Poppy: the Promiscuous Painter

The doors of the Community Center creak closed behind you, the distant laughs and shouts becoming muffled by the well-worn and warm walls. A small number of campers look in your direction and wave, calling greetings at the new face. Thousands of people like you have felt the same way, with scuffed and loved wooden floors under your feet and a cozy aroma of dust and pollen from the forest outside: you might be countless miles away from your house, but this place feels like home.

Scanning the room, looking past the wooden benches, scattered games, and neatly-stowed boating equipment, shocks of color jump out from the walls: murals, canvasses, and hanging crafts; some are faded and dusty, but most look brand new. All carry a very natural air, with pastel shades and bright primary colors, displaying scenes of nature and hints of the human body.

"Like what you see?"

A barely-muffled giggle to your side gives you a start. The owner, a young woman: her fiery, paint-stained hair is matched by her multi-colored and smeared skin, tanned by hours spent in the sun.

"The art, I mean! Whoever made it must have really loved the great outdoors. I guess that's why they came here?" she continues. She not-so-subtly reads your expression out of the corner of her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.