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Anne Hollstay {basil hallward} ([info]justlikelife) wrote in [info]bellumlogs,
@ 2010-01-03 23:34:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:dorian gray

Who: Anne & Trenton
What: A painting delivery.
Where: P4
When: Before this and this.
Warnings: I feel I should warn for Trenton, the hedonistic Dorian.

It was a funny thing, life. Anne found things she didn't even know she was looking for in Piper, and his parents had been sweet, if utterly silent, people. They had been very nice to her, and though her ASL was still abysmal, there was not a more relaxing place to be than in their home. Yet, she had come back to Bellum Letale to finish the Project. Partly because it needed to be done, and partly because it called to her in a way she couldn't ignore, some soft siren song just out of earshot. She came alone because she didn't want to tell Piper about it.

The Project took a week to fully complete. She only knew it took a week because when it was done, she left her work room, stretched her arms above her head, and turned the television news station on. The date scrolled on the bottom of the screen. Anne looked around. The room was cold, and her skin prickled for the first time. She was aware she was sick; something she caught over the last week, she surmised, some kind of bug. She felt weak in the marrow of her bones, and sleep had been both evasive and ultimately useless when she had thought to seek it. Avoiding a mirror, Anne took a long, hot bath with peach and jasmine bath salts, then sat on the edge of the tub to comb her hair and clean herself up. She would deliver her work to the subject, she decided. Piper would hardly be tolerant of another man's portrait, and though she didn't truly understand the objection, she was willing to concede--when it came to this man, anyway. If she was honest with herself, the fascination there went a little beyond aesthetic appreciation.

Shaking that off, Anne wrapped herself up in a thick cable-knit sweater, enclosed the frame of the Project in brown paper, and edged out of her apartment. The elevator went up and down a few times, but she hardly noticed. She was exhausted, she realized, with some surprise. Not just a little out of sorts, not just tired, all the way deep down, even to the point where her thoughts moved slowly. A break, she was thinking, as the elevator announced the penthouse floor, finally. I just need a break.

Knock knock, Trenton.


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[info]cyprian
2010-01-04 08:43 am UTC (link)
Trenton answered the door in a toga. Well, a fleece blanket wrapped around his waist and one shoulder. It wasn't accessorized with grape leaves, and it obviously wasn't intentional because he looked like he'd just crawled off the couch from a nap. Although he was not nearly as tired as Anne, he realized just by glimpsing her.

"Hey." Genuinely surprised, Trenton stepped back from the doorway. The two of them had exchanged very few words. It was actually Piper's anger that kept her so continually in his mind. He'd just wondered about her the other day, the realization dawning that he hadn't heard much from her or her douchey boyfriend recently.

"Come in." The penthouse was clean, at least.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-05 03:36 am UTC (link)
"Hello." Anne's usual blush of color was significantly absent, and her eyes had uncharacteristic dark rings that made her usually sparkling countenance abnormally grave; however, she couldn't help but smile at his collegiate appearance, and a hint of her old humor was visible before she followed his direction. The wrapped frame was about half Anne's size; she had to pick it up awkwardly with two hands and edge in sideways. "Thank you," she said, slightly breathless, as if this effort was more than she expected. "I hope you don't mind me coming by unannounced..."

Anne leaned the frame against the couch and looked around. To her artist's eye, the monochromatic world of sharp lines and modern curves seemed unnecessarily spare, even harsh. She didn't think it suited him, but then, she realized, she didn't know him very well at all. Not nearly as well as she thought she did while she was working, at least. Embarrassed to state her business now that she perceived his taste to be vastly different than hers, Anne blushed, fiddled with the hem of her sweater, and looked around once more, a little surreptitiously.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-05 08:39 pm UTC (link)
"Anne," he said her name with a note of concern. "You can stop by anytime." Trenton's penthouse wasn't exactly the kind of place that somebody had to make an appointment or announcement in order to come by. In fact, it was very frequently the exact opposite.

