The chocolate haired artist let out a small laugh. Who knew? "You're adorable when you're inspired..." Uncertain, just a little tired, Ollie looked to be all of that and yet he still clamored to be Emmery's center of attention, all without knowing it. With a small shift of his hand he caught the musician's in his own and held it tight. Emmery's other arm wrapped around the other man's waist to hold close and support Ollie.

He was flattered and enthralled all at once, it was quite the unusual mixture of emotions. It was an amazing thing!

Oliver freed his hand and moved them both up to rest on Emmery's shoulder. The artist was so much more colorful now, splattered in paint, colors of every spectrum, but all flat compared to his eyes. Blue that resembled gems, sapphires sitting in an endless backdrop of white. He rested his forehead against Em's and studied him closely. "I could say the same about you." He said calmly. But then, perhaps adorable was an understatement. Oliver couldn't quite get enough of this strange and interesting human being, and each second Emmery was within his gaze seemed to slow into years. Years that didn't quite seem to last long enough.

Emmery's breath caught in his throat. He actually forgot how to breathe, staring so deeply into the other man's eyes, taking in the line of a jaw, the curve of a cheek... All the artist needed to do was tilt his head just so, and his lips would meet Ollie's. "Ah Twist ... Stay with me tonight?" A transparent kind of hope, and invitation, slipped into his words. He knew it was early in the day, and that the other man probably had so much more to do then spend time with him ... But Emmery still had to ask.

Oliver hesitated for only a moment, words catching before he could speak them. Emmery was so absolutely straightforward, it was refreshing to see. Despite himself, Oliver tended to think a bit too much sometimes, and it led to many regrets. One massive regret stood out in the forefront of his mind, but he pushed it away. "I... I'd be happy to." He finally said, and smiled. It was a relatively bad idea, perhaps, as Messengers tended to be vulnerable in their state of sleep. But he was a light sleeper, and he was slightly hoping sleep wouldn't necessarily be on his mind.

He threw what little caution he had to the wind and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Emmery's. He drew the kiss out as long as he could, shifting himself slightly to get as close as possible. It had been so long... he almost forgot what it felt like to really kiss someone.

His heart soared. Words failed to express how Emmery felt then, in that moment when Oliver accepted. Just when he thought he had finally found the words, lips met capture his in an unexpected, but very welcome, kiss. Emmery quite consciously lifted a hand to deepen the kiss, and he used the other to tug the Messenger as close as possible. Oliver might have been dead, but he felt vitally alive, more alive then anyone Emery had ever known before.

The artist broke the kiss reluctantly. He was so breathless, it took him a few moments to collect enough air to speak. "Damn ... After that, I can guarantee there'll be more play then sleep tonight ... If you don't disagree." Emmery grinned mischievously at the other man, a spark of invitation and longing in his bright blue eyes. He would have to show him where they would sleep, the loft where he kept all of his most private works. No one else had ever really seen them, those snippets of soul put onto canvas. There was a new addition to the collection, and not so well hidden as all the others.

The painting was so soft.. It was a wish, and he was afraid to even think of how Oliver might react to seeing the pastel painting of them together, smiling, with their arms around each other.

Dylan sighed, placing the overly dirty brush aside. He couldn't understand why his colors always muddied, no matter how much Edward tried to help. "I just can't get it right! Just the colors... it's all a mess!" He was so discouraged. An artist, him? That would never happen, not when it came to painting the world with colors. Disaster after disaster of mixing together the primary colors to try and create another, startling one, and they all ended in failures. This last ugly muddy, swamp green was the final straw.

The copper haired man stood, and turned his back to the messy attempts he'd used to ruin more canvas then he wanted to see.

Oliver shivered slightly at the words. Of course he didn't disagree! "I was actually hoping you'd say that." He admitted, a rather pleased smile sitting in a seemingly permanent manner. He was almost tempted to stay now, but the only thing that overrided that desire was his curiosity in Edward's evaluation. He had to know if his longtime friend had done well. Normally the Council took a day or two to decide, but one could tell at the end of the test whether they were eligible for a teaching position or not. And Oliver had utmost faith.

He stood, if a bit reluctantly, and glanced up to the broken window. The sun was angled just right to cast a slightly colored glimmer through what was left of the window. "Ah... I ought to seal that window now... It'd be better than wasting time later, anyway." Oliver extended a hand to Emmery. "Shall we get going, then?"

