The lack of inspiration drove him absolutely insane.
Now normally, John, also known as the Doctor in the artist world, was cunning, brilliant, with a dash of amazing when it came to his artwork. He knew how he wanted to paint/draw/sketch it, what tools and colours to use, and more importantly, what to paint/draw/sketch in the first place. He always had ideas, from the rich architecture in Kensington Court, to portraits of his friends. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn't figure something out this time.
Not even the stars in the sky inspired him and it was driving the dear old John insane.
One Saturday evening, he walked into a coffee shop, owned by his adopted brother's mother-in-law, Jackie Tyler. She offered him a small smile, whipping up the usual for him. He clutched onto his sketchbook, his eyes scanning for a vacant seat, when he spotted her.
Her, being a beautiful young woman, just sitting in the corner, with the only vacant seat being right across from her. He gulped audibly and met Jackie's knowing look. She already knew what was going on and he didn't even have to say a word as she motioned for him to take a seat besides the lass with a jerk of her thumb. The way the woman's hair was parted and how her body just seemed to work with what she was wearing- oh and her lips, those full, cherry lips, they brought him more inspiration than he ever could have gotten while he sulked. He managed to somehow get his legs to work as he went for the vacant seat.
"Is this seat taken?" He asked the lass, who looked up and met his eyes. Her eyes were positively beautiful- if he wasn't an artist, he could probably write a novel, all on her eyes. The way she looked at him, then her smile, the way her dimples formed- it was enough for him to strike much inspiration.
"No, no, go on ahead." She motioned for him to sit and he nodded weakly, taking his seat. Jackie came around, placing a decaf coffee and a strawberry tart on the table. She winked at him, already knowing what was to come. Not many brought John speechless, but when they did, there was usually a purpose. John huffed, sipping his coffee and clutching his sketchbook tightly. He determined ways to steal glances to her, without making it look completely obvious that he was practically staring at her. She looked back to her papers, which she seemed to be grading. A teacher and judging by the lengthy essays, a English one at that. He smiled slightly, putting his cup down as he opened his fresh brown sketchbook to the first page and took his drafting pencil from his hoodie pocket.
He started with her basic facial shape with his first stroke as the lead hit the paper. She would look up occasionally and pick up her coffee cup, making it easy for him to get every part of her round shaped face. Her face wasn't quite long, with just the right proportions that seemed so appealing to the eye. He liked the dips and slight curves she was graced with. He wondered if she was a model. She could definitely catch the eyes of some photographers who shared this same liking of beauty.
He brought his attention to her nose next. It was a funny little thing, with a short length. He didn't see many adults with button noses, as it was mainly children. He found it endearing, the way it just worked in her favor. A cute little nose. Just like herself.
Her eyes were a feat in itself. Sometimes, she'd stare out the window, giving him the perfect angle he needed of her eyes. She seemed to be a feisty young woman, with all the little anecdotes she was giving to her students in the margins, yet when she looked up, they were innocent brown eyes, with a hint as though she was troubled, deep inside. There were slight bags under her eyes, despite her attempts to cover it up with light makeup. He also noticed how her eyes seemed to droop ever so slightly, but she'd always force herself awake. Being a teacher must be difficult, he thought as he captured her eyes on paper.
Her lips had gloss, but it wasn't an overdo. It shined in the light, but it wasn't so obvious to draw his attention away from any other portion of her face. It was balanced. Her expressions shifted, the perking of her lips slightly when she read something pleasant or the frown of her face when she read something distasteful. He made sure to take note of her dimples and how they appeared with each smile that appeared. A tug in his heart came with every smile.
He started on the cascade of hair that stopped at her shoulders. Each strand he drew, he made sure it captured the wavy look. She definitely took some time with styling hair, he notes, judging by the light hairspray she put on. Although his pencil could not do justice for her chestnut locks, she still looked gorgeous anyway.
The ultimate challenge was presented when he got to her body. It wasn't model-status, but, she did look like she deserved to be in the magazines, posing. He started with her neck, which was very much visible, despite her collared dress. It was long, but not long enough to look overdone. He made sure it looked realistic, adding bits of shadow and curve. The chest area was a bit difficult to achieve, as she had her arms constantly around, but he got the basic curve of her body.
Without even realizing it, he had made several different sketches of the woman across from him in the span of a few minutes, filling up several different pages. He didn't even remember turning his sketchbook. Each one with different looks. One had her marking papers, looking out the window, or even just taking a sip of her drink. Some of the pages had just her profile or perhaps her in other outfits. Each drawing held different pose, complementing her looks.
He felt inspired just being around her, something he was keen on holding onto, but he couldn't just approach her like that. He decided to ask dear ol' Jackie Tyler for information. He closed and placed his sketchbook onto the table, walking over to Jackie.
"I see you have your eyes set on somebody." Jackie said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the cabinets. The coffee shop had relaxed, leaving only several patrons including the girl and himself.
"I'm not sure yet."
"Come on, John. I know you. The look in your eye when you're inspired isn't hard to miss." Jackie smirked, "Her name is Clara Oswald."
"Clara?" He asked, looking to the tired looking young woman.
"Mmhmm. Teaches at Coal Hill. She's single, clever, and loves to travel and would she had the time. Mum died when she was sixteen, father remarried so her relationship with him has been strained, and she's here every Wednesday evening and the occasional Saturday, either for her daily coffee or tea with stacks of papers to grade." John raised an eyebrow.
"And you know all this because...?"
"It helps to be open to your customers." Jackie offered, shrugging. "She's leaving. Oh, I think she's taking your sketchbook by mistake." John whipped around to see Clara stuff the sketchbook along with all her other belongings in her large bag, as she looked at her phone and typed away, her facial expression seemed so sour now. She rushed out of the cafe before John could do anything.
