Woman Feeding Ducks Pt 1 (G)kriadydragonDecember 30 2010, 21:27:17 UTC
The problem with living near a neighborhood that was going down the tubes was that, eventually, someone of interest to the FBI would show up. The FBI would get wind of it and would decide to stake said person-of-interest's place out. And the only convenient location to do that - with an emphasis on convenient - was June's place.
More specifically, Neal's loft.
It was a decision so immediate that Neal didn't have time to clean up. The team arrived cluttering Neal's table with equipment and take out. Neal tried, he really did, under the pretense of clearing some space, to get his easel and the painted canvas sitting on it out of sight and out of mind...
"Please tell me that's not a forgery," Peter said.
But, of course, for once, Neal wasn't fast enough.
"No," Neal said easily, but with a less than easy smile.
"An original?" Diana asked, intrigued and on approach. Neal had no choice but to set the easel down so she could have a look.
The painting was a landscape, a moment caught in Neal's memory during a walk in the park - a little old lady sitting on a bench feeding a small gaggle of ducks. The the location of the bench and the angle had put the lady just right so that, for a moment, it seemed she was nestled safely in a sun-dappled forest, shafts of light pouring through the leaves, instead of a park at the heart of a major city. It had been such a peaceful image that Neal couldn't not paint it.
"Wow, Neal, that is gorgeous," Diana gushed.
Heat flushed Neal's face, making his heart beat a little faster and killing him with the urge to squirm.
"Um... thanks," he said, reaching out to retake the easel and finish its journey to the far corner of the room, turned away so that no one could see.
Diana, lost in her study of the piece, shifted just right to block him.
"No, really, it is. Seriously, you've got more originals? I'd love to see them."
"They're kind of put away, hard to reach," Neal said, then swooped in, grabbed the easel and tried very hard not to look like he was hurrying as he placed it in the corner.
More specifically, Neal's loft.
It was a decision so immediate that Neal didn't have time to clean up. The team arrived cluttering Neal's table with equipment and take out. Neal tried, he really did, under the pretense of clearing some space, to get his easel and the painted canvas sitting on it out of sight and out of mind...
"Please tell me that's not a forgery," Peter said.
But, of course, for once, Neal wasn't fast enough.
"No," Neal said easily, but with a less than easy smile.
"An original?" Diana asked, intrigued and on approach. Neal had no choice but to set the easel down so she could have a look.
The painting was a landscape, a moment caught in Neal's memory during a walk in the park - a little old lady sitting on a bench feeding a small gaggle of ducks. The the location of the bench and the angle had put the lady just right so that, for a moment, it seemed she was nestled safely in a sun-dappled forest, shafts of light pouring through the leaves, instead of a park at the heart of a major city. It had been such a peaceful image that Neal couldn't not paint it.
"Wow, Neal, that is gorgeous," Diana gushed.
Heat flushed Neal's face, making his heart beat a little faster and killing him with the urge to squirm.
"Um... thanks," he said, reaching out to retake the easel and finish its journey to the far corner of the room, turned away so that no one could see.
Diana, lost in her study of the piece, shifted just right to block him.
"No, really, it is. Seriously, you've got more originals? I'd love to see them."
"They're kind of put away, hard to reach," Neal said, then swooped in, grabbed the easel and tried very hard not to look like he was hurrying as he placed it in the corner.
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