Earlier Tuesday.maybeunorthadoxJanuary 24 2010, 16:21:12 UTC
Grace was bent over a flyer, painting delicately and with precision, every so often shutting an eye and holding up her work to examine. It was unnecessary, really, being as effortlessly perfect as she was, but still. Grace shifted the circular into more adequate lighting and while she wasn't totally hating the menial task she wasn't entirely sure as to why she'd agreed either. She didn't loathe Jack exactly, but to go out of her way to help him?
Fuck, she really must be bored.
Placing the flyer back against the table, Grace continued to paint, humming tunelessly to herself and rocking her hips from side to side.
Jack came over with another two finished posters, figuring Grace would already be needing more, and found her still working on the first. Huh. That was a bit surprising. "Problem?"
"I don't know, is there?" Grace turned her head and mimicked his expression dryly before returning to her work of art, still shaking her hips to nonexistent music.
Jack laughed, shook his head, and dropped the posters waiting for trees onto the table. "Just wondering why you're moving so slowly," he clarified, heading back to the desk and the waiting stack of blank parchment sheets.
Grace scoffed and held up the flyer again. "I'm trying to make a decent job of your piss poor excuse for a tree. Did you have an epileptic fit during the construction are you just that truly abysmal as an artist?"
Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but whatever, she was getting the hang of drawing on a smaller scale.
"I had to match it to your skill level," Jack replied almost instantly without looking up from what he was writing. "You're the one making the copies, after all."
"Mine or his?" Grace quipped, cocking her head to the door. She set the poster aside and reached for another, biting at the end of her paintbrush wryly. "Because that I could understand. Kid paints like a toddler."
He was going to start cracking up any second. "And yet he's the one working on the door, and you're the one working on the posters." She could snap all she wanted, but Jack's tree was good, and both she and Bret were reproducing it very nicely. Even if she was moving slower than he'd expected.
"And a good thing too he only has to reproduce it once. Can you imagine him painting like that all over your posters? Fuck me dead, no one would come here." She moved the paintbrush from her mouth and returned to the flyer, smirking to herself.
"Fuck you dead? That seems like it would be a waste. Though I understand Cho can draw, so..." He hadn't had a friendship like this in a long time. That was to say, a friendship where said friend gave every outward appearance of hating his guts.
There was Cassandra, he supposed, but that seemed more personal vendetta than anything else, as though she were just actively looking for things to complain about. When Grace bickered with him, he got the distinct impression that it was to keep him on his toes rather than to make him look publicly foolish or incompetent. He appreciated the exercise. The other option was amusing in the short term, but rather tiring if you let it become part of your everyday life, and he had enough on his plate right now.
"You're right." Grace turned, moving to Jack's desk, her paintbrush extended, and ducked around to press it against the bridge of his nose, sliding the bristles down to the tip. "It would be a terrible, awful, tragic waste. If you're nice, maybe, ma-hay-be I'll stick around. Just to save you the downhill spiral my death would inevitably cause on your person. Also, you have something on your face." And, with that, she turned and went back to her table, shifting to a new poster.
Fuck, she really must be bored.
Placing the flyer back against the table, Grace continued to paint, humming tunelessly to herself and rocking her hips from side to side.
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Really. Was there a problem indeed.
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Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but whatever, she was getting the hang of drawing on a smaller scale.
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"And a good thing too he only has to reproduce it once. Can you imagine him painting like that all over your posters? Fuck me dead, no one would come here." She moved the paintbrush from her mouth and returned to the flyer, smirking to herself.
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There was Cassandra, he supposed, but that seemed more personal vendetta than anything else, as though she were just actively looking for things to complain about. When Grace bickered with him, he got the distinct impression that it was to keep him on his toes rather than to make him look publicly foolish or incompetent. He appreciated the exercise. The other option was amusing in the short term, but rather tiring if you let it become part of your everyday life, and he had enough on his plate right now.
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