INTERIOR - A room on the 3rd floor of the Ruttford branch of the Silvo's Inn and Suites, a reasonably nice-leaning inn business in the Windnds. Appeals mostly to travelling merchants and other businessmen. Offers reasonably sized, well-furnished rooms, with spacious and comfortable bathroom appliances. And miniature iceboxes. How nifty!

  Presently, the room has been reorganized- The chairs and desks have been moved to one side, and the bed has been pushed as close to the wall as possible. An easel and a set of paints y in the center of the room, and scraps of a magically shredded canvas slowly float towards the ground.

  PRESENT - THE BOY (wearing his usual threadbare, peasant clothes. Currently standing between the window and the easel, with his usual wide-eyed stare, staring up at Mouse.) MOUSE (Same as before. A tall, lithe, elegant young man, with flowing blonde hair and emerald-gold robes. Currently standing upright, heaving with rage, his lips perked up to whistle.)

  TIME - The early-evening sun filtering in through the window has become infuriating to Mouse.

  "... was that art?" The boy asked, not tilting his head, not confident in the least that he knew what the rules were at this point.

  "HHHRK- TCH- FFFTTS-" Mouse let out a number of incoherent noises, his eyes twitching furiously while he had to actively stop himself from foaming at the mouth.

  "was that art?" The boy repeated, wondering if Mouse hadn't heard him.

  He repeated his question a handful more times, but it ultimately became clear that Mouse just needed a minute.

  A minute ter,

  "YES." Mouse shouted, his face still red. "IT... IT WAS. J-JUST- IT'S OBVIOUS! I-IF YOU KNEW THE FIRST THING ABOUT ART, YOU'D UNDERSTAND!"

  "what parts of-"

  "THIS- THIS SITTING AROUND IS POINTLESS! I CAN'T DRAW SH!# IN THESE CONDITIONS." Mouse wrathfully points a stern finger at the boy. "YOU! WE'RE GOING OUTSIDE NOW! ACTION SHOTS!"

  The boy shook his head. "hat said we are not allowed to leave this roo-"

  Mouse began to whistle.

  "oh." Said the boy as the wind swept him away, and out onto the ground two stories below.

  Much time ter, the boy y on the windswept grass with a bck eye and bloody noise. And maybe a broken bone or two. It's hard to say.

  But it was not from the fall from the second story of the inn. No, that nding was fairly soft, all things considered.

  In fact, the boy was nowhere near the inn.

  No, he y in the midst of the windswept pin just outside Triangle Valley.

  He had just had the stuffing beaten out of him by a small gaggle of adventurers, who were just on their way back from a particurly infuriating squabble in a nearby dungeon. Presently, the adventurers are storming away, their boots making heavy steps upon the windswept grass.

  Mouse had been dragging the boy through the Wild (of course, getting he and the boy across the river was a cinch, for someone of his skills), looking for something better, something truly inspiring.

  They came across the adventurers purely by happenstance. Mouse instantly took notice of their agitation, and decided that they would be the perfect vessel.

  Within seconds, he'd produced an immensely detailed script for the boy to follow- one full of just the right words, pced in just the right order.

  The boy dutifully followed the script, and was id ft against the ground before 15 seconds of conversation had passed.

  Once the adventurers were a safe distance away, Mouse emerged from the bush he'd been hold up in, from which he had watched the whole affair go perfectly to pn.

  He walked up in silence, his eyes glistening with joy and actual, genuine inspiration as he looked down at the boy's beaten, broken form.

  "Aaaah! Yes- YES! This- This is it..." He mused with a wide, awestruck smile pstered across his smug little face. "Pathetic... Perfection."

  "okay." Said the boy, blinking up at him from the ground.

  . . .

  "is this art now?" The boy wondered aloud.

  Mouse, at st, let out a single, satisfied sigh.

  "Yes, boy." He nodded, looking wistfully off into the horizon, watching as the evening sun set slowly into the abyss. "This... This is art."

  "..." The boy blinked thoughtfully. "i do not enjoy art very much."

  "No, I suppose a simpleton like you wouldn't." He closed his eyes, and nodded to himself with a gentle smile.

  . . . Mouse hadn't brought his brushes or anything with him. He'd just commit the sight to memory and make the portrait ter. Yeah. For sure.

  For several, irritating minutes, Mouse held his stare into the horizon, smugly enjoying an unearned feeling of satisfaction.