can't find the secret to survive // kiah
May 22, 2020 22:49:25 GMT -5
Post by Gavin on May 22, 2020 22:49:25 GMT -5
SEREN WARFIELD
He looks like he believes me.
He should - I'm telling the truth for once - but I can't help but question how fast he'd bought in all the same. I should be grateful, but I'm stuck wondering how the hell someone makes it this many years in Four without having their trust broken yet. I don't believe he's completely unscarred - no one is - but surely it can't be this easy for him to accept my explanation.
I can feel him watching me as I evaluate the studio.
"Yes. I'm quite proud of this piece behind me."
It shows on his face - and it should. He has a right to be. His hand hovers over the paint, and it makes me curious about the texture of the surface. It looks still wet.
"What do you think it says? When you look at it how does it make you feel?"
If I'm going to be here, I suppose the least I can do is focus-group for him. I've certainly never shied away from saying what I think before.
I don't consider long before responding.
"Desperate," I say, eyes sliding from his face back to the painting. "Exhausted. Violent. Like I've been backed into a corner." That sounds more threatening than I'd intended. Shit. "But there's something kind of relieving about it, too, isn't there? Like a catharsis?" It might be more detail than he'd been looking for. It's more detail than I'd intended to provide, at any rate. I'm off my game.
I shrug apologetically, looking away entirely. "I do like it, though." Maybe this is a side effect of the fact I can't remember the last normal conversation I had. My family barely speaks to me these days, and almost everyone else I meet wants to punch me in the face.
To their credit, I do go out of my way to give the reason to. But the fact remains that I'm not used to being polite anymore. I'm not used to being halfway cordial. Having a reason somehow still doesn't make me feel any better.
"Magnus," he says. "Magnus Costello."
"Magnus," I repeat. "Good to know." My posture is open, unthreatening. It's not a natural stance for me. I'm fighting every instinct I have right now, but I'm trying. Fuck, am I trying. It's my own damned fault, really - can't blame anyone else this time, I'm the one that made me this way - but self-pity comes easily to me no matter how undeserved.
Magnus Costello. Hm. I can't say I recognize the name. It suits him well enough. And it makes things easier for me - everyone responds better when you use their name, that's just fact.
Like I wouldn't have asked anyway. My curiosity has been piqued already. I'd be asking questions even if it wasn't strategically advantageous. There's something strange about this boy and his art and I want to find out what, curfew aside. I wouldn't have come in without it - I can't deny that much - but I'm staying now anyway.
My shoulders relax, and I step further into the room, not straying too far from the door. I don't exactly need to hold it closed, but I want my exit route remaining open.
Just in case.