He stood in his studio, chocolate bangs hanging limply in his eyes. He
didn't care enough to shove them away from his eyes, because they'd
ultimately return again. The room was dark, as it usually was. He liked the
darkness. It was companionable.
The rain was falling pretty heavily, fat drops of rain hitting the windows like a war drum, keeping time for the marchers. //Kind of like my life now//, he thought. //My life is like an army. Always at arms. Always at another's will. Never at my own. Never by my own choice.//
He continued to watch the rain through his bangs. The moon cast intricate shadows against the random objects in his room, the lightening causing the room to dance for that split second of brilliance.
Looking down at the hustle and bustle of the city, he saw the horses trotting miserably through the damp weather. He heard the sound of the rain on carriage roofs, like the thunder that resonated throughout his studio. He saw the rickety carriage wheels travel along the cobblestone streets, a familiar song he fell asleep to at night, when all was quiet.
All was tranquil and comforting. The darkness. The rain. The song of the cobblestones.
"Mr. Yuy?"
Heero Yuy wanted to kill his butler for disrupting his peace, but instead, he put on an indistinguishable façade. "Yes, Sebastian?"
"Your carriage is waiting, sir."
"Thank you, Sebastian."
Heero waited until Sebastian had quietly closed the door before taking his gaze off the window. He stepped forward, in front of a covered canvas. He gingerly fingered the cloth with the pads of his fingers, as if it were holy. Pure, like the whiteness of the sheet that covered the key to his life.
"Come on, lovely." His whisper filled only the small studio and the voice was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Heero carefully picked up the painting, letting it fall into his outstretched arms. "It's time expose yourself."
The painting, carried under one arm, was taken to the carriage awaiting Heero downstairs on the singing streets. Heero carefully and quickly loaded the painting into the carriage, settling it snugly between the side of the carriage and his right leg. He climbed in, Sebastian closing the door behind him.
"We're to got to Madame Bounderby's house, correct, Mr. Yuy?" Sebastian
inquired, taking his seat in the drivers seat in front of Heero.
"Yes. Quickly, now. I don't want you to be out in the rain for long." Heero sat back, his arm resting against the carriage door.
"No, sir, I'll be fine. It'll take only five minutes or so, if Lucy cooperates." The aged man chuckled to himself; Heero felt a small jerk as Lucy began to pull the carriage, the song of the cobblestones filling his ears once more.
It was hypnotic, and Heero soon felt sleepy. He let his head rest against the side of the carriage, and got a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window.
He was only twenty-six. But he looked fifty years older, in his point of view. His eyes were a dull shade of blue, the circles underneath them an even darker shade. Fine lines appeared at his eyes, accentuating their exhaustion and fatigue. However, a firm brow highlighted his eyes, making him appear stern, powerful. He liked that. But as authoritative as he thought he looked, the pallor of his face couldn't hide how poorly he chose to live.
//It's almost transparent//, he thought, touching the skin on his face with the brush of his finger.
The carriage came to a stop, the door opposite the side he leaned against opened shortly. Sebastian's warm, becoming face smiled tenderly at Heero.
"Good luck, Mr. Yuy," said Sebastian. "It appears they're waiting for you. Would you like for me to wait for your return?"
Heero shook his head. "Don't bother, Sebastian. Just go home, it's alright." Heero smiled. "I'll walk."
"But sir?! In the rain?!"
"Well, hopefully, by the time I get out of here, it'll be clear enough to get home safely." Heero nodded. "Thanks for your concern, though, Sebastian. Sometimes, I think you're the only real friend I've got around here."
Sebastian smiled and motioned to Heero towards the large steps to the house of Madame Alexandra Bounderby. Heero nodded his thanks, and he wrapped the painting in his arms, jumping out of the carriage and taking the steps two at a time to the large double doors that awaited him. A butler or servant of some kind motioned him in hastily. He was immediately met by Madame Bounderby's plump, cheerful face. A crowd of patient guests of the Bounderby's house greeted Heero with sighs of admiration and respect.
"Good evening, Mr. Yuy!" she greeted heartily. "You've arrived just in time!" She pointed to the bundle under Heero's arm. "Is this what we've all been waiting for?"
