The colors were starting to bleed together.
The emeralds and jades of the trees were melting into the cobalt sky; the ivory clouds were dripping like rain down into the rolling olive hills. Dante Wallace frowned as he took a step back to appraise it, tilting his head and wondering whether things would start to feel right again, or if he was just losing his touch.
There was a burst of green and a roar of smoke and flame to his right. He continued painting without so much as a glance over as a woman stepped out of the fire, smoothing down her neat navy skirt and brushing ash off her shoulders before she straightened. "I've just spoken to Cuyler Ridley and everything is going to plan. How are things on your end?"
"Everything is going smoothly, Madam Undersecretary," murmured Dante, distracted as he dipped a brush into the green again.
Her voice was clipped with impatience as she said, "And Vie? What of him? Is he going to cooperate?"
Dante didn't answer for a moment; he gave a hill a higher arc with one fluid stroke of his paintbrush. He decided to leave the imperfections rather than return to touch them up. They might add character to the piece.
He carefully placed the brush upon the easel before turning, sighing as he gave a weary smile. "It is as I told you three days ago, Madam Sydney, we have done all that we can do. For now, we'll have to wait and see where the pieces fall."
Sydney gave him a sweet smile as cold as the straight edges of her blonde hair. "And what did I tell you, Wallace?" She took a step forward, and perhaps she would have been more intimidating if Dante was not an old man who had seen more than his share of violence (more than he'd care to admit). "If we don't make this happen, we won't get another chance like it. It has to be perfect. So if everything and everyone is not in the place they need to be before the tournament begins, all our efforts will have gone to waste. We can't wait another four years because his daughter is there now. Jaha is already growing suspicious and the Order has been restless. People can feel something is stirring and we need to make sure all our preparations are in order before they do something about it."
Dante maintained steady eye contact with her and preserved the small, pleasant smile as he said, "Don't let your ambition cloud your judgment, Diana. Plan all you want, but at the end of the day you still need a good dose of luck and faith to ensure things go the way you want them to."
She half rolled her eyes and shook her head in disdain, glancing down at her watch before she took a step back, pulling a pinch of floo powder out of her pocket and tossing it into the fire. Green flames leapt as high as she stood. "I don't have time for your fortune cookies today. Just make sure everything is ready. It has to be perfect," she added again, thin brows lifting as though to impose the emphasis.
Dante raised his hand in farewell. "Have faith that it will be, and it will."
The expression in her blue eyes was flat and as cold as ice, but she sneered as she stepped back, the flames licking at her skin. "Faith is for the unprepared."
She looked up, standing rigid and straight-backed. "Home," she said sharply, whizzing away.
As the fire flickered orange once more, Dante looked at his painting and sighed; it was nothing more than a scattered mess of color blending into one another as though it couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
* ﾟ･/✧/･ﾟ*
Bang. Bang.
"Clarke! I swear to God, if you don't get the hell up out of my bathroom right now, I'm going to choke you!"
