[Wild Roses]
Title: morning
’Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Sebastien, Hazel
Prompt: 04C "Memory"
Word Count: 383
Rating: G
Notes: same general time period as this, after linked piece.
The studies he did in his own hand, loose designs in pencil and watercolour washes, and shared them when his subject peered nervously through her hair at him. She'd never held still well, which hadn't changed for this. She did her best, shifting as much out of his line of view as she could, and he sketched quickly in deference to her.
They settled, eventually, on a pose in morning sunlight, seated backwards in a woven-backed chair with her chin propped on her crossed wrists. The lines of the sketch and difficulty of capturing the textures of chair, skin, cloth and hair appealed to him. The ease of the pose and the way he'd nearly-accidentally caught a sense of wistfulness flitting across her face appealed to her.
More sketches then, with reference to the work she'd been able to bring with her, shading gradually from his own style towards the tighter lines of the cousin he'd lost, the brother she'd lost. A few of the studies he sent home with her, for her father's use, and got back a reply politely asking if he might spare a few of her sister at some point. He'd nearly spilled coffee on his sketchbook laughing, and wrote back suggesting a trip Elsewhere and a camera. The intricacy would appeal, and it would go much faster than trying to get her sister sprawled comfortably across something in someone else's recognizable territory.
His youngest cousin had brains, for all the flighty. Having correctly identified the smell of coffee, she started bringing small bags as guesting gifts, as freshly roasted as she could get her hands on and in varying grades of darkness, until she found one he obviously liked. He would not have expected it, her being her father's daughter, or from the company she kept. It was a pleasant surprise, and he started keeping teas she favoured, first out of politeness and then out of something he might have described as friendship.
The portrait took a while. Not least because thinking in his cousin's style gave him a headache after a couple of hours. But they prevailed, eventually, fabric stretched on a frame a hand's length square, careful hand-blended pigments capturing sunlight in strawberry blond hair.
A little girl grown up, making a silent salute to a brother she lost early.
’Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Sebastien, Hazel
Prompt: 04C "Memory"
Word Count: 383
Rating: G
Notes: same general time period as this, after linked piece.
The studies he did in his own hand, loose designs in pencil and watercolour washes, and shared them when his subject peered nervously through her hair at him. She'd never held still well, which hadn't changed for this. She did her best, shifting as much out of his line of view as she could, and he sketched quickly in deference to her.
They settled, eventually, on a pose in morning sunlight, seated backwards in a woven-backed chair with her chin propped on her crossed wrists. The lines of the sketch and difficulty of capturing the textures of chair, skin, cloth and hair appealed to him. The ease of the pose and the way he'd nearly-accidentally caught a sense of wistfulness flitting across her face appealed to her.
More sketches then, with reference to the work she'd been able to bring with her, shading gradually from his own style towards the tighter lines of the cousin he'd lost, the brother she'd lost. A few of the studies he sent home with her, for her father's use, and got back a reply politely asking if he might spare a few of her sister at some point. He'd nearly spilled coffee on his sketchbook laughing, and wrote back suggesting a trip Elsewhere and a camera. The intricacy would appeal, and it would go much faster than trying to get her sister sprawled comfortably across something in someone else's recognizable territory.
His youngest cousin had brains, for all the flighty. Having correctly identified the smell of coffee, she started bringing small bags as guesting gifts, as freshly roasted as she could get her hands on and in varying grades of darkness, until she found one he obviously liked. He would not have expected it, her being her father's daughter, or from the company she kept. It was a pleasant surprise, and he started keeping teas she favoured, first out of politeness and then out of something he might have described as friendship.
The portrait took a while. Not least because thinking in his cousin's style gave him a headache after a couple of hours. But they prevailed, eventually, fabric stretched on a frame a hand's length square, careful hand-blended pigments capturing sunlight in strawberry blond hair.
A little girl grown up, making a silent salute to a brother she lost early.