t h e . journal;; art & stories for NB 23 - no posting

[berceuse]

Art by Missingheart - Skylar is owned by Sooshy - Penelope will be hopefully owned by me


Hello there. C: Here, as you can see by the title, this is just a storage place for mostly stories and a art section, nothing to big, for a entry. (The title; this isn't actually a journal, I just needed a name for it. c;) I have too much art already and it's beginning to look bulky, so, I've decided to temporarily store it here.

Feel free to look around, give some feedback by PM, but no posting. Thanks~! x3 - All JBDs used in this are used with permission from their respective owners, all art here belongs to the said owners, and, jellybean dragons are copyrighted to Hiccup.

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The familiar tune of the many Christmas songs echoed around through the house, each one carrying little catchy notes that Penelope loved to sing, or more likely to hum, along to. She knew all, if not, most, by her dear little heart ; Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus is coming to town, and Frosty the Snowman being, out of all those melodies, her absolute favourites. These songs made her normal, joyous self a lot more enthusiastic, even, if this favourite holiday of hers was celebrated in the dreadful winter. Today was Christmas Eve.

Penelope wasn’t the type of girl, nor her family, to be rushed during the holidays. They had their Christmas shopping done early, and taking it from her parents, like every year, Penelope shall be on the good list – Berry even promised her so, which Penny had decided to keep to herself; with the exception of Icicle. Icicle was always there for her, and listened very well to her fantasies and life problems, even if it was something that should have been discussed with Berry. A girl thing, you know?

“Berry said she told Santa Claus I should be on the nice list,” Penelope had boasted to Icicle the nights before with eager excitement. “I hope I get what I’ve wanted...” She concluded dreamily, eyes mystified, obviously dreaming of the list of things she had wanted, and, even officially sent it into the post office, labeled in giant, candy-cane bubble letters: “Santa Claus, North Pole.” Berry helped her write it.

“Honey, I’m sure you’ll get what you want. You’ve been an excellent girl this year,” was Icicle’s short, emphatic comment. He had to tell her it over and over every night, for Penny had nearly asked the same question again and again until Christmas would arrive. That, to Berry and Icicle, seemed quite a long ways away, but, nevertheless, they replied with the same affectionate comment every time.

Putting away her stack of well-stocked candy-canes, Penelope drowsily flopped herself onto the couch with a relieving sigh. She had been putting up the decorations she had bought earlier up, as a surprise for her parents. That surprise, though, had been ruined by her getting all tangled up in the tinsel, which Penelope had vowed for it to be her enemy, even with its splendid elegancy. She did it anyways.

As she slowly drifted to sleep, Penelope dreamt about many, many things. Candy-canes coming to life were definitively the highlight of them all. The lavender-coloured dragon had an odd quirk about her, dreaming about the silliest and immature of things, always happening among the lines of: making inanimate objects become alive, eating a large buffet full of the most delicate treats she could imagine. And, finally, the best of all; dreaming of what she’ll get for Christmas. This was common with her.

When Penelope woke up, dizziness swallowed her steady-self whole. She toppled onto the floor, before seeing a large mass of presents circling the tree. She must have overslept, as it was already morning! Rushing upstairs, towards Icicle’s and Berry’s room, she opened the door and shrieked: “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!”

[berceuse]

Mist carefully weaved between the twisted, narrow paths of the forest - each one being unique from the other - with the frosty morning dew spread across it's floor. Faint paw steps crushed the remaining leaves down to a beaten pulp, each step growing seemingly heavier and heavier with the effortless drags across the shaded floor. All grew silent, despite the faint sound of the lavender dragon's mere breathing.

What would such a young dragon be doing in such a place? This was no fit place for Penelope; a somewhat averaged to small sized dragon with a pure purple coat, distinquished pure yellow eyes. Simple traits. She, her small, frail body, sat in now what she'd call Violet Vale. This was yet another name she had came up with as a petname towards a location around her town.

Violet Vale happened to be quite a large forest, compared to the minor ones that you'd see around here. It was fairly open, each path being separated far enough from the others, with the trees being so packed tightly in together you could barely find your own feet. The deep, spiraling briers that had often ensnared others had outgrown ages ago, which were now vile, wilted remains of the pieces of plants that were definetively not the thing you'd want to be around for long. She didn't seem to mind them. But why Violet Vale? Where's the violets? Long gone, is what some say. Others, rumors said that the briers had out-grown them. Probably buried deep beneath them by now.

