A Slave Career Planner Can Be A Successful Profession

There is one oily room.

Canvas, Canvas and Canvas are the ones that are unwrought down on the floor. Failing to paint something like a man's face, it was sophisticated to the point of distortion.

I have eyes. The black light of the pupil illuminates, blood vessels are running in the eye, and the eyelashes that grow in the eyelids present a living supple curve and luster.

I could see at a glance that it was not an eye.

Because my hand remembers its shape, I knew it was the eye that was taken according to it. Because, I'm dancing. I'm just putting the colors on. Not in form.

(blood vessels swirling, connecting, too many branches)

Blood-running blood vessels, I can only say that I have forgotten what that form means.

There is a line such as that drawn because of the knowledge of the assumption that blood vessels should be zig-zagged straight lines like lightning.

But forget what that form means, the blood vessels are wrapping some vortexes. It is separated from the adjacent vessels several times. Every time I turn one, it's too divided, like a tree.

The iris was a whirlpool. A regular alternating spiral of blue and black, like a piano keyboard, is toward the central pupil.

The pupil was a bead.

There is a sphere like a pearl shining black in the center of the eye. It is puffy and swollen by stereoscopic expressive techniques. There was a creepy feeling there that I thought black children like grapes could have been made in the black eye.

The gloss of the lashes and the eyebrows were symmetrical from left to right.

Not that the right and left eyes are symmetrical. Left and right eyebrows and eyelashes of one eye were symmetrical to the point of horror.

The refinement was madness.

A number of shards were seen that attempted to mechanically write down shaping beauty with artistic skill.

I was losing the meaning of form as a result.

"... you know what I mean"

"... your eyes"

"Eyes?"

"... what do you think"

Antoni's painting is God's painting without deception. At the same time, however, I realized the anomaly that at first glance everyone would understand that this author had become ill.

"... I know why, but sometimes I don't know what I'm portraying. I think I've turned my hand around the concept of a circle, but the way it's shaped must have been this way, because the memory of that body helps with this jizzy painting, so it happens sometimes."

"I didn't know this was going to happen, I mean"

"... you're a sharp one. Neither does this jizzy know what happens. What is this? You must have drawn your eyes for sure. Eyes, eyes, eyes. Round, round, round. I told myself a few times to draw it, and oh sure it would have been beautiful to draw a curve this way when drawing a round object, and if I reproduced that way of drawing it myself, then apparently it wasn't the eyes that could have done it.... Are you an eye?

"... does Mr. Antoni understand the shape he's drawing now?

"... sometimes you don't understand. Look at you. I have to write it down in broad white, because I only recognize that it's Kanvas, so I think it's possible to go up and down the wrong way."

At the tip of Antoni's finger is a single painting. In the center there is a draft of skin tone that would have been a naked woman with a twisted body. I guess I interrupted the painting once on the way. Because of the incorrect top and bottom, Antoni, who apparently misunderstood it to be a tree painting, added branches and drew the trunks black by black, like now.

It was refined. But it was even creepy.

The woman's curves are made of hard, uniform shadows like ceramics. The object of the sphere is buried in the chest, and the clavicle and throat indentation are the thousand sliced wings of the butterfly. The lips and the teeth peeking from them are on the side, yet the face is facing the front.

There was such a horror that my body cut and connected the picture I could remember.

The naked woman had become a poor hobby object embedded upside down in a tree that would be illuminated in the morning sun.

"The wooden skin is black, green and burnt brown and. Remember the colors. But you may have noticed along the way. I need a painting of a naked woman. … it's a funny story."

Antoni's floating grin is self-derisive.

That hasn't changed since I stepped into this room. "Dear Antoni Svalzdverg, Nice to meet you, I'm in the talent consultancy business, my name is Toshiki Mitsuji from" Talent Consultant Mitsuji "and I've been saying hello ever since.

I'm giving up on myself, the humble way to laugh.

"From what I hear, Master Toshiki will educate this jizzy bastard. I don't know if I can stretch it out for an old man with a little difficulty, but thank you very much."

"No, I'm afraid it's education"

My offer was to look for ways to alleviate the symptoms I have now.

It's about making clay finishes.

Clay craftsmanship was powerful as one therapy to build awareness that this form, that guy, was.

Develop flour clay and build the ability to recognize shapes through tactile sensation and vision. Increases concentration and also stimulates fingers. The fact that no side effects or worsening of symptoms will occur is, for one thing, an effective means.

"You will be asked once every two days, thank you very much."

"Once every two days, you're a clay worker. But it would be disastrous for Toshiki to rub clay with such an old man."

There's no such thing as a disaster.

Really?

The back of Antoni's squeaking eyes didn't capture me.

The Lord's Birthday is finally on the third day and ends with today.

It was three days thick indeed.

On the first day there was a fist fight for Chitta. And the young lady Beriessa and I also knew each other all night.

On the second day, apparently, sports competitions were held at the festival hall. But I left the stalls to Lutz and the slaves to take me to the art fair. Having had quite a long conversation with the courtier Beliessa at the Arts Fair and a treat until dinner, I went home from there to the tent late at night and ran into the girls' party.

And day three.

I offered to visit Antoni once in the next two days, and now I'm scrubbing clay.

(... surreal)

Soon I even joined the young lady Beliessa and it's like a mysterious play party.

"Hey, this is fun!

"Yeah, I've forgotten it's your job, too, and I'm enjoying sticking with the clay workmanship itself."

"Eh heh."

When I see the countess laughing innocently and claying, her cheeks loosen up to this one unexpectedly by the cheeks of that sight.

It doesn't look like a countess at all.

My face feels elegant. Yet there was a simple cutie there, a bit like a beautiful city daughter.

"… is it clay craftsmanship"

On the other hand, Antoni's progress was not fragrant.

If you make something a little shapely, do you not care or return it to clay again? It was this repetition.

But it also appears to be moving forward gradually. I got the impression that the shape is unrecognizable, but I'm trying to create something as per the template of beauty.

"... don't you have anything you want to make, Mr. Antoni"

"What do you want to make..."

Antoni shrugged as he looked at the distance.

Speaking of which, I lost it, he said.