Welcome to Gaia! ::

The little b*****d in his head had been so talkative the night before, all chattering away excitedly about anything and everything, giving directions and talking. Now, though, the voice that Aska was coming to associate with Althai, apparently the god of Healing (or perhaps immaturity, Aska didn't know) was silent, and it was a good time to work on more personal things.

He liked his days off; they hadn't been much of a thing when he'd been at home in Heimgard. If whatever Psion he served called, he answered, no matter what else he was doing. Embla had been one of the most unreasonable of all, but he'd genuinely loved her, found her to be an exciting and beautiful adventure. She would have liked the Pantheon, he knew. She liked things that were new and exciting, things that were ensconced in feeling and memory. He knew that this place had seen great things, and even with death hanging over his head, he wanted to preserve this little piece of what he experienced for Embla.

A tired voice interrupted him: What are you doing?

"Painting," he answered aloud, free hand drifting up to press itself against the blue and purple gem that rested at the notch in his collar bones. He imagined it helped get his point across, that Althai would fall silent once more so he could concentrate. A god of healing should know when not to interrupt, he thought, sourly dipping the tip of his brush into the tiny bottle of turpenoid at his knee and then blending a green into a yellow. "It's pretty here." Althai remained quiescent, and Aska sighed with relief. The small canvas weighed almost nothing in his hands; he tipped it towards the sunlight, and made a face at an errant brushstroke. That wouldn't do at all.

Aska bent back down to correct the angle on his painting, completely ignorant of those around him--well, for the moment.