Taking a seat on his couch, the blanket slumped useless around his waist. The dark script of his tattoos stark against the hedonist's skin. He gestured for her to take a seat if she liked. There were a couple of chairs positioned in the living room, and the couch was a wide stretch of leather.

"What's this?" A tick of his chin toward the wrapped parcel she'd obviously made an effort to get it up here.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-07 07:21 am UTC (link)
Anne fidgeted for another couple seconds, and then she sat down, gingerly on the edge of the last cushion of the couch, balancing there like a bird with new wings. A look at the painting, and her fingers stilled. "Well. It's... one of my... well. It's a paper mosaic, really. On a bleached oak backing. I thought I would give it to you. Before I left." She tried not to stare at the tattoos. "Unless, of course, you'd rather not. There's a gallery near here that likes some of my work and, I'm sure that I could speak to them. About it. If you don't like it." She smiled, but not particularly reassuringly. She seemed uncharacteristically awkward.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-07 07:57 am UTC (link)
The awkwardness was something new, but somehow felt familiar to him. It brought the easy catch of his smile, attentive to her fidgeting. It struck him as strangely cute, the women that frequented his penthouse weren't really the fidgeting type.

Her words eventually connected with him, and he fixed his eyes on the wrapped framework. "You brought me a.. you're leaving?"

From happily confused to skewed with a frown, Trenton turned back to her.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-07 06:01 pm UTC (link)
"For at least a little while," she said, hastily. "Piper's parents invited me to stay. And I keep getting sick while I'm here... maybe something in the air... nothing to worry about. Anyway." Appearing to jerk herself back onto the right track, Anne's mouth firmed and she made her fingers stop twitching by reaching for the package she had brought. "I've been working on this for a little while, and I didn't really intend it for anything, just sort of a... Project." A little more lamely than she had envisioned herself saying it. She patted the frame and the brown paper crackled. "Some of my best work, I think." Without particular pride, her expression neutral, but her fingers stroked the paper absently, thoughtful. Perhaps her best work, now that she thought of it. How strange that she didn't feel the usual pang in parting with it.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-07 07:05 pm UTC (link)
Trenton got a thousand and one points to his character for not making a petulant face at mention of Piper's name. She did look weary, faded around the edges like weathered paper. He leaned forward to reach for the painting, or actually just her hand. Feeling the chill of her fingers when he held them against the brown paper for a moment.

"What did I do to deserve such a gift?" He couldn't imagine this being repayment for the Christmas Tree Fund. Sex? Okay. But a piece of art? That seemed like such an intimate part of one's self. You know, in the way that he obviously didn't relate sexual interaction to be.

He peeled down the paper from the edge of the frame.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-08 05:46 am UTC (link)
Anne smiled at him. It was a very conscious decision, and you could see her eyes smile right before she moved her mouth. Whatever expressions were on Anne's face, she put there--other than the shadows of fatigue. "Well. It's you."

And it was.

As she said, the backing was bleached wood, and rather than being white, it was a very, very pale butter yellow. The package smelled like wood and sharp permanent professional paper glue. At first, Anne's Project only looked like so many uneven pinpricks of color-- dotted with incredible precision and care to create a work that was not unlike Klimt's, if he worked in anything but oil. Anne took hold of the other edge of the paper and pulled it aside with a last, long tearing crackle. All the tiny paper bits resolved themselves into an image. It didn't have the precision of a computer-assembled program, but no computer would be able to duplicate the textures that made up the long face and the shoulders in half profile. It was Trenton, of course, but in the painting he had a very odd, very slight smile, almost of absent-minded relief or good will at whatever he was looking at just off in the distance. The shoulder was bare, though it had Trenton's sharp lines, it was without the inked patterns he had put there himself; his face was also sharp, in the way of his features, but his eyes were both dark and simultaneously sympathetic.

The painting was an ideal, an ideal that no doubt Anne saw when she looked at him, as she did now, with a small smile of her own.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-08 06:50 am UTC (link)
The artist's words drew a pinched expression from him, something perplexed and discerning until his gaze dropped with the further ripping of paper. Upon the unveiling, the look on his face was absolute shock before melting into something introspective.

