Novel & Cerita Naruto Paint

Yukio laughed. “Does Papa love Mama so much that he needs to see her face while working?” He laughed. I looked at Sora and he was smiling. “Uh why don’t we paint? Do you know how to paint?” “I know a little.” He looked down, embarrassed. Sora stood up and went to his shelf. He gathered pieces of papers and some paint brushes. He handed them to Yukio and we sat down on the floor. “What are you going to paint Mama?” “I’m painting something that makes me happy. What about you?”

Kirin walked towards the desk and constantly waved his brushes on the massive piece of paper. Although this guy appeared to be psychotic, his painting skills were genuinely marvelous. If he had specialized in drawing, he could have become a top artist of his generation. After spending half an hour drawing Tyr’s appearance, he picked up a dagger and stabbed it fiercely into the heart of the Tyr in the painting.

Tobi offered a small, mysterious tilt of his head. "He’s like a priest," the customer remarked, leaning in to inspect the wet paint. "You ask him a question, and he gives you a vision instead of a lie. Tobi, tell me if you were to paint my husband’s snoring, what color would it be? Because in my ears, it is the color of a rusty engine." The surrounding crowd erupted in laughter. Tobi smiled, his hand moving fluidly across the wood. He grabbed a stick of charcoal and drew a heavy, vibrating spiral of "Smog Grey" that seemed to weigh down the corner of the kiosk.

NYU was my ticket to that world. I was deep into shading when it happened. Some guy—tall, built like a wall—brushed past me way too close. My pencil skidded across the page, leaving a ugly streak right through the fountain. “Hey!” I yelped, looking up. And then… whoa.

Takuto Kimura lay on his nap mat, his little chubby arms sprawled out as he carefully studied his crayon work. His gaze was focused, his furrowed brow the picture of concentration. On the inside of his arm, in vivid red and yellow crayon, he had written: "Feasibility Report on the Monopoly of Sandbox Production Materials." This was not some simple toddler scribble—it was the blueprint for the next big thing. Or, at least, his next big thing. Sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, casting striped shadows across his round face, making him look like a zebra plotting something very, very suspicious.

I giggled, “I am not telling you a single thing or Osiris will surely kill me.” Cyrus shook his head, “nah. Never. You got that man wrapped around your paint stained fingers.” He looked at the painting, “what are you working on anyway? This looks fucking cool.” I smiled, “it’s something to represent the pack.” “You think you can paint something for Leia too? Her bedroom is missing something.” Cyrus asked. April shouted from the other room, “you can’t just ask Luna Lily to paint something. She paints what she wants to paint and then you buy it.”

It was oddly surreal. "When we enter battle," Sam said, his voice distant as he continued his art, "my entire army will paint their skin. Lines, swirls, symbols.. You name it. You've seen the paint over the eyes of some of my demons. It's intimidating. It's a special paint mixed with blood. The smell of it fuels the army, and for our enemies, it looks terrifying. Our enemies will first smell the blood, distracting them from their attack. The paint plays with their vision, the intricate lines on our body moving so fast it distracts them. And when you have an entire army moving like zebra's, the dark ones won't know where to attack." "Wow." I replied, not knowing what else to say.