The Model and the Artist Part 2
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Continued from here.
Juan escorted Hildegarde back to his studio in the Communal Hunting Grounds. Unlocking and opening the door, he bowed and gestured for her to enter. "Ladies first."
The Toreador's studio was a studio apartment. TV, couch, coffee table. The usual amenities.
In the center of the room however, was a tan tarp. Upon it, a canvas stand with a blank canvas. A large lamp with a protractable arm.
"Welcome to my studio," he proudly announced.
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Hildegarde smiled sweetly at the gentlemanly gesture. Stepping over the threshold, she made all the appropriate oh and ah noises as she made a slow circuit of the studio space. Despite the strange behaviour exhibited at the end of the show, she moved naturally enough; her movements were measured and laced with curiosity.
Of course, she had to bend to examine in detail the blank canvas.
Turning, she swivelled artfully as her body took on a pose of excitement, hands drawn together over her breast. At least the naturally happy look remained on her face.
"Wonderbar!" The Lord exclaimed. "But where are all the models? This place does not look... bohemian?" Pause. "Or... has that time passed?" Timidly.
The Toreador smiled at the Ventrue, "The models are off for the night." He slowly approached friendly demeanor, "My life style hasn't changed just quite yet."
Cordoba observed Bingen's pose. It was...charming. "Miss Bingen, I may ask you, would you kindly hold that pose for just a few moments. I would like to make a quick sketch of you."
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"Oh." For a moment, surprise registered on the Lord's face. She took a step back, paused for breath.
"Oh." She breathed again, a smile bursting on her lips as her head rocked to a... winsome... angle. She blinked, flirtatiously this time and step forward into her pose.
"Alright..." her features hovered between the mask, confusion and her enthusiastic smile, uncertain how they should set.
The Toreador snatched a pencil and paper pad. Holding the paper against his forearm, many glances up and down ensued as his hand copied her pose. "Yes. You're doing marvelously." A minute or two passed and Juan revealed the sketch of Hildegarde's pose. Hands together at chest height with a curious look in her eyes. "Here you are," he replied with a smile.
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The Lord beamed and received the picture with an eager innocence.
"This is... me?" For a long moment, it seemed Hildegarde had trouble recognising her own face. "She looks... beautiful, ya?" An uncertain giggle escaped her lips. "So. Beautiful."
"She is beautiful indeed, Miss Bingen," he reassured her. "This is a sample of my craft." He offered his hand out to the Ventrue to accept her own personal sketch.
"Now, imagine if one night, He paused momentarily, "Over the course of a few nights, really, I painted your portrait." His smile held strong, "Once we were done, you would see how beautiful you truly are."
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The errant smile was back, tugging at her mouth like a demanding child. "Oh yes! Yes!" Hildegarde gushed. A hand came up to cradle her chin: a thinking pose.
"What kind of portrait? There is formal one which must be done." Her voice shifted at the last. The Lord was actually being commanding for once.
Her initial enthusiasm was so enjoyable...then her sudden demand dropped his smile into a flat line. The man's eyes narrowed in annoyance at this unexpected breach of etiquette. Oh Christ, I brought Carlotta home. Had he been more well-established in the Domain, he'd have some particular words to express.
As that was suicidal and a waste of effort, he sought an alternative route to alleviate this outburst. "Yes..." he said in a humble voice, "You shall have your portrait Miss Bingen. All you would need to do is describe for me the style." The Toreador maintained a careful distance, despite her weaker Blood. "Afterwards, you sit, stand, or assume whatever position you so choose."
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And just as suddenly the look, the cadence of voice, the certain quality of hardness behind the eyes... All gone!
"But what are we saying! Can't be done now! You'll need time to it properly!" There was a glare, directed vaguely into one corner; then another sent hurtling deep into the couch, thick with affront. "...And I will have to show you the other portraits first, yah?" Hildegarde drifted again, seemingly content to gaze upon the picture in her hands.
Very carefully, she traced the outline of her cheek with a finger, as if deducing meaning from the lines inscribed on the paper.
Looking up, she added: "Do you find these... arrangements... very secure?"
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