Post by Mystletaynn on Apr 15, 2023 6:27:34 GMT
The familiar halls of the central building at U.A. gave Ryoken Shidou a reassuring sense of welcoming familiarity. There were still a few days left before the school year started, but the newly-minted second year had just finished moving in earlier in the morning. He was often used to living life through personal routines, which provided a framework of sorts, some structure of reliability he could always allow himself to mentally reset with. But, before that all started, he had a few nebulous days ahead of himself without any plans, and for what...? He didn't really know, but with everyone getting settled back in, it was always nicer to have his options open regardless.
Earlier in the day, he had met several familiar faces and a few new ones, but the gathering of students ended up growing to be larger than he preferred, and he had left of his own accord to pursue some quieter interests. Namely, one of the things on his list, checking out his personal suite within the art studio. It was located in the wing just past the library within the campus center building, but ironically, the library had always felt a bit too crowded for his liking. The studio was a much more solitary place that he could simply empty his mind and decompress. He had a key, of course — anyone that was approved access to the studios was given one — but this was the first time visiting since last year. Unlocking the entrance, Ryoken raised an eyebrow when the door didn't open. It seemed that with these smaller rooms, they hadn't been opened for maintenance at all. He gave the door a bash with his shoulder, the threshold opening partially. A second effort knocked the door open with a noticeably louder bang than he had been anticipating, echoing down the hallway. Glancing to the side in both directions out of mild embarrassment, a small smile of relief crawled onto his face when he confirmed nobody had seen that, returning his attention to the studio as he stepped inside.
It was pretty much in the same condition he had left it, all of the supplies where they were supposed to be, neatly organized the way he always liked it. Ryoken left the entrance door open as he walked over to the window on the other side, lifting it halfway open. The unobstructed flow through the room would provide some fresh air, and also help get rid of any unwanted smells. Of paint, that is. Their family psychiatrist had recommended the activity as one of several potential options as a creative outlet, and the idea had always been more enticing than the more-basic pencil sketches that he had also sometimes done when he was younger. As for why, well, that part was harder to figure out. While Ryoken had always been a diligent student, among the top of the class in grades and the number one in practical ability, he had felt like his first year at U.A. had passed by in the blink of an eye, and midway through the year, started feeling like he had been missing out on... something. Logically speaking, that shouldn't really be the case, but it had still been an issue that had been bothering him, and that was allegedly what finding a creative hobby was supposed to help alleviate. There wasn't really any intentional aim in actually creating a work of art, Ryoken just simply allowed himself to empty his mind and let whatever came to his brush appear on the canvas.
Setting his bag down on one of the tables to the side, he also took off his shoes and socks, neatly folding the latter and resting them on top of the former, tucking them underneath the aforementioned table as he walked over to retrieve his easel and a blank canvas from the supplies in the corner. Other items eventually gathered in the center of the small studio included a chair, an apron which Ryoken put on, a small wood palette, and oil paint... of just one color, black. Crouched on top of the back seat of the chair, with his feet on the part intended for actually sitting on, he looked more like a bird perched on the precariously balanced seat in an awkward posture. However, the legs of the chair each sported a small brace of diamond, courtesy of his quirk, safely anchoring the chair to the floor. While he had everything ready to get started, he didn't actually start. The boy was lost in thought, and simply sat there for a while, contemplating.
Earlier in the day, he had met several familiar faces and a few new ones, but the gathering of students ended up growing to be larger than he preferred, and he had left of his own accord to pursue some quieter interests. Namely, one of the things on his list, checking out his personal suite within the art studio. It was located in the wing just past the library within the campus center building, but ironically, the library had always felt a bit too crowded for his liking. The studio was a much more solitary place that he could simply empty his mind and decompress. He had a key, of course — anyone that was approved access to the studios was given one — but this was the first time visiting since last year. Unlocking the entrance, Ryoken raised an eyebrow when the door didn't open. It seemed that with these smaller rooms, they hadn't been opened for maintenance at all. He gave the door a bash with his shoulder, the threshold opening partially. A second effort knocked the door open with a noticeably louder bang than he had been anticipating, echoing down the hallway. Glancing to the side in both directions out of mild embarrassment, a small smile of relief crawled onto his face when he confirmed nobody had seen that, returning his attention to the studio as he stepped inside.
It was pretty much in the same condition he had left it, all of the supplies where they were supposed to be, neatly organized the way he always liked it. Ryoken left the entrance door open as he walked over to the window on the other side, lifting it halfway open. The unobstructed flow through the room would provide some fresh air, and also help get rid of any unwanted smells. Of paint, that is. Their family psychiatrist had recommended the activity as one of several potential options as a creative outlet, and the idea had always been more enticing than the more-basic pencil sketches that he had also sometimes done when he was younger. As for why, well, that part was harder to figure out. While Ryoken had always been a diligent student, among the top of the class in grades and the number one in practical ability, he had felt like his first year at U.A. had passed by in the blink of an eye, and midway through the year, started feeling like he had been missing out on... something. Logically speaking, that shouldn't really be the case, but it had still been an issue that had been bothering him, and that was allegedly what finding a creative hobby was supposed to help alleviate. There wasn't really any intentional aim in actually creating a work of art, Ryoken just simply allowed himself to empty his mind and let whatever came to his brush appear on the canvas.
Setting his bag down on one of the tables to the side, he also took off his shoes and socks, neatly folding the latter and resting them on top of the former, tucking them underneath the aforementioned table as he walked over to retrieve his easel and a blank canvas from the supplies in the corner. Other items eventually gathered in the center of the small studio included a chair, an apron which Ryoken put on, a small wood palette, and oil paint... of just one color, black. Crouched on top of the back seat of the chair, with his feet on the part intended for actually sitting on, he looked more like a bird perched on the precariously balanced seat in an awkward posture. However, the legs of the chair each sported a small brace of diamond, courtesy of his quirk, safely anchoring the chair to the floor. While he had everything ready to get started, he didn't actually start. The boy was lost in thought, and simply sat there for a while, contemplating.
