Matias’s Friday afternoon odd encounter(Matias)

September 6, 2025

Date: 2025-09-05 13:20

(Matias’s Friday afternoon odd encounter(Matias):Matias)

[Fri Sep 5 2025]

In Studio
The sculpting area sprawls along the western side of the open studio, where the smaller windows filter in a gentler light. The air here hums with the dust of wood and the chill breath of stone. Against one wall, a sturdy workbench bristles with gouges, chisels, and mallets laid in deliberate chaos, their steel edges dulled by shavings. Blocks of maple and walnut rest in a neat stack on the floor, their grain glowing warm in the dim light, while a few rough-hewn forms perch on low stands, half-emerged from their wooden prisons. Near the corner, a single slab of pale marble waits like a quiet promise, its surface veined and cold to the touch.
Shelves sag under the weight of jars filled with brushes stiffened by old varnish, tins of wax, and coils of wire for armatures. A scattering of stone fragments crunches underfoot, mingling with curls of wood that wind across the planks like ribbons. The scent is sharpresin and mineral, cut wood and cool dusta language of work spoken without words.

It is about 65F(18C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Mayflower and Darkwater/span>/span(A demon from hell has become interested in your target, they decide to see if they can tempt them into becoming one of their instruments on earth.
)

The last of the meal prep containers is currently being emptied, fork poked in methodically by Navessa while seated on one of the workbenches, eating as she stares at the block of marble in the center of the room. It’s not that the marble dominates the room in size (though it is fairly large all things considered; perhaps five feet long, four feet tall, and three feet deep), but it is the focal point at the moment where it sits on a metal stand. The dominant color is blue, waves of it rippling all along the surface and over edges more rough than squared showing this to likely be an ‘off cut’ from some unimaginable larger piece. Likely still a rather expensive purchase.

Being an artist often means hefty up-front costs. Scattered throughout the lighter blue are touches of darker blues and even glimmers of gold. Inclusions, likely. Maybe artificial ones, but when it comes to art: that doesn’t particularly matter. A geologist might have a fit, but in this particular case… A sketchbook lies by the woman’s hip, various rough sketches of dragons already filling the spread. Dragons arching out of waves. Dragons with wings spread, dragons with undulating necks, Eastern-style dragons snaking through waves. Her pale-gray eyes focused so entirely on the material that it is surprising she is even managing to eat.

Some artists claim that the marble has forms within that need only be released. Is Navessa one of those? Does the marble speak to her or is her sketchbook a stream of consciousness a series of blueprints for her to shape the stone she has in the center of the studio. It is a little past noon, the weather still a bit warm to be truly autumn but the leaves are changing and many are switching from bikinis and linens to wool and jackets if only for fashion reasons. Here in her studio Navessa is dressed for art, her art, and her most recent canvas of marble has waves of blue that are currently shifting like water or coiling serpentine dragons of the east.

There are those that approach material without any sort of plan and simply seek out the shape within. But they are a rare breed and do not take commission: they cannot take commission. Navessa goes by a different school of thought, the one the old masters followed. That you simply take away everything that isn’t. Once she has her design, she will remove everything that does not belong. But right now? She does not have her design.

And yes, she is dressed for her work. Cargo pants, sturdy boots, a tank top. All bearing stains and wear from being worn for similar work time and time again. Her hair is bound up in a sloppy bun, various frizzy tendrils falling down around her features. The meal is finished and Navessa sets the empty container aside. She picks up the sketchbook, wriggles a little in place, and starts laying out a few more lines; glancing up at the block again every so often.

As Navessa sketches the designs the shifting patterns in the marble begin to align with her thoughts and drawings. Is it a common experience to be able to visualize such things? The whirl of blue and gold so perfectly seeming to line the interior shape that Navessa is working towards. At first it is her own drawing that is influencing the whirl of the marble but the more she looks, the more she draws she begins to have her hand move on its own. A serpentine dragon of the east rising out of the waves begins to take shape in her sketch but before it appears under her fingertips it is shown from the marble too her, like it is speaking to her, influencing her even.