"Indeed," said Heero. He was then lead to an exquisite staircase, one large enough to accommodate thirteen people at least side by side. Halfway up to the second floor, a platform ended the single staircase and branched off into two separate staircases. It was on the platform where Heero stood uncomfortably next to the over-the-top Madame Bounderby. The painting was taken out of his hands, and placed, still covered, on a stand left bare for this purpose alone.
"Ladies and gentleman!" Madame Bounderby announced rather loudly. "The moment you've all been waiting for! I have asked the courteous Mr. Yuy to paint me a masterpiece! And here it is, for you, my honored guests, to see in a private showing at my home! Thank you all for coming to this special occasion! Barnard, would you do the honors?"
Heero looked to his left and saw a tall, stately man reach underneath the cloth that covered the portrait. Heero supposed it was just another butler. The painting was then revealed.
It was a landscape; Heero had taken almost five months to complete it. It was painted on Mill Lake pond, three miles west of the city. It was a calm, natural place of beauty that Heero admired for its lack of pretension. It was unaffected by the changing times. A field of tall, yellow grass swayed to the nameless rhythm of the wind. Heero captured each blade of grass in its purest form, against a sky of blues, purples, and pinks. Like the clouds became the cotton candy found at street side shows and spilled a pinkish orange glaze over everything. It was beautiful.
//However//, thought Heero, //the painting doesn't capture a fraction of it's beauty.//
There were pleased gasps and nods of approval followed by a resounding applause that filled the room with harsh, sharp noise. Heero could only smile and nod politely back.
//I have to get out of here.//
"Your payment, sir."
Heero turned towards the voice behind him, and found the voice's owner to be Barnard. A small envelope was thrust in Heero's hand, and he pocketed it quickly.
The applause had died down, enough for Madame Bounderby to speak. "Mr. Yuy, do you have any words you'd like to share with us?"
Heero smiled courteously. "Actually, Madame Bounderby, it's time for me to go. I have a busy day tomorrow, with yet another project on hand."
"So soon?" said Madame Bounderby, feigning disappointment, as Heero felt. Well, I imagine a well-renowned artist such as yourself would indeed have much to do!" She embraced Heero rather un-lovingly. It was one of those embraces that were more like intimate pats on the back; the kind that Heero absolutely despised.
"Thank you for your hospitality, and for this opportunity, Madame Bounderby," thanked Heero. "But I really must be going."
"Of course! I wouldn't keep you trapped here, sir!" Madame Bounderby laughed wildly, like a whooping crane; also something that Heero disliked. Forced laughter. It was disgusting.
Heero exited as quickly as he could, making his way through looming bachelorettes and well-to-do white collared men that made their way into business through their equally well-to-do white collared fathers.
"Very good work." "I say, it's simply marvelous!" "Oh, Mr. Yuy, you'll have to get in touch with me sometime!"
It was all empty.
He made his way outside, the rain reduced to a slight drizzle that made the cobblestones of the streets gleam silver in the pale moonlight.
He wished he was like the moon. Belonging to no one, yet pleasing a world of night-time travelers and late-night dreamers.
The streets were quiet; it was around nine o' clock and everyone was in their houses by now, safe from the rain, the cold, and the darkness that Heero ran to. The displeasure he felt overcame any fright from the harshness of night.
//Are you happy, Heero?// he asked himself. //Are you happy now, working for others? Others who don't give a damn about painting, only the fact that it's worth something in a couple of decades? Your work isn't a treasure; now, it's just a priceless heirloom to be passed through dozens of generations, so that each in turn can say, "look at how rich I am!" Do you like your painting to have no meaning? Because that's what it's damn well become.//
Heero sighed and began his walk back home. It wouldn't take too long, and the moon would light his way home.
He walked past several alleyways and back street, taking care to watch over his shoulder for any would-be attackers. He could defend himself, he was sure; but surprise was an ultimate tactic.
Passing by another back street, he came upon a blazing fire in the distance. Curious, but cautious, he quietly made his way down the small, narrow path, careful to recall his way back to the main road.
It was a street show. Gypsies and the sort. Condemned by everyday society, but they never failed to fascinate. Contortionists, fire-breathers, tightrope walkers, acrobats. It was a stage of natural, human beauty, beauty not created, but generated from what was available-the human body.
