The main lobby was chilly when compared to the theatre itself with its lack of lights and moving bodies. Rowan stood at the front box office where a receptionist was posted to sell tickets or answer questions for anyone who came in or called. It wasn’t the most exciting job that Rowan could imagine ever doing, but the woman behind the desk with a sour expression and looking none-too-pleased by the dancer visiting her didn’t seem to care.
“I am expecting someone later this evening. Can you make sure he gets let into the theatre? His name is Elex Yorke.” He slipped a piece of paper with Elex’s name on it and his own as a confirmation that the visitor had permission to be let into the main theatre. His signature, almost illegible, was scrawled at the bottom.
The woman, gave the note a look, returned her dour expression back to Rowan and forced a smile. “Right. No problem honey.”
Rowan got the impression that it was anything but not a problem, but really didn’t care. All the woman had to do was let Elex pass. Nothing else. “Thank you.” He forced his own sweet smile at her before turning to head back into the theatre to warm up.
That had been three hours ago and rehearsal was nearing its completion. The lights of the theatre were up to full, allowing the performers to see anyone walking around the plethora of seats which many of their own co-performers did as they awaited for their own dances and scenes to be called. The performance of the Nutcrackers was coming along well, which was good considering it was nearing its opening performance. It was down to polishing the dances.
One of Rowan’s dances had been called up and he turned his focus away from the anxious energy of seeing Elex again to his job, as difficult as it was. But, once the Russian dance music began, Rowan lost himself in the performance as his entire focus went to what each movement required of him. The dance in particular was quite demanding, and of course they had to run it not once but twice to fix small errors that had been called out. By the end of it, Rowan was covered in a light sheen of sweat.
He hadn’t noticed when Elex had slipped in, but when he practically pranced down the stairs to the seating area, he found the smaller boy waiting there. A grin spread across his face as he walked up to Elex. “I’ve been watching for you all night.” He said. “And you somehow manage to slip in when I am too busy to watch out for you.”
Elex's punctuality sharpened with his waning civilian life. Where he could once get away with attending shows an hour early to sample company or purchased foods, the cost now proved too much. Where he would have wanted to watch the corps rehearsal in full, he could afford no such thing against the meager allotment of three hours -- not if he expected to see Rowan.
And he did, though briefly, when he came into the theatre. The box office troubled him as she did once before -- the face stuck for all her sassy incredulity, he found her interesting for that -- but he found no snags beyond that point. Elex's feet down the sloping auditorium floor sounded inaudible against the powerful thumping of the stage. Dressed as normal as he was, he felt his cover uniquely jeopardized in a double-sense of displacement. He felt like his inhumanity was at stake, like his social grace was called into question. But he eased into a seat nonetheless and waited, pocket watch on knee, while the performance wound to a close.
He enjoyed it for what it was -- a gathering of people acting as embodiments of passion and discipline. Sculpted muscle moved with rigor across the stage, oft in unison. He wondered, then, what it must be like in the dressing rooms. The thought was banished near at once. He would settle for their dance, their costume, their art. The span of practice concluded and their director dismissed them from the stage after a few final words for their overall performance.
Many of the dancers redirected to the back room. Some cared little, perhaps, for what they wore and approached the front of the theatre regardless. One still stepped off, neither with goal of the undercroft or goal of the front in mind, and beelined for him. His black leotard left very little to the imagination.
"Rowan," he greeted as he stood. The black plastic jacket worn crinkled during his rise, and eclipsed the view of his x-patterned v-neck. The pocket watch returned to his pants pocket.
"I couldn't make it earlier. Too many appointments." He looked from Rowan's comparatively casual clothing to his face, then cracked a rare but fleeting smile. "Are you ready?"
A casual wave of a hand declared Rowan’s lack of interest in how late Elex had arrived. He was just pleased the dark haired teen had made an appearance. It would have been terribly disheartening to have to leave the theatre on his own when such lovely company had been anticipated. “Not a problem at all. You’ll have a chance to see it in its entirety once it goes up. You’ll just have to let me know what night best suits you and I’ll get you the ticket. Perhaps one for your brother too? Assuming, of course, he’d be interested in ballet.” Rowan was well aware that ballet was not to everyone’s tastes, though to say he didn’t quietly judge them for it would be a blatant lie. There was so much beauty to a production and if one couldn’t come and at least appreciate the work involved in the making of a performance well then, that person was very short sighted.
