warlock wizard Wally scribbles... Thinkings! oh and a bonus bard-ish Barnabys in the corner for flavor
outfit ramblings:
first of all that is a Terrible rendition of what Home looks like in my head. i just needed to fill empty space </3
the staff was the toughest part honestly. bc it Had to be paintbrush-themed, but then halfway through scribbling i was like "oh shit. there are only so many ways to draw a paintbrush-wizard-staff and Weevmo already hit it out of the park." so if you're seeing similarities! you're right! i tried to make it as different as i could! there is Inspiration from their marvelous design, however accidental or subconscious! Apologies!
he gets a pointed hood instead of a hat because a) it looks great on him! and b) it has less of a chance of messing up his hair! also c) it helps muddle the difference between Wizard and Warlock. typically hoods have evil/duplicitous connotation - blur the lines! i want his long gloves and forearm wraps to have the same vibe. his neckerchief is a big help in hiding Home's seal!
his layered (loosely apple-themed) capelet (which the hood is attached to) has a nice high collar & hides the details of his loose shirt - eye embroidery! and some flowers on the shoulders but yk, mostly eyes. on one side of the shirt buttons has open eyes, the other side they're closed! there's also one big eye on his back!
his belt buckle is two halves of an apple! he wears tall thigh-high boots w/ low heels to feel Taller! he has a book-holster hooked to the back of his belt, which holds his grimoire! and he has a lil thigh-bag that has been magicked to be Bottomless and warps size! he can fit pretty much anything in there! canvases! paint! apples!
his half-skirt thing (idk what the word for it is!) is really plush, like a quilt - his capelet is the same fabric. soft, cozy. sometimes he'll use the skirt thing as a blanket in a pinch, or as a picnic placemat!
is his outfit a little Complicated? is it annoying to replicate? yes and yes. but im a maximalist at heart and Nothing But The Best for the blorbo <3 layers my beloved <3
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Baby Tears
He didn't understand.
The mute mutterings, the mourning eyes, the cold tears.
The black suits and gowns, the tolling chapel's bell, or the sadness on his aunt's face.
All this grief and heartache.
It confused him. His young, naïve, 7-year-old mind couldn't understand it at all.
Couldn't understand the weight and meaning of the funeral.
Or the not-funeral. The adults sometimes called it a memorial. Not that he knew the difference.
He's heard the people speak. Heard them whisper and mourn. Listened with only half an ear to the priest's honourings.
Words of empathy overlapped. A hymn of condolences, speeches, and formal utterances.
Above the lull and sway of confusing words, only one phrase had stuck to him.
"Missing and never found."
The service ended, and friends and family stuck around for one last vigil.
Little blue eyes searched the crowd, looking for the familiar face of his aunt. A man held his little hand, a friend of theirs, keeping him from wandering off.
He spotted his aunt back over at the memorial, littered with photos and candles. He nearly didn't recognise her usually chipper face behind the mask of thinly veiled tears.
The yellow boy tugged at the man's hand, wanting to go over to her. Blue eyes looked up when the man didn't budge.
"I'm sorry, little lad," the green man intoned, the sadness in his own voice muffled by the rain. "Your auntie just needs some space."
The boy's only response was a saddened pout, gazing over at his aunt again. At her despondent figure, kneeling above a picture of two faces he could hardly recognise anymore.
"Auntie Spheria," the little boy murmured that evening back at their home.
"When are they coming back?"
She had gone numb, frozen in her step. Halfway from reaching for the pan in the cupboard, dinner barely prepared.
In her limp silence, she didn't answer him. Couldn't answer him from behind the fresh look of heartbreak on her face.
The little boy's face fell. He had made her sad again.
Little feet trudged over to her side, and the young orb tucked himself under his aunt's arm, wrapping his arms around her waist. Giving comfort, while also seeking comfort.
The kitchen held its breath. A dreary silence.
A warm hand tucked the little boy closer, holding him as though to protect him from the weight of his unanswered questions. His aunt swallowed a sob.
He won't understand. The little boy wouldn't understand for a very long time.
That his mother and father have been missing for years.
And may never come back.
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