 Open Post
Having been told his presence was needed in the Atrium, Damian had arrived in haste. Realizing that he had tricked into attending a team building exercise, his normally calm blue eyes burned hotter than the kilns. The unspeakable wanted to turn on his heels and leave whence he came. But he couldn't let the others see that he had been tricked, so he lifted his chin, and strode amongst the crowd as if he fully intended to be here in the first place.
Damian rolled up his sleeves, and stared down at a lump of clay, as if trying to will it into shape. Though a musician in his youth, the well-dressed wizard was no longer a creator. In fact, the Ministry paid him rather well to be a master of the opposite. As lead mortemist, his knowledge about death, along with the creatures and magics associated with it, was second to none.
When he wanted something made, he had a wizard for that. Someone who could take what others saw as junk and create the fantastic. Damian did find some comfort in working with clay. He could form it, pound it back into a lump, and form it again. There was no destruction, only the changing of shape. He repeated this process nearly a dozen times before he found something he wanted to work with.
A coffee mug. A simple, useful work of artistic expression. If someone asked, he might even admit he was enjoying himself as he smoothed, and rounded out the mugs shape.
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In over his head |