Painting the World (Blake/Open)

Blake had, for some time, had a very well developed world inside his head. More than one, in fact, but one in particular--designated the ‘devil religion’ world--he had spent a lot of time illustrating recently. Scenes, landscapes, details of statues and the remains of rituals. Unfortunately, however well detailed the world might be in his mind, that didn’t mean it transferred very well to paper. The vision in his mind would shift angles, slightly, or lighting, or just change, or a new one would shove its way in and the one he’d been trying to draw was shoved aside. It was incredibly frustrating; his own brain was conspiring against him.

It had been true for a while, though, so Blake had been forced to find a way around it, mainly by finding something that resembled some part of his world, drawing that and then adapting it to suit his world. Which, since the world was built around an evil, corrupted religion, meant finding a lot of religious things, drawing them, and then corrupting them. That much, at least, was fun, even if he had to tell his parents that the drawings were all his ideas of what a mutant church would look like.

This particular day he felt like working on details, so he’d snuck inside an ornate church relatively nearby, and begun drawing whatever small, interesting bits he could find. The bases of pillars, carvings in the wall or benches, tile work in the floor, and every other interesting detail he could find (or find a base for) were all drawn, and then had edits drawn over them to save the general outlines of his idea for what to corrupt them into. He wanted to get as many details drawn as possible, so fully changing the sketches wasn’t possible--or at least not wise--so Blake only added the minimum amount necessary for him to be sure he’d remember.

He also sketched while walking from one detail to another, which wasn’t too horrible of an idea. Most of the time he only had to navigate around stationary pillars and benches, with the occasional equally-stationary person adding complication, and a glance up before he started walking, combined with the edge of his vision as he walked, was enough warning for him to move around everything in his way, even if he occasionally ended up a bit to the side of where he’d intended to be. The easel that appeared in his way was unexpected, but easy enough to step around. The solid thing that he immediately ran into, only to fall down, was also unexpected, and Blake’s expression as he looked up was a mix of annoyance and confusion.

Oh. That was a person there. Alright then. Now where had she come from?

Blake looked up with an expression that he hoped was closer to a scowl and suspected looked more like a pout. The girl’s tone was entirely too casual, like she wasn’t at all surprised she’d knocked someone over, and was just repeating the necessary words so he couldn’t say anything. Well, he figured it out anyway. “I’m fine.” No thanks to you, was unstated, but should be quite understandable.

…And she laughed at him! She knocked him over and then laughed at him! Blake ignored the hand she held out; she’d probably just push him back over again, anyway, and climbed back to his feet with only a bit of awkwardness. And that was purely due to having to hold onto his sketchbook and pencils while standing up; it made balancing awkward.

“Yes.” That should have been obvious. He had a sketchbook, didn’t he? Why would he have a sketchbook if he wasn’t there for art?

He was not going to ask why she was there. Even if he kind of wondered why she was painting this place in particular. Most art with churches was pretty old fashioned; his didn’t count because it was about fictional, fantasy churches. Anyway he didn’t want to make her think he cared; way too many girls got away with being rude just because some people thought they were pretty. He wasn’t going to put up with it.

Blake stared. And then continued staring. “Uh….” He really had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. It was an entire level of arrogance beyond what he’d ever encountered before. Or ignorance. Or… something. He had absolutely no idea. “Okay?”

He held his sketchbook out so she could see it; a page of detailed pencil drawing of the base of a column, pen marks added over it to indicate his ideas of how to change the figures and shapes to more ominous ones. “I’m not trying to draw this church.”

...That was a condescending smile. Most smiles were, but still. That was a condescending smile.

“...Yes.” The response was forced, reluctant, and altogether scowly. As was Blake’s expression. Scowling, after all, was much more mature and dignified than sulking, and Blake was a very mature and dignified person. In behavior, if not yet in height.

And at that point, Blake was back to having no idea. Was the woman being sarcastic? Or genuine? Either option seemed ridiculous, and Persi accepted his sketchbook back with more confusion than anything else. Adults didn’t like his artwork, especially when it was dark. But adults also weren’t sarcastic. And… seriously, was this woman a robot or something? Or was there some third, not genuine or sarcastic method of conversing that Blake had somehow never been aware of?

“...What are you… painting?” was Blake’s distinctly feeble attempt to change the subject. Hopefully not to one where the woman would just confuse him more.

“Statues?” That caught Blake’s attention. He hadn’t been able to do much with statues, though he wanted to. Most statues he could find were just too… sappy, or else too standardized, to work. There were only so many variants of ‘man on a horse’ that you could make before it just got dull. Church statues might be more interesting. The woman didn’t seem to hear him, though, probably because he’d spoken automatically and not very loudly as a result. Just as well; one word questions weren’t very eloquent.

Persi nodded at her invitation, stepping around to look at the painting without hesitating. A quick glance let his eyes rest on the statues. Not quite what he’d hoped for, but definitely better than he could find most places. He wanted to copy the images of the statues in his sketchbook, but that would be more than a bit rude, and not nearly as good as drawing from the real things anyway. “Do you have pictures? Of the statues?”

Blake’s nose wrinkled in automatic distaste at the woman’s suggestion, but he hid the expression as soon as he could. It wasn’t dignified. Even if it was accurate. Blake didn’t want to be anyone’s assistant. Or anything, really. He already knew he was going to have to get a job next summer; he was perfectly entitled to do nothing this summer. At least, nothing that he didn’t want to do.

But he did want to see those statues…. Blake’s eyes drifted down to frown at the floor as he thought. He might be able to get something by remembering the woman’s painting and drawing from that, but memories of a painting weren’t nearly as good as actually seeing the real thing. And she probably didn’t paint all the statues, and certainly hadn’t painted them from every possible angle, anyway. So even if seeing the painting was as good, he was still lacking opportunities.

Of course, that was assuming that being her assistant would actually let him see the statues, and asking at that moment wasn’t just a way to trick him. It wasn’t like people hadn’t tried to trick him that way before. They’d never succeeded, of course, except maybe once or twice when he was really young, but that didn’t count. Anyway, they wouldn’t trick him again.

Blake looked back up, trying to learn the woman’s thoughts from her face. “...What d’you need an assistant for?”

Blake wasn’t really sure why the woman wanted new perspectives on a painting she’d already nearly finished, but that was her problem. If she thought she needed it, he didn’t particularly care why; he got to see statues.

Also, the money. That was a pretty good lure, too. Blake’s parents kept threatening not to buy him hair dye anymore; hair dye wasn’t unnatural enough to be evil, but it was unnatural, and therefore under suspicion. Which was, of course, why Blake dyed his hair to begin with, but they didn’t have to know that. And even if they didn’t act on that threat there was plenty of music that he wanted and knew they wouldn’t approve of.

Yes, money was definitely a good lure. “What d’you need me to do? And when?”