Re: AHS: Sam A & Cris M
Sam didn't know any other art people. Neil wasn't into it, and no one in her family was. Daniel was into the music she liked, but he wasn't big on painting or metal or anything, though he encouraged anything that was creative. No, more like encouraged anything that wasn't her and some form of tar in her veins. But, yeah, no, she didn't expect people to get her thing for art, so she didn't even think about explaining. She had shit to say, sure, but she'd never put any of it to words. Even when she got kicked back home, and she managed a show or two, she didn't talk to the people who came and bought shit. Her expression went pensive, and that shit felt so far away. Home, yeah? Or whatever had been home for a while. She wasn't sure she knew what the word meant anymore.
She laughed when he plucked the black straw from between her fingers. "Adelante?" she asked, and she looked around the club, exaggerated and deliberate. "I don't have anything here, and the artist gets to pick a pose, even if it's not in a tub," she joked. "Next week, yeah? We'll go dark for December soon, and I'll have a lot of free time in my trailer." It gave her time to bum some dollars for supplies, too. No way she was losing that coloring of his to fucking charcoal.
But, yeah, this was fun. It wasn't real, but it made her feel alive, no needlestick required, and she wasn't questioning anything. She just wanted to enjoy it, because life was too fucking serious. She didn't know what was going on behind his brown eyes, but she slipped off the barstool, feet on the cool floor and her hips between his thighs. "Finish your drink, yeah? Some of us have to work, and we still have the drive back." She could probably find him a door here, somehow, but she didn't make the offer. She scratched her shin with her bare foot, and she teetered between his thighs, and she tugged his ties back into place as she waited for him to finish up.