KC: The Painting Class (Chyril 22, TT)

[Guido Cercatoro]

In a small courtyard garden located within the Bardic College, several easels and canvasses had been set up for an outdoor painting class to be taken by Master Velasquez, the foremost artist in the college. A paved path ran around the square edge of the garden whilst in the centre was a stone fountain, shaped in the form of large fish with water gushing from its mouth. The fountain had been sculpted by Morganior Hillborn and was exquisite, although rumour had it that the Headmaster took a dim view of the sculptor’s creations.

Many students were engaged in preparing for the eveningtide’s concert and so only two easels were currently occupied. Poised elegantly behind one easel was a tall, blond haired woman – Lady Angelique Samala. She was looking with undisguised contempt at the second student present, a small scrawny boy who appeared to be taking a lot of time and care in systematically picking his nose. As yet, Master Velasquez had not arrived.

[Guest]

Mack was a bag of nerves. As he entered the courtyard and his eyes lighted on Angelique he almost dropped the palette and brushes he was carrying. The master of this class had not yet arrived, and there were only two students present so far. He hadn't realised it would be such a small group....lots of room for one on one discussion of one's work with the Master himself. Oh dear.

Mack had been so focused on being in the same class as Angelique, he'd sort of forgotten that he would actually be expected to PAINT something. This could be humiliating.

He strolled around the fountain as casually as he could, and selected an easel next to Lady Samala, placed just slightly behind hers. It was a perfect position. He could happily chat to her here, and she would be unable to see what he was painting without obviously craning her neck, which he severely doubted she would do. He remained silent as he organised his brushes and supplies, waiting to see if she would greet him. He wasn't entirely sure that she even knew his name, but it was worth a shot.

[Guido Cercatoro]

As Mack took his seat, the object of his devotion, the Lady Angelique Samala turned her face in his direction. Her long, straight blond hair was tied in a bun this tradetide, presumably to keep it out of her way during the painting class. The girl had an almost flawlessly smooth complexion with a slightly pointed chin and a rather cute snub nose that was usually held rather high in the air. She wore an elegant, light green gown with a rather revealing neckline that appeared to be more appropriate for an evening party than a painting class.

Mack’s puzzlement as to whether or not she knew his name was immediately answered. “Well, if it isn’t Master Mackenzie Winterton, poet and letter writer. Have you been thrown out by Master Medinus? Are you now obliged to bother Master Velasquez?” There was an obvious note of heavy sarcasm in Angelique’s voice.

The nose-picking youth giggled. Angelique shot him a hostile stare but the boy merely began attempting to extract wax from his ear by inserting a paintbrush into the eardrum.

“You are a filthy boy, Corwen,” snarled the blond. “Filthy and disgusting. You are lucky that Master Velasquez is such a wonderful man that he is willing to put up with you.” Mack could almost see a smile register on Angeliques’s face as she mentioned the painting master.

[Guest]

As she turned to face him, Mack was struck (for about the millionth time) by her beauty. To him she was the essence of springtime, of fresh flowers and the promise of a hot summer...ooh...he could feel a poem coming on. Not having any parchment to hand, he made a mental note springtime, flowers, green dress...good...good.

And then she spoke to him. He decided to forgive her getting his last name wrong, Winterton, Winterfeld....there wasn't that much difference.

She was mocking him, even Mack-the-terminally-oblivious could register that much. Still, he decided to make light of the situation. Flashing her his most dazzling smile, showing off surprisingly white, even teeth he said, "no my Lady, Master Medinus and I are still like that" he crossed his fingers and held them out to her "I'm just here to broaden my horizons. Thought I'd try all the p's, you know...poetry, painting, pottery...erm...p..p" what??? what else begins with p that you could possibly do? pigeon fancying???? "..p-p-ondering stuff...ahem." He trailed off, feeling her gaze burning into him as a blush rose to his tanned face.

Thankfully, the object of his affection then turned her attention to the other student, who seemed intent on extracting things from various orifices, giving Mack time to recover and think fierce thoughts towards his runaway tongue. If you don't want her to mock you, don't say stupid stuff!! By the time Angelique had finished berating the other student...what was his name? Corwen Somethingorother? Mack was feeling slightly more composed. At least she didn't think him openly disgusting.

