One for Sorrow

Florence looked up at the old clocktower shielding her eyes with a hand from the bright sun of a long but waning summer. It was the first clear day in a week, and though the monsoon like rains of Savannah, Georgia had broken some of the heat of this perpetual summer, there was a dewey band of sweat making a reappearance across her fair and freckled forehead. She grimaced at the time and choked a fluttering feeling down as it tried bubble its way up into her throat. She stepped a heavy footed sneaker into the street and then resolutely closed the gap between her and one of the old studio buildings of Savannah College of Art and Design.

As she swiped an ID card over the sensor, the only thing on the building that looked like it came from the 21st century, she belatedly wondered if all of this was a mistake, if she should turn around now, call Gus from the train station, and beg for him to let her come home. The lock on the door clicked and drove that thought from her mind as she pulled on an antiquated door knob of one of the french doors with her free hand and flung it open enough to shoulder into the building with her oversized portfolio and green plastic tackle box.

Florence referenced a map and schedule on the screen of her phone as she paused in an entranceway with pliable hardwood floors that squeaked gently as she shifted her weight. She glanced at the digital corkboard to the left briefly, another small piece of evidence she hadn't in fact travelled to another time, and then clumsily made her way up an old flight of stairs to her right and into the first studio on the second floor.

She slid her phone into the pocket of her shorts and nervously pulled at the hem of her violet tank top as she looked around at a room full of art students almost a full decade younger than her. She suddenly felt incredibly short and inadequate by comparison. A few of them glanced at her momentarily, but her entrance went otherwise wholly unnoticed. She took a second to glance around the room. Most of the space was devoted to a circular three-level amphitheater with two of the levels staggered with almost entirely occupied easels. At the most sunken in level there was a raised dais draped in a canvas cloth and topped with a robed and lounging female model with from-the-bottle red hair swept up in a messy bun secured with chopsticks. She was reading something on a tablet in a bright yellow case made to look like the face of a cat winking, with a lazy expression. She was pretty in a rough sort of way, but closer inspection of her face revealed the more age worn face of a woman in her late thirties, possibly middle-aged.

Florence was late but after drawing her gaze across the room once more, observed that so too was the professor and let out a small thankful breath. She regrettably set her sights on one of the few easels available located on the lower of the two levels and requiring she squeeze past the most number of other students possible. On one of her best days, Florence knew she would not have the grace to get there without drawing attention to herself. She pulled her portfolio and supplies in front of her chest before trying to slide discreetly behind six other occupied easels. Three muttered apologies and one reassuring smile later she was one step down from her destination, a step that she unceremoniously tripped over sending her lurching forward into a wooden barstool. The barstool toppled over, and the cacophony that resulted and echoed throughout the large high-ceilinged room triggered a warm pool of red in her translucent cheeks. She quickly righted the stool before recovering her portfolio and hanging it by the handles on the side of her easel.

She ignored the eyes she felt from around the room and did her best to blend back into an unnoticeable place she'd been in before her spill. The model had laid down her tablet and stepped down now from the dais at the center of the room. She held the neck of her robe closed in a show of modesty that Florence found peculiar and endearing for a nude figure model. The model picked up Florence's tackle box from where it had fallen and after she realized what the model was doing Florence stepped forward and retrieved it from her with a shy crimson-cheeked smile.

At that moment the door to the studio burst open again for the first time since Florence's entrance. The model smiled a quick 'You're Welcome' in response and then returned to her place on the draped platform. Florence welcomed the new distraction for the other occupants as she set up the collapsible shelf attached to her easel that she noticed being used around the room and put her supplies on it before doing her best to jump up on to the stool quietly. Her feet briefly dangled a good six inches above the ground before she tucked them into the stool and turned her attention back to the new arrival in the room she could only assume was the teacher.

He crossed the room behind the easels that faced her and deposited a briefcase and a blazer that was slightly out of fashion onto a desk there before stepping swiftly in a way Florence could never accomplish down into the center of the room. The studio was quietly waiting his address.

He looked to be in his early fifties, but he'd aged in a way only men seemed to be able to manage and was admirably handsome. He had a sweep of dark brown hair with thick graying side burns and thick dark eyebrows. He was fairly tall, Florence supposed, though everyone seemed a varying degree of tall to her, and had broad shoulders and large arms. He was wearing a navy t-shirt and a pair of well fitting dark wash jeans. He had an Indiana Jones air about him, she observed amused as he folded a knee onto the edge of the model's platform and looked around the room.

"I understand," He began in a deep but resoundingly clear voice, "that punctuality is a generally favorable quality in members of society. As displayed by our first encounter, you've most likely realized it's one I don't much worry about." Florence raised an eyebrow to a philosophy that she hadn't found common amongst most authority figures.

"However I do apologize for my lateness today. I do realize the need for direction on at least the first class," he smiled in a way that made him look boyish despite his age. "From now on, though, whether I'm on time or not there should usually be a model already waiting for you. Though I won't be docking grades for any tardiness it will benefit you to use your time to your advantage. Begin without me, warm up, I promise you'll get your very overpriced money's worth of instruction. As you've probably gathered," he held up his hands to indicate their inherent emptiness, "I won't be passing out any syllabi today or spending inane minutes on roll calls."

He stepped away from the platform and paced slowly around it.

"I'm of the jump right in school of teaching, as I'm sure many of you can relate, I didn't become an artist to do paperwork." The room responded fondly to this sentiment and Florence smiled nervously. He stopped briefly in front of her and looked up at them through long eyelashes.

"I'll learn your names in time, and though I'm not checking any boxes on a list I will notice when it comes to midterm time if you've been ditching too much, and so will you, so just keep that in mind."

He moved onto a different part of the room, allowing Florence to breathe, and gestured to the model, "this is Cara." The model smiled at them and stood, before dropping the robe off her shoulders. He simply instructed her into a basic standing pose and then adressed the room again. "Newsprint and charcoal are fine in here, what we'll use mostly unless I let you know otherwise. Today we'll talk about composition, but we'll begin with a few short poses to warm up. Just make sure you're filling up the whole page and be mindful of what you include or don't include in the drawing." A rustling began around her as Florence and the other students set up a pad of Newsprint paper on their easels and went into their various containers of supplies to retrieve charcoal.

"You can go ahead. We'll give this one about five minutes." The other students focused on the model, but Florence observed the teacher for a moment more. He stepped back up to the main level behind the highest circle of easels and pulled out his phone, scrolling through something on the screen. Florence looked back to the model and studied her for a moment.

"This is Figure Drawing section A, if you haven't figured that out already," he called back to them as an afterthought, "I'm Jeremy Gilbert, forgot to mention that. No Mr.'s or Professors in there. Just Jeremy." And a soothing bit of bluesy jazz filled the room as Florence placed a piece of soft charcoal in a sweeping motion against the thin paper.

This was born out of a curiosity of what TVD characters would be like in a possible future. Based around what Lexi says about the possibility of more than one epic love especially for a vampire. So I just started writing something. The only clear assurance I have is that one out more Salvatore brother will be prominently featured. I would love to hear opinions on where you think they would all be in 30-40 years and which characters you think I should include. Although SCAD and Savannah are real places, I have not been there myself so attribute any difference to the time jump :)

Let me know what you think. I will try to include season six as canon as it comes out but may give up if I'm still writing by the time season seven starts out if I don't like the way six ends, lol

Sam