meadowlarklogs | catch-all.

What, something ominous can't be pretty too?

[ It's a fairly simple statement for a not-so simple thought. The dark colours and stormy atmosphere don't say ominous to her - she sees life and change in the dark clouds, infinite possbility in the night, an ocean that can touch shores upon shores, miles apart. She feels like she could walk into the painting and go anywhere.

However, Aranea says none of that. ]

Gotta wonder what that says about me.

It definitely can. But in my opinion, one supersedes the other.

[Simple statements or complex ones, in the end, Markus is simply trying to spark a conversation about the art -- and in doing so, peering a little deeper into Aranea as a person. What makes her tick, what she dismisses as unimportant.

It's a tried-and-true tradition of visiting local art galleries, after all. Share some of those thoughts with Markus, Aranea.]

What do you think it says about you? Or, actually... why are you drawn to this piece in general?

[ Her lips press together a little, covering teeth that threaten to grind. Part of her wants to be defensive. Incorrectly, it comes from assuming that her thoughts on the matter are silly - no one has ever taken her for having exemplary opinion on art, after all - and the fact that he pushes past her one-liners and quips, which is... strange. Especially for a man.

Her thoughts, once spoken aloud, are hardly as eloquent or as ordered as they had been when they were merely impressions in her mind. ]

If I was there - [ Hm. A pause.

If it's possible for Aranea to seem unsure of herself, this is as close as anyone may ever see her getting. ]

It looks like a smaller part of the whole. The canves ends there, [ a tiny jab of her finger, indicating ] but the picture doesn't. I'd like to keep walkin' and find out what's next.

[ She looks back at Markus. ]

You're not gonna find any mindblowing insight out of me, you know.

[The last statement sounds latched on. Like she’s trying to defend why her thoughts don’t run deep enough, as if he possesses some looming expectation from those he questions, forever disappointed if they don’t spit out a ten page dissertation.

Sometimes it’s as simple as “I like the colors”, or “I wish I could be there in person”. Markus has viewed plenty of those himself, a few digitally portrayed here in this very gallery, bright swaths of fantastical nature that vitalizes imagination and unearths inspiration. He doesn’t need a complicated answer, he just wants an answer — and he finds it strange that there’s the crease of uncertainty across her brow when she hands it to him.]

That’s all right. [—he says, easily, meaning it. He leans incrementally in her direction, still looking at the piece, as if sharing with her some deep secret.] Let me tell you why I think it’s ominous; the colors are too dark, and the sea looks like it’d swallow me whole.

[Lips quirk upward, blink and you’ll miss it.]

Doesn’t always have to be mind-blowing commentary.

[ As he leans in tinily, her eyes flick from the painting to some indiscriminate point at the side of his face. Her own faint smile helps undo the tension of contemplation from her brow; unlike his, it lingers. ]

So, what one do you like best?

[The question has him detaching his assessment of the painting and looking around, then gesturing across this particular gallery, off to the corner.]

Here, I’ll show you.

[And so he’ll lead the way at a slow pace, cognizant of her injury and her reliance on the crutches.

Eventually, they stop at a piece. It only appears once they draw close, popping up as virtual reality art via their implants — swirling, moving, lurching forward then slowly receding back, like waves on a shore.]

This one is hard to ignore.

[ It does take her an extra moment or two to join him at the next installation, her mobility slow - a tag sluggish - tired, perhaps, from her journey here. Not that she complains, of course. ]

Yeah. You're right about that much.

[ Hard to ignore, indeed. As the art dissolves in, Aranea rubs at an eye. ]

It's... [ Hm. ] Too confused. There's no order. [ Her military discipline, as limited as it might be, balks instinctively. ]

[It’s a little on the extreme side, maybe, but there’s something about the application of paint that echoes Markus’ own style and his propensity for slightly exaggerated color.]

And is that such a bad thing?

[Though to be fair, this one is decidedly very… trippy.]

Dunno yet.

[ Maybe it's just a sign of how old and out of touch she is (that's a joke, she's not old), but she already knows she wouldn't buy this. There's nothing comforting about its ever-moving swirls, no indication of a foothold. She can't figure out where it begins or ends. It - it has no boundaries. It doesn't mesh with the sensibilities of someone who organises her life very carefully.

That one little thought, about boundaries, is the one that sticks. Aranea steals another surreptitious glance at Markus out of the corner of her eye before voicing it. ]

Feels like it'd just take over the entire wall if I brought it home.

