(no subject)
Yes, DAIR has driven me to write the first fic of my life. This is an extremely self-indulgant story, so you'll have to excuse it. I just wanted to write Dan & Blair arguing/flirting over pretty pictures.
'Young Woman Drawing'
Dan/Blair
1180 words
Takes place after the W internship debacle
*disclaimer: I own neither these characters, nor the works of art referenced. Only this story is mine*
Ostensibly he was going to the Met to see Socrates. The Death of Socrates to be specific. The painting loomed in front of him as he ascended the main staircase. Full of tense movement and dramatic colors, it worked well as a signal of an oncoming change of some kind.
The Death of Socrates, 1787
Jacques-Louis David
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Socrates, ready to take his dose of hemlock, didn’t look to be in the mood for visitors. Dan’s gaze wandered from the philosopher. Imposing Neoclassical paintings lined the long hall and crowds stared up at the framed subjects with a hushed reverence. A large group of tourists made their way down the line, leaving a clear view of a couple of paintings Dan had never seen before. As he advanced towards that corner of the room, he let out an audible gasp. She was standing in front of one of the paintings. He was sure it was her. She was sombre today in tones of grey and black, a winter princess. She was absorbed in what looked like a portrait of a young woman.
A Young Woman Drawing, 1801
Marie-Denise Villers
Metropolitan Museum of Art
The young woman in the painting stared out of the frame with an intense but inscrutable look. Blair stared back at her and it looked as though the two were having a silent conversation that he wasn’t meant to interrupt. She spoke first, and without turning around.
“I can feel you breathing down my neck, Humphrey.”
“Always nice to see the back of your head, Waldorf.” This had the desired effect of getting her to turn around and look at him.
“You know, the last time a boy approached me at an art museum, he turned out to be a prince--”
“I suppose I’m the pauper then? Congratulations, you’ve completed the set.”
“I was going to say that you have a lot to live up to. Louis was very knowledgeable about French art.” She gave him a little smile. “But your way works too.” Dan moved to stand next to her, while she crept an inch forward as if to say we’re not ready to stand on equal ground yet. He tried another tactic.
“What’s this painting you’re looking at? I’ve never seen it before” he leaned over to read the information card.
“It’s kind of a sad story, really,” she said without looking at him. “The painting was misattributed to Jacques-Louis David until recently when someone discovered it’s actually the work of a little-known female artist. They didn’t know the proper title of it either, so they just called it A Young Woman Drawing. Scholars think it’s a self-portrait.”
“It’s such a simple image.”
“But striking,” Blair cut in.
“Yes. It’s probably a good guess to say it’s a self-portrait. I mean, she’s holding the canvas up to herself like it’s a mirror.”
“Yes like a mirror, but not a mirror” scoffed Blair. “I’m not convinced.” Dan took a step back from the painting while Blair stepped closer still.
“Look, there are those two figures in the distance,” said Dan actually pointing at the painting. “Maybe she’s drawing them. Maybe they’re lovers and she’s drawing them.”
“Maybe they’re lovers? Maybe. But that’s extrapolation. Anyway it’s not as though those people are models. They’re just regular people, passing in the distance. She wouldn’t have time to properly draw them.”
“Okay Waldorf,” said Dan crossing his arms. “You obviously have a theory you’ve cooked up. Come on. Out with it.” Blair turned around to face him. She was smiling her conspiratorial I have a scheme, don’t you want to be in on it? smile. She took a step back to be next to him. She was silent long enough to ensure that yes, yes he absolutely wanted to be in on it. She leaned into him and said:
“I think she’s drawing us.” Dan blinked at her.
“What do you mean?” He sputtered.
“Look at her gaze! It’s so full of meaning! It’s brilliant! It’s like she’s making the viewer the subject.” Dan gave her a wry smile.
“But we’re not models. We’re just regular people passing by. She wouldn’t have time to draw us,” he teased.
“I know I dismissed your theory Humphrey, but I’m serious. The look she’s giving us, it’s like she knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Knows us. Like she’s already seen us! Like she’s captured us.” Dan remained unsure, but Blair had asked him to take her seriously and so he did. He scrutinized the painting.
