Room 321, Wednesday Night
Sean had had a long day at work, doubly so since most of the evening had been spent handwavily training Savannah's replacement. Who also happened to be one of her best friends, so yeah he just knew she was going to report back to Savannah. His sister and her friend gave him migraines sometimes, man.
As a result, he was sprawled out on the floor in front of the television, paying absolutely no attention to what he was watching.
And then his cell phone rang.
Cursing under his breath, he rolled over enough to grab the phone from where it'd skittered off to. Oh, hey, that was Bryce's number. Bryce, who'd called him maybe six times in the past three years.
"What's up?"
"I'm reasonably certain your baby sister just sent me a painting."
"She's your baby sister, too," Sean corrected automatically. "And why do you say that?"
"Because someone just sent me a painting that is quite obviously of me playing the guitar," Bryce replied, sitting at his desk and looking across the office to where he'd had the painting hung.
"What makes you think it's Savannah's doing?" Sean asked, already stifling the urge to smack his sister upside the head.
"How many artists do I know, Sean? Ones that paint? Just one."
"Someone could've had it commissioned," Sean countered.
"Then the artist would've signed it," Bryce retorted. "It's not signed."
Sean sighed. "Take a picture and send it to my email," he said, reluctantly getting to his feet and making his way over to the desk.
"Bossy bossy."
"Just do it."
A minute later, Sean was looking at the picture Bryce had sent him. And, as much as he wanted to deny it, the painting was unmistakably Savannah's style. He'd known her for three years; he knew what her style looked like.
"Yeah, that's from Savannah," he said with a sigh.
"... why?"
"Hell if I know, little brother. Hell if I know. You've given her only marginal reasons to like you, you still half want to kill her, and she decided you were a good subject anyway." Sean was trying to keep the frustration and the flail out of his voice and not succeeding at either.
"She's... a decent enough kid," Bryce said, sounding almost like the words were hurting him to say... and yeah, they probably were. It was hard for a sorcerer to get over the inborn racial prejudice, even for a sister.
"Too good for our family, that's for sure." There was something in Sean's voice that might or might not've been defeat, depending on how willing Bryce was to read into it.
Which, Bryce being Bryce, was not at all.
There was another couple minutes of awkward conversation before the brothers said their goodbyes. Sean just sat there, looking at the painting.
God, he hoped this overture wasn't going to bite Savannah in the ass someday.
As a result, he was sprawled out on the floor in front of the television, paying absolutely no attention to what he was watching.
And then his cell phone rang.
Cursing under his breath, he rolled over enough to grab the phone from where it'd skittered off to. Oh, hey, that was Bryce's number. Bryce, who'd called him maybe six times in the past three years.
"What's up?"
"I'm reasonably certain your baby sister just sent me a painting."
"She's your baby sister, too," Sean corrected automatically. "And why do you say that?"
"Because someone just sent me a painting that is quite obviously of me playing the guitar," Bryce replied, sitting at his desk and looking across the office to where he'd had the painting hung.
"What makes you think it's Savannah's doing?" Sean asked, already stifling the urge to smack his sister upside the head.
"How many artists do I know, Sean? Ones that paint? Just one."
"Someone could've had it commissioned," Sean countered.
"Then the artist would've signed it," Bryce retorted. "It's not signed."
Sean sighed. "Take a picture and send it to my email," he said, reluctantly getting to his feet and making his way over to the desk.
"Bossy bossy."
"Just do it."
A minute later, Sean was looking at the picture Bryce had sent him. And, as much as he wanted to deny it, the painting was unmistakably Savannah's style. He'd known her for three years; he knew what her style looked like.
"Yeah, that's from Savannah," he said with a sigh.
"... why?"
"Hell if I know, little brother. Hell if I know. You've given her only marginal reasons to like you, you still half want to kill her, and she decided you were a good subject anyway." Sean was trying to keep the frustration and the flail out of his voice and not succeeding at either.
"She's... a decent enough kid," Bryce said, sounding almost like the words were hurting him to say... and yeah, they probably were. It was hard for a sorcerer to get over the inborn racial prejudice, even for a sister.
"Too good for our family, that's for sure." There was something in Sean's voice that might or might not've been defeat, depending on how willing Bryce was to read into it.
Which, Bryce being Bryce, was not at all.
There was another couple minutes of awkward conversation before the brothers said their goodbyes. Sean just sat there, looking at the painting.
God, he hoped this overture wasn't going to bite Savannah in the ass someday.