|9|
Casnar stilled with the night's distant memory of her riding him for the third time—as the vision cleared, he was faced with a brightly lit ceiling and the etchings over the boards—strange characters written with a knife and stained with something black…Gun powder….It was forced into the scriptures of whatever was glaring back at him. He sat up, his head falling back as his eyes went from one edge of the ceiling to the other. Braith was still asleep as he slipped out from between the sheets and peered closer at the inscriptions, "…Please tell me this isn't her handiwork." He turned towards the other half of the attic space and stared at the paintings…In the corner by the bed was the most crazy design of towers, buildings, streets and strange writhing vines flowing over these….A can of paint sat on the ground, its gray coating sealing the lid with a brush resting on the floor beside it. He examined everything while she slept, then went down the stairs to the bottom level.
Over the stove, he set the pots aside and cleaned up, then went into the back room to grab his clothes and pull everything on him…He heard the floorboards creak up above and dutifully looked to her as he went back onto the staircase.
He stared at her rising from the side of the bed, realizing she was conscientious about the "artwork" all over the walls and ceiling, "…I told you I drew."
"More like abuse the art form," Casnar replied, he gesturing to the scrapes and scratches in the boards, "…This is what you see?"
"Yeah, it's what it is and weird, I know," she stood and squatted by the wall, untopping the paint can and dipping the brush into it, "….If I let Alenko see this place, he might explode."
She fell quiet while she concentrated, and for someone who did not normally study painting, she attempted the art with some fortunate talent, even as monotoned as it was….He could see she was adding another building into the scene in the corner, stretching its painted lines with more strokes up into the bend of the ceiling, "….What is it supposed to be a scene of," he asked, watching and fascinated.
"It's Lothiraxl," she replied, pausing to dip the paintbrush into the can again for more, "….This is its downtown area….The streets are all silver….Metal…There are vines here and there….People walking, but I'm more interested in the layout."
"You paint this from memory….Have you been there?"
"I haven't, no," she added a few more lines, "….That's it for now, I'll finish it up later, but I've the blueprint in my mind," she touched her temple and some paint added to her hair.
The way she looked up at him with the paint on her strands made him go to her with his sleeve and start to clean it out, "…You need help, I think."
Kissing him from the rise onto the balls of her bare feet, he stopped cleaning and held her shoulders to him, Braith pulling his pants' waistline open to slide her hands down his thighs as far as she could.
"We should shower," she touched his skin under his neck, gray eyes holding his greens.
"I'll take you up on that offer."
Taking her hand, he let her lead him to the stall across the room and pushed apart the curtains, "…I've never seen a shower in an attic before….Must be cramped," and the wall and ceiling did bend with the tiles' angle, "…This is unlivable."
"It wasn't meant for two," she said, pushing him back as she shut the curtain side and turned on the water—a terrific row violated his better hearing and the pipes clanged with the flow of water demanded upward.
"I'm buying your house and we're tearing it down," he said, laughing at the absurd plumbing.
She went with him to the shop once they were ready to leave the house of horrors he was now referring to her home as….Braith was in her boots from the service and jean shorts up to her mid thigh, and her top was a loose tank under a hooded pullover with a halfway down zipper….They held close to one and other, walking along the road as cars drove by, kicking up clouds of dust from the tires.
"When will you be done?"
He was in the residing area of the shop where the rest of his life beyond working on autos and small machines occurred, and undressing from his walk-over clothes that had lasted him the night, he began to fit himself into his work gear.
"Depends on the workload," he looped his overalls with a shrug and clipped them together, "…You want to put your hands to work, help me with the jobs."
"I'm handy with a gun and some detonators…Might be better if you gave me something to blow apart?"
"A shop like mine doesn't specialize in breaking things, Braith," he smiled though—she was trying on his overalls and the size was much too big even for her height, "…You can't wear those—Go get my kitchen apron if you're worried about looking less the distraction and more…" He growled from his deep belly when she bent over the sink and slipped her shoulder from the sweater hoodie, "….That's going to be very distracting—don't you do anything besides drink, scribble paint and fuck like a starved woman?"
