The Artist's Apprentice

[bluedragon1200]

1 x 1 between Grunt and Bluedragon1200.

Name: Darren Jacobs
Age: 28
Appearance
Eye color: Brown
Hair: Dirty blond/light brown in color. Wavy with medium length.
General: Darren is tall and very thin. His hair is usually messy and he always sports thick stubble. He doesn't worry about he dresses, usually a t-shirt and jeans on a good day, sometimes pajama pants and an undershirt.



Darren held a syringe in his hand, shaking. He looked up at his studio apartment. There were paintings everywhere; he had forgotten what color the walls were. His older ones were colorful and bright, depicting beauty and innocence in the world. Then they started to show hunger, poverty, racism, pain, suffering. They made him famous, how every painting showed skill and talent and the harshness of the world. Then everything became very dark. His subjects and how he painted them made people too uncomfortable. There was only cult following left. He only hungered for one thing, which he held in his hand as he looked for a vein.

The tiny prick was nothing. Soon a feeling of euphoria and joy washed over him. The bright colors of the rainbow, splattered around the room, became the colors of the universe and they sang to him. It wasn't as good as the first time. He wanted more; he needed more. The doses became bigger, more often. He tried everything he could find. Even now, Darren had no idea what he just shot into himself or what he had swallowed or how much liqueur he had ingested.

There was a knock on the door. Darren stood and stumbled across the bare, hardwood floors. His heart was pounding in his ears, so loud he thought he might go deaf. The world was spinning and not in the way that made him feel good. He opened his mouth and let out a scream of panic and fear, but it felt like nothing came out. He tried to suck in hair, but it felt as if somebody had reached into his chest and clutched his lungs and heart. His brown eyes became wide with fear. This is how it ends, this is how I die. Finally. Darren fell to the floor, body seizing and jerking. His blonde hair covered his face, sticking to his skin, wet with sweat.

The door opened. He saw feet moving towards him and then it went black.

 

[Machine:]

Alex Newton | 22 years old | Art student
Dark brown, messy hair | Green eyes | Tan skin
5ft 10 in height, lean body. Casual clothes and often carries a messenger bag full of art supplies.

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Alex had been interested in art for quite a long time. Since he was ten years old and watched his elder brother paint for hours on end. It was natural that he would find an interest in it himself. There, he taught himself and practiced day in and day out. Even got himself into a nice art school. But it just wasn't enough. His paintings were nothing but mimics of other artists. Trying to find his own style was what him stuck in a rut. But there was only one artist who he looked up to more than his own brother. Darren Jacobs. He was famous among the students of the school he went to. His work was what kept him going through most of his first year. It was only after that he realized that Darren actually lived in the same town as him that he decided he was going to try and become his student.

It wasn't easy trying to find the man's address. But with his determination, he found it. It wasn't some run down apartment but it wasn't fancy either. Room 707. That was the room where Darren lived. He took the elevator up and walked down the cold hallway. Something felt out of place here. Alex could hear loud rock music playing from one of the other apartment rooms and from another, loud laughter coming from an old married couple. Or so he assumed.

Finally arriving at the door, Alex knocked on the door. He heard muffled footsteps on the other side. It didn't sound normal. It was soon after that he heard a horrid yelp that was cut midway. Alex felt his heart quicken and he knocked on the door again, this time more louder. "H-hello!?" He called as he reached the the doorknob. It was unlocked. Should he go in? Or maybe Darren wasn't home and the place was being robbed? Alex felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he opened the door. The room was dark and smelled like a dumpster. The man coughed but pushed passed the door. He was greeted with the sight of Darren Jacobs collapsed on the ground, his body violently shaking against the hardwood floor. Without thinking, Alex had already reached for his cellphone and dialed 911 as he fell to the ground to help Darren with the little knowledge he had about first aid.

It took about 15 minutes for the ambulance to come and get him. Thanks to the woman on the other end, Alex had helped to extend his life until the professionals came and whisked him away to the hospital. It took an additional 20 minutes for the cops to question him and for the paramedics to take a look at him. He was in shock and covered in the other's vomit. It made him sick to the stomach. Who would have thought, Darren Jacobs, his inspiration, to be a druggie?

