Logs:Brontide
| Brontide | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2019-12-11 "Hey, would you buy this?" |
| Location | |
It seems that winter is finally starting to get the picture. Some snow finally fell early this morning, dusting the city with a thin white layer. New York being what it is, unfortunately, it didn't take long for it to turn into grey and brown mush. The late afternoon sun, hiding behind the clouds, isn't exactly doing a great job at melting it away. Still, Sarah tries to take it as a good thing, bundled up in her giant puffy rainbow striped jacket, patch-covered jeans, and purple boots. A little snow now maybe means more snow later, and she's heard mention of snowball fights. She still has some paint on her hands and around her fingernails from her day at Chimaera, smears of pinks, oranges, and yellows. Angie walks beside her, carrying the (finally finished!) painting she's been working on while not working, or at Evolve, or (avoiding) home. "I'm telling you, you should set up your table somewhere here for the winter," he's saying, nodding at the area around the dog park as they pass by. "Maybe we can get you some walls for your tent, you can hang up more good shit like this. Be close to home in case you get cold." "I don't know," she answers, "There's all sorts of rules for that kind of thing. I can't set up on a walkway or near benches or on a fence, and there's a limit to how big an art display can be and everything. This place is nothing but walkways and benches, and that's before even finding room for my set-up. I don't even know if the people that come through this area would be interested in that." Angie gives her a 'duh' sort of look. "You realize that last one is easy to figure out?" Before she can ask what that even means, Angie grabs her sleeve to pull her over to the closest bench. It holds a lone occupant that Sarah finds familiar but can't place, which does nothing to stop the already rising mortification when Angie flips the canvas around to hold it out and ask, "Hey, would you buy this?" The background of the painting is nothing more than wide swaths of ivory and eggshell to try and break up the large expanse of white that occupies the canvas. Maybe two and a half feet tall, and half as wide, the main subject of the painting is a tree, it's branches budding and just starting to leave, it's roots spiraling down into a craggy, sprouting double helix. The whole of it is painted in bright colors of all shades that fade and blend into one another; keeping it from becoming a muddy mess had taken ages. "Sorry for bothering you," she murmurs, face hot as she lightly kicks at the back of Angie's ankle. Catriona comes out to the park to think in peace, away from her roommate and the noise of the dorm and the probability that her mother will call. It's cold, sure, but it's private. And sure, no one talks to her in the dorm, but here she doesn't even matter to the passerby. Their eyes slide over her and she feels comfortably invisible, able to zone out in peace. When Angie addresses her, she doesn't even think it's her, at first, because how could it be? She even points at herself and asks, "Me?" before she looks at the picture and stops thinking about anything at all. It's gorgeous. A tree of life, but not the symbol other people use; Catriona's never connected with that one. No, this one is the kind of life she knows, the basic building block of a DNA helix and the burst of branches coming out of the top. Vibrant colors everywhere. It's not realistic but it's real, in a way that most of her life hasn't been. She's captivated. "Yes," she says, finally, unable to look away from the painting. "Definitely. If you're offering. I mean. Um." Angie looks at Sarah with raised eyebrows, blue eyes cheerful. "See?" he says while nudging her with an elbow, a hint of pride in his voice. "You're already attracting customers." Sarah pushes his elbow away, stepping out of nudging range. "I'm glad you like it so much," she tells the girl on the bench. Phrasing it that way seems like a bit of an understatement, but it's hard to enjoy someone else enjoying your work when it's been rudely facilitated by one's older sibling. "Um, I guess it can be for sale? I don't really have a price or anything for it, though." "You're welcome to name one," Angie is quick to add on. Catriona blinks and looks up at the artist and oh, it's Sarah, of course it's Sarah. Her stomach sinks. At least Sarah doesn't seem to recognize her, and the painting really is beautiful, and if Sarah's willing to sell it, it's not... wrong of her to buy it. People take money from people they hate all the time. She takes a deep breath. Should she