It was another quiet day for Wölfe which could have been normal if not the fact that's it has been almost a week passed sinced the defences on the beaches of Normandy were built.
So to kill the boredom he walked around the base but then he got bored of that too.
So, he decided to go painting.
He grabbed a stack of unused papers and placed it on a makeshift easel made from metal bits and scraps.
He grabbed an assortment of flowers and herbs from the nearby area for the basic colors, a few charcoal for black and some water.
He couldn't but notice that some of the young soldiers are just watching him but every time he turns around they would scatter like children.
He ignored them and started grinding the flowers and herbs into fine powder before mixing it into water.
Once finished he poured each paint into individual cups and made a paintbrush.
The amount of color made wasn't much but for him, he just needed small amount of the other colours.
Before he started he grabbed a knife and pulled his sleeves back, then he made a cut on his wrist.
The blood that poured out, dripped into a cup.
"Hmm that's not enough..." He thought.
He made another cut on his other wrist and collected more of his own blood.
Some would think he is crazy for doing this but he only wanted red, his favourite color.
Then he started to paint.
At first he started to make random strokes with random colours but eventually, an faint image of something formed. He used red as main colour of his painting.
He continued to paint, his wrists still bleeding, until the colour finally came together and he had created the first piece of art he had ever made in a while.
In truth even he isn't sure how he could paint, he just went with the flow and erase mistakes by painting over it.
After letting it dry for a bit, he reviewed his work which is...Something obscure, something that even he couldn't explain.
Normal people would consider the painting as a sign of Insanity. To some extent it is, but Wölfe didn't care.
The mind of a painter is always very complex, it's also extremely fragile, so why would anyone judge a piece of art based off of its creator's personality?
Of course, the whole process was still extremely difficult and it took a while to finish everything. When he was done with everything he was slightly tired.
"And I'm still bored..." He thought.
"Wölfe.." A voice spoke.
He turned around and saw Elsa, staring at him with concern.
"Why is your sleeves red?" She asked him.
Wölfe paused for a moment.
"Oh right, my hands got bloody," He told her.
Elsa continued to stare at her before saying, "Show me your wrists,"
Wölfe done as he was asked without any hesitation.
Elsa looked at him with disbelief.
"You're bleeding!!" She exclaimed, grabbing a cloth napkin from one of her pockets and tied it tightly on one of the cuts.
Then she used her own hand to stop the other cut from bleeding.
"Hey!! Someone get me a bandage!!" She shouted.
Wölfe looked at her as she frantically tries to stop the bleeding. The expression on her face was clearly distressed and scared.
"You seem a bit too... terrified..." He said.
"I'm... Not..." She replied.
"You're breathing heavily," He added.
She sighed and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths.
After some time she opened her eyes and said, "I'm fine, don't worry,"
Then a young soldier came running, carrying medkit.
Moments later, the wounds were cleaned up and bandaged.
"What were you even trying to do?" She asked.
"Paint," He answered.
"With your own blood??" She asked.
He simply shrugged, "It's the only way I could get red,"
"And... where's the painting?" She asked.
Wölfe looked at his easel and saw nothing there.
"Hmm," He hummed, "The ghosts took it again,"
"Ghosts??" She said.
"Long story," He pulled his arms away from her and walked away.
But before he left, he turned around and asked something that really made him curious but since it could be a touchy subject, he decided not to.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