Several acts were going on at once, and Heero passed them all casually, smiling every now and then to himself; a young girl cartwheeling through the air with ease, a man walking across burning coals with a large toothy grin on his face, a woman dancing along a wooden plank thirty feet in the air.
He was just about to exit the backstreet and head on back to the main road, when a figure in the shadows caught his eye. He stood in the shadows of the back alley and gazed at the figure through the darkness.
The figure's outline was hard to define, but Heero noticed right away that the figure's torso was exposed; the rippling muscles of the figure's shoulders, back, and arms were defined beautifully against night's curtain. He could make out the figure's profile-a strong jaw, a determined nose, long, effeminate eyelashes.
What caught Heero's attention was the gleam in the figure's eyes. How, when everything else was so shady and dim, the figure's eyes sparkled and glowed an eerie, but fascinating jade within the darkness. They shone like the candles inside Heero's studio at night, when hit by inspiration and money for candles had to be spared. A single flame-
A fervor.
A passion.
Suddenly, the emerald gaze lay on Heero, and Heero shifted his eyes away uncomfortably.
"Are you lost?" said the voice of the figure, a gutteral growl, a song more mesmerizing than that of horse hooves and carriage wheels on cobblestones. "The main road is just up ahead."
"I'm not lost," said Heero.
"That's good." The figure turned his back towards Heero. The muscles were chiseled into the figure's back, and the light played off them nicely, reflecting in Heero's eyes. "Well, then, are you enjoying the show?" the figure asked.
"Yes, I am."
Heero didn't know what came over him at the moment, but a sudden rush of inspiration, spirit, and hope flashed before his eyes.
"Sir?"
The figure turned towards Heero again. "Yes?"
"May I ask your name?"
The figure smiled, and stepped out of the light. A figure of a god was revealed. Sweat glistened his chest and stomach, veins protruding from the pressure of muscles in his arms. A piercing gaze penetrated Heero's train of thought. "It's Trowa. Trowa Barton."
Heero swallowed. "Trowa Barton. My name is Heero Yuy." When Heero got no sign of recognition, he continued, elated and frightened simultaneously. "May I have the honor...of painting you?"
--to be continued--
The rain was falling pretty heavily, fat drops of rain hitting the windows like a war drum, keeping time for the marchers. //Kind of like my life now//, he thought. //My life is like an army. Always at arms. Always at another's will. Never at my own. Never by my own choice.//
He continued to watch the rain through his bangs. The moon cast intricate shadows against the random objects in his room, the lightening causing the room to dance for that split second of brilliance.
Looking down at the hustle and bustle of the city, he saw the horses trotting miserably through the damp weather. He heard the sound of the rain on carriage roofs, like the thunder that resonated throughout his studio. He saw the rickety carriage wheels travel along the cobblestone streets, a familiar song he fell asleep to at night, when all was quiet.
All was tranquil and comforting. The darkness. The rain. The song of the cobblestones.
"Mr. Yuy?"
Heero Yuy wanted to kill his butler for disrupting his peace, but instead, he put on an indistinguishable façade. "Yes, Sebastian?"
"Your carriage is waiting, sir."
"Thank you, Sebastian."
Heero waited until Sebastian had quietly closed the door before taking his gaze off the window. He stepped forward, in front of a covered canvas. He gingerly fingered the cloth with the pads of his fingers, as if it were holy. Pure, like the whiteness of the sheet that covered the key to his life.
"Come on, lovely." His whisper filled only the small studio and the voice was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Heero carefully picked up the painting, letting it fall into his outstretched arms. "It's time expose yourself."
The painting, carried under one arm, was taken to the carriage awaiting Heero downstairs on the singing streets. Heero carefully and quickly loaded the painting into the carriage, settling it snugly between the side of the carriage and his right leg. He climbed in, Sebastian closing the door behind him.
"We're to got to Madame Bounderby's house, correct, Mr. Yuy?" Sebastian
inquired, taking his seat in the drivers seat in front of Heero.
"Yes. Quickly, now. I don't want you to be out in the rain for long." Heero sat back, his arm resting against the carriage door.