"Anne.." Her name was a soft breath that said just as much as his expression that he had no idea what to say. Trenton's hand reached for the face on the wood, but his touch recoiled into a curled fist. Somehow afraid that he'd alter this ideal if brushed it with the taint of his own reality.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-08 07:29 am UTC (link)
Wisely, Anne didn't fill the silence following with explanations. In her mind, she made a few disclaimers about how it was not meant to be an exact portrait, and she knew it wasn't quite what anyone pictured, but she was very happy with it, not happy with... the image, quite, but the work itself. She was watching him, and though she pulled her hands away when he reached for it, she brought them back quickly to support the frame.

"I know it doesn't match your apartment," she probed, inquisitively.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-08 07:40 am UTC (link)
"No, it's incredible, I just.." Words failed and his eyes finally managed to wrench themselves away from the image. It was obviously him, but it wasn't. It was an ulterior glimpse of something he could have been. A reflection cast up through the rippling waters of time.

"I don't deserve this, Anne." All the same, he couldn't bear the thought of anybody else having it. There was a part of him in it, some part of himself that he'd forgotten. It was like actually seeing how things could have been different if he'd turned out more like his brother.

When Trenton looked at her, it was with tension and wonder. How had Anne seen this so strongly that it forced her to bring itself to fruition?

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-08 08:26 am UTC (link)
Her smile was brief, and faded away with the rapidity of a rain puddle on a sunny day. "It isn't about deserving, Trenton. It's a gift. It's for you. It... is you." She said it... nearly fond, as if they were better friends than such casual meeting should indicate. Perhaps her feelings for the Project was blurring into her feelings for Trenton, or perhaps... vise versa. She propped the painting onto the couch next to her knees, brushed her skirt over them, and then propped her elbows on her knees. "I don't expect you to hang it up, or anything. You don't have to do anything extravagant with it. I would sort of prefer you didn't throw it away, though."

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-08 08:45 am UTC (link)
"Anne," he said her name on a frown. Obviously perturbed by the fact that she would believe him the kind of person to throw this away. He wasn't sure what he planned on doing with it yet, although it was no stretch of the imagination to think that he was vain enough to hang it over his bed or something.

Pulling the wooden frame toward himself, Trenton rested it against the edge of the coffee table. Sliding across the couch, he breached the gap between them in a smooth movement. Taking Anne's hand in an effort for her to believe him.

"I've never seen anything more incredible in my life." Reassuring with the low hush of words, staring at her. Spoken in such a way that it might have been difficult to tell if he meant the portrait, or herself.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-08 09:14 am UTC (link)
Rather than becoming uncomfortable at the gesture of sympathy, the accompanying comment put Anne at her ease. Her last comment about throwing it away had been in jest, because while she was not the most confident woman on the planet, she did know her art, thoroughly, as if it was the only thing she knew, or would ever know. She knew that her Project was right, the way it should be, even if that wasn't perfect, for imperfection can always be beauty. She was pleased, so pleased that she did not falsify a smile for him, but just let it twinkle out of her eyes, which happened sometimes when she was content. "I am glad you like it." She inhaled, and then breathed out, the warmth tasting of green peach tea. "It took me a long time." She squeezed his hand, in reassurance.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-09 06:42 am UTC (link)
"When did you start this?" His tongue waged with a complex confusion. Of course, Trenton was imbibed with deep sense of pride by being the muse for such a thing. But barely beyond that, he was surprised that Anne had taken such a solid image of him from her memory. After all, they'd had very few run-ins through the building.

There was a raise of his hand, and it wavered in hesitation. But a flicker of Trenton's focus to the edge of the portrait's frame seemed to reassure him, and he reached to push some of her coal dust hair back behind her ear.

"It's like looking at a part of myself that I forgot was ever there."

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-09 06:59 am UTC (link)
Truthfully, it would have been much easier to make sketches from life, and she had meant to ask Trenton for permission--perhaps a visit. But he always seemed busy, and then she was busy, and then Piper... "After we met. You made an impression." It was an honest statement, an answer to his question and a related statement. Anne did not have the subtlety of an experienced flirt, nor was she even trying to flatter him. She said it because it was true. She flushed with pleasure at his attention, much like flowers when they're tended correctly, and it successfully brightened her unhealthy pallor. "It is, I'm sure."

