Topic: The Artist Accepts

Fallon Quinn

Date: 2011-04-06 21:36 EST
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."

Fallon Quinn

Date: 2011-04-06 21:37 EST
Gentlemanly manners had always been a weakness with Fallon, and combined with tall, dark, and wet' She was going to have to make a real effort not to let this descend into a talk too flirty for business. Moving to lead the way, she unlooped the cloth from the rail and began the walk upstairs. "Well, not to sway your perceptions at all, but I do have certain warehouses under my remit which are purposebuilt for the final stages of creating a piece. One, I believe, is kitted out to repel damp."

He tried very, very hard not to enjoy the view as he followed her up the stairs. His mother, God rest her soul, would have clouted him soundly round the head and shoulders should she ever had caught wind of him behaving in such a way. "Oh, well, if you wouldn't mind, and if the weather continues behaving in such a ghastly manner, I should like to see these warehouses of yours." He was proud of himself; he'd kept his eyes off her shapely behind for a whole 30 seconds now.

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of asking to take you on without offering you complete access to all my properties," she answered, unaware of the scrutiny of her backside. If she had noticed, she would have instantly been paranoid about the red paint handprint lurking on the seat of her pants, courtesy of an old friend with a silly sense of humour. The staircase took them up and into the centre of what turned out to be her own apartment. No office this, but a neatly kept living room and kitchen, with another staircase on the other wall, no doubt leading to bathroom and bedroom. "Please, make yourself comfortable," she told him, looking back with another smile. "I'll just grab that towel for you."

He nodded and looked around the place. He finally settled on the edge of a chair, his portfolio resting between his stork-like legs. "How long have you been open" I've never noticed this place before. I had thought my sister had scoped out all the galleries in town."

Her chuckle preceded her re-entering from the rooms above, a chocolate brown towel grasped in her hand. "We're a very well-kept secret," she told him, moving over to offer the towel. "I've been open for about three years, but it wasn't until a couple of months ago that I realised the reason I wasn't getting business was because no one knew about us. It's my mission now to promote as much as I can, and it seems to be paying off." She lowered herself onto the couch, fairly near to him. "Your sister would be Laura Granger, the designer, yes?"

He took the towel from her with a nod of thanks and began to dry his hair, no doubt making it even more of a disreputable mess than it had been before. "Yes, that's her. Did you see her show at Fashion Week this year?" His pride in his baby sister was obvious in his tone and his eyes.

"I did," she confirmed, her smile growing at the obvious fondness and pride he had for his creative kin. "Actually, it was all the not-so-subtle hints in her programme menus to check out your work that pointed me in your direction. I had to beg Ms De Luca to let me have your address, I do hope you don't mind."

He grinned. "I'll have to send her some chocolates or something." Reaching down for the portfolio, he handed it to her, unzipped and opened to the first piece. It was a portrait of a large group of young people who all had remarkably similar features. They were arranged in three tiers, with the artist himself standing in the back row, furthest on the right. Amongst the faces were two who would be familiar to Fallon - Laura, and one Jonathan Granger.

The moment her gaze touched the piece, it was obvious - to those who knew what they were looking for - that Fallon had a keen eye, despite her clear love of all things creative. "My goodness," she breathed softly, studying each face before taking in the portrait as a whole. "I didn't realise you were one of those Grangers." Her fingertip stroked absently over the lines of Ollie's captured face for a moment, before she glanced up at him with a smile. "Creativity does run somewhat in your family, doesn't it?"

"Like madness," he said softly. The rest of the pieces in the portfolio were landscapes of different parts of the city, the two Pop Art pieces he'd had on display at Fashion Week, an abstract piece done in a riot of springtime colours, its companion - a moody piece that hinted at the madness of which he spoke - and a series of studies done in charcoal, all of a pretty girl with long hair and wide eyes.

She took her time looking through each page, noting the wide range of subjects to which he could turn his hand with pleasure. "And these, you say, are commission pieces?" she asked curiously, once again lifting green eyes to his with the subtle warmth that suggested more than business interest in what she was seeing. "Do you work for your own pleasure, or to the strictures of others?"

Fallon Quinn

Date: 2011-04-06 21:38 EST
"With the exception of the studies, they're all commissioned pieces. I do tend to work how I like, but I am rather good at taking direction." He pointed to one of the landscapes, a piece done of a particular house in the northeastern part of the city. "This is one such example. The client wanted a face-on 'portrait of his house', done in acrylics, with these colours. He was very specific and very demanding and very...annoying." He gave her a sheepish smile. "I don't think I'll work for him again."

