~Not so easy~ Fallancy x Encre

Archive:  ["Jasper's POV :

I was flying between trees enjoing myself. It was a hard time for vampires because of the attacks. King of monsters and humans (Asgore) was not as merciful as everyone thought. He was a true monster. He is a monster. He doesn't spare anyone. In this toughts i finally reach my favorite place for hunting. Surprisingly there was a skeleton under tree! This is really weird. I thought that monters were scared of this forest. He was drawing something. My father is always saying that if i see a human or a monster in his forest i must kill them. But this one is different. He looks so innocent. I can't see any weapon near him, so i come closer. And this was my mistake.

Encre's POV :

I heard shuffling in the grass. I turn around. "Is someone there?" After a couple of seconds i heard another shuffle and squeak. It was still dark  so i got closer to a source of shuffling and squeaks, only to find a small bat. "Oh you poor thing! Your wing is hurt!" I wrapped him in my scarf and took him home.

~Tem skip brougt to you by smol bat~

Jasper's POV :

I woke up in a small basket wrapped in someones scarf. It smelled really nice, like butterscotch pie. I try to stand up but i fall down immediately. 'Did someone kidnap me? How long was i sleeping? Why my wing is healed? I remember perfectly that i fell and hurted my wing!' I was panicking. 'No need to worry Jasper, your father will find you.... right?' I started to look around. The same skeleton that i saw in the forest was sleeping next to me on the table!"]

...

Encre's livelihood was art. It was the thing that took him where he is today. And it's probably not suprising that he just knew how to do it. People who saw him paint were amazed by how gently he holds his brush. Those that saw him sketch were struck by how every line created by his pencil was just perfect in every way. 

Art made him the monster that he is today, there's no doubt about it.

Thanks to it he had just enough money to live in his small cottage near the woods, only from time to time taking up a commissioned piece. 

His journey with painting (because that's what he was primarly known for) started when he was a little skeleton. Encre enjoyed drawing shapes with a brach on a pellet of dirt rather then playing with other kids. Back then, when the times were simpler, he lived with his mother in a small French village. His father abandoning them, he always had to watch the money. Most of his free time was used for working small jobs. But when he had a snippet, even five minutes, Encre sat down on a field and drew. He sketched flowers, clouds and trees. And his mother noticed this. Every time he sat down on a field his mother watched him from their house. She would smile gently and pet the little skeletons head, wondering. 

And then on a Christmas night, when the winter was just a little bit warmer, he got his first present.

It was an empty canvas.

It was one of the last happy memories he made with his mother.

After that everything went downhill.

 A war broke out.

The First Human-Monster War was absolutely tragic. Many died, even more were injuried. When Encres mother caught a quiet whisper among the townsfolk, she immediately packed her bags (only the ones small enough she could carry), took her son, and run.

She didn't go far. She was caught in a crossfire on a battlefield, leaving her son alone in this big, harsh world.

 It wasn't easy for a small teen skeleton to survive. After his mothers death he didn't have time to properly grieve. So he traveled, long distances, with his naked feet, dressed only in a set of old clothes that had so many holes in them that you could hardly call them clothes. He wasn't starving too badly, he knew how to hunt thanks to his small jobs he worked for his mother. It still didn't mean he wasn't hungry.

Eventually he reached a city. He stumbled through the streets, trying to find a inn that could offer him a warm night of sleep at a price that he could afford. Eventually he realized it was no use: this part of the city was a rich district, even if he had enough money to pay for a night the owners wouldn't let him in because of his looks. Encre was a sad sight: a mere teen with way too frail bones, only weak strings of magic holding his soul together. He was dirty and he had no money. With a sigh he crouched behind a garbage can and slowly his consciousness started to drift away. 

When he woke up, a man was standing worryingly close to his face. The skeleton flinched away. The Man told him not to be scared and offered him a place to stay. Looking in retrospect, it was not a smart idea. Going with a stranger who creepily observed your face while you were asleep is never a good idea. But the boy was desperate. And The Man was so warm and gentle.

Most of his memories after that were blurry at best and nonexistent at worst.

Encre remembered a few things though. First one was that measuring time in that place was hard. He estimated it took him a few years to escape. Second one was the space, or lack of thereof. His room was cramped, only four grey walls and a small bed. 

Third was that he did bad things. Cruel ones. Despicable even. He didn't want to, but he had to. He didn't have a choice. Encre didn't remember what they were, he just remembered screams and pale white dust floating through the air, making it dense and hard to breathe.

It was easier after escaping. He started sketching on every free space he found: on a napkin, on a wall and even on his own body, decorating the scars that were created on his stay with The Man.

One time were he was searching the garbage cans he found a block of paper (a bit rotten but still functional). He was ecstatic.  He got to work right away. Encre found a piece of coal and drawn. His pain expressed on the pieces of paper, beautiful yet sharp.

He earned  quite a bit of money selling those.

Eventually he had enough gold to buy professional supplies and his sales went up even more.

The king had taken interest in his art. He was a freelancer, but the royal family paid really well for a good piece. If you were to take a walk along the halls of the palace most works would have a small signature saying "Encre" in the right corner. 

But after a few years he got bored with the city life (he wasn't made for settling down, not really. Always on the run, some would say). So he sold most of his works and went to the small village he lives in now. He still worked from time to time, but right now his art was mostly for himself.

 Sometimes he would still think of his mother. He wondered if she would be proud of him.

"It's getting dark, isn't it?" He whispered to nobody in particular. And he was right: dark clouds started covering the horizon as the orange light of the sun slowly dissipated into the black blanket of the night.  

Suddenly something moved in the corner of his sight. Encre nearly fell off the stump he was sitting on, he flinched so hard. "Wh- Who's there?!" the words had a certain french accent the skeleton would often let out while being scared. He dug out the previously found dagger from his pocket and pointed it towards the dark place he saw movement a moment ago. Something small tossed in the tall grass. With a relief he hid his dagger and stepped a tad closer to the source of the sound. Knowing it was an animal he wasn't terrified, but still had kept his distance. You never know what sorts of fauna you could find in a deep forest late at night. Encres thin hand slowly brushed away the tall blades of grass reviling a small bat. "Oh dear... He mustn't be older then ten years!" exclaimed the monster worryingly. Luckily the skeleton knew this and that about this particular species. He once studied bats for a project. 

He gently wrapped up the small body of the bat in his scarf, took his supplies and went back to his cottage. Once the bat wakes up, he'll be able to asses the damage on it's body and heal it if needed. Until then, he needs to wait.