Eddie shook his head slightly, lifting the latest small canvas and setting it aside. He hated seeing Dylan berate himself. "You can't expect to learn something so quickly." He said, picking up the brush Dylan had laid aside. "You just started up. Sometimes it takes years to catch on, with daily practice and plenty of patience. Your mistakes are there so you can learn." He went to the sink across the room, a deep single-basin, and ran the brush under warm water. "Your first mistake is using so much paint at once, especially a thin medium. It blends together too easily, you have to be patient enough to let it rest, dry a bit if you use too much. And try to limit yourself in how much you use."

Eddie wasn't the best teacher in the world---not when it came to art and painting. Talent was talent, and his came out only after he put forth years of trial and error. "Everyone's got a specific talent, Dylan." Eddie added, turning and setting the brush aside to dry. "You're a journalist, a writer. Yours is art, but written art, words that form pictures in one's head. I feel if you try your hand at fiction, you'll succeed far quicker." He gave a smile, encouraging and kind.

He was disappointed when the other man moved away, though elated at what he heard. Emmery was a little puzzled when the other man mentioned leaving. It took him a while to remember that Dylan's Messenger friend had something important going on. The artist didn't quite know what, but that didn't matter. He would go anyway, because Ollie wanted to.

Standing with a smile, Emmery grasped the other man's hand in his own and gave it a light squeeze. "Alright, let's take care of this quickly, then we can go." He moved towards a large of canvas after that, pulling out material and then trying to figure out how long to make it all. Then he began to cut it out and motioned for Ollie to help.

Dylan knew he was impatient, and this just served to emphasize that. He moved to wash his hands, scrubbing them carefully as he listened to Edward's words float through the air."Me, write fiction? Well I suppose .... " He'd never really thought about it, not as any kind of viable option for him. Dylan had always dealt with facts after all.

But now ... with his world changed as it was, well he couldn't really see any reason why not to leap into fiction. "It's not like I don't have enough inspiration." Though turning the lives of the Messengers into a novel was definitely a horrible idea. He could still draw inspiration from them though.

Eddie tilted his head as Dylan spoke. "Well, fantasy, mystery, action, all from a unique point of view, it can all be so fascinating. Written, in a way, is better than drawn---it lets the reader see what they want to see, what they want to imagine the world or the characters to be. And you can make any fact into fiction, with the right amount of tweaking. Realism can turn to abstract just by using the write words, or the right colors." He went around to his work in progress, which he had been adding to while Dylan tried his hand. He had filled in the sky, what little amount was available to see in the backdrop. He had pushed up with each end stroke to give the sky texture reminiscent of layered clouds, and the church was the only thing standing out, thus unpainted.

He glanced back around to Dylan. "You know, your ability to write is one of your best creative assets. You should hone it in different ways. I'd love to read some of it, after all... It's a part of who you are. Your art reflects you in some way, no matter how varied you are. There's always a signature you'll have." True to the fact, Eddie's paintings, sculptures, and pots always had some small etched or imaged star, a nine-point thing somewhere he intentionally added in as something of a calling card. He had caught on to that symbol early on and never changed it.

He sat down on the stool again, and leaned his head against his hand, elbow resting casually upon his leg. "I think I will try my hand at it.. Fantasy and mystery, with action packed in would be quite the interesting mix, don't you think?" A tall blonde man with powers over death, there were a few ways he could spin that and make the concept quite unique and separate from what the Messegers did. In fact, it didn't even need to be based in their world, but rather in one of pure imagination.

There was already an idea forming in Dylan's mind, a picture of a world just beginning to form, and what a wonderful world it would be. "There's this idea I have ..." Maybe he could write it all down soon, perhaps when Edward was busy. Dylan knew already that without the other man around, he would probably need as many distractions as he could find, or created for himself.

Eddie smiled, uncapping a tube of white and black paint. "I think it would be." He agreed, placing the colors close together on an old canvas. A very small amount of yellow followed and each was mixed into one another, intended to create a grayish backdrop along most of the church's image. It would stick out well, of course, rather than blend into a bleak, same color background. In several areas he left the color out, around the windows that would be a beacon of light, a gold-amber tone encompassing red, blue, green, and yellow.