identify herself? Probably not. Let Sarah ignore it if she wants. "I don't... really know anything about art," she hedges, running through the prices her parents have paid recently. "$2500? Is that too little?" It's Catriona's hesitance that really rings a bell. Sarah's brow furrows with thought as she does her best not to stare. She's sure she knows her. Opening her mouth to ask if they've met, it ends up falling open at the offered price, her mind going blank. "That's not... I mean..." she stammers. Sliding up to her shoulder, Angie takes over with eager charm. "That's definitely a great starting price," he says in an agreeable fashion. Sarah watches, shock turning into distant horror, as Angie catches Catriona's eyes. "But you have to think about the material cost, and time that went into it too, you know?" "No, you don't," Sarah tries to speak up, voice weak. "That price was..." She can't say that price is fine, even as much as a small part of her wants to. That's nearly a month's rent. But as much as Catriona may like it, as much as Sarah enjoyed making it, it's not worth that. It is too late on one front, however. Angie's powers have already flared up, pushing behind his eyes and coming through his gaze. How much money do you have, name a price, name a price. He's also fast to dart in at Sarah's hesitation, nudging her again. "Don't be modest, it's a great painting. Isn't it?" he asks Catriona, grinning. Stupid, she thinks, and bites her tongue so she doesn't say anything and let them know she's stupid too. She's insulted Sarah again, how can she keep doing this? "I'm sorry," Catriona says. "I can... I can pay more. $3000?" She won't have much money for the rest of the semester, but that's fine, it's not like she ever really spends anything outside of school expenses and her parents pay that. "It's really beautiful," she says, when Angie asks. "I think it's, um." Is it a stupid thing to say? Maybe, but she's going to say it. "I think it's the loveliest painting I've ever seen." Arms wrapping around her stomach, Sarah bites her lip, shaking her head. "No, that's not-- I mean, thank you, I really appreciate it." She thinks. If it's real. "But you don't have to pay that much, really." Inching away from Angie again, she can't even look over at him. "Sarah, come on." Angie's flippant tone chills her more than the weather could. "She said it's the best painting she's ever seen. Don't you think that's worth three thousand dollars?" Her arms tighten around her stomach, the back of her neck prickling. She does her best to keep her expression neutral, all while her shoulders curl inward. "I think the first price was more fair," she says truthfully. "But, please, it's not-" "The first price it is!" Angie cuts her off, this time with his own tap of the toe to the back of Sarah's ankle. "Okay," Catriona says, a little uncertain. Something's wrong here, in Sarah's body language and in her... friend?, but she has no idea what it is or what she should say or even if she should say something. Better not, she decides. It seems like she insults Sarah every time she opens her mouth, and until she can figure out how not to do that, she had better just... not. "Is a check okay?" she asks. "I mean. If you're willing to sell it now. If not that's completely fine." "A check is great," Angie nods. "Congrats on buying your first official Sarah Obenhaus painting! So spelling that is O-B-E..." Sarah zones out, breath tight in her chest. When she blinks, Angie is suddenly handing her painting over and reaching for the offered check. Somehow, her arms unfold from around herself before she--rather rudely, she thinks, her face heating with shame--snatches the check out of Cat's hand before Angie can even touch it. "Sorry. Thank you. Sorry, really sorry," is all she can blab. Stuffing the piece of paper into her pocket like it burns her, Sarah is the one to pull a protesting Angie away this time, hand locked on his wrist in an iron grip. Catriona is pretty sure that was weird, what just happened, but she has no idea how she would explain why it was weird. Besides, maybe it's just what happens when you sell a painting to someone you don't like. She doesn't know much about art, but she does know it's really personal, and maybe it's hard to let it go. Well, she has it now. She's going to hang it above her bed, so she can look up and remember why she's doing what she's doing. Why she's in premed: to protect life, any way she can, like she always wanted to. Why she's trying to be better: because it's the right thing to do, like Sarah said. Why she always has to try. She holds the painting gently and stands up to go back to her dorm. Totally worth it. | |
