Writer's block is a bitch. A cruel, heartless, wordless bitch. I cannot update again before Christmas, so if you celebrate it, Merry Christmas! Fröhliche Weihnachten! Joyeux Noël! If you don't celebrate it, have a good time regardless~
There was a small crowd of other art students gathered around in the hallway. They must live in Vienna, or near enough, to travel here daily, concluded Roderich as he approached them cautiously.
If he could wear a mask right now, he would.
The primary art professor, Bonnefoy, was standing in front of the dead remains of the burned painting, fists clenched and his appearance considerably more dishevelled than it was upon their first meeting.
Gilbert was there also; purple eyes picked him out, standing on Bonnefoy's right. He wore what most of the artists here did, the same attire Roderich also donned: fabric tunic with trousers to match and simple leather shoes. The Austrian felt plain wearing them, yet he decided there was a more pressing matter to focus on as he continued forward.
"...this….you did this? What kind of fool are you?" Francis's heated voice reached his ears. Roderich took his place among the small crowd all gawking and whispering about Gilbert and the ruined artwork.
"Yes. It was an accident, you understand," Gilbert defended, visibly uncomfortable with so many pairs of eyes on him, "and this girl put the flames out, so-"
"'This girl'?" The same woman from the previous night shouldered her way into the space of Gilbert and Francis, hands on her hips. Elizaveta Héderváry today wore what all other female art students did: a long pleated skirt, flat shoes, and unpatterned blouse, all of which made Roderich more comfortable with her. Honestly, she was wearing trousers, how strange.
"My name is Elizaveta, Beilschmidt," She snapped, green eyes glaring as Francis tilted his head in interest, "and I saved you both from burning the entire place down."
"Both?" Repeated Francis, turning to face the white-haired German. "You were not solely to blame?"
Gilbert hesitated. With his back to the majority of people there, he did not see Roderich's concerned expression. "Uh, yes, I…"
Damn, thought the brunette as his internal battle subsided. I cannot allow him to be accused. It would be unfair, no matter how annoying he is. "Professor Bonnefoy." His voice came out weaker than planned, probably from hours of disuse, so he said it once more, louder. The blonde-haired Frenchman spun, locks falling from his typical ponytail. His oceanic eyes and risen brow automatically gave him permission to speak.
"It...last night, I - it was me." The crowd parted so that he may move closer to Bonnefoy, all expressions quizzical save for Elizaveta, who appeared calm, and Gilbert, whose grimace relaxed as their eyes briefly met.
"You mean to confess that you burned the painting," Stated Francis, now but a foot away from him as Roderich nodded, "I tripped and fell….my oil lamp broke and set fire to the artwork."
Francis, instead of patronising him as he had Gilbert, simply narrowed his eyes and folded his arms, thin hips jutted in a you had better not be lying for his sake kind of way. "Right," He concluded, "this scene is over, people. The painting will be removed -" He leaned down to Roderich's level and whispered, "- lucky for you the creator of this piece is no longer here," before once again addressing the students, "everyone, get to your classrooms. Classes will run as normal."
Everyone dispersed, excepting Gilbert, Roderich and Francis.
"Am I not in trouble for doing such a terrible thing? Even if it was without intention," Queried the shorter brunette. Bonnefoy licked his lips quickly. "No, you are not. That was...an old painting, anyway. It is about time we change some of the pieces displayed here." He is making it sound like this was a good thing, that I have done him a favour. However…
Glancing at Gilbert, Roderich continued determinedly. "Yet when Gilbert took responsibility you were quite eager to belittle him, from what I was able to hear. Perhaps, Sir, you would elaborate?" In his peripheral vision, he saw the same white-haired figure roll his ruby eyes.
Francis straightened. "Don't be ridiculous, I was merely certifying his claim," a look towards the unusually silent German, "which turned out to be a lie."
"A defence."
"Trying to deflect from the real perpetrator, regardless of whether the act was planned or not, is still a form of lying in my book."
Roderich's lips formed a straight line. "Maybe the guidelines of your book should be reviewed, Professor."
Gritting his perfect teeth, the blonde man moved past him with quick orders to both subjects, "Make sure you are at class by ten, Edelstein. Beilschmidt, go to the lobby and collect the new art supplies there. Take them to art room one." His tall figure disappeared round the corner of the hallway, and Gilbert burst out laughing.
The sound startled Roderich, but after seeing the stupid grin on the albino's face, his pale hair tousled over his creased eyes, found himself chuckling softly. The Austrian moved over to walk beside the German as they made their way to the lobby of the Academy.
