Re: Sam/Eames: art class
It was kinda too neat for Sam. Sitting naked and doing a crossword or whatever, but she knew it was all about form for the students in the room. The probs was that she wasn't a student, yeah? She hadn't ever really been a student. She'd picked this shit up as a therapy, an extension of metalwork learned out of boredom in a Jersey mechanic's shop, but she'd never been a student. All around her were like ACADEMICS. Ok, they were artistic or whatever, which was maybe different that like studying math or science, but they were still students that could like get accepted to the university. Sam had never done CLASSES, and she was a fellowship recipient and not a real student. Ok, so maybe the difference wasn't hella obvious to anyone else, but it was hella obvious to her. She didn't scrawl with her pencils on sketchpads. Nah, not Sam, and she'd seen the human form plenty. She didn't need the beefy guy on the stool to trace from across the room.
So, yeah, she didn't do what the others were doing.
He winked, the naked guy, and Sam focused in on eyeball and lashes and sclera. She sketched hauntedness hidden behind smug, and she could do whatever the fuck she wanted with her charcoal. Smudge, and it didn't fucking matter what the guy on the stool thought he was putting out there. It only mattered what she saw with inky eyes, and she drew lashes and corners that creased into age wrinkles. There wasn't any stopping time, huh? And that was there in the curve of indentations under that eyeball, lines in deep and consumptive black that ate away at youth and stepped that eyeball closer and fucking closer to the grave.
Nah, Sam didn't blush. She was bright-blonde sunshine and death smudged on her fingers and, when the instructor announced time wrapping, Sam just perched her pad next to the blank canvas she'd mounted earlier. Her paints were set on the palette, and death's eye was ready to be transferred at her whim. She chewed on the inside of her lip, and she smiled gappy to students that chattered at her as they packed up. Yeah, nah, Sam didn't blush, and she didn't even look at the guy's thighs or cock.