To anyone who kept me on their f-list...
I wrote something, not fanfic related, but with my complete originality and
I wanted to paint him. I wanted to put his body on canvas, immortalizing his pale skin and bright eyes forever. I could imagine myself with my brush in hand, stroking his image in oil paints. I could see his pose in my mind’s eye, lounging gracefully on the chaise; better yet, he could rest his frame against the windowsill. So many different poses I could put him in… he’d be my subject for months.
The first time I saw him, I was standing in front of an old stone wall looking at the plaques with famous quotes etched in them long ago. There was one in particular that struck me- not because of the words, but the power behind the entire picture… the light cast its glow across the plaque perfectly, warming the raised letters on half the stone and leaving the other half in chilled shadow. I think the thing that drew him to me was my study of the piece, I’m sure my face reflected the awe I felt while looking at it.
“Something has certainly caught your eye,” he said, his light, accented voice cutting through my fuzzy mind.
Not caring who was speaking to me, I kept my gaze on the unexpected art I’d found. “It’s not really even that profound; it’s just the whole picture combined… it’s so powerful,” I responded.
I felt him step closer to me and knew he was reading the words. “ ‘Through light and darkness, faith will lead you.’ Faith has no home with you?” he asked.
Snorting, I answered, “The faithful are blind.”
He was silent for a second, then said, “And what has cured your blindness?”
His question threw me for a loop. The general response I got to my beliefs on faith were usually in defense of religion or holding onto something that would move me on to various afterlifes.
I dropped my hand and turned to him. My breath was stolen as I took in the sight of him; the sunlight lit his bright hair, illuminating his eyes and sparkling on his skin. Recovering, I said, “Reality,” snorting again and bending down to pick up my bag at my feet. I started to walk away from him, but to my delight he fell into step next to me. “And what reality is that, my dear?”
I glanced at him, giving him a look that said, “Don’t expect me to tell you,” and he chuckled. His voice was soft, almost feminine, when he chuckled.
“May I know your name?” he asked, amusement and curiosity highlighting his accent.
I turned to him again and gave him a small smile. “Jacqueline. And you are?”
“Louis. Nice to meet you, Jacqueline.” He stopped just a half step ahead of me and extended his hand. I reached out to him, expecting a handshake, but when he took my hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed my knuckles lightly. He smiled softly and bowed his head slightly.
There was something in his touch; I don’t know if it was just the silk of his skin touching mine, the gentility of his lips, or the chivalry in the action, but whatever it was, it made me somewhat lightheaded. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Louis. Where are you from?”
“I am Dutch, transplanted here for research purposes. On business, of course,” he answered.
“Must be some business to bring you all the way to New Mexico,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, it is,” he said, grinning again. He didn’t elaborate on anything more, just looked at me for a second longer and asked, “What do you do?”
I laughed suddenly, surprised by his question since he didn’t fully answer mine. “I’m an artist. Photography mostly, but I dabble here and there with other mediums. It helps keep my work fresh. I’m here on business as well, but I’m not as far from home.”
“What is amusing?” he asked, pulling his eyebrows together and giving me another visualization for my paintings of him.
“Nothing in particular. It’s just that you didn’t tell me what you do, yet you asked me what I do. That doesn’t seem a bit odd to you?”
He pulled his lips back into a smile and shook his head. “Not really. I’m used to it, what with a top secret job and all,” he answered, chuckling, “I’m here to see the land availability and fertility for a vineyard. My employer is a… what is the English word? Someone who embarks on many fiscal endeavors?”
“An entrepreneur?”
“That sounds about right. An entrepreneur. He’s decided he likes wine, and the best and easiest way to get wine is to make it.”
I chuckled and said, “I guess buying wine isn’t fun?”
He smiled widely again and responded, “No, not as fun as it could be, it seems. So here I am,” shrugging slightly.
“Interesting. So are you getting-”
“Jack!” My assistant Maggie’s voice rang out across the street, interrupting my conversation. Mildly irritated, I turned stiffly in her direction, then grinned at the group she was with. Maggie was always drawing people to her, mostly men. Today she had the members of one of the local area bands we’d recently met trailing behind her. They crossed the street and Maggie came to stand next to me while the other guys stood back. “We’re going to Crup’s. Join?”
My gaze flickered to Louis, then back to Maggie. “Sure. Louis, would you like a drink?”
“Thank you, but I have to get a few things done today. Maybe next time?” he answered smoothly.
“Absolutely. It was nice to meet you,” I said, and extended my hand for a shake.
He grasped my hand in his and brought his lips to my knuckles, grazing them lightly. “Same to you. I hope to run into you again,” he said, bowing his head.
I smiled and Maggie pulled me away, tugging me towards the group of men. “Who was that?” she whispered when we joined the group. One of the men dropped an arm across my shoulders as Maggie took the hand of another man. “Louis,” I answered as we started walking. I turned back to him, hoping to see him still standing on the sidewalk, and sent a small smile back to him when my gaze caught his. He smiled back and wiggled a finger as a goodbye, his hands shoved in his pockets. I turned back to my group, thoughts of Louis posing for me whipping through my mind.