"No, sir, I'll be fine. It'll take only five minutes or so, if Lucy cooperates." The aged man chuckled to himself; Heero felt a small jerk as Lucy began to pull the carriage, the song of the cobblestones filling his ears once more.
It was hypnotic, and Heero soon felt sleepy. He let his head rest against the side of the carriage, and got a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window.
He was only twenty-six. But he looked fifty years older, in his point of view. His eyes were a dull shade of blue, the circles underneath them an even darker shade. Fine lines appeared at his eyes, accentuating their exhaustion and fatigue. However, a firm brow highlighted his eyes, making him appear stern, powerful. He liked that. But as authoritative as he thought he looked, the pallor of his face couldn't hide how poorly he chose to live.
//It's almost transparent//, he thought, touching the skin on his face with the brush of his finger.
The carriage came to a stop, the door opposite the side he leaned against opened shortly. Sebastian's warm, becoming face smiled tenderly at Heero.
"Good luck, Mr. Yuy," said Sebastian. "It appears they're waiting for you. Would you like for me to wait for your return?"
Heero shook his head. "Don't bother, Sebastian. Just go home, it's alright." Heero smiled. "I'll walk."
"But sir?! In the rain?!"
"Well, hopefully, by the time I get out of here, it'll be clear enough to get home safely." Heero nodded. "Thanks for your concern, though, Sebastian. Sometimes, I think you're the only real friend I've got around here."
Sebastian smiled and motioned to Heero towards the large steps to the house of Madame Alexandra Bounderby. Heero nodded his thanks, and he wrapped the painting in his arms, jumping out of the carriage and taking the steps two at a time to the large double doors that awaited him. A butler or servant of some kind motioned him in hastily. He was immediately met by Madame Bounderby's plump, cheerful face. A crowd of patient guests of the Bounderby's house greeted Heero with sighs of admiration and respect.
"Good evening, Mr. Yuy!" she greeted heartily. "You've arrived just in time!" She pointed to the bundle under Heero's arm. "Is this what we've all been waiting for?"
"Indeed," said Heero. He was then lead to an exquisite staircase, one large enough to accommodate thirteen people at least side by side. Halfway up to the second floor, a platform ended the single staircase and branched off into two separate staircases. It was on the platform where Heero stood uncomfortably next to the over-the-top Madame Bounderby. The painting was taken out of his hands, and placed, still covered, on a stand left bare for this purpose alone.
"Ladies and gentleman!" Madame Bounderby announced rather loudly. "The moment you've all been waiting for! I have asked the courteous Mr. Yuy to paint me a masterpiece! And here it is, for you, my honored guests, to see in a private showing at my home! Thank you all for coming to this special occasion! Barnard, would you do the honors?"
Heero looked to his left and saw a tall, stately man reach underneath the cloth that covered the portrait. Heero supposed it was just another butler. The painting was then revealed.
It was a landscape; Heero had taken almost five months to complete it. It was painted on Mill Lake pond, three miles west of the city. It was a calm, natural place of beauty that Heero admired for its lack of pretension. It was unaffected by the changing times. A field of tall, yellow grass swayed to the nameless rhythm of the wind. Heero captured each blade of grass in its purest form, against a sky of blues, purples, and pinks. Like the clouds became the cotton candy found at street side shows and spilled a pinkish orange glaze over everything. It was beautiful.
//However//, thought Heero, //the painting doesn't capture a fraction of it's beauty.//
There were pleased gasps and nods of approval followed by a resounding applause that filled the room with harsh, sharp noise. Heero could only smile and nod politely back.
//I have to get out of here.//
"Your payment, sir."
Heero turned towards the voice behind him, and found the voice's owner to be Barnard. A small envelope was thrust in Heero's hand, and he pocketed it quickly.
The applause had died down, enough for Madame Bounderby to speak. "Mr. Yuy, do you have any words you'd like to share with us?"
Heero smiled courteously. "Actually, Madame Bounderby, it's time for me to go. I have a busy day tomorrow, with yet another project on hand."
"So soon?" said Madame Bounderby, feigning disappointment, as Heero felt. Well, I imagine a well-renowned artist such as yourself would indeed have much to do!" She embraced Heero rather un-lovingly. It was one of those embraces that were more like intimate pats on the back; the kind that Heero absolutely despised.
