Maybe this trophy // open // isn't real love

STARK F.

MALE — SNOWBOUNDER — [abbr=30 MONTHS OLD, BISEXUAL HOMOROMANTIC, POWERS; SHAPESHIFTING (BODIES; KINKALOW, ALASKAN MALAMUTE, MELANISTIC TIGER), ELECTRICITY ELEMENTAL (NOT DISCOVERED/PURCHASED), FORMER SHC VISIONARY (BEARBONES), CRUSHING ON STEVE]HOVER FOR TAGS[/abbr]

[div style="background-color: #2E4053; color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; width: 500px; height: 340px; padding: 10px;"]Everyone here was talented in their own way, Stark thought it took a bit of dedication to actually make a painting since he sure as hell wouldn't sit around to paint someone else and he was sure that the only thing he'd be able to muster up was stick figures. He trotted over taking a stand nearby his clanmates angling both of his curved ears and had to hold back a chuckle when he saw Jacob's reaction towards Killua's inquiry, he wasn't able to silence the snort. "Well, whatever the occasion or just friends. . . You've got quite the talent there, kiddo. I wouldn't even be able to sit that long to paint something. Hell, the only artistic talent I'd have would be a few circles and lines." It wasn't true, he was able to sit down and do some type of art though it was only when it was involved with something that he clearly enjoyed; science. He had some big bits of blue paper in his home scattered around with a few sketches of some of his ideas, his whiskers twitched momentarily as he sat down taking in a deep breath.

#psychosocial.