Owned by:   khromatx

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On particularly rough days, the tyrunt lass would veer away from her usual daily routine of collecting rocks from the river that winds through the center of her sleepy little neighborhood. Were it any other day, she would have loved to scavenge some stones to feed her precious tumbler; but a somber, sour miasma has muddled her mood and left her discontented with her typical prospects of fun.

Instead, the cobbled side streets click-and-clack under her amethyst claws as she navigates the familiar short cuts that take her between the town’s huddled buildings and bustling streets. She’d much rather avoid another awkward social happenstance; or any social happenstance, for that matter.

(The guy deserved more than a punch in the nose, if anyone bothered to ask her. Everyone knows she loves Daisies, so why the double heck would that idiot think she’d be delighted that he plucked and therefore killed a whole bushel of them?!)

She’s still fuming at the moron’s insulting attempt at romance when she turns down a familiar street and ducks the skeletal remains of a fence.

Those poor flowers. They didn’t have to die.

The small forgotten bookstore is waiting for her, comfortably snoozing beneath a thick blanket of dust, moss and mold. It is a peculiar beast existing silently and invisibly in an era of painstakingly modern technology. The owner insists that computers will be the downfall of sentient organic life, and thus avoids any technological advancements that have the potential to make life the slightest bit easier.

But the comfortably narrow space between the crowded bookshelves is a uniquely calming brand of quiet, as though the lonely books drink up the watered down white noise that manages to stumble inside, off the sheltered side-street on which the shop presides. In fact the drowsy forgotten shop is a shade of quiet like nowhere else she knows.

The troubled terramancer is relieved in small fractions as her retreat to her safe place appears successful; she releases a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and her anger burns out suddenly, leaving her drained and dreary.

One corner of the Antique bookshop homes an obese beanbag seat in a pleasing shade of purple, and it is to this spot the unhappy pokemon treks. While it isn’t exactly Her Spot, she never quite sees anyone else lounging there…

And while today is no different, the seat is in fact occupied.

By a mysterious black paper bag.

Immediately, she suspects the owner of slipping her a secret gift. It wouldn’t be the first time…sometimes she wonders if anyone else even shops here. But inspection of the item yields only a tag labeled with her name, and nothing else.

And while an anonymous gift does perk her suspicions, what she finds inside is too exquisite not to smother them out. It is a beautiful rich black leather jacket; the tanned hide is so dark it seems to absorb any light that touches it, only to launch it from extremely polished metal buttons. The detail that strikes her the most is the cute white daisy pattern sewn into the small tag at the back of the jacket’s neck.

Maybe some would say it’s creepy or weird to leave a phantom gift. Maybe some would say it’s weird to cry over picked flowers.

Maybe she likes weird, she reflects as she slides into the coat and the scent of leather fills her nostrils.

Maybe weird is okay.

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This is the resulting Glamor Dino from my Pink Rock Mood Board! NSFW versions of my adopts are posted on my $3 Patreon, here!~ Please consider supporting me if you can ^_^

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Thanks very much for the view!! I hope you enjoyed my art and please have a wonderful day ^^