Eddie glanced around as Dylan spoke. "Idea?" He repeated, focusing more on the image he was filling in. "Is it a secret, or would you tell me?" The words made him smile. Most of the time he hated telling anyone what he might be drawing or painting until it was finished. Of course, if the person knew he was painting, which was a fact he tended to keep to himself. The only one that had ever really watched him paint was Oliver, mainly because the crazy Messenger would find a way to the basement studio one way or another.

"Well, I wanted to ... base a character on you, with power over death. But all the story would take place in another world." There was just one problem. He didn't know anything about the world at all. Cultures, cities, people ... They all needed to be created with great care to make sure that everything fit together to make a realistic world. That was going to take time.

Tilting his head, Dylan left the stool to rummage around for pencil and paper. He started scribbling ideas down quickly. In fact, he wasn't paying much attention to the ideas, so long as he had them it didn't matter what they were. Later on he'd pick.

Eddie glanced around, poising the brush over the canvas. "Me...?" He repeated softly, and lowered the brush. "I..." He blinked, and watched Dylan. He'd never had anything written of him. Nothing based on fact, or fiction, or anything in between. He would often draw or paint scenes from his old home, his siblings, his parents. But something written based on him? His life? The life of the Messengers...? Eddie felt somewhat light headed as he put a bit of pure white on the windows of the church, and between where the doors would stand open, letting light spill into the dark street. "That sounds nice." He finally muttered.

Mixing a dark base, Eddie focused on the church. He wanted to get it done, but didn't want to force it or rush. Small details took time, and often took a specific type of light. He worked around what he'd just placed, filling in small bare patches to let the grayish base dry. "Dylan... Writing does take a lot of patience." Eddie decided to speak, filling the silence. "It doesn't take a steady hand, but it does take knowledge of a situation, a world, a race, a personality and a person. If you make them too one-sided, they're flat." He brushed slowly, darkening the edges around the church and the building beside it. He often talked while he painted, even when no one was there. It didn't matter to him whether Dylan was listening or not, though he hoped it were the case.

The young man smiled at Eddie's surprised reaction. Dylan might not have been looking at the Messenger, but he was certainly listening. His pencil danced across the page as yet more thoughts flickered through his mind. A series of world perhaps, where death was personified, someone chosen from those who died by their predecessors. There could be a multitude of them per world, perhaps by country? He couldn't decide how many he wanted in each place, but the universe he wanted to create was beginning to take shape.

"I know, but writing has so many unexpected twists and turns that it's never boring. What the finished product looks like is a surprise even for the writer, and that's one of the things I love about writing." He paused, and put aside his writing things. The young man moved smoothly to stand by Edward's side and looked over the other man's shoulder. "That's coming along very well." It was beautiful, enchanting and a demonstration of talent that Dylan found rather intriguing.

Eddie waved his hand in front of the painting, drying the off-gray and white backdrop for the church body, and startled just a bit when Dylan spoke so close by. "Ah... Thanks. It's a little... interesting, know? To have someone around to watch a painting come together. I suppose it makes things less generic. Conversations actually go somewhere..." He set the brush aside, in a cup of water he'd had alongside the paints. He placed a variety of tones in a small circle, red, yellow, purple, and blue, a bit of black, and white. Slowly swirling them gradually, he found a happy medium and started filling in the church. The red-shingle roof would stand out, though draped in shadow and shining in a sliver of moonlight.

He blinked, and his hand froze above the canvas. Hooves clopped on cobblestone, almost obscured by wooden wheels rattling and voices creating a dull roar. A dog yapped somewhere, but the moon was too enthralling. It shined bright, silvery and round between a few thin gray clouds. He was rocking back and forth lightly, feeling himself smile in contentment, and a hand suddenly grasped his own. He suddenly felt lightheaded, his heart racing. "I love you, Edward."

He opened his mouth, but no sound escaped for a moment. "I... I love you too, Thomas..."

Eddie blinked, and squinted at the blank canvas. He had quickly gone down half the roof, and the damp paint glistened in the precise lighting.

