Matte Canvas

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Kitti, Jun 25, 2010.

  1. [size=-3]Kitti and Ocha <3​

    England, 1615; Richard Chandler

    The woman, she was the most beautiful creature that Richard had even seen. She could not possibly be real, he argued with himself. He must be going mad, for the woman was too ethereal and charming to exist in the same reality as he himself lived. Yet there she was, each day that he hurried from his home to the park, praying that she would be there and expecting her to have vanished. Each day, with his plain canvas, he painted her with the scenery ever changing. It frustrated Richard to no end, these paintings. No matter how hard he tried, he could never truly capture her as he saw her. The painting lacked the delicate wisp of her hair as it trailed from beneath the hem of her bonnet, or the perfect rose hue of her mouth curved in a gracious smile.

    Each painting that Richard had at home, however, merely compiled in his growing obsession with the woman. He would stare fondly at the pictures, refreshing him memory of each day with his once stark white canvases, now painted in gay colors with the summer and, as time progressed, the more somber tones of the approaching winter. Richard had stayed hidden, all the while, his courage waxing and waning as he struggled to meet the woman he had begun to love through his painting. She was not only beautiful, she was smart; one of his paintings captured her dipping her quill in ink to finish her letter. Talented, he had heard her sing to the birds when she thought herself to be alone... She was kind, offering others her seat. He loved her more than he could ever imagine loving another person.

    Today would be the day, Richard thought to himself, his hands free of his canvas and brushes in favor instead of a single white lily. Richard worked hard not to skip to her, equally as hard not to bolt away. She looked up at him as he approached and he dropped to one knee, his color rising on his face. Cheeks burning, he offered up the flower to the woman before him.
  2. John

    He nodded to Jason, who pulled out a small device that he pointed at the camera in the room, turning it off. He knew Jason had that with him and was glad he gave it to him for times when they needed to be sure no one was watching or could hear them. Jason proceeded to go and close the door and lock it before sitting back down with Gwen. "When I got here, I didn't trust this place, especially when Morty wasn't around. After a while, I started to view it as home. I never could shake that feeling though, of something not adding up. Until recently, things were adding up, but I found something that didn't make sense and changed that. I'm looking into it in secret. No one can know though. I don't know who is or isn't compromised."


    He heard Belle behind him. "Mind closing and locking the door on your way in? I'd like to take off my mask but can't with the thought of Blair seeing." He punched the bag again.

  3. Richard was crimson and possibly other colors, he wasn't truly aware. the woman had no idea who he was. He was both strangely pleased - did this mean he had been careful enough, she hadn't seen him lovingly painting each portrait of her? But also sad, was he a stranger to her? He felt altogether sick with shame and embarrassment but he couldn't help himself. Yet there was something about her that compelled him. He needed to know this woman.

    "Y-yes, fair lady, this flower is for you though it could never hope to match your beauty - perchance I have faulted in shaming the flower but I could not resist in presenting such a maiden with a token. I apologize if I am being uncouth, if my words do not come out right, but it would please me greatly if you would let me stay and talk with you..."

    Richard couldn't believe he'd said all that, he felt sure that she would lift one dainty little booted foot and flatten his nose further with it. Not that she was cruel, he thought, but he would probably have deserved it. He waited expectantly for her, the pastel colors flowing around him like background noise and the pale scents of the flowers around him could not ever distract his as he gazed hopefully into her eyes.
  4. "Thank you kindly, but I must decline, it would not be proper," is what she should have said, but Anna was not talking with words of wisdom, nor was she saying anything that she thought out first.

    "I thought perhaps you a painter with those hands, but it does seem that you are a poet," she instead murmured while she hid an impish grin behind the lily she was smelling. This was no good. She was an evil woman for sure to be doing this, but Anna had never had someone talk to her like that before. She was both amazed and curious. How was it this man was so earnest about her?

    Not for a moment did she think him some boisterous cad who liked to play with the hearts and minds of any woman that took his fancy. No, he was sincere. One afternoon of talking was hardly the start of anything nefarious.

  5. Richard smiled broadly, he felt as though his heart were soaring and his every dream had just become a reality. For a few moments he was too stunned to speak, but he quickly stood, nearly tripping over himself as he sat on the bench next to her, trying to pry his gaze from her eyes, twinkling gaily now and she seemed so happy. Normally, she seemed at peace or melancholy depending on the sweet songbirds but for her to look this truly happy, his fingers itched to paint.

    Slowly, feeling deficient in mental capabilities, he realized he had asked her to talk and was now stupidly remaining silent! How unusual she must think him, he would hate for her to lose interest and wander away. "I-I'm Richard, my lady, a humble painter". Not the truth entirely, but close enough. He was Richard, he was a humble man, and he was a painter. It was embarrassing to admit to being the runt pup of a duke's bountiful litter. "I have seen you often, your beauty strikes me each time, but I do not know your name and while a flower may blossom and be loved for its winsome quality, it must be named in the eye of the beholder". He hoped he was not making her feel awkward, his lavish praise ought to be stinted but he couldn't help himself. Everything he thought of her was grace and beauty. He was dazzled by her.
  6. John

    He nodded at the first part. He was taken aback when she said she wanted to go back to Moscow. She always talked about how she didn't like that trip, guess she liked it after all. He smiled at her. "I'd really like that." He held her hand.

