Never an honest word... (rp for dealing_death)
He was learning, very quickly, to find some means of drawing when the darkness descended.
Tonight, thankfully, he was at home with oils and canvas, painting freehand with no charcoal or pencil to guide him. Through the haze over his vision, a vivid storm of reds, blacks, and oranges was coming to life. Piece by piece, he was assembling fragments of a larger picture he couldn't describe or even quite make out, but it was right there at the edges of his awareness.
Without knowing what was to come, he could already tell there was a storm brewing.
When the fog lifted and he could clearly see the monstrosity on the canvas, he worked on adding his own touches in hopes that he could do something with the piece. Sell it, give it away, excise the cancer he'd just put down in oils and hope it didn't come to pass. He rarely understood his visions, and this was no exception.
This vision, this malestrom of fire and brimstone...he didn't want to understand it.
He was just thinking of altering the picture, knowing he never would, when her voice reached him. As he toyed with tubes of green and gray to soften the edges of the smoke in the painting, he heard shouting in the other room and frowned. Glancing up, he stared at the image...
...the dark, slender shadow at the center of a firestorm that seemed to coalesce into two hellish points of red...
Shrugging it off, he dropped the paint and headed for the guest room/home office. "Selene? Baby, everything okay?"
Tonight, thankfully, he was at home with oils and canvas, painting freehand with no charcoal or pencil to guide him. Through the haze over his vision, a vivid storm of reds, blacks, and oranges was coming to life. Piece by piece, he was assembling fragments of a larger picture he couldn't describe or even quite make out, but it was right there at the edges of his awareness.
Without knowing what was to come, he could already tell there was a storm brewing.
When the fog lifted and he could clearly see the monstrosity on the canvas, he worked on adding his own touches in hopes that he could do something with the piece. Sell it, give it away, excise the cancer he'd just put down in oils and hope it didn't come to pass. He rarely understood his visions, and this was no exception.
This vision, this malestrom of fire and brimstone...he didn't want to understand it.
He was just thinking of altering the picture, knowing he never would, when her voice reached him. As he toyed with tubes of green and gray to soften the edges of the smoke in the painting, he heard shouting in the other room and frowned. Glancing up, he stared at the image...
...the dark, slender shadow at the center of a firestorm that seemed to coalesce into two hellish points of red...
Shrugging it off, he dropped the paint and headed for the guest room/home office. "Selene? Baby, everything okay?"