"So, Angelique" he said, daring the use of her first name, "this Master Velasquez...is he any good?"

[Guido Cercatoro]

Mack’s stuttering explanation of his presence in the painting class received a frosty look from his Angel. “Perhaps you should try picking you nose, that seems to be a very popular p,” said the blond, once again shooting a frosty glance at Corwen. Having explored first his nose and then his ear, it appeared as if the boy was now intent on investigating his remaining orifice, at least judging by the way he was squirming in his seat.

Turning to Mack, Angelique hissed quietly. “That boy should be thrown out of here. Indeed, I am sure he would be if his father was not financing his studies. And, I suppose he has some talent as a painter.” She sniffed as if this last fact bothered her more than the boy’s disgusting habits. Then, leaning forward and giving Mack a clear view of her ample cleavage, she informed her would-be suitor of yet another of the boy’s unappealing habits. “I hear that he urinated in the fountain last week. It is disgusting that a lady should have to put up with such a monster.”

Suddenly, a sweet and, it has to be said, wicked-looking smile appeared on Angelique’s face. “Of course, Master Mackenzie Winterbottom,” she began, fluttering her eyelashes for a flicker. “If Corwen was to be found doing something that disgraced the college, he might be thrown out. I would be so grateful to anyone that could arrange that. I might even be persuaded to listen to some poetry.”

At the mention of the painting master, the smooth-skinned woman’s eyes appeared to mist over. “Oh, he is a wonderful painter, quite wonderful. So, tender in his strokes. Brush strokes that is, of course.”

As if on cue, the master arrived. He was a tall, handsome if somewhat effete looking man of around thirty yahren, sporting an elegantly curled moustache. Rather than the black gown worn by most masters, he wore a flamboyantly styled dark red cape that swirled around him as he glided into the garden. Glancing around the few assembled students he let out a sigh. “I see we are a select few today, with the concert preparations in such disarray. Still that is to be expected if they put that halfling in charge.” Velasquez spoke in a smooth, flowing but dismissive tone.

“Still, I have my best two students here.” The tall man looked disdainfully at Corwen before treating the Lady Samala to a full smile. “Angelique,” he whispered before moving over and kissing the outstretched hand she offered. “As usual you are an inspiration for an artist. A divine inspiration.” The two locked eyes.

Velasquez appeared to be completely oblivious to the presence of his new student.

[Guest]

This was the most she had said to him. Ever. It was a momentous day! When Angelique leaned forward conspiratorily to further complain about Corwen, Mack's blue eyes seemed unable to stay away from the plunging neckline of her dress for more than a few micro flickers at a time. Eye contact, Mack...that's what'll win her over. Are her eyes down there? NO! No they're not.

So amazed was he by the fact she was actually speaking to him..in full sentences and everything..that by the time the love-sick young achadhiel had realised what it was she was saying, the painting master had already swept into the room.

Get Corwen thrown out? The idea was far from appealing, even though he'd give anything for her to flutter those long eyelashes at him like that again. If the kid had merit as a painter, as that swirling peacock of a painting Master obviously thought he did, then he deserved to be there. Nonetheless, Mack resolved to keep an eye on Corwen, just in case there were any wrong doings that passed over the border between disgusting and illegal.

As soon as Velasquez strode into the room, it appeared Mack had lost Angelique to the older man's charms.

“As usual you are an inspiration for an artist. A divine inspiration.”

Yes, she is. She's my inspiration I'll have you know, so back off!

After his Angel and his new Master had gazed at each other for what Mack deemed several flickers too long, he stood up, scraping his stool loudly over the cobbled courtyard. He grabbed Velasquez's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Hello, Sir. I'm Mackenzie Winterfeld, I'm new."

The guy could criticise Mack's painting all he liked, but he sure as hell couldn't ignore him.

[Guido Cercatoro]

The painting master was totally taken aback by Mack’s exuberant handshake. After succumbing to a few vigorous shakes, he twisted his hand out of the youth’s grasp and then flexed his fingers as if trying to ascertain that they were still in one piece.

