The Painter's Blood

The Apprentice

Their street was poorly cobbled, their house barely deserving of the name. Even so, the people of Northumbra were kind enough. The beggars were rarely the type to steal and the wealthy were not as boastful; the daytime streets were filled with life, and were often silent when the sun went down. Genos and the doctor were living better than they had in a while, seeing as how they both had a roof over their heads.
In this land, magic was not uncommon. So separate it was from their previous stops, it was like a whole different planet. Fortune Tellers and Witch Doctors lined the streets with their stalls; festively eerie gypsy tents sat in darkened corners and amid food stalls; incensed shops piqued curiosities of passersby, each offering some fantastical remedy for something or other. It intrigued Genos, and the doctor encouraged him to explore more each day.
As their time in Northumbra grew, so did Genos; both in mind and body. The doctor made many modifications, most having to do with the boy's height and facial maturity. Any girl would agree that the doctor did well on aging Genos, although Genos didn't seem to pay any mind. He was always busy creating; the doctor said that if he fell out of practice that he would lose his gift, or forget how to create altogether. It took many years to gain the attention of important eyes.

Genos sat on a wooden bench, his mind wandering as he created. Swirls of purple and pink mixed together in front of him, but he was too caught up in thought to make a solid shape. He blinked and looked over when someone sat beside him. It was a woman dressed in a fine black dress, although Genos thought she looked rather childlike.
"You're putting wings on a lizard?" She asked in a mocking tone. One of her eyebrows was raised skeptically.
Genos looked at his creation and nodded. "I suppose so. That would make it a dragon, right?"
The dragon did a flip, flicking pink paint onto Genos' cheek. The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.
"It's barely bigger than my fist, so I'm sure it's just a lizard with wings." She stood and tapped her foot. "Hey, I was told that you were a pro at your profession. You're not only good at making little screw-ups, are you?"
Genos frowned and the little dragon spat a plume of dark orange paint at the woman. The paint landed on her chest, leaving a small stain and causing her to scowl. "I wouldn't consider any of my creations as screw-ups. I don't usually get requests, so I just create what I want to. Why?"
The woman's scowl deepened. "You're not even going to apologize for ruining my dress?! I can't believe that the Count would want to see you..."
She began to ramble on about how stupid the Count was and how Genos was a hack, but Genos interrupted her. "I'm not sorry. If I apologized, it would not be sincere. I have no control over my creations, so it wasn't my fault at all. But as you were saying, the Count requested my presence?"
"Hm?" She looked up from her ranting and rolled her eyes. "Well yeah. I'm his messenger, and the message is that you're something special. The Count says he needs you for some sort of painting business, because when he asked around for master painters he was pointed to you. Will you accept?"
Genos paused for a moment. It was a lot to take in, and he still wasn't used to such easy acceptance; he had also never been called on by someone so important. He was about to open his mouth to request more time to think when the woman grabbed him and pulled him by the arm.
"Of course you will. After all, who would be stupid enough to refuse the Count?" She looked up at him and sneered. "I'll just bring you straight there, since you don't look as if you have more than the clothes on your back."
Genos was taken aback, but his response was stolen away by a sudden lifting sensation. The woman floated in front of him, carrying him magically to the Count's mansion.

The Count was a level headed man, for the most part. He was feared and loved throughout the land of Northumbra, as well as far beyond its borders. He was young, strong, and hard to read. His title was new, as he had only come to power a few years previous, and his foreign origin only added to the people's rising tension; many wanted him dead.
A rebel group had sprung up, intent on his imminent death, and he was struggling to bring peace. Although his position of power had been mere happenstance, a traveler in the wrong place at the right time, he figured he should make the best of it. He didn't want to resort to violence under any circumstance, but the rebels were forcing his hand...
Until word began to spread of a magician; a master painter that could capture life in each of his works, and bring them forth as if they had lived all along. A plan began to hatch as he stood on his balcony, staring down at the many homes below. He couldn't help but wonder, as he sent his messenger to retrieve the artist, which building housed such a myth of a man.

//917 words. I know, a request for longer chapters was sent out, but it's so late that it's early and I have church in the morning. I'll get a long chapter out as soon as I can!