as she bowed. Something about it made Rasputin's scalp tingle. "Goodbye, Jem," she said, returning the girl's final wave. -Don't forget me- Rasputin's mind wasn't quite THAT transitory, but still... She sat back down, fishing a small, leather book from one of her vest pockets. Opening it, she flipped through the sketched portraits it was filled with until she got to an empty page. Retrieving a pencil from her bag, Rasputin spent 10 minutes sketching out a rough portrait of Jem and the Gram. She studied the finished result for a bit before returning the book to her pocket and gathering up her things. She disposed of her plate while Grout ate the napkins. The creature crawled back into her bag as she made to leave. Rasputin paused once more, reaching into the neck of her shirt to pull out a necklace. It was a braided, leather chord with a clear stone mounted in silver in the middle, surrounded by a few small animal bones. Or at least, the stone was originally clear. Right now, if one looked closely, sickly green mist seemed to swirl within its depths. "Not too bad," Rasputin said, returning the necklace beneath her shirt and pulling her hat back on as she left.

Rasputin gave herself a psychological pat on the back. Jem was smiling again, so her attempts to 'cheer up' must have been successful. She couldn't wait to tell her case worker about it. "I can get down what I need in half an hour," she answered Jem's question. "My hours are... flexible, so whenever is best for you is fine." Couple. Two more people. Three all together. Potential exposure time, 45 minutes. Two strangers risks heightened aura bleed, but risk IS reduced by half thanks to presence of known factor (aka Jem). Encounter falls within safety parameters. Also, MAGI is always pleased when she interacts with others on a social basis. "That sounds interesting," Rasputin nodded. "If your compatriots don't mind, I believe I would enjoy attending."

"I do not mind," she said, shaking her head. "I do not wish to paint 'cute'; I wish to paint YOU." Rasputin paused briefly to get her thoughts in order. "The skin helps conduct, but only for the eye. The paint cares not for the wrapping. If you prefer the familiar meat of your normal form, that is fine. The paint will capture your song no matter what guise you wear." Rasputin wanted to reassure her new friend. Friendly gestures. A smile. Start with left corner of mouth. Raise right as well. Balance both sides. It was an awkward smile full of faintly yellow, crooked teeth, but it WAS a smile. Grout, looking up at Rasputin's face in horror, gave a small retch of disgust.

Rasputin rubbed her earlobes four times before returning her hands to the table, fingers tapping a nameless rhythm as she answered. "I paint things I find important. Things that are interesting, things that are unique, things that I like, things that are confusing.... " Her gaze fell to her fidgeting fingers that suddenly stilled. "I.... sometimes things are... lost. They... slip out of my brain too easily. Painting etches them in my memory. Helps bury them in the creases." Her gaze rose again. "I would like to remember you."

Grout looked up at the sudden aggressive tone, giving an angry, raspy growl. Rasputin shoved her wool hat over it in a distracted manner. Again she found herself confused. Bullying had always been an alien concept to Rasputin. The tendency for insults to fly right over her head usually frustrated most into giving up on getting a reaction from her. And those who decided to take a more direct approach... Well, they quickly found out THAT didn't work out for anyone. Still, at least the city paid for the magical purification ceremony. But she did know it existed and could now at least recognize the signs if she paid attention. And while she didn't understand all the names Jem threw out, she knew a couple of them at least were definitely considered unkind. "But you sing," Rasputin said, perplexed. "Your presence sings of the earth and stars. I have no reason to call you anything other than the name you've given me. And if my desire to draw you has upset you, then I apologize." "The.... " unable to put it into words, Rasputin moved her arms in a circular motion, framing Jem herself. "It overwhelmed me. I meant no offense, I simply wished to try and capture your... song."

Sadness. Disappointment. Anger. Emotions were... difficult for Rasputin. She knew of them, recognized them, and yes, even felt them. But not correctly. Not like most. Faced with Jem's obvious despair, Rasputin struggled to come up with a response. It also wasn't helping that the crystalline angles of Jem's transformed face were singing at her in a way that made her fingers itch. "It sounds an unfair scenario," Rasputin nodded matter-of-factly. "I would offer some form of retribution, but you don't seem the type to desire such." Angles and slopes. The subtle shifts in color as light sources shone across the surface. "To stretch outside one's... borders is...." Pen and ink would make hard lines. But the colors.... pastels? "Like vertigo. Un... balanced. Hard to... " Geology minerals dirt transform human human crystal canvas human impossible human futile crystal human open OPEN OPENOPENOPENOPENOPENOP- "Your skin is very loud." Rasputin's attempts to focus finally failed, her head tilting to the side as she stared intensely at Jem. Her hands gripped the edge of the table almost harshly. "Has anyone ever drawn it?"

"No," Rasputin answered as she sat down, taking a moment to salt and pepper her sandwich while Grout ate some sucker sticks it found in her backpack. "The dorm has too many people. Too close of proximity for too sustained of an exposure. I live in a small building on the edge of the campus. I think it used to be storage or something." She seemed to ponder a moment before decisively taking off her wool hat and shoving it in her vest pocket. She scratched at her scraggly brown hair. "My foster parents offered to let me stay at their house, but I figured they'd done enough. The building's bigger than my old room anyway, so it's nice." Another pause to ponder. "Were your parents... satisfied... with you going to college far away?"

"A plan... yes, I have that," Rasputin said as she followed Jem. "It was included with my education." She went behind the other girl, getting a tuna sandwich that she added radish slices to. A spoonful of croutons joined it as a side. "Is the ultimate-ness of the food plan quantifiable? I have found many labels such as 'mega', 'extreme', 'maximum' and the like to be mostly platitudes when it comes to purchasable goods and services. I hope your's makes good on its boast."

As the kitten trotted away, Rasputin pulled back her hand. Bringing the palm up near her face, she stared at it intently. Again and again her eyes traced over every finger, ridge, and fold. "Microbes. Particulate. Single-celled organisms. Do they carry over? Will they stay? If there's enough, can it change anything?" Rasputin's fingers traced over the palm of her hand as a couple flies buzzed about her head. For a few moments she was lost in her own thoughts. She wasn't sure what eventually brought her back to the present. Did Jem say something to her; did she just come back to herself on her own? She couldn't say. Wait, a word. A word was said. "What? Food?" she fumbled a bit with her words, waving away the circling flies.

"Mostly fruit," she replied. "I prefer the maple." Rasputin stared at the kitten, turning her head at different angles. Finally, her eyes never leaving the animal, she wiped her hands on a napkin and slowly reached forward. Her fingers were rigid with her middle and pointer fingers extended in a hooked, claw-like pose. She carefully moved to place them on the kitten's head and begin scratching with all the tension and caution that one would use to defuse a bomb.

Had Jem's palm still been flesh, it would have been ripped to shreds given the ferocity with which Grout attacked the second treat. Clutching it tightly in its paws, Grout gave an angry huff at the second hand that came in to touch it. Yet it allowed it. This new monkey may be insultingly bold, but lunging for her eyeballs would mean dropping its prize. And that was unspeakable. "How magnanimous," Rasputin murmured in the creature's direction. Though whether she was talking about Jem or Grout was unclear. "I would offer the Gram something in return, but I'm afraid all I have with me are suckers."

Rasputin seemed to miss the last comment altogether, seemingly oblivious to any tension in her companion. She simply nodded approvingly at the girl's hand. "Iridescence," she noted briefly in an aside. "That looks sturdy enough," she continued. "Grout doesn't like people, but he does like food." And indeed, the creature was eyeing Jem's treat greedily. Fully prepared to snap it out of her hand. (Along with a couple fingers, if he had to)