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The Adelaide County Fair was not by far his favored venue, but it was a populous and hopefully profitable one for a one Mathias White to ply his day trade - that is - to try and sell the paintings he busily worked on when he wasn't mashing people's teeth in (or getting his own mashed in) in the octagon, or working out at the gym to try and maintain his ability to rough-and-tumble in the ring. That said, he dressed the part, wearing his more casual attire of jeans, t-shirt and paint-covered denim jacket that were the hallmarks of his more laid-back lifestyle.

Under the main tent - having set up to be ready for the 10 am start time he had arranged his little area as per the requests and requirements of the fair's staff and now milled about, trying to do his best to not pace as he waited for people to arrive to peruse his works.

The showcase was extensive, a smattering of his various styles, though his preferred medium and style would be readily apparent to anyone who took more than a few minutes to look at his pieces.

There were the requisite "Bob Rossian" Landscapes, with happy little tress and rivers, a handful of portraits that he had done to showcase his talent for catching people's likeness, mostly of random people from stock photos, but there was one self portrait that stood out - mainly because it was more blurry than the others - and one of his eyes sported an impressive shiner.

The rest were a mix of mediums but more... abstract and fantastical - all of them done with either oil or spray paint. The oil pieces had an almost Gigerian darkness to them, a slightly darker fantastical take on several more famous renaissance paintings. However, what he had more on hand, were the galactic and fantasy scenes done entirely with spray paint, colorful nebulas and star fields, abstract space stations and ships in the colorful - if cold void of space - or hanging over a medieval castle. More than a few you could have probably seen on the side of someone's van - or a metal album.

And so, Mathias waited, business cards aplenty in his pocket - hopeful that he might sell his paintings - or better yet - his services - to anyone with a passing interest.

As someone approached, Mathias managed to stop his pseudo-pacing to take a moment and take in the potential new client. She was a young woman, Mathias would have stabbed at late teens-early twenties. He would need to approach cautiously, so as to not appear desperate for a sale.

He edged over slowly, just trying to pick up on any details he could glean from her outfit, without hopefully looking like some creep who was giving her the once-over. That was the last thing he wanted to come off as - especially today.

"See anything that catches your fancy?" He asked, carefully clearing his throat and keeping his voice conversational. "Or have any questions about a piece?"

The smile, and blush, were filed away as positive indicators of a potential sale, or at least a vested interest in his card. He filed that away for later, as he listened to her words with a soft attentive "ah-hm."

"People often feel that way," he nodded toward the art. "That you have to be knowledgable about a thing to even ask about it. I did too, once, but I have come to find the best quesrions come from not knowing anytbing at all."

This was delivered with a soft plesant smile as he looked at one of the more fantastical starscapes - spray paint on matboard - planets orbiting a pink, blue, and green nebula.

"Like that one there," he continued. "You would think spray-paint would require drastically different technique, but aside from masking, its just built up layers."

And if you boiled down most paint mediums, that was really all ot was.

"You're not wrong," Mathias offered with a nod, noting the motions of her hands but not commenting lest it was something she might try to hide. Having been a fine arts major he could almost smell the bohemian on her - but he doubted she'd run the same social circles as he had - or she was a new student and he'd graduated well before she'd arrived. "We layer our knowledge and technique on those who came before us, and thus do we artists create culture."

"A certain way of using certain techniques becomes a style," He continued. "Styles become woven and interlayered into the thoughts and feelings of the people producing it - new styles are born, live, some die out, or go into something akin to hibernation until someone brings it back... Or a small counterculture keeps it alive - though that's more common with music I suppose."

"What was the song?" He mused. "Rock-and-Roll will never die?"

"You flatter me," He said with a soft smile and a nod toward the piece. "I normally sell pieces of that size for about $75."

A substantial profit given the cost of rattle-cans and matboard.

Her embarrassment at being caught musing and mulling over the song in her head - even if it was only a snippet - made him consider his options very carefully. He had not intended for his words to make her feel called out, or stop. As a creative he knew how important musing could be.

"But, if you think it's got a song it in," He tapped his lips with a finger to imply thought. "I'm happy to part with it for... a copy of the song? An art trade, one artist to another."

"I think that's a fair exchange, no?"

He had to suppress a laugh at her reaction - humility was refreshing in this day and age and he was glad to see that - or it could have been self-deprecation, in which case he would have wanted to stamp that in the bud while he could. In either case...

"That's more than equitable," He nodded, moving over to the painting to take it off the display and begin the process of making sure it was fit for travel and wouldn't get damaged, making sure to attach his business card to the outside of the wrapping as he did so. "But really, you should think more highly of your work, I'm sure it will be delightful."

The man had... an eclectic taste in music to say the least - if anyone were to look at the music on his phone and see his workout mix, they'd be a might confused.

"Would you like a receipt?" He asked as well as he rested the now sold piece - ready for transport - back on it's easel for her to pickup at her leisure.

"If I recall the schedule right they're going to kick us out around two," Mathias offered, taking the card and using his smartphone to transact the sale. Thank God for payment processors, then taking a moment to write her out a hand receipt with the transaction number - and phone number of the payment processor should there be a double charge or any other issue.

Normally he'd email or text, but he wasn't about to mug her for either on the off-chance of looking like a creep.

"So I'll probably start getting ready to pack up at about 1:45, 1:50," He added. "But, I'll probably be around till four or so, depending on how long it takes me to get my stuff all packed into my car.

And here she was solving the problem for him. He gave her a warm, polite smile, before reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a small rectangular card. He had gone to the trouble of paying a graphic designer to design it - because Graphic Design was not his passion - so it actually looked proper and professional.

"My card," He said, holding it out to the young woman with two fingers after having taken a few more steps to close the gap. "It has my office number - but more importantly my email - and website info, should you be so inclined as to peruse some of my other works also for sale but not currently on display."

Until he could mug his cousin to get him into a gallery again.