Alex couldn't sleep that night. Was he okay? Did he die? After his classes were over, Alex found himself at the hospital. He said he was a close friend to Darren and they granted him a pass to go see him. He hated the smell of a hospital. The smell of old people, all sorts of cleaning supplies and medicine mixed together made his nose burn. But he had found the room that Darren was in and knocked. He waited a few moments before letting himself in. "Hello?"

 

[bluedragon1200]

Darren woke to the sight of a generic hospital room. Sunlight pushed past the blinds and thin curtain. His throat was sore, possibly from vomit, possibly a breathing tube. There was a plastic tube pushing oxygen under his nose. There were wires and tubes everywhere and a large patch over his heart. He felt like shit, like a flaming school bus ran him over, thought it wasn't enough and made a couple extra trips.

"Goddammit." He cursed, rubbing his hand over his face. Someone found him, called 911 and here he was. Alive. It wasn't his intent to overdoes, but it was a thought that crossed his mind. He wasn't "brave" enough to shoot himself, hang himself or the long list of other ways to go out.

If being sick enough to be in a hospital weren't bad enough, they were boring as a Steven Hawking's lecture when you weren't a scientist. People didn't visit Darren. His friends left him, leaving him alone with his paints, drugs, and dealers. Drug dealers are your best friend as long as you have money. As soon as the cops come or you OD, they're no where to be seen. He glanced up at the young man who had just entered his room.

"I think you have the wrong room, kid." He said. His voice was raspy and harsh, adding to his sour disposition.

 

[Machine:]

It was kind of pathetic. Alex wasn't fond of drugs and looking at all the wires that Darren was hooked up to, it made him feel kind of sad. Meeting the other man's eyes, Alex walked into the room plopped his things down into the vacant chair next to the hospital bed. He just stood there, looking at Darren with observant eyes. He looked very pale and weak. Just as one would expect to be. The soft beeping sound of the machines on the opposite side of the bed were the only sound that was made.

After a minute of awkwardness, Alex cleared his throat and looked out the window. "I was the one who found you." He said quietly as he took a seat beside the man. Alex looked straight into Darren's eyes. Almost as though he were judging him. "I used to love your earlier work." He added, leaning back into the padded chair, his legs crossing over one another. "Back before your paintings became dark and ominous." Alex continued to lock eyes with Darren. Letting out a soft sigh, he continued: "Now I understand. And that's why I want you to teach me. Make me your apprentice." His voice was deep and his words were clear. Even after everything that had happened, Alex still desired to become this man's student. Even more so after learning the truth.

Alex sat in the seat and watched with curious eyes. He wondered what the other would say or do. He expected him to say no, right of the bat. But there was no way in hell that he was going to turn back now. Not after what he went through to find this man.

 

[bluedragon1200]

Darren watched the visitor. Dark eyes studied the young man, shadowed by thick brows. The boy pissed him off. Everything about him, from the way he stood, to the way he sat down and camped in the chair. He worked at a university for a while. It wasn't bad work, but it got tiring. There were kids that came in with no idea about anatomy or form, couldn't use a color wheel. Some came in and couldn't handle it. He watched kids go into the world, like chicks out of the nest and unlike baby birds, they fell to the ground and hit it, hard. The sight of paint was like vomit, a stick of charcoal like a piece of dog shit. Art was like a lover, you loved with every fiber of your being or you had a friend with benefits.

Darren shifted in his bed. The hospital robe made him look even more thin. "And why should I take a little shit like you? Two months ago, some kid came in with degrees and honors from a fancy art institutes and I turned him down." He glared at the young man, who seemed reluctant to turn away. His voice retained the deep gravel. "What makes you think you understand? If you did, you would have left me there. You said it yourself, 'I used to love your work.' You and everybody else."

Hid brown eyes stayed on the kid. The boy hunted down his apartment and bothered to get him to a hospital. It was far more than anyone else would have done. It looked like it took a decent amount of courage to come here. He probably knew Darren didn't take students.