"Good decision," she agreed, nodding. The look on her face suggested that any client who was too demanding should be blacklisted. "Well, I can quite honestly say that you are one of the best I have seen, no matter how unknown you currently are. I would like to offer you my services." The smile that was sent his way was her best, all sparkling green eyes and engaging good humour.

Half of him wanted to make some flip, probably highly inappropriate comment about what were, exactly, the services she was offering. The other half, the half where his good sense and manners lived, told him to behave. He smiled under her praise and ducked his head in a slightly shy way. He wasn't used to the praise of women who weren't related to him in some way. "Well, then. I should like to accept."

The evidence of shyness was not lost on her, and her smile softened in response, her head tilting to keep eye contact with him. "I don't bite," she said gently, "unless you want me to." Part of her groaned at hearing herself say that, but it was out there now - best go with it. Chuckling, she shook her head. "I'd like to set up a proper meeting, to show you around the warehouses and workshops, and hammer out the details of this new venture of ours. Is that alright?"

His brow arched and a glint of wicked humour lurked in those hawkish blue eyes. "Yes, that sounds perfect. When is best for you?" He reached into the pocket of his jeans and extracted a battered, leather-bound diary and a pencil stub. He flipped open the tiny book to the current week, which was depressingly empty, except for "Cally - 8:00 p.m. Bodhi Tree", which had been penciled on on Saturday.

"Would Friday be convenient for you?" she asked, apparently possessed of that envious ability to remember when and where she was expected to be without the aid of a diary. "Around mid-afternoon, 3-ish?"

He nodded, scribbled it down, and gave her a smile. "Yes, that's good." He collected his portfolio, stuffed the diary back into his pocket, and stood. "Thank you so much, Ms Quinn...er, Fallon. I appreciate the chance." He extended his hand to her.

Rising to her feet, she slid her hand into his and squeezed gently rather than shaking it. Her expression was utterly sincere as she answered him. "With talent like yours, all you need is an open door," she told him. "I'm just glad I'm the one to unlock it for you." She gestured toward the staircase down, offering him the chance to escape in case she was embarrassing him too much. "Please, feel free to drop by anytime. I'm never out of the gallery for more than a couple of hours at a time, and Marcus always enjoys a good natter with a fellow artist."

He headed back down the stairs, wondering if she was behaving or being a lout like he'd been. Then he wondered what had come over him all of a sudden. He'd never behaved like this around women before. Hence all the difficulties he and Cally had been having lately. He was always a perfect gentleman; today, however...not so much. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and looked up at her, flashing another smile. "I'll have to bring Laura by. I think she'd love it here."

No, she definitely wasn't behaving, and she had a better view than he had on the way up. After all, she wasn't wet, and that shirt of his was sticking like a second skin. She did manage to wipe the slightly predatory smile off her face before he looked back at her, however, pausing on the second step up to keep herself on eye level with him. "By all means, you both are very welcome here," she assured him with a more appropriate smile. "And thank you so much for coming in. It really is a lovely surprise to discover that Oliver Hudson Granger the third is such a handsome young gentleman."

He blinked at her, his mouth falling open a bit, a tinge of crimson colouring his cheeks and the very tips of his ears. "Oh. Well. Yes. Er..." Did one say thank you to that' Did one return the compliment' "Thank...thank you," he stammered, deciding to err on the side of caution and good manners. He swallowed and turned away, brusquely walking the length of the gallery in five or six long-legged strides. He was out the door soon after...and had gone all of ten strides before he remembered he'd left his coat. He turned on his heel, headed back to the gallery, slipped inside, picked up his coat and slipped back out, all without a word and certainly without looking at Fallon again. "Dear God," he murmured. "What have I stepped in now?" Pretty girls - especially pretty strangers - didn't pay him compliments like that. Ever.

His return was noted by Fallon and Marcus both, though Marcus was the one who called a farewell after him. For her own part, Fallon was still smiling as she turned to see to an interested buyer. No, she hadn't expected Oliver Granger to be so handsome, nor so charming. Her thoughts turned to the multiple studies of the same girl in his portfolio, and she sighed softly to herself. Clearly, he had his eye on someone already. But that wasn't an impediment to getting him well known as an artist in the city, and until he said otherwise, Fallon was quite happy to play along with the invitation of smiles that he had offered her while they were talking. But first things first ....the shy man known as Oliver Granger was going to be the next big thing in art, if she had her say.

((Many thanks to OHGranger for this brilliant scene!))