Dare You to Move (Willow/Dare)

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"Most people don't," Dare said, though he could hardly imagine not having one now. They'd gotten their camera back before Markise had shown up. For Markise, actually, though he'd shown up before they could send the picture off. "We have one, but me and Michael are both into art, and Michael just really picked up on taking pictures." He hardly drew anymore, but Dare could never predict when he might hear the click of the camera announcing that Michael had been watching him. "I haven't been to the camera place, too busy this semester, but I know you can get cameras at the potions shop." They'd gotten the expensive instant camera, but there were others.

[Willow Wenlock]

So he and his partner where into art, and his brother was a writer, she had apparently stumbled upon some family hobby. Willow thought that perhaps art was a better pursuit in the expansion of the mind than reading books were some days. Art challenged the sensibilities not just of the viewer, but of the artist as well. She smiled thinking about how every career was in a way an artistic pursuit. Well at least she hoped that her chosen career field was an artistic interpretation of people's lives from the past.

"There's no retirement for an artist, it's your way of living so there's no end to it. I'm sorry, I probably sound like a parrot, but I find people who are artistic fascinating. Probably because I envy your unbiased way of looking at the world. Seeing it in a way that even if people find uncomfortable, they accept, because it's art, not just verbalization's."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare gave her a somewhat pointed look from behind his fringe. "Not everyone accepts," he said. "I've talked myself out of a bloody nose more than once because someone had issues with what I drew." Emilian, for example. "There are truths that people don't want to see, and it pisses them off even more when someone else sees it, too. A picture paints a thousand words, right?" He tossed his head again, and his fringe shifted, sticking for some moments this time before it slid back into place, a bit at a time.

[Willow Wenlock]

It made sense, based on years of studying that people couldn't come to terms with who they were, which was why many cultures feuded, and fought, because they couldn't find a common ground. Willow looked up at Dare, her dark green eyes shining with sincerity, "I don't understand why people can't accept truths about themselves. It's like history, if we cannot admit who we are, we are destined to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. Whereas learning the truths about ourselves and how we act, allows us to grow more."

It was how cultures over centuries had adapted, why fighting existed in some ways. The aftermath of a battle or self-epiphany allowed for languages and traditions to be shared, whether it was an actual language, or just the lingo of a group/

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"People have strong ideas who they are," Dare said, "and they don't like thinking there's imperfections they can't see." Dare glanced up, his eyes searching for a clock on the wall. Sh~. His eyes found hers. "I'm sorry, I've gotta get going to class. I didn't catch your name." He grabbed his bag, pulling the strap over his head and under one arm so it would rest against him.

[Willow Wenlock]

When Dare's eyes flew to the wall, her own did the same. Crum, she thought, the hour she'd had and she hadn't done any work. Not that she'd intended to, but all the same, it was repeating a pattern of never getting anything accomplished in the library. Dare's question tugged at her though, pulling her out of her thoughts, and as she packed up her own bag with the library books, she smiled, "Sorry about that. My name is Willow, Wenlock."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"Like the chocolate frog card?" Dare teased. It was any easy name to remember. She was slender, willowy and a complete bookworm. He pushed to his feet, then pushed in his chair. "It was nice meeting you, Willow," he said. A brief wave and he excused himself to go to class.