Glancing down at his apparel when Elex mentioned being ready to go he chuckled. “I can be in a minute. I planned ahead and brought clothes that will slip over this leotard. My bag is just backstage.” He had been anticipating Elex’s desire to leave once rehearsal was over, so had prepared for such. With long easy strides he moved to where a coalition of bags were being collected by their owners. Several others opted to bypass the dressing rooms on the norm, and instead shower at home. Normally, Rowan opted to shower first, but tonight he would do without. Instead a quick wipe of his exposed skin with a dry towel took care of any sweat. New deodorant, and a quick shimmy into relaxed cut jeans hid the length of his leotard while a jewel toned green button up covered the tank top of his spandex under outfit. A quick spray of his cologne to make sure he smelt fresh, and Rowan let his hair down with a quick tug of the ponytail holder.
After slipping on a pair of shoes and tossing his slippers into the bag, he shouldered his small black duffle and hurried over to rejoin Elex. “Best I am going to get without a hot shower.” He grinned. “But, that can be taken care of later.” Let Elex take that statement how he wished.
“Now.” He clapped his hands together. “Shall we get a bite to eat? Certainly doesn’t need to be fancy. Or perhaps you’d rather do something else? Go to a museum, I would suggest the gardens but I am still unsure if I want to test their pest control just yet.” Rowan teased as he began to lead the way out of the theatre, scaling the slight incline to the door in the back.
You're putting on a show about it aren't you? The thought burned to escape him, but Elex pinned it between too-white teeth. As Rowan conducted himself, all flair and casual openness, Elex let his eyes rove to the slurry of dancers still on stage. They parted this way and that, like the seeds of a dandelion after a strong gust. Where do they land, after the stage shuts down and all the world drops dead? Where do they go, once their masks are neatly tucked away into soggy gym bags?
Elex ignored the show because Rowan wanted to play it. And when at last the faint catch of deodorant faded from his nose and a new bloom of bergamot caught his attention, Elex looked upon his companion again. He often chose well with dress habits -- too well, perhaps, for a place like this. For a place where all the other pirouetting legs might open for his service. Maybe that was just another part of the game.
"Is that what you want, Rowan? Dinner and a shower?" Brows cocked, his inquisitive stare touched over eyes and nose and lips while his arms laid crossed over his chest. "Subtle, aren't you."
Elex felt ready to slip from this place. The theater walls and ceiling stood tall like his mother, too wide and too high for the cloying scent of flesh to greet its borders. Close as he was to Rowan, he smelled the heat of his body on him, and all the hours of effort worked out of knotted cable muscles and broad, unbending bones. He looked good. Well-worn. Relaxed in the way all men get after a night spent inside of pleasant company. Elex never asked for a relationship, after all. What could he do if Rowan sold his love to dance?
"I haven't been to a museum in a long time." It was true, truer and more benign than any other word he spoke that day. He followed with hands now left at his sides, listless and waiting. What would Rowan do with that? Or was he set to lead the rhythm into the afternoon, his entourage be damned?
That wouldn't do, he supposed. Some men couldn't be trusted. He'd not decided if he could trust this one yet, for all the clever curves of his hair set against a chiseled body. Elex caught up to weave spinebone spindle fingers into Rowan's nested hand.
It had been hard to decipher Elex’s wants and needs between the two of them. Like navigating a complicated puzzle, Rowan had opted to instead to err on the side of caution and allow whatever it was that the younger teen wanted to come to the forefront on its own. Rowan was well aware of what he wanted, and perhaps it was the Yorke boy’s stature but Rowan feared scaring him off like a frightened colt. The youngest Cameron boy would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in Elex. Perhaps a bit more than interested.
Much to Rowan’s surprise he felt the touch of a hand upon on of his own before smaller fingers intertwined themselves with his own. Eyebrows rose and golden eyes turned to look at his partner just as surprise melted away into pleased delight. A squeeze of a hand and Rowan nodded. “Then a museum it will be!” He said robustly. “Perhaps afterwards a dinner and a shower, hm?” He laughed as he pushed the doors open that lead to the main lobby, happy to keep pace with Elex’s smaller stride.
“So, is there anything in particular you’d be interested in seeing? Art, Natural History, Technology, or perhaps Science?” As he asked a thumb gently caressed the back of Elex’s hand. Each bird-like bone making up the younger’s hand was easily detectable, but made for a delightful sensation as he reached the crest and valley of Elex’s structure. “Since you’ve said you’ve not been to one in so long, you get to choose where we go.”
