Forums » General Roleplay » Art is Good for the Soul (1x1)

Ann looked around the gallery. She couldn't see the friend she came with and she felt totally out of place. She knew very few Americans so far and this was becoming common place for the friends she did have. Some of the people here were dressed far nicer than her and some were dressed down. She wasn't sure if she should feel out of place in her plain black dress.

The dress covered her shoulders and went down to her knees. No open back and no stooping neckline. It was plain, but when she picked it out it had made her feel sophisticated. The sheer stockings she wore, coupled with a pair of borrowed black heels had added to that.

Her long hair was pinned back in a carefully crafted knot at the top of her head. Her freckles were hidden under a layer of foundation, cover-up and blush. Her eyes were rimmed in black Kohl and she wore a lipstick that was called "Sin" that stained her lips a deep red colour. She looked older than she was, but she was still young. Only twenty-two.

Standing alone, looking at a painting she felt very young indeed. She wished she was back in her little dorm reading or playing a game. Anything but this!

Not that she didn't enjoy the art, but she was simply looking for something to say. So far Ann wasn't used to staying quiet very long. She always had something to say (though, usually it wasn't profound!)

She moved onto the next painting, looking it over, "This is beautiful." She spoke to no one, in her own little world, struggling to keep her curious fingers from touching the canvass.

"Thank you." A man said, one who stood behind her. When she turned, shed find that the man was a bit older than her, no more than a few years, but still quite debonair in appearance and dress. He wore a simple dark wine-colored shirt and black dress pants paired with a modest black and red paisley tie. He was quite tall, standing six feet in height, clearly masculine with his carefully pressed clothing was contrasting with the 5 o'clock shadow he bore on his chin.

He sighed, his muscled frame tensing. "That's my wife, I painted that after I asked her to marry me." The painting was of a woman asleep in bed, soft dawn light washing over her bare shoulders. It looked like a morning after picture, all the details perfectly captured. "She passed away last year.."

Ann was embarrassed - she didn't know anyone was there. When she turned to look she was surprised. He was handsome. She looked him over, green eyes taking all of him. She was surprised that she was attracted to an obviously older man.

She was about to speak when he told her who the painting was of and she flushed. Thank goodness for the make-up, "I'm sorry to hear that." She managed to keep her accent decently American sounding, rather than her mixed English-Scottish one. She knew most people here couldn't understand her when she got going. Now she faked an American accent and was thus-far successful.

"She was really beautiful. I bet she was a lucky woman. May I ask how she died? If you don't mind sharing, of course. I'd hate to pry, but I guess that's what I'm doing. I'm sorry, I really rude sometimes. I think it's my mother's fault. Back home she never stopped talking and now I do the same thing. It's really horrible, I know." she paused for a breath and brought her hand to her face, "I am so sorry."

He laughed briefly, a smile on his lips. "Hush, no harm done. She died in a car accident." He explained, dull eyes looking her up and down as her hand covered her face. Pretty. Young, though. Younger than him at least. "Don't be sorry. You were only curious." He offered out a hand, one that had a rainbow of dried paint still on it in hard to clean places like under his nails and cuticles. "I'm Cole Labontè. Pleasure to meet you, Miss..?"

The one place she forgot to check! She still had her silver sparkle nail-polish on her bitten nails. She took his hand, "Ann Dodson." She gave him her brightest smile, "I am working on my Masters at the university. How long have you been painting Mr. Labontè? You're certainly impressive in your skill."

He kissed her hand in a way a gentleman from the olden days would. He paused and listen to everyone around them. "Should we find someplace more quiet? There's a restuarant below the gallery, if you're not with anyone I could wisp you away." He smiled. "Pardon my straightforwardness, I just hate the crowds."

Ann smiled, "As long as you promise me you aren't going to murder me. I have a rule, I need to text a picture of you to my friends if I'm going anywhere with you. Not that you don't seem like a perfect gentleman, I just don't want to end up in a gutter somewhere." She pulled out her phone, "So, is it okay?"

He smiled. "Yes. I admire your cautiousness, just know I'd never hurt you." He allowed her to take the picture, being patient as any gentleman should be. While she texted her friends, he looked at his own paintings, frowning as he found flaws in all of them. Especially in the ones of his late wife. "Oh, Eliza.." he said under his breath.

Ann took a picture and sent a quick text. She didn't want to lose this opportunity. She hadn't been out in a while. Finally she put her phone away, "Shall we go?" Her eyes studied his face, studying his face. His lips, his forehead, his eyes. The marks left by use. Smile lines, worry lines. All of it was important.

He smiled at her. "We shall." he smiled and brought her to the elevator. He mostly had smile lines, but a few worry lines were new. His touch on her hand was gentle, caring. He obviously respected people very much and cared for them as well. "Soo, Ann, tell me about yourself." He smiled as he went to the receptionist.

She followed after him, "I'm going for my Masters in Mathmatics. I'm a little old some people say, but I wanted to finish regular school on time and honestly I can't spell to save my life, so it might have been a good thing not to skip straight to MIT." She laughed, "Me Mum and Da live in Edinburgh." Her accent was slipping, "This is my first year here. I'm hoping that I can teach, honestly. I get a thrill working with numbers."

Cole lifted an eyebrow at her accent slip. "Edinburgh, you say? You're Scottish, then?" He rested a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. "You should let your accent show through, nice and proud." He smiled. The more he spoke, the more his own Cajun accent was prevalent. He ushered her to their tabe behind the hostess, pulling out her chair for her.

Ann smiled, unable to help herself, "Half and half. Da is an Englishman. We lived all over when I was a kid. Makes my accent a mix. Drives most people nice." She sat in the chair, impressed with what a gentleman he was! No one had ever been this fabulous to her before.

He found that he was enjoying himself when she spoke of her life. He listened intently, then when she was finished, he brought out a small piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it carefully. It was blank. "May I draw you?" He asked softly. Cole sounded almost.. timid.

Ann looked shocked. Pleased. Shy.

She smiled, "If you'd like. I wouldn't mind at all." Her cheeks were going pink, even with the make-up on her cheeks. It wouldn't be long until she was completely red and unable to hide it. She could already feel the creeping warmth heading down her neck.

He sketched her quickly with a pen from his pocket, even shading in her blush just to joke with her. "Here." He showed her, sliding it over to Ann on the table. "You look adorable."

Ann smiled, "This is amazing! I always had friends in high school that were artists. All I can draw are circles, triangles and a whole bunch of Greek letters." She laughed, genuinely enjoying herself, "Do you mind if I keep it, or would you like it back?" She traced the lines with her fingers, smiling some.

"Of course you may keep it, love." He smiled, taking a sip of his drink. "I cannot do any type of math to save my life, I admire your intelligence." Leaning forward, he took out a business card. "I can do a painting for you, anytime."

Ann blushed lightly, "Well, I'm not that smart. I sorta lost my chance when I decided not to go to MIT. If you don't use it, you lose it." She looked up with bright eyes, "What are your rates? I'd love to get something to send back to my parents. I bet they would love something of yours!" She was easily excited, youthful.

"It depends on the piece really. Complexity, medium, canvas size, time allowed." He shrugged. "ANywhere from $100 to $1,000, really. I'm always open for discussion though, if its out of your price range." He took out another card with his rates on the back. "There."