Vanima Art Gallery was one of those well-kept secrets that Rhy'Din abounded with. Set into the far eastern corner of the Marketplace square, it looked out on the city through floor-length windows and glass door, through which could always be seen the current array of work on display. With bare brick walls and polished pine floor, it was definitely minimalist, entirely centred on making the artwork look as good as possible. A few people were inspecting the current display, landscapes and seascapes in various materials. An old man sat in a corner of the gallery, beside a counter, a sketchbook open on his knee as his pencil formed the lines of the activity going on in front of him. At the back of the gallery, a woman was perched on a ladder, performing the fiddly business of changing a lightbulb. A remarkably peaceful scene, for somewhere only feet from the bustle of the city.
Ollie arrived just as the skies opened up and dumped buckets of rain down on the streets of the city. He wasn't dressed for the weather, of course, but had luckily thought to bring along a trench coat, which he used to cover his portfolio as he dashed the last few meters towards the gallery. Bursting through the door, and no doubt shattering the peace, he shook the rain from his hair and cast about for somewhere to hang his coat.
Oddly enough, hardly anyone looked around as he made his spectacular entrance. Only the old man at the counter lifted his head, offering a sympathetic grin to the younger artist. He nodded to the coat stand by the door. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
"Bloody brilliant," he said, flashing the man a smile and hanging his coat up. He cast another look around the place, his eye caught by a particular piece of a boat under full sail in what looked like the midst of a horrific storm. Without looking away, he addressed the old timer. "Would you happen to know if Ms Quinn is about?"
"Up the ladder, can't miss her." The aging artist pointed his pencil toward the woman changing lightbulbs, grinning. "You'd be her Mr Granger, then, would you? She's been hell waiting to hear from you." Chuckling to himself, he returned to his sketching, apparently not needing a reply.
Fallon Quinn turned out to be a woman in her mid-twenties, blonde and green-eyed, and scowling fiercely at the ceiling while she screwed the artificial light source into its place.
"Thanks," he said and made his way towards the back, portfolio swinging from his hand. "Ms Quinn" Can I help?" As luck would have it, she was rather pretty...even if she didn't have red hair.
"Only if you know some way to make it sunny in here without damaging the art," she chuckled without looking down. Finally the bulb was in place, and she turned her face down to look at the man addressing her. There was a moment of confusion, and recognition lit up her expression with a smile that was utterly at odds with the formal tone of her writing. "You're Oliver Granger! Oh my gods, you came!" Excitement radiated from her as she scrambled down the ladder, wiping her hands clean on the seat of her pants before offering one to shake. "Call me Fallon ....it's wonderful to meet you face to face!"
He gave her a half smile and shook her hand, gently but firmly. "I had no idea my arrival would cause such a reaction," he said, teasing gently. "Maybe I should come back again tomorrow?" He made a show of looking around, though his eyes were drawn once more to the painting of the sail boat.
She laughed a little self-consciously, retrieving her hand to smooth it through her hair. "Well, it's not often I get even a reply to my letters, much less a surprise visit," she confessed, watching his eyes travel about the gallery. Pride was in her glance as she echoed his gaze, focusing on the cutter. "Beautiful, isn't it' That's the Odyssey, painted by Cody Gennell in oils this summer past. He's new on my books, but he's getting quite a lot of interest. What medium do you prefer to work in, Mr Granger?" Flirting" Who's flirting"
"Oils, mostly. Though I have dabbled in acrylics and even once in egg tempera." He shook his head, wrinkled up his aristocratic nose in disgust. "Never again." He glanced down at the portfolio he was clutching and held it up for her to see. "I've brought some examples of things I've done for private commissions." He extended the large, black case towards her.
Fallon looked absolutely delighted that he had thought to bring his portfolio with him. "I'd love to see your work up close," she smiled, gesturing toward a spiral staircase set to her left. It was railed off with a loop of cloth, though no one seemed to want to investigate it. "Would you like to come up to my office" I've got towels," she added in a voice that teased with promise, looking over his wet form.
He chuckled and took a step back, gallantly gesturing for her to go first. "I think I might avail myself of your hospitality. I had no idea that it was supposed to rain today. I have a piece that's never going to dry if this stupid weather keeps up like this."
Ollie arrived just as the skies opened up and dumped buckets of rain down on the streets of the city. He wasn't dressed for the weather, of course, but had luckily thought to bring along a trench coat, which he used to cover his portfolio as he dashed the last few meters towards the gallery. Bursting through the door, and no doubt shattering the peace, he shook the rain from his hair and cast about for somewhere to hang his coat.
Oddly enough, hardly anyone looked around as he made his spectacular entrance. Only the old man at the counter lifted his head, offering a sympathetic grin to the younger artist. He nodded to the coat stand by the door. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
"Bloody brilliant," he said, flashing the man a smile and hanging his coat up. He cast another look around the place, his eye caught by a particular piece of a boat under full sail in what looked like the midst of a horrific storm. Without looking away, he addressed the old timer. "Would you happen to know if Ms Quinn is about?"
"Up the ladder, can't miss her." The aging artist pointed his pencil toward the woman changing lightbulbs, grinning. "You'd be her Mr Granger, then, would you? She's been hell waiting to hear from you." Chuckling to himself, he returned to his sketching, apparently not needing a reply.
Fallon Quinn turned out to be a woman in her mid-twenties, blonde and green-eyed, and scowling fiercely at the ceiling while she screwed the artificial light source into its place.
"Thanks," he said and made his way towards the back, portfolio swinging from his hand. "Ms Quinn" Can I help?" As luck would have it, she was rather pretty...even if she didn't have red hair.
"Only if you know some way to make it sunny in here without damaging the art," she chuckled without looking down. Finally the bulb was in place, and she turned her face down to look at the man addressing her. There was a moment of confusion, and recognition lit up her expression with a smile that was utterly at odds with the formal tone of her writing. "You're Oliver Granger! Oh my gods, you came!" Excitement radiated from her as she scrambled down the ladder, wiping her hands clean on the seat of her pants before offering one to shake. "Call me Fallon ....it's wonderful to meet you face to face!"
He gave her a half smile and shook her hand, gently but firmly. "I had no idea my arrival would cause such a reaction," he said, teasing gently. "Maybe I should come back again tomorrow?" He made a show of looking around, though his eyes were drawn once more to the painting of the sail boat.
She laughed a little self-consciously, retrieving her hand to smooth it through her hair. "Well, it's not often I get even a reply to my letters, much less a surprise visit," she confessed, watching his eyes travel about the gallery. Pride was in her glance as she echoed his gaze, focusing on the cutter. "Beautiful, isn't it' That's the Odyssey, painted by Cody Gennell in oils this summer past. He's new on my books, but he's getting quite a lot of interest. What medium do you prefer to work in, Mr Granger?" Flirting" Who's flirting"
"Oils, mostly. Though I have dabbled in acrylics and even once in egg tempera." He shook his head, wrinkled up his aristocratic nose in disgust. "Never again." He glanced down at the portfolio he was clutching and held it up for her to see. "I've brought some examples of things I've done for private commissions." He extended the large, black case towards her.
Fallon looked absolutely delighted that he had thought to bring his portfolio with him. "I'd love to see your work up close," she smiled, gesturing toward a spiral staircase set to her left. It was railed off with a loop of cloth, though no one seemed to want to investigate it. "Would you like to come up to my office" I've got towels," she added in a voice that teased with promise, looking over his wet form.
He chuckled and took a step back, gallantly gesturing for her to go first. "I think I might avail myself of your hospitality. I had no idea that it was supposed to rain today. I have a piece that's never going to dry if this stupid weather keeps up like this."