Exiting out into the cooler air, Rowan’s hot muscles felt the bite of the cold more acutely. A shiver ran down his spine but as they continued on their way away from the theatre he began to adjust. His whole attention was squarely upon his companion whose hand was interwoven within his own like the web of a spider. Rowan was quite willing to remain in Elex’s grip. The little show of intimacy was, in and of itself, warming. Like elex had decided to stake a claim upon Rowan. A claim that enticed the danseur with need and want.
Dinner and a shower? How expectant. But I can't give you everything you wanted, Rowan Cameron. That would bore you.
That wouldn't be fun at all.
He realized his mistake only after they crossed the sooty length of a street. Winter's dusty wiles ensconced them, laid claim on their bodies with gooseflesh. But the cold could not steal thought away from Stroud, and all her sour, spoiled infatuations with art, the artist, and the decadent. Paintings made with human feces, sculptures intended for erotic satisfaction, intermedia projects with such a sordid history that an artist's life was irrevocably tied up into its trite display. Art was once an easy, distant past time where the oversaturated could comment drunkenly on a piece they would never understand. But his world now came to rest on the abstract, on the infinite and the morose and the bellicose and the deceitful and the fantastical. The thought of what he would find in an art piece stuck fast in his throat, like a bullet lodged in the hollow of a rib. He coughed, but the blockage never cleared.
The other options provided no solace. Watch the breath of the world up until the modern-day death rattle, watch the rise of man through machine and unsubtle arrogance, or learn of wonders so poorly understood and barely remembered. He wondered, then, if Rowan fostered an opinion on any of them.
What did he even see in the world? He danced, Elex knew, so he found interest enough in that. Did he dance for the art or the exercise? Did both attract him? Elex could hardly say; so often did he entangle himself in feverdreams of meaning that he barely recognized Rowan's own thoughts and feelings. Maybe he never learned to have any in the placid world of the privileged elite.
"Let's see the art. Just the art," he clarified, shooting Rowan a pointed look. "Then we'll talk dinner if we have time." If I have time. The hour on his pocket watch was young, he knew. "I want to see your favorite artist first."
Another street crossed, a block passed. Cars breathed their way through the city like tepid sighs. Elex kept up as best he could until they reached the great, looming marble figures that spearheaded rustic black gates. Brilliant turquoise and gold filigree debuted the museum in a way that only old money could afford. The pair passed through the gates to the cobblestone driveway, where mature trees offered shade from the chilly atmosphere. Old, heavy doors waited for them to add their fingerprints to its petina. Elex didn't mind pushing through and holding the door; he never left much of a mark before then.
"I never liked coming here with Mother. She used this place for social calls. She couldn't name a single piece from here."
Chuckling, Rowan agreed. “Fine. Just the art. I can handle that. Too long in the museum after a rehearsal like today would only end up in me wanting to take a nap.” Not like museums were the most exhilarating of places to be when it came to physical exercise. While Rowan certainly had his fair share of it for the day, standing in one place for too long wasn’t going to end in his favor. “Well used muscles need to stay somewhat active after all.”
He huddled against the cold in his coat, but dealt with the cold on his hand that grasped Elex’s. It was warm in a different way. Something he wasn’t interested in losing right away. Not until necessary. Thankfully they weren’t terribly far from the museum with the ballet theatre being fairly well located within the city. Most of downtown was well within a person fingertips once leaving the DCBC.
“My favorite artist, hm?” He pondered it. Visiting the art museum wasn’t always at the top of his priority list, but there certainly were a few styles he appreciated. In fact… “It’s a local artist.” He said. “Does more abstract things. Stuff you can look at for hours and find something new each time. It’s sort of a game sometimes to discover how any individual scenes I can find in his work.” A smile lit up his face as he looked at Elex. “I hope it’s not disappointing that it’s not some well known artist or anything.”
The museum came into view. It’s looming statues and opulent entryway stood ready for the pair to step through. It was an extravagant sight. Something a visitor to the city would certainly remember upon return home. By this point, it was such a normal sight for Rowan that he barely batted an eye at the building’s architecture. It was at this point, when Elex stepped forward to hold the door open, that Rowan lost contact with the other boys hand and felt his hand hang at his side in a lost sort of manner. Thankfully, the warmth of the building gave him reason to pause and unzip his jacket. “Winter definitely isn’t too far off.” He commented with a grin.