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-10 11:29 pm UTC (link)
Trenton was rarely, if ever, at a loss for words. Although uncharacteristically dumbfounded in the face of her creation, he recovered in time. Anne's art did him justice, and then some. The eyes she'd cast from paper were just as vibrant as the ones he watched her with now.

He noted her blush, and although faint, it brought a familiar color back to her cheeks. How refreshed she seemed when basked by his charm! That was all the incentive he needed, and Trenton kissed her with suddenness.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-11 07:33 pm UTC (link)
There was something about Trenton that captured Anne; his presence, imagined and otherwise, was hypnotic, and she continually felt an intense pull of purpose when she thought about it. Until just now, she assumed that was the need to work. There was no question that the striking features demanded immortality in image, and she had done her best to infuse her work with a lifelike, immediate joie de vivre that she sensed was hidden deep. Being with him was both the same, and wildly different. His ridiculous attire cast him in a boyish, amusing light, which made her want to make him a cup of tea and something rib-sticking to eat.

The kiss changed that.

Anne had not one fraction of Trenton's experience kissing people. It was an intimacy that continually surprised her, and she was such a warm, collected being, that sexuality was an effort, a distinct course of action she felt she must need to pursue before anyone might bother. Surprised to be proven wrong, she could hardly respond, but before she quite comprehended what was happening, her soft lips moved against his, once more the flower to the sun.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-11 08:15 pm UTC (link)
In Anne, there was something he couldn't fully understand. She was so inherently different from the women and girls that he knew, that he turned to her in a crave of recognition. Something unexpected and classic.

Trenton had the female race typically pegged in a quick five seconds, but not Anne. He felt suddenly out of practice in her presence. Like the old tricks wouldn't work, and his entire arsenal would be useless. But he failed to worry when her lips moved slowly back against his. Tasting of that peach tea she must have had earlier, he pulled her in deeper.

Trenton wanted to touch her, to rekindle the warmth in her skin. His palms fed at the edges of her face, cupping with caution up until the moment they fell to her shoulders in investigation.

In Anne's artistry, he could see himself how she saw him. Trenton tried to gather that in his hands when he held her.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-11 09:15 pm UTC (link)
Anne's shoulders tensed under the thick yarn Trenton's fingers pressed down into her skin, and the moment the kiss became something more than a soft yielding of butterfly lips, Anne pulled back. The separation was jarring, almost a tearing of something she hadn't known was put together, and she recoiled from the damage even as she made it. She was trembling in answer to his silent question, whatever it was, but within she felt an emptiness. she had already given someone else what he was asking for. Her fingers crept up and pressed, disbelieving, against her traitorous lips. What just happened?

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-12 04:11 pm UTC (link)
Anne recoiled like she met with a horror she'd never thought possible, and Trenton was compelled after her. Leaning to catch her shoulder against with the stringent slip of his hand, trying to eradicate whatever it was that had startled her.

There were fingers against her mouth, and Trenton's hand tugged them away with a suddenness. A refusal to believe she was going to ruin this.

"Anne." The name was a murmur, compelling her cooperation, when he kissed her again.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-13 08:52 am UTC (link)
He was kissing her. It was such an unbelievable fact, Anne couldn't quite comprehend it was happening. She hadn't even considered the idea that Trenton would think of her at all, much less--she didn't complete the thought. Before she knew it her mouth was bare and unprotected, and he was so close she couldn't see him. Her heart pulled on its strings toward him, he said her name, pulled her in again--and again, she pulled back. Her fingers twisted in his as her spine arched back away from him. "Trenton--" she did not say his name the way he said hers; it was a warning, a plea for sanity. "Stop."

