[April 15, 2019 : Vera Misham and Kristoph Gavin]
Title: Sins of Commission
Characters Involved: Vera and Kristoph
Approximate Time of Day: 2:45 PM
Location: Drew Studio a.k.a. the Misham apartment [floor plan and notes]
Summary: Vera likes her job.
Completed?: [y/n]
Vera was sketching with charcoal, her hand flying over the page fast and wild, uncontrolled and exhilarating, when a noise broke her concentration. Had the door opened? She frowned, brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, and lifted her hand again. Now, where had she been? The trouble with originals was that there wasn't anything to work from, except real life. Real life didn't come with predefined brushstrokes and colors she never would have thought her own skin could show, except there they were, in oil and acrylic.
Voices echoed down the hallway; her father's, and another, strangely muffled. Maybe Father was talking to the television? It didn't sound like a show, it sounded like a conversation. And it was getting louder, clipped and short phrases taking turns. Father wouldn't have let someone in who was a bad man, would he?
Vera hopped down from her stool and wiped her hands on a rag. Then she picked up the original canvas by the hanging-wire on the back, and carried it over to the storage rack. It slid in behind several canvases covered only in gesso, and out of sight. Even if it was just the laundry delivery boy, Father had been very clear. The originals were always to be put away where no harm could come to them. Task accomplished, she tiptoed to the door.
A viewer in the living room would see only the studio door opening a little wider, spilling light into the hallway. The most astute of eyes might spot the edge of a canary-yellow sketchpad peeking out along with the sunbeams. A moment later, it was joined by four small fingertips, grimy with charcoal, wrapped around the edge of the doorframe.
Characters Involved: Vera and Kristoph
Approximate Time of Day: 2:45 PM
Location: Drew Studio a.k.a. the Misham apartment [floor plan and notes]
Summary: Vera likes her job.
Completed?: [y/n]
Vera was sketching with charcoal, her hand flying over the page fast and wild, uncontrolled and exhilarating, when a noise broke her concentration. Had the door opened? She frowned, brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, and lifted her hand again. Now, where had she been? The trouble with originals was that there wasn't anything to work from, except real life. Real life didn't come with predefined brushstrokes and colors she never would have thought her own skin could show, except there they were, in oil and acrylic.
Voices echoed down the hallway; her father's, and another, strangely muffled. Maybe Father was talking to the television? It didn't sound like a show, it sounded like a conversation. And it was getting louder, clipped and short phrases taking turns. Father wouldn't have let someone in who was a bad man, would he?
Vera hopped down from her stool and wiped her hands on a rag. Then she picked up the original canvas by the hanging-wire on the back, and carried it over to the storage rack. It slid in behind several canvases covered only in gesso, and out of sight. Even if it was just the laundry delivery boy, Father had been very clear. The originals were always to be put away where no harm could come to them. Task accomplished, she tiptoed to the door.
A viewer in the living room would see only the studio door opening a little wider, spilling light into the hallway. The most astute of eyes might spot the edge of a canary-yellow sketchpad peeking out along with the sunbeams. A moment later, it was joined by four small fingertips, grimy with charcoal, wrapped around the edge of the doorframe.