**********
I wanted to do it all in one post, but it's too big :( So I'll do pieces. Next piece tomorrow. <3
I wanted to paint him. I wanted to put his body on canvas, immortalizing his pale skin and bright eyes forever. I could imagine myself with my brush in hand, stroking his image in oil paints. I could see his pose in my mind’s eye, lounging gracefully on the chaise; better yet, he could rest his frame against the windowsill. So many different poses I could put him in… he’d be my subject for months.
The first time I saw him, I was standing in front of an old stone wall looking at the plaques with famous quotes etched in them long ago. There was one in particular that struck me- not because of the words, but the power behind the entire picture… the light cast its glow across the plaque perfectly, warming the raised letters on half the stone and leaving the other half in chilled shadow. I think the thing that drew him to me was my study of the piece, I’m sure my face reflected the awe I felt while looking at it.
“Something has certainly caught your eye,” he said, his light, accented voice cutting through my fuzzy mind.
Not caring who was speaking to me, I kept my gaze on the unexpected art I’d found. “It’s not really even that profound; it’s just the whole picture combined… it’s so powerful,” I responded.
I felt him step closer to me and knew he was reading the words. “ ‘Through light and darkness, faith will lead you.’ Faith has no home with you?” he asked.
Snorting, I answered, “The faithful are blind.”
He was silent for a second, then said, “And what has cured your blindness?”
His question threw me for a loop. The general response I got to my beliefs on faith were usually in defense of religion or holding onto something that would move me on to various afterlifes.
I dropped my hand and turned to him. My breath was stolen as I took in the sight of him; the sunlight lit his bright hair, illuminating his eyes and sparkling on his skin. Recovering, I said, “Reality,” snorting again and bending down to pick up my bag at my feet. I started to walk away from him, but to my delight he fell into step next to me. “And what reality is that, my dear?”
I glanced at him, giving him a look that said, “Don’t expect me to tell you,” and he chuckled. His voice was soft, almost feminine, when he chuckled.
“May I know your name?” he asked, amusement and curiosity highlighting his accent.
I turned to him again and gave him a small smile. “Jacqueline. And you are?”
“Louis. Nice to meet you, Jacqueline.” He stopped just a half step ahead of me and extended his hand. I reached out to him, expecting a handshake, but when he took my hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed my knuckles lightly. He smiled softly and bowed his head slightly.
There was something in his touch; I don’t know if it was just the silk of his skin touching mine, the gentility of his lips, or the chivalry in the action, but whatever it was, it made me somewhat lightheaded. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Louis. Where are you from?”
“I am Dutch, transplanted here for research purposes. On business, of course,” he answered.
“Must be some business to bring you all the way to New Mexico,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, it is,” he said, grinning again. He didn’t elaborate on anything more, just looked at me for a second longer and asked, “What do you do?”
I laughed suddenly, surprised by his question since he didn’t fully answer mine. “I’m an artist. Photography mostly, but I dabble here and there with other mediums. It helps keep my work fresh. I’m here on business as well, but I’m not as far from home.”
“What is amusing?” he asked, pulling his eyebrows together and giving me another visualization for my paintings of him.
“Nothing in particular. It’s just that you didn’t tell me what you do, yet you asked me what I do. That doesn’t seem a bit odd to you?”
He pulled his lips back into a smile and shook his head. “Not really. I’m used to it, what with a top secret job and all,” he answered, chuckling, “I’m here to see the land availability and fertility for a vineyard. My employer is a… what is the English word? Someone who embarks on many fiscal endeavors?”
“An entrepreneur?”
“That sounds about right. An entrepreneur. He’s decided he likes wine, and the best and easiest way to get wine is to make it.”
I chuckled and said, “I guess buying wine isn’t fun?”
He smiled widely again and responded, “No, not as fun as it could be, it seems. So here I am,” shrugging slightly.
“Interesting. So are you getting-”
“Jack!” My assistant Maggie’s voice rang out across the street, interrupting my conversation. Mildly irritated, I turned stiffly in her direction, then grinned at the group she was with. Maggie was always drawing people to her, mostly men. Today she had the members of one of the local area bands we’d recently met trailing behind her. They crossed the street and Maggie came to stand next to me while the other guys stood back. “We’re going to Crup’s. Join?”
My gaze flickered to Louis, then back to Maggie. “Sure. Louis, would you like a drink?”
“Thank you, but I have to get a few things done today. Maybe next time?” he answered smoothly.
“Absolutely. It was nice to meet you,” I said, and extended my hand for a shake.
He grasped my hand in his and brought his lips to my knuckles, grazing them lightly. “Same to you. I hope to run into you again,” he said, bowing his head.
I smiled and Maggie pulled me away, tugging me towards the group of men. “Who was that?” she whispered when we joined the group. One of the men dropped an arm across my shoulders as Maggie took the hand of another man. “Louis,” I answered as we started walking. I turned back to him, hoping to see him still standing on the sidewalk, and sent a small smile back to him when my gaze caught his. He smiled back and wiggled a finger as a goodbye, his hands shoved in his pockets. I turned back to my group, thoughts of Louis posing for me whipping through my mind.
**********
I wanted to do it all in one post, but it's too big :( So I'll do pieces. Next piece tomorrow. <3