"Thank you for your hospitality, and for this opportunity, Madame Bounderby," thanked Heero. "But I really must be going."
"Of course! I wouldn't keep you trapped here, sir!" Madame Bounderby laughed wildly, like a whooping crane; also something that Heero disliked. Forced laughter. It was disgusting.
Heero exited as quickly as he could, making his way through looming bachelorettes and well-to-do white collared men that made their way into business through their equally well-to-do white collared fathers.
"Very good work." "I say, it's simply marvelous!" "Oh, Mr. Yuy, you'll have to get in touch with me sometime!"
It was all empty.
He made his way outside, the rain reduced to a slight drizzle that made the cobblestones of the streets gleam silver in the pale moonlight.
He wished he was like the moon. Belonging to no one, yet pleasing a world of night-time travelers and late-night dreamers.
The streets were quiet; it was around nine o' clock and everyone was in their houses by now, safe from the rain, the cold, and the darkness that Heero ran to. The displeasure he felt overcame any fright from the harshness of night.
//Are you happy, Heero?// he asked himself. //Are you happy now, working for others? Others who don't give a damn about painting, only the fact that it's worth something in a couple of decades? Your work isn't a treasure; now, it's just a priceless heirloom to be passed through dozens of generations, so that each in turn can say, "look at how rich I am!" Do you like your painting to have no meaning? Because that's what it's damn well become.//
Heero sighed and began his walk back home. It wouldn't take too long, and the moon would light his way home.
He walked past several alleyways and back street, taking care to watch over his shoulder for any would-be attackers. He could defend himself, he was sure; but surprise was an ultimate tactic.
Passing by another back street, he came upon a blazing fire in the distance. Curious, but cautious, he quietly made his way down the small, narrow path, careful to recall his way back to the main road.
It was a street show. Gypsies and the sort. Condemned by everyday society, but they never failed to fascinate. Contortionists, fire-breathers, tightrope walkers, acrobats. It was a stage of natural, human beauty, beauty not created, but generated from what was available-the human body.
Several acts were going on at once, and Heero passed them all casually, smiling every now and then to himself; a young girl cartwheeling through the air with ease, a man walking across burning coals with a large toothy grin on his face, a woman dancing along a wooden plank thirty feet in the air.
He was just about to exit the backstreet and head on back to the main road, when a figure in the shadows caught his eye. He stood in the shadows of the back alley and gazed at the figure through the darkness.
The figure's outline was hard to define, but Heero noticed right away that the figure's torso was exposed; the rippling muscles of the figure's shoulders, back, and arms were defined beautifully against night's curtain. He could make out the figure's profile-a strong jaw, a determined nose, long, effeminate eyelashes.
What caught Heero's attention was the gleam in the figure's eyes. How, when everything else was so shady and dim, the figure's eyes sparkled and glowed an eerie, but fascinating jade within the darkness. They shone like the candles inside Heero's studio at night, when hit by inspiration and money for candles had to be spared. A single flame-
A fervor.
A passion.
Suddenly, the emerald gaze lay on Heero, and Heero shifted his eyes away uncomfortably.
"Are you lost?" said the voice of the figure, a gutteral growl, a song more mesmerizing than that of horse hooves and carriage wheels on cobblestones. "The main road is just up ahead."
"I'm not lost," said Heero.
"That's good." The figure turned his back towards Heero. The muscles were chiseled into the figure's back, and the light played off them nicely, reflecting in Heero's eyes. "Well, then, are you enjoying the show?" the figure asked.
"Yes, I am."
Heero didn't know what came over him at the moment, but a sudden rush of inspiration, spirit, and hope flashed before his eyes.
"Sir?"
The figure turned towards Heero again. "Yes?"
"May I ask your name?"
The figure smiled, and stepped out of the light. A figure of a god was revealed. Sweat glistened his chest and stomach, veins protruding from the pressure of muscles in his arms. A piercing gaze penetrated Heero's train of thought. "It's Trowa. Trowa Barton."
Heero swallowed. "Trowa Barton. My name is Heero Yuy." When Heero got no sign of recognition, he continued, elated and frightened simultaneously. "May I have the honor...of painting you?"
--to be continued--