sleep is overrated, kind of. [open!]

[Anonymous]

One of Haven's half-lidded eyes twitched with concentration. He had to be precise and fluid with his wrist to properly transfer the appropriate amount of bluish green color to the canvas on the easel. The paint he was using had a slight acrid smell but he was used to it and thankfully once dried wouldn't smell at all. The great pains of an artist. At least with his insomnia he had something to do in those times where he couldn't sleep a wink. It was usually at night when that occurred. Cruelly he could always find himself easily drifting off during the day but it wasn't something he wasn't allowed to do even if he had nothing to do. Someone was always disturbing him out of it. This lack of sleep explained the dark gray/purple circles under his forest green eyes. Strangely enough he didn't care so much, perhaps his laid-back nature dictated that. He was of course always a bit more tense when he was painting and might actually snap at someone, maybe. It was rare though.

Slim fingers lightly gripped the end of the paint brush, gliding it with that wrist motion he was so good at. There were sketch marks on the canvas but much of it was getting covered by paint and it was thus a little difficult to determine what the hell he was depicting. Haven did like to make people guess and was noted for doing quite the strange paintings and sketches. He paused pulling the brush carefully away so he could yawn big and even made a slight soft guttural sound at the end, followed by a shake of the head. He smacked a bit and then rubbed his eyes to rid them of any pestering moisture. Alright, where was he?

He had been painting all night, not an unusual occurrence for Haven. He had set a blank canvas on the easel and a strong metal stool in front of it. He plopped down in all black, too-long-sleeved turtle neck, pants that cut off at the knee, and old paint stains barely visible here and there. In one hand a palette of color and the other a brush to wield that magic he possessed for art. By now, in the wee hours of the morning (around 5 or 6?), his cheeks and forehead were also smudged with colorful paint. There was a bit of a green spot on his nose as well. He was too focused to care about such things not that he cared much anyway. He put beauty on the canvas not himself. He looked slightly disheveled with some more paint in his hair that made it stick up a little and a few strands of lengthy choppy fringe escaping the clip that usually kept it out of his eyes. Shortly, Haven sat back and scrutinized his work. Finally he smiled and deemed he was done for now. Tonight he would go back and add more detail.

Setting the palette and brush down, Haven glanced to his bunk where Yuka was fast asleep. Lucky bugger. He had settled to calling Yuka a cabbit because it seemed fitting somehow. She was cute and small as a dwarf rabbit, appearing like a hybrid between cat and hare. Her fur was a brindle over gray with black tufts at the end of large ears and the long tail. She was his closet friend and sometimes felt as his only one. He looked over to the empty bed in the room. He had a roommate at one point but had run him off. Couldn't get used to his insomniac ways. Oh well, probably for the best.

Haven stretched his scrawny 5'7" body, arms rising high and making his shirt slide. He yawned again as he scratched his side, slowly standing up from the stool. He could use a nap but he went for a shower instead. A nice hot shower. It sounded heavenly about now. He petted Yuka before stripping and heading into the little bathroom.

Afterward he dressed in a similar shirt from before but with the acquired uniform pants. Yuka was up now and mewled for attention. He laughed and picked her up giving her a bit of a snuggle. Using his telepathy, he said to her,

sleep well, yuka?

Her reply was a catty, better than you.

Haven giggled and let Yuka curl up on his shoulder, fair enough. Slipping into some shoes and grabbing a mobile device and his uniform jacket in hand, he stepped out of his dorm room. Another yawn, before wandering off down the halls. He wasn't exactly sure of his destination though he knew he needed at least some fuel to function. Food. Need FOOD. As if to declare agreement, his stomach growled quite noisily.

"Shh, tummy, shhh," he patted it down as if calming a grumbling animal. He hoped he got all the paint, it tended to stick pretty well.[/list]