  7. Richard looked away, slightly embarrassed. He would not like to lie to her, but if he continued he was sure he would seem obsessed and she was already becoming a little shy in his presence, he thought, biting his lip. Richard took a moment to try to collect himself, but he couldn't help but think of her name, meaning from its Latin origin 'Grace'. It was so apt, he smiled to himself and formed an answer.

    "If I may call you Anna, simply... But yes, anyway.... Anna? I paint portraits, lately I've expanded and have several paintings contracted that I have done for a few members of nobility. They pay very well for what I consider little talent, but it's all the same to me..." his father, who told him that it was the best work he'd ever seen, but only after he had been inspired by Anna.... A man named Harris, he had been irritating but paid a pretty sum... His father couldn't now he was taking money for painting, he would call it shaming the name. The subjects couldn't know of his station, or they would tell him he was being improper. In short, Richard could not fully be Richard. It was all right, usually, he liked better the side of him that painted.

    "Do you have any diverting talents?"
  8. "Talents? I?" This was unexpected. She had thought to perhaps ask about what he'd prefer to paint if given a patron that was interested in more then family portraits, but he had turn the tables and asked about her instead.

    "My stitch work is horrible," she said in thought, a finger absently on her lower lip, "and I can only sing well enough that I, myself, can tolerate it nor be singled out in a group." What was she good at really? "I think that perhaps there isn't much art in my home, and my father was just grateful that I took to learned matters."

    Then not wanting him to take pity on her, she smiled at him kindly. "Though I do enjoy that which is created by others. I suppose someday I would like to see if I have any ability with color." Now why did she say that? It was true that she admired and maybe even at times envied artisans, but when was she going to have a chance to learn to paint or any other such thing?
  9. Amadeus

    He nearly choked on the drink as the priest told him that was the incorrect thing to do. Fuck you, I’ll drink it all down. Chug chug chug. Amadeus, you are the best a man can get. He rolled his eyes at his thought and simply decided to lower the chalice, the liquid having been pleasant against his dry tongue. Now, twas time for the pit that lead to damnation.

    He approached it with a light sway in his hips and annoyance splashed along his demeanor. His eyes were tempted to flicker over to Shilia for reassurance, but remained glued to the high priest. Amadeus wasn’t sure if the reason was entrancement or instinct. Even as the warmth traveled to his heart and stirred a bright emotion within his soul, Amadeus felt the same, dull nip at the back of his skull. Something horrible was going to happen, and he willingly became a part of it. Why? Did he truly want death? Perhaps this was his method of suicide, just too cowardly to take it out upon himself. But then why did he come, if this was truly a quest to gain immortality? His brows furrowed. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He just knew he was a vulnerable sheep to the herd of wolves.

    The words flowing through the priests mouth entered from one ear to the other, light striking him, revealing to Amadeus the demon he truly saw the church worship. Yet, he remained unimpressed. Glad to see the special affects. What’s next, turning water into alcohol, because if your going to do so, please do so immediately. Lights emitted from his cup, and he held it away from him as much as possible This better be seventy five percent alcohol goddamn it.

    Trickles of water interrupted him as he felt a pleasant, cool tap bounce against his skin. “That’s bizarre.” He claimed lightly to himself with a little smile. It felt...nice. Relaxing. The part of him that was restored began to understand the serenity and kindness that life could provide him, even if it was as simple as a refreshing cleansing of water. That serenity was broken as soon as it had begun. He heard exclamations of pain and he initially thought it was his own head. Why would he be screaming at himself, now that he was so at ease? But his head turned back, lazy and submissive, to the carnage before him. Blistering, yelling; the rain. How could something so calming to him, hurt others around him? Surely, something happened in the ceremony that caused this. But why, why the needless pain and suffering?

    That’s what this church is all about...blood and hurt. Sadistic pleasure. I’m going to be buried next to Celeste, arent I ? Throat slashed. He grimaced, seeing the daggers in their hands and knowing that is what was to happen to him if he didn’t act soon. Exit. Get out. Anyway to get out. His eyes strayed over to Shilia. He wasn’t sure if she was truly in any danger, but he felt he owed something to her. Get her out, maybe she’ll protect you on the way out.

    He calmly scooted over to her and mumbled “Remember when you said if I felt uncomfortable you’d sneak me out? Well I’m feeling mighty uncomfortable now.” His eyes narrowed slightly. He wondered if she knew this sort of thing would arise

  10. Anna's eyes went wide. "I have little problem coming to the park," she said in amazement, "but are you sure you want to waste your paints on me?" Surely a painter with some skill would find it bored to tutor another in the task unless teaching was their true calling. Yet, she couldn't help but be hopeful. It was a wonderful opportunity and she'd get to meet with Richard again. There was nothing improper about this at all!

