White Collar - "Fall Colors"
Title: Fall Colors
Author: TeeJay
whitecollar100 Prompt: Autumn (seasonal prompt)
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for 1x14 'Out Of The Box'
Summary: Central Park in autumn prompts Neal to go back to something he hasn't done in a long time.
Author's Note: This was written for Round 4 of thenewpub 's writing session on June 18, 2011. The prompt was Cities & Skylines - New York. And of course I wrote this with the seasonal prompt in mind too. One fits all, haha! :o)
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
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Neal loves Central Park in autumn. He loves the yellow and red cotton ball-like broadleaf trees against the starkly blue sky, the air that's starting to have a sting to it, the interplay of colors that you don't see during any other time of year.
He always goes home with his mind full of images, colors, impressions that he wants to capture on canvas. He rarely ever does, though.
It's been a long time that he's painted anything that wasn't a forgery or a copy of something preexisting. Sitting in his studio loft, he stares at the empty easel in the corner, and his fingers are suddenly starting to itch. A flurry of warm colors flashes in front of his mind's eye, and he goes to the desk to take out the tubes of acrylic paint and the brushes.
Over an hour later, he pauses for the first time to review his handiwork. It's amazing how he's forgotten just how calming this is, how he can get lost in transferring mental images to canvas. It is then that the realization suddenly hits him.
The last time he's painted an original painting, it was a gift for Kate. A lone tree in a field of white lilies, her favorite flower. He lowers the brush and squints his eyes.
Does it matter now? She is dead, and he thought he was moving on. Maybe he is. Probably he is. He's noticed he starts taking pleasure in flirting with women again-and not just because he needs them to help with a con or other.
He smiles a small smile to himself, reverting his attention back to the painting. The reds and yellows are vibrant, the angles are crafted naturally. He's happy with the result and wonders why he's not done this sooner.
Author: TeeJay
whitecollar100 Prompt: Autumn (seasonal prompt)
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for 1x14 'Out Of The Box'
Summary: Central Park in autumn prompts Neal to go back to something he hasn't done in a long time.
Author's Note: This was written for Round 4 of thenewpub 's writing session on June 18, 2011. The prompt was Cities & Skylines - New York. And of course I wrote this with the seasonal prompt in mind too. One fits all, haha! :o)
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
+-+-+-+-+
Neal loves Central Park in autumn. He loves the yellow and red cotton ball-like broadleaf trees against the starkly blue sky, the air that's starting to have a sting to it, the interplay of colors that you don't see during any other time of year.
He always goes home with his mind full of images, colors, impressions that he wants to capture on canvas. He rarely ever does, though.
It's been a long time that he's painted anything that wasn't a forgery or a copy of something preexisting. Sitting in his studio loft, he stares at the empty easel in the corner, and his fingers are suddenly starting to itch. A flurry of warm colors flashes in front of his mind's eye, and he goes to the desk to take out the tubes of acrylic paint and the brushes.
Over an hour later, he pauses for the first time to review his handiwork. It's amazing how he's forgotten just how calming this is, how he can get lost in transferring mental images to canvas. It is then that the realization suddenly hits him.
The last time he's painted an original painting, it was a gift for Kate. A lone tree in a field of white lilies, her favorite flower. He lowers the brush and squints his eyes.
Does it matter now? She is dead, and he thought he was moving on. Maybe he is. Probably he is. He's noticed he starts taking pleasure in flirting with women again-and not just because he needs them to help with a con or other.
He smiles a small smile to himself, reverting his attention back to the painting. The reds and yellows are vibrant, the angles are crafted naturally. He's happy with the result and wonders why he's not done this sooner.