“Your Mom brought you here for social calls? Why bother if she wasn’t interested? Well, unless whoever she was meeting wasn’t interested either.” He mused as he looked to Elex as they made their way further into the building. Rowan casually led the way to where he knew Rupert’s art tended to be presented. Noting that his hand once again was hanging limply at his side in want, Rowan decided to take the initiative. Test the boundaries so to say, and carefully took Elex’s hand into his own using his warmth in an attempt to heat up the smaller, slightly colder hand. “At that point, why not just choose a restaurant or something to meet at? Or even the gardens?” Pausing, his brow furrowed in thought. “Unless, of course, she was just putting on a show about coming here.”
Immediately Rowan realized what he said and he turned to Elex. “Not that I am saying anything bad about your mother. From what I remember as a kid she seemed fairly nice.”
Elex paid his admissions in short order, and the woman at the front desk thanked them politely before Rowan steered them toward the museum's art portion. Long slate steps demanded proper attention in their grandeur; they opened out to an area framed with glass with a postmodern flair. To their left, a projector sprayed its unsettling Holocaust shorts onto a large, blank wall. Rowan ignored it altogether, but Elex's gaze lingered on it a moment longer. He watched the way too-skinny bodies hollowed out, how their eyes sunk inward and away from the world they regretted. They withered down to their hopes and choices and defiance —
Rowan caught him by the hand and Elex was torn from his fixation. Conversation filtered back to him in muted, grey tones. His mind felt sluggish as he caught up.
"Sometimes the people she met were art aficionados." Elex followed suit in opening his coat. "She said it was important to meet the people you wanted to impress at their interests. Mrs. Beauregarde was a museum curator before she retired; Mother would meet her here to earn her good graces. She only needed to read the plaques a few times to sound invested; Mrs. Beauregarde was nearly blind." And stubbornly refused glasses. The way her old fingers crinkled around fat magnifiers at dinner tables reminded him of paper machet projects. They fit together like all the folds and creases in a wadded ball of paper. Yet his mother diligently unfurled those hands, if only for the occasional nod in her direction.
He knew what his mother would say. He knew how she'd declare that she'd done so much for the family. That her motives were clear, and efficient, and never hurt anyone.
Elex's gaze found a framed photo of jesus on the cross, veiled in a murky yellow light. He smiled at the irony as he moved with Rowan. His fingers tightened their grip and his thumbnail found all the peaks and valleys in Rowan's knuckles.
"You don't need to backtrack." He looked to Rowan then, dark eyes backlit by mischief. "I say bad things about her a lot. She deserves it every time." But it's different to insult someone else's mother, isn't it? You're being so careful, Rowan. Take chances. Museum visits and held hands are just a veneer. It's up to you to decide what goes behind it.
The pair passed a mixed media hallway that he determined to revisit when Rowan slowed down. "Is your favorite artist nearby?" Perhaps that would explain the danseur's determination.
That glint in his eyes, the almost reassuring grip on his hand as Elex traced along each divet between his knuckles and up calmed Rowan some. “Well, insulting someone’s mother can be a recipe for disaster.” He commented before he smiled, stopping to turn and stare Elex down, his face leaning down to the more petite boys as if to meet their lips. Instead he bypassed Elex’s lips and instead leaned towards the boy’s ear. “I am glad you aren’t the sort to become upset by it though, but it was hard to gauge if you were a Mother’s boy or not. I’d prefer not to tick off the guy I am interested in. Not yet anyway.” He pulled away from Elex’s ear, face still close, and grinned as he looked into those dark pools of eyes.
He pulled away quickly then, spinning on a heel with a flourish of a hand. “As a matter of fact, he is.” Rowan gave Elex’s hand a little tug as he led the way down an exhibit that had been created to exhibit local artists. The art type of the hall was eclectic as one could find all sorts ranging from scenic to media or even traditional to non. It was an interesting exhibit to wander down, especially for people who didn’t have a preference for one type of work over another, or hadn’t found their preference yet.
Rowan beelined his way down the exhibit, about half way he stopped as his eyes fixated on a red, black and blue piece of art that, to some people, would look as if the colors had been haphazardly applied to the canvas in varying strokes and even splatters. The majority of the canvas was taken up by the darkness of the black while the red and blue were used as accent colors. “There he is.” He waved a hand at the art. “I haven’t seen this one yet, they must have recently changed out pieces.”
