Blake shrugged. “‘S okay. I don’t really need sketches of doors much, and I can always come back anyway.” Not that he would, if he could avoid it; one encounter with the priest was enough. Or any priest, really; Blake knew they were good, but they always made him feel bad. Besides, church doors weren’t exactly a rare thing; he could find plenty of church doors if he wanted one. Blake flipped through the sketchbook, stopping when he got to the first of the door sketches. “You can pick the ones you want.”

“So, um.” Blake shifted once she had all the sketches she chose. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

>>“‘S okay. I don’t really need sketches of doors much, and I can always come back anyway... You can pick the ones you want.”

Sarah looked through and decided that the distant view and up close detail pages were the ones she wanted from the sketchpad. She followed Blake's example and ripped out the two pages.

>>“So, um... Was there anything else you wanted?”

"I think so. Let's go back to my purse so I can pay you huh?" she rhetorically asked as she handed the sketchpad back to Blake.

She hoped she could remember how long he had been "working for her". She had told the priest $7.50 an hour and she planned on keeping that as how much she would pay the teen. She started to calculate how much she owed him as she started for the door leading back to the inside of the church.

Huh. Blake had almost forgotten about being paid, actually. He’d been too focused on the priest’s comments and proving himself to Miss Jackson to really remember why he was trying to prove himself to her in the first place. He certainly wasn’t going to complain, though; he’d have money for hair dye, and clothes, and pinecones, and he’d be able to tell people someone had paid him for sketches. Multiple sketches, even. They didn’t need to know she was planning to use the sketches for her own artwork, and then (probably) throw them away.

Blake followed Miss Jackson back inside the church, carefully flipping his sketchbook closed and removing the stray paper scraps from between the wires. By the time they reached Miss Jackson’s purse, he’d closed the sketchbook, rearranged the pencils and charcoal in his pockets (and behind ears), and had his hand on the brim of the hat, shifting it slightly back and forth as he debated whether to take it off yet or not. He certainly wasn’t keeping it, anyway.

When Sarah reached her things, she had finished the few calculations she needed to do to give Blake the proper amount of money. However, when she looked through her wallet, she didn't have the exact amount. Not one to jip someone, she decided to give home the $1.25 for letting her keep some of his sketches.

"Here you go," she said as she handed him the cash.

In total, it was a twenty, ten and a five. She felt he had worked hard enough for the $35. After all, she had just thrown him into the situation, not to mention the priest's attention was thrown at him too.

"You really helped me today," she said with a smile.

“Thanks.” Blake folded the money into his pocket without checking how much it was, and shifted. This was awkward; Blake hated when society created artificially awkward moments with no solution. Miss Jackson promised to pay him, he did work, she said it was good; she owed him. It wasn’t a complicated equation. But despite it being basic math, Blake was supposed to be grateful for her generosity.

He liked her well enough, but it wasn’t generosity when he’d earned it.

The awkward moment was interrupted by Miss Jackson… who made it even more awkward. Blake was not used to compliments that didn’t come from Irri; any others could generally be assumed to be sarcasm, and dealt with accordingly. But he had helped her, and she didn’t seem to be mocking him (Blake was going to have to get to know more adults that didn’t have contact with his classmates or family), so Blake had no idea how to deal with it. He was pretty sure blushing wasn’t the answer, though. His face had better be obeying him on that point. “Uh. You’re welcome.”

Another pause, and Blake finally figured out a distraction. He pulled the hat off with speed only restrained by an attempt at nonchalance, and held it out to her. “Thanks for letting me borrow this. It was, um, helpful.” And he was not going to think about what with. Awkward was better.

>>“Uh. You’re welcome... Thanks for letting me borrow this. It was, um, helpful.”

Sarah took her hat back and slipped it into her back pocket again, ignoring any thing that might seem like an awkward pause. "No problem. I'd hate for you not to be able to come back just because you dye your hair. That would suck if you wanted to come back for some more sketches."

She slung her bag over her shoulder, slipping the sketches Blake had given her into a folder for safe keeping. The brunette then turned to her easel and carefully took the almost finished painting off. The paint had dried, but she still wanted to be cautious with it. She could see that the door was closed, so she knew she'd have to have some help since her hands were full.

"Mind getting the door for me? It would be a pain if I dropped this so close to being done."

Blake shrugged. It might have sucked, but he probably would have just gone and bought a hat, or a hoodie. Anyway, unless Miss Jackson asked him to help with something again, Blake was pretty sure he wasn’t ever coming back here again. His life was obnoxious enough without that priest being part of it.