It is not normal, but then… Haven is not normal, is it? And Navessa has been partaking of certain substances again the past couple of days. Not to escape, no, but to start trying to tap into dreaming, to find those dreamscapes. She’s seeking out those parts of her subconscious that do align with the same ones she uses when seeking inspiration. Maybe it’s just a delayed high. Maybe she’s…

No, no. Navessa shakes her head. She’s not having another breakdown. Her hand stills. Or she intends to still it. She closes her eyes, tightening her hand on the pencil as she tries to ground herself. She is doing well now. She’s in a place where people (mostly) control their desires and don’t let them run wild and free. She has begun to not only understand her Angelborn abilities, but see them grow. “Get ahold of yourself,” she hisses, refusing to look at the marble. The sketchbook is cast aside onto the worktable, the pencil following. She grabs the empty food container, turning to stalk to the kitchen.

“I just need a break.”

There is no one else in the house. At least Navessa is pretty sure there is no one else here. As she turns to leave there is a strong desire, almost unprecedent in its yearning, it washes over her senses and is drawn into her through empathic abilities in her supernatural blood. ‘Inspire. Create. Become.’ they are fundamental forces of artistic thought. Like a vice grip the desire calls to be answered… For Navessa to give into her inspiration, to begin its creation, to become the instrument of this force.

She hasn’t felt anything near so strong since Ireland. Since she had to leave. Since ending up in psychiatric care. In the grip of drugs so strong she couldn’t tell reality from non. The empty container and fork drop from her hands and Navessa moves as if drawn by an unseen hand toward her tools. Hammer, chisel. A fine one because this marble deserves the gentle touch. It deserves to be worked softly, slowly, like one might their first night with a beautiful woman they have longed for.

As Navessa approaches with the fine grade chisel the marble almost whispers… It is not words per se but desires, concepts, not of the serpentine dragon breaking free of the ocean. That is symbolic of course. These concepts and desires are about freedom. Being physically in the world. To exist. To be. To be free. To be accepted. To be used… To be a Muse… Navessa’s muse. There is no explanation there is no details simply the offer of inspiration to an artist and this dark sense at the edge of Navessa’s mind that accepting it would be… Significant.

“Okay Google,” Navessa calls out to a battered old (likely first gen, the poor thing) Google Home that sits in the corner, splattered with all kinds of paints and stains. “Play my Meid coirneal le mala moin playlist.” ‘As many corners as a bag of turf.’ Something with an irregular shape. An Irish saying. It’s very tongue-in-cheek, really, being applied to sculpting. The music that comes on through the speaker (also old, not very good, but artists are poor after all- or at least she is) at a fairly loud volume. Good thing her housemate (less tenant as it goes, really) is in the hospital. It is drums, mostly. Taiko drumming, like the group kodo. Very deep, primal. It likely serves this ‘muse’ well as she moves up to the block of marble and circles it, looking for the perfect place to make that first chipping away. That first scar.

There a pause as Navessa looks for that perfect starting point. She has built up to this moment, drawn by desire, inspiration, even prepared music to let herself be subsumed by the Muse. But when it comes to the moment, the first act, there is a resistance. Strong almost primal desires to exist, to be, to have an instrument to work through a Muse with an Artist. A Pact. It is very clear to Navessa however inexperienced she might be with such things that this feeling, this Muse that has come to inspire her desires this as much as she but it must be accepted to. Agreed upon. The first act of shaping the marble is freeing the Muse. The last act is the pact sealed. How Navessa knows this she cannot say but all the desires in the room want it to be so… Maybe even her own.

The chisel gets moved to the hand with the hammer. Navessa reaches out to place her palm against the cool stone. Fingers splay over the surface like they might over a lover’s bare skin. She walks along the length of the block, feeling every inch of it. Each broad expanse. Even the mars that made it undesirable for use in flooring, countertops, and other uses beyond her own. No, it’s perfect for her needs. She can remove those imperfections and find the purpose underneath.

And with each step. With each touch of the pads of her fingers over those rough patches that show the veins of color and how deep they go, Navessa finds herself opening more and more to the Muse. The music sweeping away everything else. Worries about her roommate (as she does have them). Worries (few as there are) about her new relationship with Preston. Her concepts thus far for her dream persona. Everything else, bit by bit, fades away until it is just her… and the sea dragon that this marble is meant to become.

“Speak to me.”