He stood studying the picture for a bit, his focus completely on the piece of art as he let his gaze soffen and just enjoyed the piece for what it was and for what he could see in it. “Almost feels like it’s night time and you’re looking out of a blurry or dirty piece of glass as lights that are just out of focus.” He murmured. “Or perhaps the lights you see when you close your eyes after being on stage and walking into the darkness of backstage.”
Rowan left little time for reciprocation -- by the time Elex settled back into his bones and began enjoying their closeness for what it was, Rowan swept away from him in a flourish. And while Elex remembered his breath, he watched the danseur lead away from him with his ostentatious personality. He kept his watch with a carefully guarded interest. You have so much passion that it's spilling out of you at every moment. Like an overfull jug that can't keep its balance. You brandish that passion like a strength. Do you know how brave you look right now, taking a chance like that?
What if I turned and went the other way? A knowing smirk settled in while Rowan caught his hand and led him down the interlacing corridors.
When they once again stopped, Elex shuffling on his toes to keep from slamming into Rowan's sudden stop, he was taken aback by Rowan's choice in art. The display looked like two minutes' worth of work by an unskilled hand. He cocked a brow at it, smirk falling into a neutral purse of lips. This is the kind of art my mother lauds because she knows no one can make sense of it. No one will know that she has no interest in art whatsoever.
"I'm going to be impolite," Elex prefaced as he raised his hand to his mouth, "because we're both starved for a little honesty. I hate it. It's ugly. Its statement is unclear. It looks like something I can do just as well in thirty seconds or less. With my toes." He looked to Rowan. "You could do better." The naked challenge lingered in his gaze: so why don't you?
"Tell me what you like about it. Not just this piece -- the artist. This type of art. This... " He paused, searching for the proper term. "Abstract impressionism." For once, he thanked his mother's propensity to recite memorized information aloud -- and typically at him.
It couldn’t be helped. Rowan was not at all put down by Elex’s words but instead found himself chuckling at the Yorke boy’s reaction. Mirth glittered in Rowan’s eyes as he turned away from the art to give Elex his full attention. “I am not at all surprised that was your reaction.” His smile turned into a lopsided grin. “That’s nothing against you, you just seem the sort to prefer more structure and obvious depiction with art. And I could be terribly wrong with that assumption, so excuse my impolite frankness.”
“Everyone has their own preference. The enjoyment I find in this artist, and others similar to him, is the lack of forcing a certain depiction upon the viewer. I can stand here all day and see one thing, numerous things, or nothing at all. Someone else could be standing right next to me and our imaginations could find something completely different from the piece. I enjoy the lack of structure.” He turned his head to glance over his shoulder at the piece in question. “Maybe it’s because so much of my life has been structured that a bit of chaos and nonsense is terribly exciting. For me, it gives a sense of creative freedom.” He shrugged and turned his golden gaze back to Elex. “Perhaps I could do better, perhaps not, but I do enjoy indulging myself on guilty pleasures.”
Stepping forward he wrapped his arms around Elex’s waist, pulling the boy close. “It’s hard to argue with what naturally attracts you. Why fight it when you can enjoy every bit of it for what it is?” The conversation took a rather obvious turn by the end, but Rowan didn’t seem to care. So much of my life is run by a clock and what is expected of me, as I am sure your life is as well. Why not indulge ourselves? Do what we want. Enjoy and admire what attracts us.
“Now.” Rowan’s hands moved settle on either side of Elex’s hips, giving the other boy room to move away if he so desired. “I showed you mine, how about you show me yours?” He grinned smugly at his little joke. “Unless you’re going to begrudge me the chance to scoff at your own preference?”
You could be wrong, but I'm tired of everyone trying to be right all the time.
He looked to Rowan during his explanation, saying nothing all the while. You're so bull-headed. Maybe even contrary. When the world prescribes you rules, you see invitations to break them. But this painting gives you no rules -- and you like that freedom. Maybe not contrary, then. Maybe you're just stubborn to pick your own way.
But I'm just as free to find it ugly and pointless. Elex smirked to himself.