"I did not know you were prone to defending aristocrats," Roderich deadpanned, a smug smile upon his features.
Sensing the reprisal, Gilbert replied accordingly, attempting to mimic the Austrian dialect comically, "Oh please, if I had announced that you were an arsonist you would be thrown out faster than the blink of an eye."
"That was a terrible accent."
"Yeah, us Germans think so." At this, Roderich scowled at him. Gilbert smirked back at him as they parted ways for their separate destinations.
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Twenty easels were set up in a semicircle around the art room; it was the first one on the left side that Roderich stood before. The easels curled around a central table, upon which sat a bowl of fruit and a transparent ornate vase.
Of those twenty easels, only fifteen were currently occupied, as some students had not arrived yet.
Actually, even the teacher hadn't arrived yet.
It was assumed that Professor Bonnefoy would be taking the introductory lesson, yet no one was expecting the earlier charade to have interfered with his schedule. Nobody excepting Roderich. He was perhaps the least surprised to see an unknown male shuffle reluctantly into the room and stand in front of the table. The newcomer tucked his hands behind his back, straightening himself.
He appeared younger than Bonnefoy, yet almost identical: wavy golden hair, no longer than from the crown of his head to the base of his neck; loose-fitting and paint-splattered attire; a timid smile, and kind lilac eyes behind silver frame glasses.
"Good morning, class," He spoke with almost the same French lilt to his voice, making it no easy task to understand his German. Roderich frowned as he continued. "Today you will be starting one of the most important art courses needed if you are to be successful in your work," he seemed to grow more bold when he realised the students were more focused on his words than himself. "I am Mr Williams and I am covering for Professor Bonnefoy who...ah...had - had to sort out a mishap this morning."
So young, opined the Austrian silently as he listened carefully. He cannot be older than seventeen, surely. Is it possible we are to be led by an inexperienced employee of the Academy?
"...only your best efforts will help you to thrive here…."
Bonnefoy is near intolerable, but at least he knows in detail about art. Now Mr Williams was writing something on the blackboard set on the wall behind him, the white chalk scraping marks onto the surface. Williams spoke aloud as he wrote.
"This course has five main projects. The first two should be finished by the end of February. Each project should take each of you no longer than two weeks to complete, that is two weeks per project. Now this year is slightly different because as I am sure you know, it is the Diamond Jubilee of our King, therefore you all shall also have an opportunity to create an artwork worthy of him. Gustav Klimt himself will choose a winner, and that winner shall present the Meisterwerk to His Majesty." Excited mutters and gasps arose from the other students. Roderich fought the urge to roll his eyes; of course these budding artists would want their work recognised by royalty - how could they not? It was a certifiable career if such a thing happened.
Certifiable career….something steady to keep him afloat until his parents' money came into his hands….yes, perhaps he ought to keep that contest in mind.
Now facing the students once more, Williams gestured to his bullet points and again spoke in his soft tone to clarify what each one included.
February: Interpretation Project Piece - Interpret an inanimate object for meaning.
February: Identity Project Piece - Paint who you are, or the most important thing to you, using aspects of daily life.
March: Emperor's Project Piece - Paint an image showing the Emperor of Austria-Hungary Habsburg empire in glory
March: Observation Project Piece - Observe buildings of Vienna and capture them exactly.
May: Still Life Project Piece - paint a human subject, a nude model.
June: All Pieces completed. Start of the Kunstschau.
Roderich swallowed hard when his eyes landed on the last project, his mind conjuring the words of Gilbert Beilschmidt, reminding him of how rude the man was.
If he, as a wealthy heir to his father's name and fortune, was going to paint a human subject, that subject would be fully clothed in fine fabric and dark-haired. The complete opposite to that damned annoying German.
"Alright," Williams clapped his hands, hands covered in unscrubbed paint and powders, "let us begin. Today you are expected to paint this selection on the table, so that the art professors here may judge your abilities, your strengths, favourite materials and so on. Use whatever sources are available to you - t-there will be staff around to ask should you need to find certain supplies. T-thank you for your attention." With that, he breezed out of the room, seemingly glad to be gone.
"Wait - we do not have a teacher?" One of the other students, a young auburn-haired woman with a distinctive curl on the left side of her hair, called after the young assistant.
"It appears not," Roderich replied, calling many pairs of eyes to him. "Now then, if we are expected to work, might someone show me where the oil pastels are?"