“Sure.” Normally Blake would object to being told to do… anything, really, but opening a door wasn’t bad (and was something he probably would have done anyway), and it gave him an excuse to hurry ahead of Miss Jackson and not have to think of any more to talk about. He’d probably be annoyed about it later, of course, but for now it was a relief.

Sarah smiled in relief when Blake agreed to get the door for her. Her hands were full enough as it was. Luckily, she didn't have to walk too far to get home and people rarely started a conversation with her while she was walking.

When all of her things were in positions that assured safety and comfort, she started for the door. As she walked, she spotted the priest watching them. She put on a wide smile and nodded to him. He simply nodded in return and focused on the woman speaking to him. As she walked through the doors, an automatic "Thank you" came from her lips.

“You’re welcome.” The response was automatic; Blake was only even half conscious that he said it. So was continuing to hold the door as someone else filtered out behind Miss Jackson, even if he did make a bit of an annoyed face at having to wait for them, and another when they didn’t say anything.

It still only took a few steps to catch up to Miss Jackson, though, which left Blake back in, possibly, even more awkwardness than he’d recently escaped. “…Um.” Hello, goodbye, thanks for giving me money I earned, I don’t honestly care if I see you again, but you’re more tolerable than most people, probably because I didn’t actually have to interact with you most of the time. That was a bit ruder than even Blake felt like being, particularly to someone who really had been fairly tolerable.

Sarah held back a giggle when she heard Blake's answering response. She was used to people ignoring her automatic phrases. However, it seemed the teen had been raised right. When she noticed he had been held up at the door, she slowed her steps slightly to allow him to catch up if he so wished.

She heard his utterance when he caught up, something that made her smile. She wasn't sure why the teen didn't just leave. He seemed like he would when she first spoke with him. Now though, he seemed to keep coming back to her. The reason stumped Sarah.

"Stay outta trouble, alright? I don't want to hear anything bad about you. You have talent, and I want to see one of your works in a museum, okay?" she commented with a grin. She did think Blake had talent. He had a lot more than she did at his age. It took a few classes in college to get her motivated.

Blake made no attempt to hinder the offended expression that took over his face. “I don’t get in trouble.” Apart from the whole being a mutant thing, which, really, no one knew about, and
he didn’t have a really significant mutations, so that didn’t count anyway. Well, and downloading music and stuff, but there was no one who didn’t do that, so it didn’t count either. Even Ace did that. “And of course I’ll be in a museum.”

“…Besides, getting in trouble wouldn’t stop me anyway.” Most popular artists were distinctly more likely to have gotten in trouble than most… anyone else, really, as far as Blake could tell. So, really, even if he did get in trouble, then that just made him more likely to succeed, not less.

When Sarah saw his expression, she felt amusement bubble up. It took most of her self control not to laugh as he spoke. She figured he'd deny getting into trouble, but she knew teenaged boys better than most would think. After all, she grew up with an older brother.

>>“And of course I’ll be in a museum. …Besides, getting in trouble wouldn't stop me anyway.”

An amused smiled took over her face as she listened to Blake. He was right. Getting into trouble wouldn't really hinder him. However, she knew that it was easier to get work if he did.

"Of course it won't, but it'll make your life easier if you do," she tried to explain. Her amusement kept her explanation short though. She was rather enjoying his reactions.

Blake’s affronted expression intensified. She was amused. By what? That he didn’t get in trouble? Or was she like those teachers who were certain every teenager did nothing but get in trouble as much as they could, and just kept ordering teens not to so that they could feel superior? Or did she just find him amusing? She had been laughing at him when he fell, too….

He crossed his arms, adjusted to accommodate the sketchbook he was still holding, and frowned. “Lots of things make stuff easier without making anything better, anyway.” Not that it mattered, because Blake wasn’t going to get into trouble anyway. But it was still true.

>>“Lots of things make stuff easier without making anything better, anyway.”

The words made Sarah wonder why such a young aged kid knew the things he did. Of course the world they lived in was different with the constant struggle for even children.

"That's true. At your age, I tried to make things easy, but no one's the same," she grinned. "Then I guess, do what makes you happy, Blake. See ya." She waved before she moved to head home.

…Miss Jackson was confusing. First she was making assumptions and scolding Blake, then imparting condescending “wisdom,” then… agreeing with him? Maybe? He couldn’t really tell. He didn’t seem to need to, though; she waved and left. Blake waved back, still a bit confused. “See you.”

Blake shifted for a second after she disappeared, then turned to head home himself, absently resorting pencils and charcoal and erasers into pockets as he went, pausing every few minutes to run his hands through his hair. Blake really didn’t like hats.