So I'll try to have these done every Wed or Tues night, because that tends to be the only guaranteed time I'll have to do it. >_> Y'all have the whole week to respond, though
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OPEN (unless you happen to be Cali) (Word Count: 352)wickedchild_mdAugust 6 2009, 07:19:44 UTC
A pencil scratched on paper, the only sound in the upstairs loft.
Sunlight streamed through the large expanse of windows. She had watched as the golden beams of light moved from one side of the room to the other. In another couple of hours there would be no light.
He grunted and let the paper he had been working on fall to the floor. Inwardly she frowned, another one not good enough for him. She began to wonder if it wasn’t his style so much as the model. In any case she hoped he would finish soon, her hand knew the hilt of the sword far too well for her liking. Damned artists and their need for perfection.
The scratching stopped. “Done?” She dared to hope.
He shrugged non-committally. Damned artists.
“I can move?” Say yes!
Another shrug. She sheathed the sword and turned toward him. “I’ve been standing here all day and you haven’t so much as fed me!”
His nose wrinkled in displeasure. “This is why I like to work with professional models.”
“You asked me to model for you! ‘You never let me draw you’ you said!”
“My mistake.”
She threw her hands up and walked over, before she punched him in the face she at least wanted to see what he had completed up to that point. When she reached his side her mouth fell open.
“What…what is this?” Her eyes did not believe what they were seeing.
“A work in progress, obviously.” His tone and manner were so nonchalant, even as he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
“I did not model for this!”
“I see what I see. I see what you won’t let me see.”
“You are such an ass!”
“No,” he said. “I am an artiste.”
And then she punched him. Hard. He actually fell over, landing atop the discarded drawings he had of her in the damnable pose save for the clothing he opted to remove on paper. He made her look good though, but the fact remained.
Sunlight streamed through the large expanse of windows. She had watched as the golden beams of light moved from one side of the room to the other. In another couple of hours there would be no light.
He grunted and let the paper he had been working on fall to the floor. Inwardly she frowned, another one not good enough for him. She began to wonder if it wasn’t his style so much as the model. In any case she hoped he would finish soon, her hand knew the hilt of the sword far too well for her liking. Damned artists and their need for perfection.
The scratching stopped. “Done?” She dared to hope.
He shrugged non-committally. Damned artists.
“I can move?” Say yes!
Another shrug. She sheathed the sword and turned toward him. “I’ve been standing here all day and you haven’t so much as fed me!”
His nose wrinkled in displeasure. “This is why I like to work with professional models.”
“You asked me to model for you! ‘You never let me draw you’ you said!”
“My mistake.”
She threw her hands up and walked over, before she punched him in the face she at least wanted to see what he had completed up to that point. When she reached his side her mouth fell open.
“What…what is this?” Her eyes did not believe what they were seeing.
“A work in progress, obviously.” His tone and manner were so nonchalant, even as he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
“I did not model for this!”
“I see what I see. I see what you won’t let me see.”
“You are such an ass!”
“No,” he said. “I am an artiste.”
And then she punched him. Hard. He actually fell over, landing atop the discarded drawings he had of her in the damnable pose save for the clothing he opted to remove on paper. He made her look good though, but the fact remained.
“You made nude drawings of me!”
“It’s called artistic license!”
Damn fucking artists.
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Oh Fedora-kun.
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