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-13 08:24 pm UTC (link)
This made sense, he realized. This. Anne, with her bottomless eyes and inexperienced mouth. Anne, who was obviously so in love with him that she'd made him into something eternal. Trenton clutched her twisting fingers, impatient when she crammed herself back against the couch. It was an arch of escape, not of yielding. Anne's plea to halt was met with a frustrated sound, but Trenton did stop. He didn't retreat, but he didn't advance. Just hovered, obviously quite irritated, in this in between.

"What?"

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-14 06:55 am UTC (link)
Anne turned, trying to nudge him aside with a shoulder so she could get off the couch, disentangle herself from him, free her hand. "I can't. This--this isn't right." There was something at work here, something that she didn't understand, something that conflicted inside of her. Trenton demanded immortality, but that was art, and his body against hers was something else again. She didn't know what. It made her panic, pull away.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-14 04:59 pm UTC (link)
"You know, the demure little church mouse act gets old real fast."

Trenton was obviously tired of it already when pulled back from Anne. A disgruntled huff spurned from the devilish dregs of his throat. He didn't release his hold on her hand, but he moved back enough that she could draw a breath without smelling only him; something expensive and heady. Pinning her with the ferocity of his epic eyes, Trenton was distempered.

"Like this isn't what you came here for?"

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-15 03:24 am UTC (link)
Anne was completely unprepared for this new tactic. She paused a moment in her escape and unmistakable hurt flooded the dark eyes. "I... I don't act. I came to--to give you the painting." She was disarmed by the eyes, which were at once the kind ones she had depicted, and yet weren't. It was like seeing a man you knew to be caring and cheerful suddenly lash out at you with words that stung. She pulled at her arm. "Let me go."

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-15 08:43 am UTC (link)
There was a flicker of something dark in his eyes. A shark fin carving it's way through such welcoming blue waters. Evident, if only for a second, that he didn't intend to let her go. Not at first, anyway. Anne pulled at her arm, and in the movement, Trenton's fingers unfurled from her wrist. Some kind of recognition stirring in him with the draw of a breath and when he sank back from Anne, it was with no sign of the starved masculinity that had flared him against her so spontaneous.

"The painting, yes. Thank you." The words sounded a little hollow to him, and Trenton ran a hand over his face. "Really."

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-15 04:20 pm UTC (link)
Disoriented by the contrast between what her artist's eye had seen and what she herself had just experienced, Anne could think of nothing to say. She looked down to hide her fear of what she had just seen in those beautiful eyes, but her jaw flexed behind the curtain of her hair and she nodded mutely, without actual response. She made a quick, awkward gesture that would have conformed to the nicety of farewell, if any sound had actually come from her mouth. She stood too quickly, and the world did one slow whirl in front of her eyes. She caught herself mid-crumple on the edge of the sofa with one hand, and blinked quickly to clear it.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-15 08:35 pm UTC (link)
He garnered that she was leaving, and it was just as well. The quiet that consumed them was one stark with an accusation. One that she didn't have to voice, he saw the fear emblazoned in her eyes. His eyes wavered possessively to the portrait, aware that no matter what, that at least must stay with him.

"Are you okay?" Trenton stood with her collapse, catching the underside of Anne's arm with a note of surprise that brought muscle into motion.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-16 12:34 am UTC (link)
She recoiled from him as soon as she was able, tried to hide the reaction with a polite smile, but put distance between them. "Yes. Just dizzy for a moment." Another few blinks, and her eyes came back into focus. The fatigue returned, and she hid her discomfort as she had hidden her fear. "I'm going to go home now." Awkward shifting pause. She didn't look at the portrait again. "Goodbye."

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-16 06:38 am UTC (link)
Anne recoiled, and it was like a blister across his conscious mind. Sore, furious. "Don't, Anne." It was a warning, but threaded thick with the ache of her wordless accusation. Even if it was no less than he deserved.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-16 06:42 am UTC (link)
She turned her head away, moved toward the door, voice now politely urgent. "I have to go." Her head ached, and she was tired. She couldn't think. Trenton was a force that she couldn't reckon with just then. She wasn't sure why he had such power of her, and whether it was simply because he was so very beautiful, or whether it was something else--but it frightened her. She had to go.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-16 06:49 am UTC (link)
He followed Anne, a young blooded coyote tracking the wounded. Neglecting his blanket toga at the couch, it was finally evident that he was thankfully wearing pants. With a turn of his heel, Trenton actually reached the door before her. Hand on it, not caging Anne in, but tolling her leave.

