❛ forest

@【 ᴠ 】wonwoo j。 "...You're a man of few words, aren't you?" Chris turns his head towards him with a look of amusement etched on his face. "That's alright, though. Nothing wrong with that. My friends - they're pretty loud. Much more extroverts when I'm more of an introvert." Why was he even saying all of this? Chris didn't even know this man, and here he is telling him all kinds of details.

"And I have no doubt that those stories are worse than mine." Chris chuckles softly, pulling the brush back to inspect his work so far. "I never considered myself to be the center of the world - I know people have it worse than me, so I constantly keep that in mind and.. trying not to complain much, I suppose. And I mean no disrespect, but.. you are a mere stranger and I'm not sure it'd be wise of me to spill that can of warms to someone whose name I don't even know." No longer needing this color anymore, he searches through his collection of paints to find the next closest shade. Chris finds it not too longer after, shakes it a bit, the uncaps it. "The world has never been perfect and neither has this city. But I tend to find beauty in what is considered rotten, hence why I'm up here painting. I'm sure you'd be able to nail this with a few good lessons and a good teacher, though! Who knows, you might have it in you. Don't sell yourself short," encouraged Chris, who flashes another warm smile his way. He pauses his and reaches his free hand across the space in the offering of a hand shake. "I didn't introduce myself earlier. My name is Christopher, and you are?"

@【 ᴄ 】chan b。 "Oh." He doesn't know what to say to that- that it was their loss? Hemlock has never had to consider the idea of dealing with friends before, or doing anything that other people would want to watch. (Killing was not necessarily a performative art for him.) He listens to the other's words with pretend understanding, the rhetoric just beyond his reach. He thinks that he is perhaps the exception to this anyone- those hands that only know how to destroy, probably, would not be able to move the brush as elegantly as Chris does. He's okay with that though- it was better that he didn't create anything pretty, lest he destroyed it later. But so far, watching seemed to be an excellent option. Even the voices in his head stayed quiet at the gentle colors that are dabbed on.

"I've heard a lot of unpleasant stories." The admission is not hard; he wonders if anybody he knew could be considered lucky, happy, or in any sense associated with the word good. He has long since come to accept that this was what the world looked like. It is not, perhaps, what a normal person saw when they woke up in the morning - he wonders why. "You can tell me if you want but... I understand if you don't want to either." He tilted his head to the side softly, offering an idea of comfort. "I can understand that. This world... it's not exactly perfect, no?" He laughs dryly, looking down at gloved hands with a brief wistful glance. "For you to see it as it is, with only a slight twist- despite the meaning, I think that it's beautiful... if I were to paint, it wouldn't be half as nice."

@【 ᴠ 】wonwoo j。 "No! No, it's not weird - it's just... no one's ever wanted to see me paint before." Chris admitted, solemnly so. His friends knew he liked art, and they knew he was considering even going to college as a double major with that under his belt. Maybe they weren't real friends, though, because they never expressed interest in his hobbies. "I like to think that anyone can make art," he continued, further, settling down on the rock once more with the paint brush in hand. "You don't necessarily need to be good at it, so long as you enjoy it. I mean - I'm not that great either, but I guess you gotta find what form suits you. I like world building the most. Fantasy, supernatural - all of that." There was a light smile on his lips as he spoke, looking truly content as the brush carefully moved across the canvas.

The question, though, is what causes Chris to stiffen for the briefest of seconds. He sighs again, going silent for a few short moments while figuring out how to put it all into words. "It's a long story," they leave his lips in a quiet voice, and the one Chris uses is somewhat hesitant. "And it's not a very good one... are you sure you want to know?" His eyes flick over towards the man, staring at him intently, eyes sharp. "But I suppose that kind of a story isn't for a stranger to hear... but I suppose I can give you a generalized summary. One of my friends, whose a psychology major, once told me that people who enjoy world building, or are constantly stuck on fantasy - it means that the world they live in now isn't... ideal. It means they want to be somewhere else, that they long for something more, something better." As Chris explains, the paint never cease and the colors begin morphing together to form what looked like a fantasy-esque town buried deep in a forest. "My habit, you see, is painting a realistic scene - like the one I'm doing now - but in a fantasy twist. I guess you could say that my... situation isn't ideal."