But, this was clearly an obvious exaggeration. The regular, existent Violet Vale hadn't ever been close to having these odd, abnormal traits - deep, swirling fog whereas you could not see anything below your waist, peculiar, denser forests than in real life. This was her dream world. The fearless, but still quite naive, courageous girl that was once the short-tempered, innocent, frightened little Penelope - but Cecilia as she likes to be called here - changed drastically. She was now different. Well, at least, different than usual.

Nevertheless, as the fog began to roll in deeper and deeper, she had to stop. It was too dense, anyways. She couldn't even see her own muzzle in that fog, anyways. Settling down towards a large, sturdy red maple tree, the girl sat down gingerly. The looming trunk was swaying slightly back and forth, only an observer like Penelope would see such a thing. Frightened that it would collapse on top of her, she moved quickly out of the spot, and, instead, next to an oak that sat a few tail-lengths away. It never fell, though.

When the fog started to clear significantly, Penelope vigilantly glanced around. Nothing familiar. She had not bothered to make a map for this dense forest, but that would ruin the adrenaline rush you'd get when you realized you were lost - and, to add to it, dream up a few earthquakes to finish it off. But she wouldn't be that stupid to dream up such things. . .right?

But then, something hit her. A large tower off in the distance. . .it was exhaling something off of it. Smoke. The long stream of it. . it wasn't just from a mere fire. No, it was from a larger fire. One large enough to burn down a whole kingdom. And it's next target was her.

Instinctively, Penelope knew fire spread fast, after a small lesson about fire discussed with Berry and Icicle. It was the day Berry had shown her how to make vanilla icecream cake - it was Father's Day, so a treat for Icicle - and whilst making the cake, Penelope had set her broach down by the cake for a moment, then forgot about it. Later, in the oven, it had caught fire. Just a minor one though, as it didn't hurt the oven a bit. The cake was alright, too. Icicle loved it.

So, she ran. Ran as far as she could - not stopping for a single breath unless checking for pursuers. But, there was nothing else considered a pursuer better than the fire. Once far enough, or considered, she stopped. Now, she was surely out of Violet Vale - it now being a rocky area with streams flowing in it - and let out a sigh of relief. Despite her sigh, that relief was false.

work in progress C:

[berceuse]

"Mom! I'm going to make a lemonade stand!" Penelope rushed in, holding up a sign, which, in purple writing, read, "Homemade lemonade," in neat printing that could be no other's than hers. She smiled brightly.

"Ah, that's great!" Berry said, leaning over to see the sign closer. On it, she had painted a small cup of pure citric-yellow lemonade with two ice cubes in it, a purple flower with an pink umbrella resting on the glass's side. "I bet you will do great."

"I will, don't worry!" She chimed, before turning with the sign and running outside again, before Icicle walked in.

"What's that all about?" He laughed, walking over to Berry.

"She's making a lemonade stand," Berry said, leaning against the white wall that was nearby with a smile.

"Interesting," Icicle said, looking over to where she was. "Should we go help her?" He inquired; before walking outside. "Hey, Penny!" He called. "Can I help?" She nodded quickly, before he walked over.

"Thank you, Daddy." She said with a large smile. "Can you hand out these flyers?" Pez asked him, handing over a large pile of neatly-written flyers.

"Of course, sweetheart." He said, putting them up among the streetlights around the stand, before giving them to passing customers. Eventually, their business spread. After the sun started setting, Penelope sat down next to Icicle.

"Whew..thanks for helping, daddy.." She said, eyes fluttering shut, before Berry came outside. She blinked them open again. It smelled of candycane cookies. "Cookies!" Penelope had jumped out of her seat, dashing towards the tray of them that Berry was holding. Nibbling on one, she looked up. "Thank you.."

[berceuse]

On a bitter cold morning, Penelope, a averaged girl that had an astonishing purple coat, huddled in her equal-sized blanket that weaved tightly between her body, separating the barrier of warmth, her, and the frosty outsides. She, was, indeed waiting for her mother to return home, after leaving just a few moments ago for breakfast. Time was going by the pace of a snail.

Not having the courage, nor the strength, to crawl over to the heater - to turn it on - but wished ever-so-dearly she had. Penelope was not the one to do such things, and, after learning it the hard way, she knew that once you get cold, it's hard to get warm again. wip

[berceuse]

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