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Description

Sketcher:
+Small wings (back)

Sketcher may not have gotten a lot of time to spend going out in the open world or been able to understand why his parents looked at him in such a worried way when their knowledge on how to deal with deafness ran short, but he almost immediately understood what he could do with charcoal and paint. Starting with a lump of charcoal he'd plucked out of the fireplace when it died and cooled, he had crumbled it under his hooves, run off, and tracked little hoofprints all through the house, occasionally leaving huge scribbly streaks on the walls on his way through. Paint was worse, because it wouldn't just wipe off, and by that time he'd figured out he could rub it on the walls and stare at the scribbles he'd made.

His parents were rather distraught with the state he left the house in whenever he found anything that would make a mark on a piece of paper, but after weeks spent trying to teach him to only draw on paper and buying him his own paints and brushes(which they tended to take care of since he wasn't entirely sure how yet), it started to work. For the most part. Still young, Sketcher does draw on the walls from time to time. He doesn't mind the scoldings that much, though, especially because he can't hear them.

Drawings opened up a whole new world for him. Even if all he could do was scribbly doodles, Sketcher believed that he could see words and pictures in them, even if they really were just blobs of color and lines on the page. Even now, Sketcher still thinks that, despite the same truth about his lack of actual skill in making any drawing look like something other than blobs. Drawing felt like magic to him, a way to calm down, and his own special magic that he thinks can put his own little worlds down for others to see, so that even when he can't figure out how to say the words he wants to yet, he can still talk to them that way. His own outlet to tell everyone what he wanted to without having to worry about confusing them or burbling out the wrong words. The times he does go outside, seeing any other sort of drawing instantly draws his attention. Even if he doesn't have the context to call something what it really is, he still can tell it's something and it's someone else's pretty world put down for him to see. Drawings and, to a lesser extent, writing, is the easiest way for him to understand something, with his lackluster ability to read mouths.

Somewhere under his optimistic mind, he's dimly aware that he can't draw the things in his head as well as he'd like. Blobs of muddy coloring and lines that don't go anywhere, and that's about it. He doesn't seem to care, though. He's found something that makes him happier than any treat ever could. It's his blobs of muddy color, and if other daes can understand some of his stuffy attempts to mimic words, they can understand blobby drawings. Let his challenge to understand their language be mimicked in their challenge to understand his.

(541 words)

Fullbody+541 words=
5/80

Description

Sketcher:
+Small wings (back)

Sketcher may not have gotten a lot of time to spend going out in the open world or been able to understand why his parents looked at him in such a worried way when their knowledge on how to deal with deafness ran short, but he almost immediately understood what he could do with charcoal and paint. Starting with a lump of charcoal he'd plucked out of the fireplace when it died and cooled, he had crumbled it under his hooves, run off, and tracked little hoofprints all through the house, occasionally leaving huge scribbly streaks on the walls on his way through. Paint was worse, because it wouldn't just wipe off, and by that time he'd figured out he could rub it on the walls and stare at the scribbles he'd made.

His parents were rather distraught with the state he left the house in whenever he found anything that would make a mark on a piece of paper, but after weeks spent trying to teach him to only draw on paper and buying him his own paints and brushes(which they tended to take care of since he wasn't entirely sure how yet), it started to work. For the most part. Still young, Sketcher does draw on the walls from time to time. He doesn't mind the scoldings that much, though, especially because he can't hear them.

Drawings opened up a whole new world for him. Even if all he could do was scribbly doodles, Sketcher believed that he could see words and pictures in them, even if they really were just blobs of color and lines on the page. Even now, Sketcher still thinks that, despite the same truth about his lack of actual skill in making any drawing look like something other than blobs. Drawing felt like magic to him, a way to calm down, and his own special magic that he thinks can put his own little worlds down for others to see, so that even when he can't figure out how to say the words he wants to yet, he can still talk to them that way. His own outlet to tell everyone what he wanted to without having to worry about confusing them or burbling out the wrong words. The times he does go outside, seeing any other sort of drawing instantly draws his attention. Even if he doesn't have the context to call something what it really is, he still can tell it's something and it's someone else's pretty world put down for him to see. Drawings and, to a lesser extent, writing, is the easiest way for him to understand something, with his lackluster ability to read mouths.

Somewhere under his optimistic mind, he's dimly aware that he can't draw the things in his head as well as he'd like. Blobs of muddy coloring and lines that don't go anywhere, and that's about it. He doesn't seem to care, though. He's found something that makes him happier than any treat ever could. It's his blobs of muddy color, and if other daes can understand some of his stuffy attempts to mimic words, they can understand blobby drawings. Let his challenge to understand their language be mimicked in their challenge to understand his.

(541 words)

Fullbody+541 words=
5/80