@【 ᴄ 】chan b。 "Yes, I wanted to see you paint. Is that... weird?" Now it's his turn to be surprised, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Was that not a common action that people performed? He had assumed that art was generally admired by the populace- not that it was a topic that he was familiar enough with. Did this man not get an audience on the regular, captivating others with a dance of his brush the same way he was transfixed? "I'm not very good at art but... it's beautiful when you do it."

Hemlock could not understand the effect that his simple statement had- it wasn't any different from the scripted lines he had been forced to memorize for the sake of normal conversation. Why, out of all the things, was this the one that granted him permission in staying? But it was irrelevant. He had reached his intended goal, that was all. "...Thanks for letting me stay." He murmurs quietly, settling down on a nearby rock to observe the other, gaze heavy with silent interest, though only half on the canvas. It was a part of his assignment to understand the target first, after all. He was allowed to take liberties with the execution as long as it got him to the destination in the end.

"What... got you into painting?"

@【 ᴠ 】wonwoo j。 It was weird, really. Chris was always taught not to talk to strangers, which is a typical thing you tell your child... when they're barely even ten years old. His parents have that... rule about their little 'operation'. Don't talk to anyone, don't look at anyone, just do what they told him to do and work at the tattoo parlor. Don't bring attention to yourself, keep everything on the down low. If someone approaches, speak briefly, pack your , then go. Simple as that. To them, they didn't want the risk of Chris leaking any information out because of how gentle he was. They see it as a fault, a flaw in their system, and it explains why he's kept under lock and key; barely even able to leave his apartment.

Chris pauses at the man's words, stopping himself from packing his things up completely as he looks over, clearly surprised. "I'm... wait, you- you want to see me paint?" That was new. Sure, people have seen him a pencil and pad in hand or even a canvas on his lap but no one has ever really acted interested in what he was doing, or even why. Chris was just used to people not paying much attention to him, to being a wallflower of sorts, though he was also used to being forced to push people away... even he didn't want to.

Chris looks down at his barely finished canvas then back towards the city, chewing on his bottom lip. He was weighing his options, debating whether to stay or go and - what harm would it do if he stayed? Just for a little bit longer? Maybe an hour, at most. They're in a secluded area, his parents don't know about his location or what he's doing - what harm would it do to paint and talk to a stranger? Chris inhales through his nose then exhales, letting his body relax with it as he turns to face him again, a cheery, dimpled smile morphing on his features. "You can watch me paint, I don't mind," he assures, grabbing his painting supplies from the bag. "Sorry, for my, uh - startled reaction. I hope I didn't offend you in any way."

@【 ᴄ 】chan b。 Like a deer caught in the headlights, he thought. Profiles were effective in understanding a person's habits, their vices and virtues, where the best locations were for an undetected hit. They could not, however, present to him a complete enough psychoanalysis for Hemlock to expect the reaction that he seems to inspire. Was he that terrifying? He understands that his visage is not the most... warm, but to startle the other this much? He hoped that it wasn't going to be a problem. A shortened mission would mean a headache from the scolding that he was sure to received when he returned.

"-Ah, no, it's not. I just... take walks through here, sometimes. But I hadn't seen anybody else come here before until now." He fumbles through his words slightly, feeling just as lost as the other, a genuine streak in what would otherwise be a web of lites. "It's not... well, you're not intruding on anything- I didn't have any other plans other than just walking. I didn't mean to startle you." His gaze flickers helplessly between the already bustling figure and the clearing, grasping for ways to explain himself. "I've never had the chance to watch somebody paint before so I- sorry about that."

Maybe it's the location, the overly pure air that rendered his internal filters useless and his breath a little laboured, or maybe it's just the idea of speaking to somebody as if they were normal people that terrifies him just a little. "Oh, I see. Do... do you maybe want to walk back together then? " It's not a good question, but he doesn't know how else to just get Chris to continue to /talk/, the tips of his ears turning red from a combination of embarrassment and effort. "I was thinking of going back anyways... but I couldn't get myself to go."