"I love you Edward," murmured Dylan as he wrapped an arm around the other man's waist. Dylan hugged himself close, smiling softly to himself as he leaned his head against the taller Messenger. "And I'm glad you don't have to have conversations with yourself anymore. Musta been pretty boring." The journalist shifted his head slightly to peek over Edward's shoulder.

The painting was amazing, just as he'd thought it would be. "It's beautiful, the painting." He really liked it. Dylan was almost tempted to ask if he could have it, but that was too much too soon. They were just beginning to form this relationship of theirs, and he was afraid of being too demanding, or of messing up in some way.

The words sounded different. Different, but the same. He tried to reply but couldn't quite get himself to react. What was it he saw, and heard? A real moon, hanging in the sky, beautiful, like a massive gem. Words like what Dylan had said, meant, soft and true. He couldn't decide whether it was a fever dream, remembered long after the fact, like an old memory. It felt like it came from a different reality altogether, but the situation was unmistakably realistic. His dreams were always so real, though, sometimes the only way to tell it from honest reality was the outlandish situations that might have been shown. He shrugged it off and glanced backward.

"I love you too, Dylan." He said, shivering at how familiar the words were on his lips. As though he'd said them before, in another life... But he disregarded it and glanced sideways, catching Dylan's gaze and smiling easily. It was better to think of such things while one was otherwise unoccupied, and occupied he most certainly was. He shook the thought away and enjoyed the feeling of Dylan's body against him, brushing the rest of the roof on easily and switching out the larger brush for a pencil-sized. It was used for minute details, such as stained glass pictures and dictating shingles on a roof. He just didn't know how to take compliments. "I'm glad you like it..." He said rather haltingly, focused hard on the small details. "Maybe I'll... make something for you sometime..." A commission... No, a gift, really. A gift for someone he never would have met if he'd been in just a slightly different place.

He watched, fascinated, as church took shape, with light and colors in the night. This was a kind of magic all it's own, pulling something from nothing and making it look so real. At the mention of a creation for him, a piece of art Dylan could call his own. He hugged the other man tightly with both arms, but was careful not to jostle Eddie while he worked upon the delicate details. "That would be amazing!" And he intended on writing up a story as soon as he could so Edward would be able to read it.

Eddie focused a bit harder on the details at hand now. His hand moved in a stone-steady way, dotting and slicing in the blue-black details that gave the church roof a more layered appearance. He would have to let it dry afterward, though, or the smaller details would blend into the more solid lines and blur. He put the brush down in its water, content with the detail so far, and turned on his heel to face Dylan. "Well, that's good." He said, putting his arms around the human. "I'll paint whatever you want, anything you like. It'd be nice to work on someone else's thoughts and ideas for once... Maybe it'll give me a break from all this gloom." He glanced around the room---most of the paintings on the walls were of a sad world---a world from his past, but darker, more dreary and mysterious than it really was. Perhaps Dylan had a brighter perspective.

"Gloom?" They were dark, but there was a magic in the paintings that Dylan simply couldn't miss. It was hard to believe that their creator didn't see the enchantment his pieces created. "I would like it if you painted your garden for me." It was so beautiful. "In winter, it'd be nice to have in my room." Dylan was going to stay there, he just knew it.

He smiled, and shifted to press his lips against Edward's. The action never got finished though as a knocking sound, loud and obnoxious, reached his ears.

Emmery knocked again, letting out a long sigh. He wanted his stained glass window getting into the works already! A thought struck him, and he turned to glance at where he expected Oliver to be. "Hey, can I stay at your place until the glass is replaced? You kind of owe me ..." It was more of a demand then a request.

Oliver put up his hands as if in a defensive move. "Hey, you don't gotta bring that back, y'know! I was... kind of thinking about asking anyway." He pouted for a moment, a facial movement that did little to hide its falsehood. "Gets a little boring 'round there anyway." Annoyed, he stepped forward and banged on the door. "EDDIE! Open up!"

As if on cue, the front door swung inward and Eddie looked between them. "Why." He asked simply. "Why are you trying to smash my front door down?"

"Eddie! Where were you?" Oliver stepped in, grabbing Eddie in a hug and lifting him off the floor for a moment. Then he backed away and walked into the house without being asked to come in. "You have things to tell us. Mainly me! How'd it go yesterday evening? Have you heard anything?" Olive went into the living room, sitting in one of the chairs as Eddie watched. He was used to it, and at this point didn't even find it odd if someone simply walked into his house nowadays.

