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It seemed impertinent to inquire too closely on the particulars of a statement like that- doing the exact opposite of what was desired by a parent. Stating it baldly seemed at once like an advertisement of boldness and pride in the action as well as a dare to say anything to the contrary about it. It was curious, still, if there was anything to it beyond rebellion. He preferred Mathias as the focus, not the father, and it was a less...accusatory? offensive? Well, less volatile subject perhaps. "So....do you like being an artist? Is it what you want to do?"

He was worried the answer was going to be in the uncertain haze of 'it just seemed like the thing to do' or neutrality of caring about the actual occupation compared to its value as a thorn in a authority figure's side.

The first part was all well and good, sounded headstrong and rebellious. Especially words like 'pigeonhole.' Balking authority because it was authority, independence for the simple sake of it, not with actual reason or drive or necessity. As though each and all, the individual at core, were responsible and hale enough to choose all for themselves and their best interests. That usually ended up in self destruction rather fast. "Objectivism, much?"

"I do want to be a sculptor. i don't expect to make a living at it, there isn't much of one to be made anymore in public works where I would want to be. Mostly just toys, maquettes, art sculpts for comic book action heroes...entertainment industry stuff. Enough money to eat and keep a roof over my head is really all my goal. Learning, with the right books, can be mostly free, and I find enriching. Food for the mind, for the soul, more than the body. But I guess that shows in comparisons. You look....fit. "

"You could probably make extra modelling for the figure drawing classes. I heard one of the teachers mention its 9 an hour if you can stand being still so long. 12 an hour for the full nude classes. They usually go through a local agency, though."

"To be honest, I don't expect anyone to be any sort of reader much anymore. But a person doesn't have to read specifically Rand's works to seem to share opinion on philosophies. Or to at least seem to draw some similar conclusions and draw some ideas from the general to create their own ideological stance, if not full blown philosophy. There's been plenty of post-humus discussion from other sources you may have come across, " Quenton perked, hearing the other get lively and actually seem to engage. Then frowned when he seemed to deliberately back and change subject. "Rand was the original and often most famous and available though, it's true. So....more of a general ...liberalism? Or did you have some other ethical branch you preferred?"


"I suppose painting doesn't count as being still because you get to be moving the brush and palette about? " Sad to hear really. While Quenton didn't mind, and applauded, the practice of many different body types in the classes, the models he'd all had in his sessions were everything except a youthful, muscular fit- thin, fat, old, childish, Ruben-esque, lanky, knobbly. "Let me know if you ever go in for it."

Listening to banter back was one thing, and a glad one, having someone lean over the table and tap you was another completely, and Quenton leaned away before more than one tap could land, lifting a hand warding and furrowing his brows, "That gesture is at once dismissive, condescending and rude. Please don't."

Whether it was meant as that much, he could hardly say. They'd only just met. But a couple hundred years of occidental convention had clearly defined social taboos and norms, and that sort of bodily contact was among that. Maybe Mathias did think so little of people, even on first meeting and when doing him a favor. Point taken. "Labels on one hand yes, categorization however does serve the purpose of ease of organization and condensing of knowledge for a society who's discoveries and leaps in knowledge over the last couple of centuries dwarf those of the prior thousand years. "

"Far be it from me to confine anyone to any one thing. I prefer variety myself. We expand ourselves by learning more, pushing more, thinking more. We are our own masterpieces. " However heartfelt, the emotion behind them was muted by the faux pas and subsequent terseness.

An apology was really all it needed...it seemed, from Mathias reaction, to have been innocently enacted. Maybe the painter was just a really physical guy in general and talked more with touch than just with words. He'd have to start paying closer attention to how much Mathias moved or emoted with his hands and if it was as bad as stereotype of Greek-decended people.

"So are you part of a local outfit...training club, or gym or anything? I've honestly not heard a great deal about the MMA other than what play it gets on television with the UFC. Or occasionally when someone gushes here or there about some fighter getting a bit part in a bad movie like Scorpion King 2. I'm out of the loop on all things ....sports except for gathering anatomy reference. "

"You know, in case it wasn't obvious with my stone-cutter only physique of amazing, or the rocking fluorescent-light tan I have going on from the studio hours."

"It's hard enough to find time for sleep, maybe I should count my blessings I don't have to worry about a relationship. " Quenton's smile returned, seeing the other nearly reach across the table and then think better of it. Okay, he really is JUST that physical. It's how he interacts. But he can understand politeness to.

"Well, I'll try anything once, adn maybe it would get you a couple laughs. So if you have an hour to show me the ropes sometime, I'll gladly take you up on it. I've never done anything in a gym except make faces at the machines. I hear they don't bite, but who *really* knows."

The food arrived for them to both happily start shoveling under the auspice of conversation, so Quenton politely nodded to the plates in front of them, "Let's not let it get cold."

'Military family', Mathias had said. That was something of a prelude, or at least Quenton thought now that he should have taken it as such, watching the guy eat. It was like the restaurant was a canteen and he had been told he had the soldierly 6 minutes to finish his food before he was expected to be back in rank.

Quenton chewed his own burger thoughtfully, glad he had chosen no fries as it meant that there wasn't too much of a wait while between Mathias' return to swallowing oxygen instead of potato and when he himself was done eating instead of inhaling. "I'm glad you.....could taste it?"

But it was meant jokingly, Quenton was smiling around his straw after he said it. "With some calories to work with, and this breather, maybe you'll have some fresh eyes on that painting. "

He took the black plastic folder on the edge of their table and put enough cash to cover the meal and the 20% tip.