    That's when the little voice inside her head got a little louder. What exactly did this man, who she barely knew, mean to her? She shushed it by telling that nagging voice that he meant nothing, not really. It was just that he was nice, and seemed to enjoy her company. That he was easy to talk to and seemed to have a friendly manner were just incidental things. Besides, all he'd be doing is training her in a task. Nothing else!

    The internal war lasted but a moment. All smiles, Anna belatedly realized that he had taken her hand, and sadly released it. He had warm hands, and she felt her hands had fit nicely within his.

    "Could we try tomorrow if it's not too much trouble?"

  11. Richard resisted the urge to leap to his cheer cheering. She wanted to see him tomorrow, she was not only not intimidated or disgusted by him, she wanted to see him! He grinned and nodded earnestly, his eyes wide with excitement. He could not wait to run and tell his father, his patient father who put up with his youngest sons whimsy. Richard suspected that in part, it was because his mother had been a little bit incorrigible and Richard had been her baby son, her precious cherub.

    Richard had barely managed the words "I would like nothing more th-" before a loud voice interrupted. A tall man, slightly stooped in stature but roughly six feet in height appeared on the path, booming as though the park was his own private garden "Anna, there you are. I have found you, and lucky that I did too" he shot a distrustful glance at Richard before gripping her hand with his own to tug her up from her sitting position.

    Richard stood as well, but only to passively retreat. This man was the sort who would get angry with Richard if he tried to say anything in his own defense, or Anna's, though she did not appear pleased judging by the expression on her face. Silently, his eyes met hers for a brief moment and he asked intently as he could with just a glance "Who?"
  12. Of all the people Anna did not want to see in the Park, it had to be him. Someone from the household must have told him that she often went to the park in the day. If he was going to ruin her one retreat, how long could she possibly bear this, and only a day into it!

    "You're hurting me," Anna said in a soft but with a crispness in her words until her wrist was returned to her. She rubbed it. "M'lord, shall I introduce you to my tutor Richard?" she said and then continued as if he had agreed. "Richard, this is, as of yesterday, fiancee, Lord Harris of Gravely Shores." Very much unwanted and unneeded fiancee thank you very much!

    Then to keep his attention off of Richard any longer she looked at Harris and at least didn't look like she'd wish he'd get lost at sea. "Why pray where you looking for me m'lord?"

  13. Richard couldn't move, he felt as if time had stopped and he was frozen in his tracks, nothing more than a statue to observe the destruction of his every wild hope and desperate dream. The exchange between them seem to flow around him, like a current he was not a part of at all. Richard did not want to move, did not want to appear to abandon her and he fumbled for reasons, though his mind seemed to be working slower than normal, at a stunned and tedious pace.

    "Then, tomorrow, yes, painting. I'll bring paints, canvases... I bid you good day, my lord, lady. I am a very busy man, I have a portrait I must complete... Must go prepare". Richard was thoroughly distracted, and his hasty retreat made him look more scatter-brained than even he truly was. He wanted to see her, and not be seen as only a lowly painter, although that was how he saw himself. It was not good enough for her. She deserved more and he searched for an answer.

    Minutes later, he approached the door of his father's study. "Father, might I ask a favor of you, as your ever loyal son?" Richard shamelessly tried to appeal. This was important to him, and a resounding laugh from the room told Richard that it had not fallen vainly on deaf ears. "Do come in, little dukeling, and be heard by your aging patriarch".
  14. What Harris might think was important was at the moment interrupted by Richard choosing to leave. Not that she could really blame him, there was little reason to stay. She hoped, truly hoped, that he did indeed intend to come back tomorrow to paint. Anna wanted very much to see him again, and she tried not to think that the only reason was to not feel like she was the property of Lord Harris

    That was the problem though, there wasn't any reason for Richard to return. After all, he had chosen to talk to her due to admiration, though she couldn't understand why, but now that he knew that she was intended for another, what reason did he have to see her again.

    No, Anna doubted that Richard would return tomorrow and while this did not make her depressed, there was a melancholy that descended upon her.

    "You were saying m'lord," Anna hadn't realized she had watched Richard as he was departing until she looked over once more at her fiancee.

  15. "Father, I come knowing that I am nothing yet but a task on my aging parent..." he began but his father waved him off. "Just ask, my child. I have never been able to deny you a treat to make your eyes shine in the way Ermine's once glittered". His mother, Richard thought, it was why his father indulged him and it made him a little sad to think that it must be painful for his father to see his wife's favored baby son grown to take on her traits, if in a man's way. No time to consider it now, and Richard quickly picked up again on the thread of conversation.

    "I want to hold a ball, a masked ball! In celebration of the engagement of the good lady Anna to the dour Lord Harris" Richard smiled winningly at his father. "Lord Everette would look like a marvelous fellow, were he to host such a ball... and his son might be forced to woo a woman and make something of himself?" he was teasing in part, but he knew that the agendas were real. His father laughed.

    "I am curious to know what you are hoping to achieve, but the generous matriarch that once led Lord Harris's estate, his mother I believe, has long been a friend and so I have little qualm in doing this for you. I will announce it today, it will be held in two days time. Is that all, son?"

    "Yes, father. If I may take my leave, I am going to go paint in my studio. I'll likely stay there tonight, please tell the household not to fret over me".