Scribbles: Haircut

Neiro hummed to himself and flipped to a new page in his cover journal. He would make a separate entry in the true book later.

The events that had transpired that day would set forth a whole chain, and what he hoped would trigger Si's realization of the preternatural.

February 25, ----

Something strange happened today during our match in the Astral Pods. Up until then things had been normal, as normal as normal could be at the academy. 

Our issued challenge had, remarkably, been accepted by Silas. Granted it was an unconventional one. Esti and I as a duo against Silas in a No-Bounds match of skill.

All had been well as the two of us synchronized, and in a few well played turns, cornered Silas. 

Silas with short hair, having given it a better trim to
touch it up, though it seems to have grown out
again. Mint chocolate chip flavor.

Then it happened. To our amazement, he sliced his own hair to escape Esti's hold, and a trump later, had dispersed us both. Upon awakening from our stasis, suspended as we were. We rose for the customary handshake, yet as Silas rose, long strands fell to the ground. 

Though his expression changes little, he seemed just as astonished as we ourselves were. A insight I can thank to the privilege of being a close friend.

There was little in question as to what happened, but rather how. Astral projections are of a plane of nonexistence, separate from the tangible, or so we believed. A mere projection. 

By our theories, it was impossible for the physical to be influenced by astral manifestation. Yet somehow it did.

As of now the Astral Pods have been classified as restricted, and are in suspended use for fear of bodily harm and other malignant effects not previously observed.

On another note, Silas hasn't dyed his hair in a while so it grew out bi-colored, turns out he's greying. Though he isn't always thorough on dyeing his hair, he's never let us see the color of his roots.

~N

p.s. We're still teasing him for his surfer hair, though Esti has added hipster on top of that and taken to calling him "Mint C. Chip" or "Minty" when pressed for time. He was not amused. 

Neiro chuckled to himself and shut the diary. 

Scribbles: Little Ladybird

Unfinished and in-progress of little Shyloris
bugging out over her new lady attire.

"Ladybug" was my alias as a child, and though I was fond of the name, as tends to happen with many childhood things, it was one that didn't quite carry over.

Scribbles: Chalking it Up

Fooling around with chalk. The same dusty sticks we traced the ground with as kids, only with a much larger color spectrum.

Idle doodle to test the chalk tool.

It was too much fun so I went on playing around:

Reference picture and a quick chalk likeness (x<10 min.)

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Z's Logs - Dream Walkers

Neiro had smiled, eyes bright and carefree when Silas announced that he would be heading off first, weary from the day's ventures. The albino had waved goodnight to his flatmate, gaze trailing after his retreating back as he retired for the night.

With a sigh, he turned impassive eyes back to the screen, its glow casting shadows across his soft features in the dim evening light.

Unsheathing a spindly bound journal, he gingerly peeled back the thick covering. It was well taken care of with hardly a crinkled corner or sign of wear on the binding.

There was nothing special about it. A typical journal that could be found in any corner bookstore. The real worth of it lay in the pieces within, and it was to one such entry that he flipped to.

Poem: Time's Passing

Amidst the banks of bogged moor,
Where there Time came adrift in lore.

Beholden by none but the minstrel's lyre,
Who told of Time's past now lost in mire.

Time sung sweet through bitter fruit.
That in mud and blood did take root.

Watered by sweat of those long suffered.
And partook of by fools undeserved.

So it bled in rivulets of gold,
The sands of time as stories told.

Hence came our world born of blood and sin,
And unfolded thus in cacophonous din.