"There's a choice for indulging it at all," Elex returned, looking up at his companion, "since we're not obliged. I have one more critique of it. Where your life was structured, mine was sidelined. This painting is more of that, whether I choose to give it meaning or not. It's still look but don't touch," he finished, pointing at the sign. As if on cue, Rowan's arms embraced him liberally and Elex leaned into the touch.
Even now, it felt shockingly strange to be touched -- like someone pierced the bell jar damning him to the
earth and he first tasted fresh air. And in being so unconscionably different, he balked at it, he loathed it, but would inevitably enjoy it. Touch-starved, his mother called it, whenever he flinched as soon as she laid a hand on his shoulder.
Touch-starved, he told himself firmly as his hands found Rowan's once again.
"But my artist isn't like that. Come." Elex unraveled himself from Rowan's embrace, and tugged the pair of hands along with an attentive glance. And as he walked the long aisles, he considered his companion. He wasn't a dead weight chained to Elex's leg, he wasn't a dog leashed to Elex's care, and he wasn't an albatross bearing down on him from above. Peer sounded so trite by comparison. They weren't peers -- Rowan was older, and unrestricted by a fused identity. But they functioned as peers when their worlds intersected like this. These few bare moments were what he would learn to -- no, live to -- covet.
Elex swept down a different hall where one of the active rotational exhibits remained. The lights cast their dim glow about the room, crossed between romanticism and foreboding. And as Elex turned a corner, he halted before a vast piece that spanned the whole of one wall, that demanded notice with its backlighting and rustic gold exterior. Chairs cast their shadows in a thousand different positions. Soundings proclaimed the sign at the right of the exhibit. "This is Robert Rauschenberg's work," he spoke over his shoulder. "He's dead now, but he had good ideas."
When Elex pulled away Rowan found himself missing the weight and warmth of the younger teen against him. Though it had been brief, Rowan relished the moment Elex had eased into the embrace. Was that hard for you? Or something you so terribly needed? The constant, but very much appreciated need for touch was evident as the boy seized Rowan’s hand within his own to lead away.
Trailing behind Elex, their hands creating a sort of bridge between them, Rowan smiled and watched the Yorke boy with great interest. There was a precision to his movements. He knew where he was going. There was no hesitation. You mentioned it’s been so long since you’ve been here but yet you still know exactly where you are going. How often were you dragged along with your mother to this place? Was it monthly, bi-weekly, or even weekly adventure? Surely as a child such continuous visits were not that engaging.
Rowan followed in silence though. His gaze fixated on the boy he was attached to. The art around him wasn’t enough to pull his gaze. Not until, that was, Elex came to a sudden stop, forcing Rowan to make his own hasty halt beside him.
It was impossible not to notice the painting that spanned multiple walls. It’s odd, and surreal depiction of chairs was peculiar. From floating, to upside down, shadowed, crooked, you name it a chair was likely depicted in some odd way. Standing back, hand still clutched within Elex’s Rowan studied the piece. Attempted to make sense of it, if there was any to be had. “Well…” He said after taking time to look over the work as a whole. “We certainly don’t meet eye-to-eye on art.” He grinned and looked over at Elex, amusement on his face.
“I can appreciate the spontaneity of it and how he isn’t conventional, but that’s about where it stops for me. What about this piece speaks to you?” He tilted his head slightly in question, focus purely on Elex as interest in the chair motif was swiftly lost.
Elex smirked. "I can't tell you what it means or what it's supposed to mean, but it isn't supposed to have meaning in its appearance for me. It's aesthetic. I like its geometry. I like that it's made of pieces from the 'real world'. Not just paint in all its abstract." He glanced askance at Rowan. "It's made of screen printing like graphic tees. Industrial lights like the kind found in your theatre. Chairs like any in our houses.
"But Rauschenberg is one of my favorite artists for how he invites the viewer to participate in the art." He thumbed his lower lips as his eyes combed the rustic golds and bronzed shadows. Behind the thin display sat a series of lights. Each one etched the chair's silhouette on the painted silkscreen. "I don't know if this one is invitational. I don't think we can walk through it or get behind it.
"But… There was another display of his here. It had a suitcase attached to a collage by a bike chain. The collage was full of road signs. There was a sign next to it inviting everyone to take something from the suitcase and put something back in. It didn't matter what it was. And it might sound simple to you, forgettable even." Elex searched for words in the hard angles of chairs. "But it means something to me. Putting some piece of yourself into a suitcase where thousands of people have access to it. Thousands of people you'll never know. Thousands of people who would take your offering and find meaning in it. His art is the platform for you to make an impact. That says more to me than all the paintings left in this place."