"Like I said, she's here every Wednesday and the occasional Saturday." Jackie assured him, "And now you just have to figure out how to take it back from her."
"And how do you suppose I do that? I can't let her know I've been staring at her."
"You'll figure it out."
It wasn't that easy, to just merely 'figure it out.' Clara did indeed show up every Wednesday, but if she had seen his sketchbook in her bag, she didn't say a thing. He practically made it his mission for her not to find it, but it was difficult. He couldn't just rifle through her purse, that was just wrong, so he continued to sit across the constantly stressed teacher, without saying a word. Besides his mission to get his sketchbook, he also liked being around her. Her general aura, along with her strawberry and sometimes lavender shampoo.
Jackie came forward to him one Wednesday evening, after a month of his inability to find ways to take his sketchbook back. Clara was yet to show up with her usual workload, so he was waiting at the same seating area.
"You know, you could just ask." Jackie said, "Just a simple, 'you took my sketchbook by mistake; could I have it back?'" He sighed. Jackie was so simplistic; he envied her.
"It's not that simple, Jackie, and you know that." He said, watching as Clara Oswald stepped into the quaint coffee shop, without a stack of papers and just her tired self. She wore a jumper and leggings, along with boots. She found Jackie and smiled, though albeit weakly. John gulped as she came closer.
"I honestly wish I never went into teaching." Clara said. Jackie raised an eyebrow.
"You know that's not true. Clara, you love kids and English. You just wish your students weren't bonkers." Jackie said, eyeing John as she spoke. "I'll make you a cuppa, alright?" She nodded gratefully and took the same seat across from John. He decided that it would be his best bet.
"Rough day?" He prompted and she sighed.
"Mmhmm. Jackie is right, I do love kids. I just...agh. I just wanted to teach them something off the normal, that wasn't a classic but also was well-known. They didn't receive it well and for the first time, in my couple years of teaching- I shouted at them." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "They paid attention after that, since it always goes down in Coal Hill that Miss Oswald never gets mad...but I just feel bad. Then all this latework from my classes...it's just a hell, I'd say."
"I'm sure this was just one mishap that just made you question your teaching position, but you still love it regardless." John provided.
"Probably. I suppose everything usually is peachy keen and seeing today's events...didn't feel right." Clara murmured as Jackie came by with a sandwich and a cuppa. Clara smiled and began to devour the sandwich, but even then, she held some sort of grace to it. Jackie gave John a glare as she walked back to the counter.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"You come here every Wednesday and Saturday. What's your story?"
"Oh...I'm an artist, I guess."
"You guess?" She inquired.
"I sell my art and galleries have them, but calling myself an artist is a bit pretentious for my tastes." He shrugs, "I like being called the Doctor in the art world."
"So being called an artist is pretentious, but the Doctor isn't?"
"Only in the art world, Clara." He chuckled, watching as she places her purse on the table and the sketchbook is in plain view, but she doesn't really notice. He pales slightly, but Clara doesn't seem to notice as she drinks her cuppa. The universe seems to be in good graces, as her mobile rings.
"Sorry, I have to take this." She grumbled, answering the call. "Like I said, Danny, I'm not interested in you, I never have, and never will." She mouths, 'Sorry,' to him as she stands and walks off. He stares at the sketchbook for a hard minute before leaning over, only for Clara to return, seeing him attempt to take it. She stuffed her phone in her pocket and crossed her arms, glaring at him. Oh, this looked bad. Could the universe hate him any further?
"Excuse me, Doctor, what are you doing?"
"I...uh..." He could already imagine the smirk on Jackie's face. "You took my sketchbook a month ago by accident, so I was going to...steal it back." He explained himself carefully.
"I thought that was my ledger." She murmured, raising an eyebrow in confusion. Her pose relaxed, but the fire refused to leave her face.
"People still use ledgers?"
"I still use ledgers." She deadpanned, glaring at him. Before he could react, she stepped forward and snatched the sketchbook. His face paled as she looked at it, seeming to debate whether or not she should open it. "What will I expect if I open this?" He sighed and just motioned for her to open it.
The way her eyes sparkled in surprise was a shock to himself. He thought she would have been uncomfortable and would have slammed the sketchbook, but instead, her finger traced the pencil marks, then looked up to him.
"Is this how you see me?"
"Yes." He breathed, already surprised he got this far.
"You're absolutely insane."
"Hardly. You're beautiful, Clara." He assured her. She took a glance at the sketchbook, then back at him. She opened her mouth, but Jackie dropped a hand onto her shoulder, surprising her.
"You inspired him, Clara. Not many people can do that." He shot Jackie a glare. "What? I'm serious."
"I don't know what to say..." Clara murmured, looking down towards the sketchbook yet again.
"Are you free, tonight, Clara?" He asked meekly. Jackie grinned, walking off. It took her a moment before she nodded. "I..." He faltered, "Your eyes are beautiful, as well as almost every other proportion you have...your expressions are just priceless and I...Is it possible that...the sketchbook doesn't really give you justice," he shifted back and forth, "would you let me paint you?" He exhaled a sigh of relief. "You don't have to, of course."
It seemed as though the gears were turning in her head before she finally said something, "Where?"
"Kensington Court? You can't miss my house. It's dark blue with a similarly coloured car in the front.
"Right now?" He checked his watch. It was already quite late as it was, so perhaps now would be a good idea.
"If you don't mind." He said, "Again, you don't have to."
"You've been sitting across me in dedication of getting this sketchbook back. Jackie trusts you, so why not?" Clara then glared at him, "But if you end up being terrible, I will kick your arse."
"I'll keep that in mind, Miss Oswald." Clara laughed and he lead her out of the cozy cafe, the feeling of giddiness coming over him and he couldn't help but grin.
He finally had his muse.