This isn't a kind world

[futures_of_ash]

Who: Rachel
When: Age seventeen in London
What: An attempt to slip the leash.

It was a beautifully colorful place, the National Gallery. Museums were on the 'approved' list of places she could spend her free time, especially out of country, so she took what time she was able. The people took her for some tragic poet, the flame haired girl standing in front of the Impressionism gallery in all black. Xavier liked the picture she made in that color so all she owned was black turtle necks and leggings. Rarely slacks, and the series of little black dresses in varying lengths.

Black reminded her that she wasn't suppose to feel.

Feeling...complicated things.

Immensely.

But she could pretend at times. Pretend as she stared at dripping color and imagined what it would have been like to be able to place all that emotion on a single canvas.

To be so exposed before others, and no monster breathing down her neck. She couldn't touch the art, no, but she could hold her hand inches away, finger trembling as she gave herself a moment...

"Are you alright miss?" a soft voice asked.

She shifted her gaze to the man who'd asked, warmth shimmering in her eyes a moment before she swallowed it down, "I enjoy art," she admitted neutrally.

The an smiled, offering a hand, "so do I. It just seemed it made you...sad."

She eyed those fingers then hesitantly touched them in a handshake more ghost than contact, "it's a sad piece."

"...how so?"

"Outside looking in," she admitted quietly. "The artist sees the joy in what he pictured but borders it with fencing, something he can't touch."

"Huh, never saw it that way," he admitted, and for a change it was clear, curious wonder she felt as he turned back to the painting. Trying to see it as she did. Imagine.

Imagine.

"Perhaps I'm biased," she admitted.

"No, no it's a valid interpretation," he grinned. "We all see what we need to in art I'm told by my teachers!"

"Art student?"

"Caught me," he admitted. "We're all here today to soak in the atmosphere..."

She shifted her gaze to him again, curious, "and what have you soaked up?"

"...stuffy art guards and a cute red head?"

"Seems a pity," she surprised herself by chuckling. "There's a lot more to experience here than that."

"But they will always be here," he countered. "It's the transient types that should be noticed first in case they leave."

Ah, he was flirting. She blinked and hunched her hsoulders slightly, "art lasts."

"Yes," he agreed. "Can I ask your name?"

Could she give it? She blinked, "Rachel."

"Would you mind if I sketched you?"

"...no, I wouldn't." Why not? It would be...new. And cleaner than her business tonight.

"Lovely! I'm Jude!"

Jude the art student, she could work with that. "What do you need from me?"

"Just...do as you're doing? I won't interrupt. I like seeing what you think on your face!"

Right, as if she emoted that well. But she could be still enough for sketches at least. "Alright, I'll warn you if I'm moving," she smiled slightly, shifting to stare at the murky depths of a painted lake. Waters called to her in any format honestly, as much for what they reflected as for the cooling support they offered.

Wistful, lost, yearning... she picked up from Jude's rather expressive face.

Was she?

Perhaps.

Artistic at least, as far as his assignment was concerned.

Encapsulated emotion.

She was slipping today.

"Hey, class leaves in ten minutes," Jude noted some time later. "But I'd love to...paint you? If you'd allow? "

She blinked, dragged out of her thoughts to stare at him again, "alright." He already had sketches so...

"...can you model? I have to run, but tell you what, meet me at the Brine Pub tonight? My treat?"

Ah. Hmmm. "What...time? I have work." Yes, work. Another round of meeting business partner at Xavier's side and feeling them out pressing against them at need, and possibly giving the first stage of an interactive compound poison in coffee...

...Xavier enjoyed her sensitivity to body language and voice inflection. She was such an empathetic child. Better than her mother as an assistant by far.

"...what time do you need?" Jude smiled, jotting his number on a scrap of paper.

"Late."

"Students don't sleep anyway! Show up when you can love, I'll be there!"

He would too, she could tell. "Alright then." She'd call it an exercise in social, a bridge toward understanding those her own age if Xavier asked.

That and she rather thought he might want to kiss her. That might be nice too. Warmer than she was used to. And posing was a far less onerous task than those she was used to.

It could be...fun.