“Mackenzie Winterfeld,” the master spoke disdainfully, as if the name was one he would rather not have on his tongue. “One of the scholarship pupils, I believe. Well we shall see what you can do.”

Velasquez strode to stand beside the fish-shaped fountain. “The task today is to paint this sculpture. It may not be to your taste but it is one of the halfling’s tolerable efforts I suppose.” Pausing for a moment, the painting master sighed. “But I do not want a literal interpretation. No, let your imagination run riot. Amaze me with a novel interpretation.”

The master stroked his curled moustache as he gazed towards Mack. “You do understand don’t you boy. Imagination! Do you have any? Have you brought it with you, or perhaps you have mislaid it?” Velasquez let out a short snort of laughter, looking directly at Angelique, who responded with a girly giggle. Corwen’s manner had suddenly changed and the unkempt youth had already begun sketching on his canvas.

“And when you have finished, Winterfeld,” continued the master. “We will all assess your work, to see if you have any ability whatsoever.”

[Guest]

So, this guy wanted paintings that showed imagination then, did he? Mack grinned, his blue eyes crinkling. He may not be the most technically skilled of artists, but imagination was something he could do like no other! After all, he spent what seemed like half his life imagining various scenarios in which he and Angelique were alone together and she was swept off her feet by his many and diverse charms.

Trying not to let a wistful sigh escape his lips, Mack turned his attention to the matter at hand. Immediately, he thought of painting the lovely Angelique sitting by the fountain...but he feared that a) it would not be deemed innovative enough, and b) (and this was far more worrying) his painting abilities would not exactly do her justice!

First he concentrated on the fountain itself, trying to be as accurate as possible in his sketching and making it it big and bold on the centre of his canvas, but the curves never looked quite right, never quite fishlike. After his seventh attempt at a fountaincentric picture failed, he grew frustrated. Perhaps he needed a different angle. He closed his eyes, and immediately an image appeared in his mind. It was the setting of one of the books he had loved to read as a young boy: a wintry pine forest, dark and full of a million different greens and smells and sounds. In the book it had been home to a princess, imprisoned in a dark tower, but Mack suddenly felt it would be the perfect place to put his fountain!

He began sketching again, in bigger more confident strokes than before, and soon he had covered his canvas in striking, skeletal branches. There was a space in the bottom right hand corner of his canvas to place the fountain, in miniature, where it would be dappled by the shadows from his pine trees (and hopefully therefore much easier to paint!)

As he busied himself mixing the various green tones he would need to flesh out his trees, he chanced to look at what Angelique was working on, and indeed whether he was in danger of being scrutinised by the Master.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Having decided on his plan, Mack began to sketch out the structure of his painting. The tree branches were rudimentary but at least his outline looked vaguely like a pine forest. Mixing the right colours was more problematic and would probably require a fair bit of trial and error.

Corwen appeared to be totally engrossed in his work and had already progressed from sketching to begin to apply quick strokes of colour to the canvas. He had scarcely glanced at the fountain and had obviously quickly decided on how he was going to proceed. Angelique was another matter. She had stared at the fountain for a long while, with an increasingly surly expression on her face before attempting a brief sketch. Clearly displeased with her effort, she rubbed it out with her hand, letting out an irritated and exceedingly unladylike grunt as she did so.

Velasquez contented himself with walking slowly round the garden humming quietly. However, almost at the same instant that Mack glanced in the direction of Angelique, the painting master also noticed her distress and hurried to her side.

“This is a stupid idea for a painting,” she spat out at the Master. “How am I supposed to imagine something interesting about the halfling’s hopeless sculpture? It is a ridiculous subject for a painting.”

Nervously curling his moustache, the painting master bent down close to his pupil. “There is beauty in everything if you just look. It is a matter of seeing through the surface to what lies beneath.” Mack could almost sense the hot breath of the master as it swept over Angelique’s cheek.

“Here let me show you,” said Velasquez. He took hold of the blond woman’s hand and guided it with his own to make a few marks on the canvas.

“You have such strong hands,” simpered the noblewoman, her anger dissipating into a coy, girlish look.

“A painter must be skilled in the use of his hands,” muttered the Master in a silkily smooth tone of voice.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Archived until and if mack returns.