@【 ᴠ 】wonwoo j。 Chris certainly doesn't expect to actually see someone appear here. Even though he's only been here for barely a month, this spot has otherwise remained vacant. He never saw anyone here or anywhere near here before. But perhaps this man was doing the same thing Chris was; trying to find a place to be alone, to be at peace. Something Chris learned was to never assume anything about anyone. They all have their own lives, their own objectives and goals and feelings that - it's just easier to not pay attention to anyone else' lives. That, and it was less invasive. However, this stranger... brought a chill up his spine, for some reason. The second he stepped out of the shadows, Chris felt on edge.

"Oh, uh," he looked down at his canvas, which was still pretty blank for the most part. He had only gotten as far as giving a sketch of the city so far and had just begun filling in the details. "No! I was just painting the city, that's all. The view from up here is pretty nice." He glances up, brown eyes mixed with vivid green glancing towards the figure once more, hesitating for a brief moment before asking, "Is this your spot? I didn't think anyone else would be here either b-but I don't wanna... uh, intrude - I can go!" Chris stands up from the large rock he had perched on, gathering some of his things and putting it all back into his bag. It was pretty late, he realizes. He should probably get home before his parents begin wondering where he is.

"Sorry, mate. I need to be heading back anyways. Don't want the folks to worry, ya'know?" He flashes a dimpled smile. Well, it's not like his parents would actually worry about him, let's be honest here. They probably think he'd be better off dead.

@【 ᴄ 】chan b。 Hemlock understands why he was the one asked to complete this assignment. Compared to a villain with a loud reputation and recognizable features, they needed a lesser-known presence. Somebody who was unlikely to be damaged in the process... but also one whose losses would be acceptable if a few accidents did indeed happen. A deadly pawn. This did not, however, stop him from being perplexed at the requirements of the task- it was an open secret that he was less than human in his understanding of social relationships- even amongst the broken and the rejected within their circles. Perhaps they simply didn't hope that many expectations for the words he was meant to pry out of the target's mouth- certainly a dead body was more useful in their ultimate plans, anyhow.

He tracks his prey as far as the deep woods, a pale ghost in a white coat, figure carefully put together to appear civilian. There isn't anyone else around for at least a kilometer or two- luckily, not a fact that he had to bring on by his hands - except the two of them. Victim and murderer, perhaps. It's a story waiting to be written but- not yet. He takes a long time just to let himself watch, observe, following the brushstrokes that create something he doesn't understand, and yet is still mesmerized by. Perhaps in a different life he could have learned to appreciate the beauty of art beyond the bloody trail that he stands in - a distant dream that he doesn't have time to dwell upon.

A calculated step against fresh snow, not to be alarming, but enough to announce his arrival, as if the assassin didn't wish to frighten his poor lamb away. He lingers in the shadows for only a moment before drawing into the moonlight, slightly hesitant, and perhaps harmless. "I'm sorry," he begins, a phrase he had to learn to utilize, "I didn't think anyone else would be here. Did I... interrupt?"

@【 ᴠ 】wonwoo j。 the beach was the closest thing chris had for home, the one thing that keeps his connection with his homeland strong. but it was the forest that made him feel at peace. the lack of noise created by all the other people who busied themselves with tanning and littering. it was like seclusion to him, a place where he could finally be alone with nothing but the trees and other critters that scattered about (oh boy, what if there's bears in this place?). the forest... was beautiful in everyway possible, even with all the snow and absence of green. with winter here, the woods felt even more peaceful. because it was quiet, and because of that, it was tranquil.

the spot chris goes to is on a small cliff's edge that gives a fantastic view of the city below. it was night time, so all sorts of lights were on and the cars were moving - and it was just breath-taking that chris HAD to make a new art piece out of it. despite the rigid temperatures, he got dressed and followed his normal path to the same spot deep within the woods; not at all afraid of what could possibly be there. to him, chris didn't really have any reason TO be scared.

he's so focused, so enamored on the city and on his sketch of it that he doesn't hear someone approaching. doesn't hear the snow crunch, the branches moving silently as a figure steps closer. chris only turns around when he had finally taken a moment to get a drink of water and happens to catch the slightest of crunches. the male turns around, alarmed, and scans the treeline for anyone who could be sneaking up on him.