“Shape me.” the disembodied desires and concepts coalesce into those simply words in Navessa’s mind and the desire for it to be so. “I am Inspiration, a Muse, you are the Shaper, the Artist. We are meant to be. You and me. Shape me and you will see.” the desires continue to find words in Navessa’s mind and perhaps most disturbingly in her own inner voice, her own thoughts coo’ing for agreement. For cooperation.

It is all she needs. That drive, that push. All Navessa ever wants is the Muse. Of course she first turned to drugs to escape the emotional noise around her, her Angelborn self having opened her up to the noise of everyone’s wants, hopes, dreams, anger, hatred, love… desire is such a broad pool and she had drowned in it. So much so she had lost track of her own. Drugs helped. And in them she discovered her muse. She chased it. She sought it out.

And always she followed, always she pursued. And now her Muse has come to her and Navessa embraces it. The tools are gathered up again and that first blow is made. The chisel set, the hammer dropped. Marble flakes away to the floor and Navessa barely sees for she moves without thinking, allowing herself to be guided by intuition rather than thought.

The next while of time is like a trance or a dream. Are there two of Navessa ? It feels as if there are. The one who shapes and the one who reaches out to nudge, to guide, to whisper. The further along the marble work progresses the stronger the connection the more confident and pure the inspiration. The more Navessa can perceive the influence of her Muse and its voice. “You may call me Agares or Muse. One you have shaped me, freed me from the marble, accepted me in your heart. We will be together and I will ever be your Muse. You need only ask and a font shall bubble forth.” it promises with Navessa’s body and voice. Its desire or is it her own pulsing like an ocean that it be so that they be together.

She is Angelborn and so Navessa accepts. The desire is strong enough, be it her own or Agares’ or both together. She could not resist even if she wanted to and… she does not want to. “Of course,” she murmurs. ‘I have sought you for so long.’ Did she say it? Think it? Or just feel it. While Navessa has been an artist all her life (as most are), she only began truly pursuing it as a passion as a teenager, in those years when her latent Angelic self began to come forward and the empathic abilities became a burden. Art was an outlet, a release, a way to process those things. And a muse… a muse would have been a salve, a balm to her raw nerves.

And finally one is here and she surrenders completely, without even a second thought. Her hands move, both with long practice and ease… and with the guidance of her Muse. Stone falls. Dust fills the air. And the low beat of the drums pulses through the house.

The marble sculpture is a pure conveyance of Navessa’s vision to physicality. What she drew, she thought, she saw, she wanted has come to exist in marble and never before has she done so in a day… in hour? Clearly something special, magical, maybe even dangerous has happened but the Pact is made. Agares smiles with Navessa’s own lips and maybe Navessa herself is smiling too. It is a beautiful piece whomever it is meant for. The only subtle tell something is amiss or supernatural about it is the blue and golden waves in the marble. They seem to shift still a trick of the light or some piece of the Muse in the Marble imprinted there by Navessa’s will. Brought into this world enough so it can just barely touch… Its desires fulfilled and unlike mortal desires Navessa experiences a bliss like high. No drug has ever given her this feeling… But the Muse has, she has…

Oh, she is smiling. Navessa has not felt this… content in some time. Perhaps not even when with someone, the man she loves. Will she tell him? Unlikely. And not from shame or anything, no. Because this is a different kind of happiness. A different kind of contentment. Because her art will always be a part of her. No matter what else comes in this life, she will always have this. And perhaps, now, she will always have the Muse — Agares — that she has sought for so long.

Dripping with sweat, wearied down to her very bones, Navessa finally steps back. The studio is covered in pieces of marble, in dust, in other tools she has no memory of picking up. The music still thrums. She removed her tank top to be in her sports bra at some point in her frenzied work. Strands of hair are plastered to her cheeks and neck. Arms drop to her sides as she stares at the piece. It’ll need polish. Perhaps a touch up here and there. Her mark upon the base. But it is, by and far, done.

Oh, she is smiling. Navessa has not felt this… content in some time. Perhaps not even when with Preston, the man she loves. Will she tell him? Unlikely. And not from shame or anything, no. Because this is a different kind of happiness. A different kind of contentment. Because her art will always be a part of her. No matter what else comes in this life, she will always have this. And perhaps, now, she will always have the Muse — Agares — that she has sought for so long.