He paused, filling the width of their silence with a chuckle. "I think you've humored me too long." Will it cost too much to get used to idle things? Talking about art won't fill my quota. It won't gain me the accolades to prove myself. All the world wants to collapse into Negaverse duties at the most inopportune times. It doesn't have to be this way, does it? Is it possible to love art and opera and good food but still be an effective officer?
There has to be a way.
"Was there something else you wanted to look at, or does dinner sound better?"
Brows rose as Elex spoke with such passion about the piece in front of them and others this specific artist had created. His penchant for things that he can physically touch and be a part of wasn’t missed and Rowan found himself thinking back to their short physical exchange minutes before. It seems we both crave something in our lives and that craving has found its way into the art we are attracted to. It was an inspiring thought, and something that had Rowan thinking a bit deeper upon the piece in front of him.
“I think inviting people to interact with your work is novel and also extremely interesting. I wish I had encountered the piece with the suitcase that you appear so excited about. Leaving a piece of yourself behind for others to find sounds thrilling and curious. What sort of thing would you want in exchange for a piece of yourself?” All rhetorical questions but Rowan began looked at the geometry of the chairs more closely, even stepping up to the piece as close as he dared. That trained rule of ‘look but don’t touch’ was too ingrained in him to want to break it without an obvious invitation.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing some more pieces of his. Especially interactive ones if more exist.” Rowan said finally after minutes of studying the piece. The media art was not something he was normally drawn to, but with Elex’s help there was a chance he could see the draw in such art.
Spinning on a heel, smile wide, he opened up his arms. “Perhaps I enjoy humoring you? Or maybe, I enjoy watching you be so passionate about a piece.”
He returned to Elex’s side, taking up hand once more with little thought. “Dinner sounds lovely right now. I know of a place not too terribly far from here. We can walk in fact, or if you prefer, get my car?”
'What sort of thing would you want in exchange for a piece of yourself?'
"A piece of someone else," he muttered. Like you and Sinope. You each have a piece of me, and I hold a piece of you. Sometimes it keeps us in check. And in other times, we hold each other up. With enough strings to enough people, you'll never fall too far. His daydreams wandered with Rowan, and only lasted so long as he looked to the massive mixed media piece.
So when he turned once more, those daydreams departed like dandelions. "There's a few," Elex returned as his hands clasped together. "They're scattered between countries. Some in Germany. Some in France. Some on the other side of the United states. Artists are only popular when they're dead -- pity for them." But where Robert Rauschenberg would never make more work, he left behind enough of a legacy to stir the hearts of forthcoming artists. There would be more exhibits in the same vein, with different stylistic elements and different artist's statements if he cared to look.
If the Negaverse left him enough time to himself.
"I'm passionate about a lot of things." Art isn't high on that list. He looked past Rowan for a lingering moment, then he turned from the displays. In the distance, the lights danced brighter with promise of the reception area. His aside grew with sarcasm: "It's just so gauche to show passion.
"Get your car, if you would. I don't like the cold." Not like this.
You have pieces of people. Everyone who you touch and are close to. Rowan smiled at Elex’s response but said nothing in return. Instead he nodded and turned his gaze back to the art while Elex spoke more about the artist and his works.
“Well, I obviously need to learn more about these passionate topics of yours.” Rowan said as he spun his attention back to Elex. “Gauche or not, I find it terribly alluring and it helps me to learn and understand you all that much better. Passion can be a wonderful tool when utilized correctly.” A wink proceeded his statement as Rowan was obviously nonplussed by the sarcasm his date was throwing his direction.
As Elex made the choice in transportation Rowan made a small mock bow. “Car it is then. That’s certainly closer than the restaurant. I’ll make sure to crank the heat up for you too.” The cold wasn’t Rowan's favorite weather either, so the decision of taking the car was well with him. This way they’d both get to stay comfy warm and not be huddled against the cold pushing themselves to the restaurant without leisure of conversation. Rowan thirsted to learn more about Elex, and anytime he got with the other teen was precious to him.
“Let’s get going if we’re going to make it there before the dinner crowds start rolling in.” With a quick swipe of his hand, Rowan grabbed hold of Elex’s own before heading off to their next destination.
strickenized
