Preparation. Preparation was such a part of this art. Like the steps of some arcane ritual. It would feed and heighten the experience.

Study. Over the years the Artist had acquired a vast knowledge of many things. Anatomy included. Like any surgeon readying to perform a difficult procedure it always helped to review. Hours were spent pouring over books and charts. The paths of circulation mapped out. The effects and methods of transfusion.

The Hunt was a methodical thing. The Artist had been blessed by the virtue of patience, it served him well. It was all part of the Art. The Muse would whisper to him of her hunger, her need, but there had only been one instance that she had demanded that he take one of his models by force. He played his part well in this manipulation. Simply being seen at first by the prey. A polite nod or smile given in passing. There was no call for alarm for the prey when he asked if he could join her at her table. The small tavern was full enough, the need for a place to sit while he enjoyed a night cap easily explained.

A ring upon his finger was a prop to be used. What might seem like an absent habit of toying with the ring as the exchanged polite conversations about the weather or a small laugh about a snippet of conversation heard, was pure calculation. It told the plain woman exactly what the man wanted her to believe. That he was merely a kindly gentleman that wasn't on the prowl for a quick romp. She would never know, until it was too late, of the time he had spent in the tavern before she had arrived. A conversation with the tender where he mentioned that he was an artist and he was indeed looking for models. The tenders own manipulations of making the customers feel comfortable, chat them up so they relax and buy more liquor, was used to dangle the bait before the vain man down the bar that was the plain woman's object of longing.

The Artist played upon these common human behaviors. The next evening when he joined the plain woman at her table, the vain man would look over, no doubt with what he thought was a subtle pose to garner the sight of an artist. What concieted person would not love to have their image rendered on a canvas for all to admire? The woman would mistake the look form the vain man. Suddenly he was actually looking her way. The kindly Artist would pretend to be surprised and then compliment the woman, reassure her, of course the fellow at the bar seemed interested.

All that was left then was to ask the woman if she cared to model for a painting. The Artist's card slipped to the woman. All done in full view and loud enough to be heard by the vain man. The rest would fall into place. The woman agreed and promised to come to the studio the next afternoon. The Artist wished the woman a good eve and took his leave. The dominos of this manipulation falling into each other even as he strolled out into the night air.

The vain man crossed to join the plain girl.