A fall chill has sharpened the night air. Kanda blinks up at the ceiling. It might be midnight by now; he's not sure. He refuses to concede by looking at the clock
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This is preeetty. Sweet, tranquil, and so many great details in such a small scene. Thank you.
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It's a sort of visual poetry; performance art, surreal. They each have their places there on the hospital roof. The early morning light is as good for composition as for katas and the fact that the exorcist no longer minds, and the way that the artist knows how to capture his motion in flowing paint without ever intruding upon his freedom have created a thing that might almost be friendship if either were the type to trust people with labels and words.
As it is, they understand each other well enough. The strokes of the brush upon canvas echo the strokes of the practice sword, and although nothing is spoken, a great deal is said.
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It's a sort of visual poetry; performance art, surreal. They each have their places there on the hospital roof. The early morning light is as good for composition as for katas and the fact that the exorcist no longer minds, and the way that the artist knows how to capture his motion in flowing paint without ever intruding upon his freedom have created a thing that might almost be friendship if either were the type to trust people with labels and words.
As it is, they understand each other well enough. The strokes of the brush upon canvas echo the strokes of the practice sword, and although nothing is spoken, a great deal is said.
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