Dylan raced up the stairs after Eddie when he heard the knocking. He was rather, well quite a bit, insulted by Oliver's rude behavior. Really he shouldn't have been, he knew.

Before the other man, Edward, could answer any of Oliver's questions Dylan jumped in with one of his own. "Eddie is now one of the teachers for this year's camp." With a glance Emmery's way, the journalist decided to keep his mouth shut about nearly dying by claw.

Emmery made a face of mock anger and shook his fist at the other man, then laughed and shook his head as he walked into the home after Oliver. He listened in on the conversations, but was more interested in watching how Dylan and Edward were interacting. It sure seemed like those two might be more then friends, what with how Dylan kept hovering so near Edward.

Eddie chuckled, and shook his head slowly. Oliver, however, had grown wide-eyed and looked from the other Messenger, to Dylan, to Emmery, and back. "They decided? So fast? I've never heard of that!" He was draped over the back of the chair to face Eddie, and as the other Messenger went around to sit nearby, he turned and slid down the chair, readjusting his replacement shirt that had been necessary before dropping by. "How'd you pull that off, eh?"

Eddie shrugged, glancing around to Dylan. Perhaps he wouldn't say anything about the young man's brush with death. At least not until he brought it up. "It was... difficult. I suppose I was just desperate enough to go the extra mile..."

"That's great!" Oliver clapped. "So they got you and a few others? How many?"

"One other, Ollie. You know Marcus...?" The other Messenger nodded. "Well, he's the other one. We'll have an even number of Messengers, but we'll have to get together and talk about it a good amount before things are set in stone."

"Ahh, that's good! Good stuff, Ed. How 'bout you, you going too?" Olive looked toward Dylan and tilted his head.

Emmery seemed to want to know the answer to that question too. Dylan took a deep breath, glancing at Edward, and then let all the air out.

"Well come on, answer the man's question!" Emmery had moved to perch on the back of a couch, feet on the cushions. Luckily the artist had taken off his shoes before doing so though.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "I want to go, but it could be a repeat ..." A repeat of his near death, that's what the camp could be. The copper haired man turned to glance at Edward again, then sighed and moved to wrap his arms around the Messenger.

"The evaluation went wrong. Some demons got loose and because I was the only living person in the building, they went after me. Edward saved me." He would go to the camp. The journalist had to bolster the thought with the fact that he'd be able to gather a lot of information for his book there.. The book he wanted to write about Edward in some strange kind of way.

Eddie turned slightly and put an arm around Dylan in a protective manner, pushing the scene Dylan spoke of away from the sight of his inner eye. Oliver tilted his head a bit, a small and understanding smile brightening his face. "There was a mad fluke in the physical challenge." Eddie said, half realizing his hand was moving in a slow manner through Dylan's hair. "The demons were released at once and flocked to Dylan. The largest ripped him up pretty well and... I just..." He paused, trying to remember just what he'd done. It was difficult to remember the whirlwind of emotions that made the world a black and gray smear. "... I lost it. Killed the thing."

"But a demon like the Council imprisons is probably the size of a T-Rex." Oliver noted. "You killed it? After it got hold of Dylan...? He ought'a be dead!"

Eddie pursed his lips slightly, glancing down to Dylan. "He... did for a minute... The Council---"

"Brought him back? They did that for a human?" Oliver looked genuinely shocked. "You must really... really care about him."

Eddie nodded, but looked down. He didn't know how to take it, exactly, showing such affection and letting others know how he felt.

Dylan closed his eyes firmly and tried to chase away his memories of the demon. It's jaws, the rotten smell wafting from it's pores ... He didn't think he'd ever be able to forget it. The journalist could be soothed though, and he was when he felt the Messenger's fingers running through his copper hair. The green eyed man shuddered slightly as his death was recounted. He didn't want others to know, to be shocked and amazed that the council would do such a thing for him, not not really... An asset Dylan might have been, but he thought his revival had been more for Edward's sake then his.

Emmery, noticed the pair's discomfort and moved to poke Ollie's shoulder a little roughly. "Oh get over it, you're just jealous someone hasn't fallen head over heels for you." That didn't mean someone wasn't starting to though.