“Well, it is an interesting expression on her face. Very captivating. And the young woman does seem to have more on her mind than a simple self-portrait. Huh, maybe your crackpot theory is right. They have internships here, you know. You should apply and update this useless information.” He tapped the card next to the painting. Blair spared him one scathing look.
“Why, so you could get me fired from that too?” He inhaled sharply as though in pain.
“Touché. About that. I came here hoping to find you--”
“You were stalking me?”
“Not exactly. I have an art history paper to research. The Death of Socrates” (she wrinkled her nose at the mention of this painting) “but I was also hoping to find you. Look, you check Gossip Girl as much as I do! Call it stalking if you want. I did have noble intentions.”
“I call it stalking,” she affirmed.
“Okay. Well. All I wanted to say is, I’m sorry. About everything. I thought I should say it to you in person.” She shook her head forcefully.
“It’s done. We don’t need to talk about it. You cleared everything up with W and it’s all fine now.” She turned back to the young woman in the painting and they resumed their private conversation.
Dan stood rooted to the spot. That was his cue to leave but he couldn’t. Not when he had been having so much fun arguing over a Neoclassical painting with Blair Waldorf of all people. He wished she would look at him. He wished she would lean into his shoulder again and confess another one of her theories to him. He wished…
She spoke to him without looking at him.
“What are you still doing here?”
“I didn’t know I needed permission to stand in front of a painting. At the Met. A public museum.”
“Seriously, Dan.” And this time she did look at him. He was struck by her uncharacteristic use of his first name, and by the odd, burning gleam in her eye.
“Seriously, I’m here to take notes on Socrates. Art critic extraordinaire that you are,” he smiled here to let her know that he was both joking and serious, “would you care to help?” Blair shifted her weight from foot to foot as she thought for a moment. Then she smiled back.
“I dislike David’s work, so it will be more criticism than anything else. But, well, I do love to criticize an Old Master so…” she began walking across the room and Dan fell into place beside her.
The unnamed young woman in the painting continued on with her silent, knowing look in their wake.
'Young Woman Drawing'
Dan/Blair
1180 words
Takes place after the W internship debacle
*disclaimer: I own neither these characters, nor the works of art referenced. Only this story is mine*
Ostensibly he was going to the Met to see Socrates. The Death of Socrates to be specific. The painting loomed in front of him as he ascended the main staircase. Full of tense movement and dramatic colors, it worked well as a signal of an oncoming change of some kind.
The Death of Socrates, 1787
Jacques-Louis David
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Socrates, ready to take his dose of hemlock, didn’t look to be in the mood for visitors. Dan’s gaze wandered from the philosopher. Imposing Neoclassical paintings lined the long hall and crowds stared up at the framed subjects with a hushed reverence. A large group of tourists made their way down the line, leaving a clear view of a couple of paintings Dan had never seen before. As he advanced towards that corner of the room, he let out an audible gasp. She was standing in front of one of the paintings. He was sure it was her. She was sombre today in tones of grey and black, a winter princess. She was absorbed in what looked like a portrait of a young woman.
A Young Woman Drawing, 1801
Marie-Denise Villers
Metropolitan Museum of Art
The young woman in the painting stared out of the frame with an intense but inscrutable look. Blair stared back at her and it looked as though the two were having a silent conversation that he wasn’t meant to interrupt. She spoke first, and without turning around.
“I can feel you breathing down my neck, Humphrey.”
“Always nice to see the back of your head, Waldorf.” This had the desired effect of getting her to turn around and look at him.
“You know, the last time a boy approached me at an art museum, he turned out to be a prince--”
“I suppose I’m the pauper then? Congratulations, you’ve completed the set.”
“I was going to say that you have a lot to live up to. Louis was very knowledgeable about French art.” She gave him a little smile. “But your way works too.” Dan moved to stand next to her, while she crept an inch forward as if to say we’re not ready to stand on equal ground yet. He tried another tactic.
