Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne.
Chi-Town Nights
Chapter 2:
Painter's Vision
The brush clattered against the wall, the paint splashing on the white. The red blot left dripped slowly, leaving a long trail down to the clear plastic tarp on the floor. The young man paced in agitation wiping the back of his hand on his cheek, smearing red there as well. It just wasn't working. For weeks he'd been haunted by the same images, keeping him from sleep. And now the dark was slowly dispersing as the dawn's light faded the black to a navy blue. Not that it mattered to the young artist what time it was, but still it irritated him that he still could not display his vision on canvas. So he paced in his studio, the canvas propped on the easel blank as when he had placed it there three or four weeks earlier.
His workroom was stark white, from the floor to the ceiling, with the exception of the few places where a brush had collided and left sprinklings of paint. It was a large room, smelling of clean drywall and art supplies. But it was empty that morning, but for the painter, the easel and canvas, a paint palette, and some brushes.
"Van?" The voice was soft and delicate like it's owner who stood in the doorway. Even in the early hours her green eyes shimmered with life. Vitality was her gift; it kept her looking younger than her eighteen years and beautiful beyond reason. The way she looked leaning against the doorframe, her sandy hair falling over her shoulders was so familiar. How many mornings had she come to stand in the doorway looking like a modern Aurora? She looked so inviting, the oversized white poet's shirt slipping off one shoulder to bare some of the supple skin. It fell to mid-thigh showing of the long runner's legs. Even the straight, baby-soft hair that fell over her shoulders had an enticing quality. Oh how he wished he could fall into those arms, to sleep like he had not in so many months. But there would be no rest for him, not this day. He had stopped at the sound of her voice, his whole manner changing. His fatigue was too obvious, he could tell by the look on her face. He sighed, dropping his weary eyes to the floor.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" His voice though gentle, was weighted by his lack of slumber. She shook her head as she glided toward him, her bare feet barely making a sound on the plastic covering the carpet. Cupping one hand beneath his chin she raised his head to stare into his eyes.
"You can't keep doing this," She pleaded lightly. He closed his eyes wrapping his arms around her, drawing her warm body to his. Resting his chin on top of her head he resigned himself to stroking her silky locks. She let her eyes fall shut as she hugged his chest wishing that this gesture alone could wipe out all trace of his insomnia. It was a wish that even she knew was futile. "Please, just come in and lay down for awhile," She looked up at him.
"I can't," He sighed, holding a handful of her hair as he stared at it forlornly, "I just keep thinking of everything. It's all meaningless, but it's still in my head." Her hands were warm on the side of her face and again he longed to sleep in his bed next to her.
"Is it- because you miss Merle?" She asked hesitantly, avoiding his eyes as he slowly focused on her face. Her hands slid from his face as silence crept in.
"Sure I miss her," He shrugged, "But I don't think that's why I can't sleep." The woman nodded. Van had accepted his best friend's absence as he accepted all things, with easy calm. Besides, he knew that she was happy living in the suburbs west of the city. She was only a phone call away. A long distance phone call, but a phone call none-the-less. No, it was not that he was distraught about her nonattendance, though honestly things were a little empty without her.
"This all used to work," He finally said, his eyes emotionlessly scanning the room, "I used to be able to come in here and work it all out. I could work for hours on one piece- or twenty different ones… I still see the pictures in my mind- but I can't- bring them out." He finished with a heavy sigh.
"Don't worry, this is just one of those tough periods that artists go through," She graced him with one of her encouraging smiles, "I get writer's block all the time!" Resting her hands on his chest she continued, "Be happy. Your show is in a week, and you have enough pieces. You should relax." His eyes slowly came to rest on her face. After three years she still reflected the young girl whose heart had guided the dragon. Her belief in him had carried him through the Gaean War to her own world where he had fallen for her all over again. One look assured him that her love would carry him through for many years to come. His arms went around her waist as he smiled.
"Speaking of writer's block, don't you have a paper to write?" He teased quietly. Her laughter echoed in the bare room.
"Well if you had been paying attention to me when we were walking here, you would know that I wrote that paper a week ago, and turned it in today." She scoffed with a smile as she picked at a paint stain on his white tank top.
"Oh. Sorry," He shook his head with a laugh, "If it makes you feel better I don't think I heard a word my Physics professor said either."
"No," She frowned, "It doesn't… You need sleep, Van." She was looking at him in that worried way again. He hated that look on her face.
"I know," He grimaced, his hold on her loosening.
The decisive look in her eyes warned him of her words before she spoke, "You have to be ready for the show, it's part of your grade. And finals are next month. I think you should go see a doctor."
"Hitomi-" He began, ready to argue his point.
She cut him off, "No, I'm serious, Van." She pushed away the incessant black bangs in front of his eyes and kissed his cheek. "Please, just for tonight agree with me. I'll call before I head to my first class," She pressed, looking into his eyes hopefully. When he only nodded she smiled and kissed his cheek again. He drew her closer, lowering his head to capture her lips in a tender kiss.
The glow of the black light on the fish tank lit her way as she walked into his room and dropped onto his bed. As the bed rippled like a wave beneath her she settled her head on her arms with a contented sigh. The water stilled slowly and she closed her eyes. For several minutes she lay there, listening to the hum of the fish tank and the music that penetrated through the wall from Van's studio. Finally, knowing she could not sleep at the moment, she opened her eyes looking around the room sluggishly. She rose from her stomach to her knees and reached across the desk to pick up a small book. She reached once more for a pen, then sprawled out on her stomach again. Flipping past pages full of written words she hummed a bit of the chorus to "Wish You Were Here" playing in the other room. A blank page in front of her she set out.
*November 28, 2002
This will be the 75th morning that Van has paced in that room, battling insomnia and his evil Muses that never let him rest. I haven't been here for all of those mornings, but still I know that it's been almost three months since his last decent night's sleep. I still have to check back at home once and awhile. My parents would freak if I spent all my nights here in his apartment. I hate to admit it, but I almost prefer to go home lately. It's just so hard to see Van so restless. I should be used to it, but still, I feel a little hurt when he slips out of bed to sit alone in his art room. He thinks that I'm sleeping, but I always feel it when he draws away from me.
I guess it's a blessing and a curse for him. Sometimes his inspiration takes him with fierce hands, bidding him to paint, sketch, or sculpt an amazing piece of brilliance. It's amazing what he can do when that urge takes over him. Hours pass where he's in a trance, devoted to his art. I guess there are times when I feel a little taken for granted, because when he's creating with such fervor, I don't exist. Even at times when I'm sitting in front of him, holding as still as I can, I wonder if it's me he really sees. I must admit that being his subject is extremely flattering. When he paints me, I truly feel as beautiful as he claims I am. When I see my face staring out at me from the canvas I can't believe it's me. It's strange to look at a woman's picture and think she's goddess only to find out it's you. I'm the last person any of my friends would call vain, but seeing myself through his eyes makes me proud. But now I just wish he would paint anything. After creating he sleeps like a dead man. Sometimes he even misses his morning classes. I'd give anything for him to miss classes because he overslept. It's really beginning to wear on him, the lack of sleep. It's silly, but I wish I knew the perfect lullaby to sing to him. Like a spell to cast over him. Perhaps Lani will know one. Or maybe she'll have an herbal remedy for me to try. I'll see her today in my English class. Hopefully I'll get to talk to her before she starts an argument with Mr. Schuster and gets kicked out… Well, goodnight. I mean good morning, of course.*
Author's Note: So, what do you think of Van as "the moody artist"? Kinda stellar, huh? Do me a favor and please let me know.