(Untitled)

[because_thesky]

The flat sound of fabric being ripped is like a vent for Jude's frustrations, a sound he could imagine occurring within him when he sits down with his pencils and grinds his teeth at the blank sheets of paper he carries everywhere with him, by now, just waiting for something to jump out at him--the tree with the perfect gesture, a bird with wings

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[loveintriangles]

Now there was a face Nessa hadn't seen talked to a long time, which was too bad, because she had rather liked the boy when she first met him. Jude, his name was, but he vanished off the island before he could ever make her another strawberry painting.

Familiar to the ways of this island as she was, she knew she would have to introduce herself again. So she approached the artist, who snorted. She looked at the art on the ground. "Is it amusing?"

[because_thesky]

"Depends on your definition of the word," he says, looking up in time to swallow a comparison to a wank on a boring afternoon. She didn't look like the type to think it a good first impression. "It certainly passes the time."

[loveintriangles]

Nessa might not have looked it, but such a remark would have certainly made her laugh. "I suppose I should introduce myself again. I'm Vanessa Bell. I knew you a past time you were here," she extended a hand cordially. "You sold me a painting."

[because_thesky]

"Didn't know there was a market for them," he quips, surprised. Reaching up, he takes her hand and shakes it, fingers scraping and sticking with residual glue. He fetches it back and wipes it on his trousers like a little boy.

"So what was it of?" If he couldn't find inspiration in life, maybe it would help to know what his last incarnation had gotten up to.

[1000_cranes]

It reminds her of the days when she makes things because she can't quite do anything else, makes art for art's sake and lets it figure out what it wants to be in its own time. She stands and watches him, her arms folded across her chest. She's been running, on her way in for a shower, but, for a moment, she stands and watches him.

"I'm always kinda fascinated by other people's art."

[because_thesky]

"Then I wish I had some to show you," he answers wryly, favoring her with a smile over his shoulder, wiping his hand on his thigh to rid fingers of glue. "Someday, by some miracle, I may actually paint on this."

"And what sort of art do you do," he asks, sensing the admission in the words and turning a bit once his hand is more or less clean.

[1000_cranes]

"Mostly sculpture," says Charlie, and she looks a little embarrassed because she always has a hard time thinking of herself as an actual artist. "But I paint, too. I teach at the school. I do sort of...well, it's origami inspired?"

She flushes, presses one hand against her hot cheek.

"I always get so embarrassed. Look at me. Anyone'd think I was twelve."

[because_thesky]

"I'd hardly think that," he assures her, grinning, enjoying her embarrassment and the sense of having the upper hand it gives him, even if he doesn't need it. "I'm sitting out here ripping up old shirts: the art of folding paper is rather a step up, I'd say.

"I'm Jude, by the way," grin slipping into something softer, because he likes the upper hand, but it won't stop from trying to settle her.

[thirdboxcar]

Walt stands next to the guy for a while, watching as shirt after shirt is being ripped to shreds, before he clears his throat. "Ya need help with that?" He offers, because what else is he supposed to say?

[because_thesky]

Jude breaks from his thoughts with a start, looking over his shoulder in confusion. "Not really," coming out in a question because the offer is nice, but so strange to him.

Art, to Jude, is intense and focused and solitary, when done right: collaboration doesn't come to him naturally, and that hardly seems to be what the bloke is getting at. "I mean, if you're that desperate for a task, have at, but it's nothing dire."

[thirdboxcar]

Walt shrugs, sitting down next to him. "I'm not desperate, but I ain't got nothing to do," he admits.

[because_thesky]

"That certainly seems to be going around," he says dryly, settling the pot of glue with its brush between them, handing over a shirt. It's not as if he has some artistic vision for the board that the man can ruin.