Someday she should remind Piotr of the concept of a drop cloth, she thinks idly as she shifts for what feels like the twentieth time in the past ten minutes, trying to get comfortable as she works on debugging yet another program for the new security system.
It's not that he's messy. (Except for himself. And her hair, sometimes. And clothing. Generally, that's due to her being impatient, though.) And it's not that he never uses one.
It's more that she's been thinking about every incident with children possible, since baby-proofing even their own rooms in the mansion seems like an impossible task. And somehow--call her crazy--she suspects any paint, even the slightest bit, that gets on the floor will magically multiply and spread until it covers every object they own with tiny, infant-sized handprints.
"What're you working on now?" Kate asks eventually, giving up on finding a way to work on her laptop and be comfortable; the laptop's shoved slightly aside, as she grimaces and rolls more to her back.
It's possible that one of the empty rooms in the mansion will get turned into a studio where little children are not allowed to be, and sooner rather than later. (There are so many empty rooms.)
Of course, it's also possible that the infant-sized handprints will somehow manage to happen anyway. Children are very ingenious.
"Hmm?"
"Oh. It is..."
A picture in his head right now. Words are hard for this; he thinks about paintings in colors and images and brushstrokes and ideas.
"This," he opts for, and indicates the sketch stuck up near the top of the easel. "All colors, and light."
That clarification is because the sketch is in pencil, and right now his canvas is mostly background work in broad sprawling shapes.
Comments 29
It's not that he's messy. (Except for himself. And her hair, sometimes. And clothing. Generally, that's due to her being impatient, though.) And it's not that he never uses one.
It's more that she's been thinking about every incident with children possible, since baby-proofing even their own rooms in the mansion seems like an impossible task. And somehow--call her crazy--she suspects any paint, even the slightest bit, that gets on the floor will magically multiply and spread until it covers every object they own with tiny, infant-sized handprints.
"What're you working on now?" Kate asks eventually, giving up on finding a way to work on her laptop and be comfortable; the laptop's shoved slightly aside, as she grimaces and rolls more to her back.
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Of course, it's also possible that the infant-sized handprints will somehow manage to happen anyway. Children are very ingenious.
"Hmm?"
"Oh. It is..."
A picture in his head right now. Words are hard for this; he thinks about paintings in colors and images and brushstrokes and ideas.
"This," he opts for, and indicates the sketch stuck up near the top of the easel. "All colors, and light."
That clarification is because the sketch is in pencil, and right now his canvas is mostly background work in broad sprawling shapes.
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"No."
Kate is grimacing; Piotr is frowning, just a little.
"I noticed nothing."
And he's not that sound a sleeper.
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