"You don't forgive me?" Trenton's tone was a little disbelieving.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-16 06:54 am UTC (link)
In that moment, she did, because he asked her too. She breathed deeply, appearing to labor just to lift her lungs. Her eyes flick down his body, not drinking it in, but a fast steal of vision, edged in sharp bones. "No--I mean--I do. I don't know what came over me. I think I'm just..." She made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. "Just..." What was she saying? "Tired."

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-16 07:03 am UTC (link)
Anne was fading before his eyes, pigment seemed to be leeching from her in just this short walk to his door. Her exhaustion was palpable, and Trenton didn't hesitate to push some dark hair back from the fleshy carve of her cheek. "You could sleep here," he said while watching Anne as if expecting to have to catch her again any moment.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-16 07:09 am UTC (link)
She didn't smile, because when she felt something honestly, she rarely reflected it in the movement of her face, instead, she reached up and touched the tips of her fingers to his wrist, feather light. All of a sudden, it seemed like such a long walk--even to the elevators. Her limbs felt heavy, and her pulse fluttered against her neck. "I..." It was already a yes. She didn't want to leave; there was no one in her apartment.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-16 07:20 am UTC (link)
The flutter of fingertips against the underbelly of his wrist was so faint, that Trenton had to look down to register the contact was really there. How had she managed to carry the portrait all of the way up here? It wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light.

"Come here," he murmured carefully, with no discernible element of suggestion. Fitting her shoulders under the sturdy fix of his arm when he walked her toward the bedroom hallway.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-16 07:29 am UTC (link)
She didn't resist, not this time. In fact, she sank trustingly into the curve of his arm and the ripple of his ribs against the soft give of her skin under the sweater. Abruptly overwhelmed by how much she had given to the portrait and how little she had left for herself, she was happy that he would take care of herself. The spike of fear she had felt to see that trace of darkness in him was fading fast under the strange haze of fatigue and the same illusion she had worked under for weeks while she labored over the portrait. The smell of ripe peach flesh was stronger; it came from her hair, probably the soap she used for it.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-16 07:40 am UTC (link)
In this new bloom of trust, Anne fit perfectly under his arm. The hug of hollow ribs against her side as they walked, Trenton ran his hand over her sweatered arm in an effort to warm her. To return her to this side of vibrancy with his contact alone. But he could still detect the sluggish nature of her steps when they breached his bedroom, which was blessedly clean. The same stark lines as the living room, the new age playboy condemned to his blacks and whites.

Trenton tilted his cheek against Anne's crown with a brief smell to her hair, appreciative when he pulled back one side of his bedspread for her to climb in.

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[info]justlikelife
2010-01-16 07:45 am UTC (link)
By the time they got there, Anne was in a haze of fatigue, and everything was in monochrome, even the edges of her own sleeves and Trenton's eyes watching her. She gave him a grateful butterfly kiss of her lashes against his temple as she touched her cheek to his, and then she curled into the bed as if it was her own, automatically stretching long and then rolling over onto her side, hair fanning out on the pillow as she sank down into sleep.

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[info]cyprian
2010-01-16 07:57 am UTC (link)
Trenton had never seen someone that exhausted unless they were coming down from a crack binge. And Anne didn't seem much the type for that sort of good time.

He actually tucked her in. Which might have seemed completely unlike Trenton, but he only made reservations about being too kind to women if he'd already slept with them.

Migrating to the bathroom, he poured some water into a glass and returned. Scavenging pills from the drawer of his nightstand, and leaving them on the table beside her should she need some help getting to sleep. Although Anne looked fairly out of it in just the time it had taken for Trenton to come back from the other room.

After watching her for a moment of strange quiet, he returned to the living room. To get high and stare at what she'd made of him.

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