They have been here days longer than I have; I may as well take advantage of that.
.
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His first artwork had been judged by Bonnefoy, to be concluded as 'flat' and 'thin' with a 'muted' spectrum of colours. There must have been other criticisms, but luckily Roderich's ears had muted the Frenchman's voice before they could be registered.
On that same afternoon Gilbert had snickered at the belittling of Roderich's painting as he waltzed by, carrying a heavy box of water jars.
Having thrown his now-paint-splattered apron into the wash basket, the brunette decided he'd had quite enough of artwork for one day. Thanks to a quick tour of the building by another professor during the day, he now knew exactly where the canteen was. It was, as all else set here, a rather eccentrically-decorated room, with long tables and fancy cutlery. The food matched these standards, and Roderich had to wonder where Gilbert had found that terribly-made sandwich. God forbid he'd created it himself.
The evening drew near; looking through one of the Academy's many windows, Roderich noted the deep chartreuse seep into a previously navy sky as he made his way up to the men's dorms.
A pale hand patted him on the back; the Austrian let out a yelp of surprise.
"Cool it, Specs!" Gilbert chuckled, holding both hands up in mock surrender as he fell into step, both now ascending a gold-plated staircase. Roderich's expression morphed into one of annoyance. "Good evening, Beilschmidt."
A nod in return. "So I saw you getting verbally beaten up by Bonnefoy."
Roderich chose to remain silent, instead admiring the collage of artworks plastered along the hallways. Gilbert, it seemed, did not know a hint when one was presented to him. "I looked over your work by myself, and...I know it's your first piece, but you mixed the paint wrong." Reaching his moribund of patience, the Austrian halted and glanced sideways at the taller man. "I beg your pardon."
"That's not necessary; I'll explain it myself," Gilbert's eyebrow raised in confusion as he continued to walk ahead.
"What could you possibly know about art, you thief."
"Well exactly," A pair of clothed arms folded over a thin chest, "I am only an illiterate lowlife. To you. But now that I am a...volunteer….here, I have been instructed to move art supplies and boxes all day, and I could not help but read the instructions on each load. Those paints you used were not water-based; you mixed them with too much liquid and thus prevented the piece from having a 3D effect." Roderich gawped at him.
"You can paint shadows for depth, but when the subject is as 2D as its shading you cannot reach a high level of artistry." With that, the white-haired German turned his head to look down on Roderich from the top step. "Gonna stand there catching flies, or are you aiming to get to your room telepathically?"
With a snap of his jaw, Roderich's brow furrowed as he strode frustratedly past the man currently responsible for his foul mood. I should never have brought him here. "I feel it obligatory to return some advice, Beilschmidt."
"Oh?" Gilbert's voice encouraged from behind him.
"Yes: keeping your mouth shut when among those of a higher intellectual and social status will ensure not only my constant good mood, but also, I would predict, your safety." Violet eyes captured the priceless face of an insulted worker, before said worker smirked playfully. "I'm flattered you are concerned for my wellbeing, Princess."
"Think nothing of it. I only believe that should you try to tell Professor Bonnefoy how to paint correctly your blood will serve as the new watercolour canvas paints we use." He was only able to take one further step from him before a quieter reply was mumbled, "I was offering only a bit of help."
Sighing in exasperation, Roderich decided to cut their conversation off at that point. Gilbert parted from his side, announcing his intention to go take a shower, and Roderich carried on until suspiciously whispered sounds caught his ear.
"...Not right now, we…"
"It will be fine, cher." The two spoke in English; the brunette shuffled closer to the door behind which the sounds emitted. Through a crack between the door and its frame, he placed his view. It captured two figures embracing in the shadows of a darkened, empty classroom. Only one set of blinds were not fully closed, allowing Roderich to recognise…
"Francis, I have to prepare materials for tomorrow's class," Matthew Williams spoke softly against the neck of the art professor.
Francis's long blonde locks spilled over both of their shoulders as he held the smaller, younger male close. He gingerly planted a kiss on Matthew's lips. "I understand. But just five more minutes…" He kissed him again, and again, the younger's arms wrapping around his neck as he released a subtle moan.
Roderich, being the chaste man he was, blushed like a virgin. Which was also exactly the perfect description of him. He had never witnessed a man kissing a woman let alone ever encounter a homosexual exchange of affection. Backing away from the door, he made a fast retreat to the security status quo of his room. It is my first day here, and already there is a secret to be kept, his panicked mind thought as he tried to blur the images from his mind.
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