“What’s this painting you’re looking at? I’ve never seen it before” he leaned over to read the information card.
“It’s kind of a sad story, really,” she said without looking at him. “The painting was misattributed to Jacques-Louis David until recently when someone discovered it’s actually the work of a little-known female artist. They didn’t know the proper title of it either, so they just called it A Young Woman Drawing. Scholars think it’s a self-portrait.”
“It’s such a simple image.”
“But striking,” Blair cut in.
“Yes. It’s probably a good guess to say it’s a self-portrait. I mean, she’s holding the canvas up to herself like it’s a mirror.”
“Yes like a mirror, but not a mirror” scoffed Blair. “I’m not convinced.” Dan took a step back from the painting while Blair stepped closer still.
“Look, there are those two figures in the distance,” said Dan actually pointing at the painting. “Maybe she’s drawing them. Maybe they’re lovers and she’s drawing them.”
“Maybe they’re lovers? Maybe. But that’s extrapolation. Anyway it’s not as though those people are models. They’re just regular people, passing in the distance. She wouldn’t have time to properly draw them.”
“Okay Waldorf,” said Dan crossing his arms. “You obviously have a theory you’ve cooked up. Come on. Out with it.” Blair turned around to face him. She was smiling her conspiratorial I have a scheme, don’t you want to be in on it? smile. She took a step back to be next to him. She was silent long enough to ensure that yes, yes he absolutely wanted to be in on it. She leaned into him and said:
“I think she’s drawing us.” Dan blinked at her.
“What do you mean?” He sputtered.
“Look at her gaze! It’s so full of meaning! It’s brilliant! It’s like she’s making the viewer the subject.” Dan gave her a wry smile.
“But we’re not models. We’re just regular people passing by. She wouldn’t have time to draw us,” he teased.
“I know I dismissed your theory Humphrey, but I’m serious. The look she’s giving us, it’s like she knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Knows us. Like she’s already seen us! Like she’s captured us.” Dan remained unsure, but Blair had asked him to take her seriously and so he did. He scrutinized the painting.
“Well, it is an interesting expression on her face. Very captivating. And the young woman does seem to have more on her mind than a simple self-portrait. Huh, maybe your crackpot theory is right. They have internships here, you know. You should apply and update this useless information.” He tapped the card next to the painting. Blair spared him one scathing look.
“Why, so you could get me fired from that too?” He inhaled sharply as though in pain.
“Touché. About that. I came here hoping to find you--”
“You were stalking me?”
“Not exactly. I have an art history paper to research. The Death of Socrates” (she wrinkled her nose at the mention of this painting) “but I was also hoping to find you. Look, you check Gossip Girl as much as I do! Call it stalking if you want. I did have noble intentions.”
“I call it stalking,” she affirmed.
“Okay. Well. All I wanted to say is, I’m sorry. About everything. I thought I should say it to you in person.” She shook her head forcefully.
“It’s done. We don’t need to talk about it. You cleared everything up with W and it’s all fine now.” She turned back to the young woman in the painting and they resumed their private conversation.
Dan stood rooted to the spot. That was his cue to leave but he couldn’t. Not when he had been having so much fun arguing over a Neoclassical painting with Blair Waldorf of all people. He wished she would look at him. He wished she would lean into his shoulder again and confess another one of her theories to him. He wished…
She spoke to him without looking at him.
“What are you still doing here?”
“I didn’t know I needed permission to stand in front of a painting. At the Met. A public museum.”
“Seriously, Dan.” And this time she did look at him. He was struck by her uncharacteristic use of his first name, and by the odd, burning gleam in her eye.
“Seriously, I’m here to take notes on Socrates. Art critic extraordinaire that you are,” he smiled here to let her know that he was both joking and serious, “would you care to help?” Blair shifted her weight from foot to foot as she thought for a moment. Then she smiled back.
“I dislike David’s work, so it will be more criticism than anything else. But, well, I do love to criticize an Old Master so…” she began walking across the room and Dan fell into place beside her.
The unnamed young woman in the painting continued on with her silent, knowing look in their wake.