The sculptor stared at his model absent- minded and his head tilted to the side as he examined the man he was meant to be painting.
He hadn't meant to end up painting, he had had big plans for a life of sculpture, but painting brought in more money than sculpting and he couldn't exactly complain if it paid the bills. Plus he didn't really mind painting which was more than many people got in their jobs. The artist narrowed his eyes and considered his subject.
The Scandinavian sitting in front of him looked very Norse God like, he was getting married to his Freya and they wanted some paintings for their manor (a gift from an elderly relative apparently); a couple separate and a few together. Although, admittedly, he'd never actually met the wife. Talked to her on the phone and heard plenty about her but he hadn't seen her yet. Frankly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.
He gave himself a mental slap and eyed the groom-to-be. There was nothing feminine to do with him and the artist hoped the fiancée was very feminine to add a contrast to the paintings of them together. The Norse God had very high cheekbones and spiked up white-blonde hair with shocking blue eyes. It took the painter a moment to collect himself but he couldn't help but gaze again at the man.
He looked friendly, with laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and a large smiling mouth, cheeks a little red from the sun. You could still tell, however, that he'd be intimidating from the very straight back and large muscled build and the way his un-tucked shirt was played slightly with by an unseen wind.
He was a little worried about what the wife would be like as he knew that this guy wouldn't fit into a house portrait. It would have to be very outdoorsy for it to work anyway. He wanted to have winds, maybe rain to create a bit of a Mr Darcy feel. This guy talked about as much as Darcy did. Not that he could blame him, he wasn't exactly Mr Conversational himself.
As he began to paint, not paying any attention to the uncomfortable silence radiating from his subject and lost himself to the semblance of his sanity. The sanity had a cold voice in his mind, that reminded him of a character from his school, and it laughed at him and mocked him. Daily, it reminded him of the wife creature and the fact that a famous, rich player like him would never look at a sculptor who couldn't even let anyone else see his sculptures and instead hid them away where they would never be seen. What kind of artist was he?
He knew his sanity was right – as always. It wasn't like the other man had even recognised him. Anyway, even if he had, they wouldn't have had anything. They'd never had anything. He finally understood what a female friend of his had once said when she'd described her acting as an escape; how when she was on a stage she could be someone else entirely, without being touched by her own heart. He smiled tiredly, he'd get as close as he could this evening when he finished the painting and then when he let loose everything in sculpture.
He gave another half smile to his subject and put his paintbrush down, slightly shocked by the passage of time. His subject cleared his throat apprehensively and rolled his shoulders, easing out the cricks.
"Hey, look, I just wanted to say thanks, for this. It means a lot to me. Um, well, my wife has decided that she wants the wedding earlier than we'd been planning, something to do with the place she's booking and reservations." He broke off, his cheeks turning faintly red and cleared his throat again.
"We'd like you to come. To the wedding that is. It'd be nice to have you there, you seem like a nice guy. You remind me…never mind. It'd just be nice to have you there. Free alcohol, that sort of thing; a way of thanking you more. I'm probably the worst model you've ever had. Too fidgety for this sort of thing. Heh…I'm rambling, aren't I? I should stop talking."
The artist turned to stare at him, paint splattered and confused.
"That sounds nice. Do you want the paintings earlier then?" He frowned as his voice came out quieter than he remembered, but he hadn't really spoken much for a long time. His business partner (a close friend of his and his roommate) sorted that sort of thing, he didn't see much need for talking- she understood him without many words and he preferred things that way.
"Oh. No, that's fine. We're planning on having a house warming party a little later and hoping to unveil them then. Uh, my wife wants to know if you'd like to bring a significant other." The warm, low voice contrasted slightly with the continuous breaks, as if he too was unused to speaking or at least, being listened to with the concentration he was receiving.
"Yes. Thanks." He stood awkwardly, wondering if the Rugby player had more to say.
"Um, thanks then. Here's an invitation." He extended his hand and the artist suddenly realised he was meant to take the invitation. There was another awkward silence as he did so.
"Right. Contact us about the next sitting. Bye." The Scandinavian exited quickly and there was a deafening silence as the artist was left alone, fingering the creamy paper.
Emma Tolly and Tancred Torsson
Invite you to their wedding.
December 24th, 10am.
Buffet and Party after the ceremony.
Lysander Sage groaned as he finished reading and dropped the invitation onto the sideboard, weeping uncontrollably as his heart shattered into tiny little pieces. He remained there for the rest of the evening until Olivia returned and soothed him, needing no words.
An. I wasn't planning to continue this but I think I'll probably include the wedding, possibly the house warming party (depending on where I go with this) and maybe a few more characters.