[His good humor hasn’t drained from him when she looks askance; in fact, it seems to live on more vibrantly in each moment taken to appreciate the virtual, moving painting.]

Taking on a literal life of its own. I can see why that might bother you.

[It’s interesting, too, to still see it confined in a rectangular shape — he wonders if that was purposeful.]

But if nothing more, it’s a piece that’ll strike up a conversation. Sometimes I think about trying to make something like this; maybe use up the tubes of paint that usually get neglected.

You paint?

[ Aranea glances over, looking suitably intrigued - and a touch paler than she did a second ago, as a knot of pain settles quite cozily in her upper thigh. ]

I do.

[Often. A lot. Came from a household where he was surrounded by art, headed by a prominent artist who remains close to his heart, an endless inspiration.

All of which could be said, of course, if not for Markus’ powers of observation — something that aids him in his propensity to read subtle changes in others — noticing the growing pallor creeping across Aranea’s complexion. Whatever he was going to say next is ignored in favor of concern.]

Tired? Maybe we should find a place to sit.

[There are, after all, such places inside this gallery — but outside, along the expansive square in which this establishment exists, even more so.]

[ Between her teeth, she breathes out - almost a sigh, a little whistle of frustration - but it dies in the wake of his even, articulate reason. He's right. Aranea rubs at her face and then nods. ]

Yeah, why not.

[ The air conditioning is beginning to feel a bit too chilly on her bare arms, so out they go. She does want to hear more about his artistic endeavours, though, and adds, somewhat playfully - ]

You gonna sign my cast?

[ do markers even exist in New Amsterdam ]

[The heat of the sun is stark contrast to the inside air, the former’s warmth quick to spread invisibly across his skin. Markus looks around for a spot to sit and rest, the only suitable place being the curved steps near an interactive water fountain — its spray currently turned off, due to stringent city-wide restrictions.

Markus’ step is unhurried as he leads them in that direction.]

Do you want me to? I can do better than just sign it.

[He doesn’t have markers, but he does have the power of VR.]

[ Setting down, Aranea can't just drop in a graceless, sprawled heap like she might otherwise like to. Instead, she has to carefully adjust her stupid leg to keep it comfortable and even. A flicker of irritation creases her brow for a brief moment, but it isn't because of him; rather, the jolt of pain that courses through. As it dissipates, her face smoothes back out. ]

Line like that, I'm not sure whether to say yes or no.

[ She's just kidding. Mostly.

That said, she definitely needs more information. Reading a the termsna and conditions of a contract before signing, as they might say. ]

Whatcha have in mind?

Edited 2019-02-27 21:56 (UTC)

[He recognizes that wince as pain from sitting and standing, or any mode of movement that either adds or releases tension too quickly around an injury. Never mind being a caretaker android; Markus is suffering from that himself, and his own attempt at sitting is careful and slow, jaw going tight.

They’re just a couple of elderly people, these two.

Still, he can’t help but sound amused.]

It isn’t as ominous as it sounds, I promise. [Gesturing at her cast-] I can paint on it — digitally. Whatever you want.

Yeah?

[ A slow smile creeps across her expression. ]

You any good?

[ The fact that the muscles in his jaw seem to fold when he sits down goes unremarked upon by Aranea, but not unnoticed. Pain is a private thing, or so she's always thought, and his isn't intruded upon. ]

[He grins, looking at her and raising brow.]

I hope so, otherwise someone needs to give me a reality check.

[Especially given the circles he runs in.

Now that he’s seated, the ache is happy to reside in the background, and Markus continues.]

The advantage of VR means that if you hate it, you can delete it. I promise I won’t take too much offense.

I'll hold you to it.

[ Just kidding. No way she'll erase whatever it is. ]

Just make it cool.

[ She rubs at the shorn hair at the nape of her neck, just a little. Part of her enjoys the idea of an artist plying his trade on some part of her, as per her aforementioned appreciation of pretty things. Part of her is almost a bit flustered, as if this is somehow breaking her intention to hold most things at arm's length, because even if it isn't indelible, it feels like it should be. Technology of this level wasn't available in Eos, after all.

On the other hand (the third hand?) - if it's cool, it's okay. That's, like, a law or something. ]

[“Make it cool”. The weak point of every artist: the inability to know what her version of ‘cool’ might be.

He laughs faintly, though it’s cut short by the way it makes his side pang with an ache.]

A cool what, though? You get to pick the subject matter.

catch-all.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject