Welcome to Gaia! ::

Quenton peered closely at the liscense, removed his glasses briefly for a cleared look, and smiled, "A sad loss."

But added with a reassuring smile, "It looks good this way, too. "
And hearing that he was eighteen was a sudden relief. The last thing he needed was to be breaking any laws or even risking them. Quenton ducked into his clothes again in a snap, then looked the drawings over.

"The proportions are off, but ....looking at the shaping you've got a good grasp of negative space. that only usually comes across with high school teachers who are obsessed with the Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain method, but if that were the case then you wouldn't have been able to avoid drawing people all the time. It always involves a whole unit on portraiture."

"So you're starting in a good place. No bad habits. These lines are very good. Good silhouetting. You're not breaking inside the figure much though- inside from the contour line. A lot of foreshortening is based in that three dimensional visualization of the inner details. "

He unclipped the pages from the easel and took them to a side table near a brown paper roll, rolled them protected inside the brown art paper, added a securing tape tab and held them out to Alexandre. "Souvenier from forays into the battle of figure drawing. "

"We can take that stop upstairs studios- the painting room with all the windows that will be pertinent to you. Then head over to walk by the dorm and then to the just-barely-off-campus-efficiency house that I call domicile. "

The upper painting studio was as promised- high ceilings and high windows to let in North light so prized and lauded by greats such as Vermeer. There were large model blocks present as well, in differing sizes and heights, but there were boxes full of curious objects for still life as well. Some classical plasters watched the corners, homages to them in oil on large boards in states of progress here or there. There were wire racks covered in mostly clean palettes and palette boxes with lids to save on paint. Ubiquitous sinks and liquid chemical waste lined one wall. "You'll spend time here, mostly, I expect. It gets cold in winter, so you'll want to have clothes you don't mind getting painty. Even if you never spill, there's the chance that someone else will be careless and wave their brushes around. "

"You make shopping trips especially for seasonal clothes? Just old ones would probably do, " but he was smiling. It was probably a case of to each their own - when he shopped for clothes it was because he wasn't able to repair something adequately enough or have his cousin up-cycle it into anything useful. He had plenty of interesting winter scarves made of the soft, random tatters of patterned old shirts- very boheme. "Well the dorms are on the way, but we don't have to actually go in. You can see plenty about them on the way by. "

He talked as they headed on, "There's some fluctuation, granted, pending which of the residence halls, but most of them are modern or renovated enough that I can give you a fair idea. Suite-style living, individual suite air conditioning units, cable, on-site computer labs and high-speed internet in-room,....there are community rooms with TVs and DVD players in the basements of most of the residence halls, and on site coin laundry. "

"The average room size is fifteen foot by eighteen, which is probably bigger than my little place. But then...it's a suite, and my efficiency is an official apartment, private and no dorm advisers or room checks or any required meal plan expenses. "

As for getting to his place, it was easy- the building was prominent, with attractive, if old fashioned, brickwork and grey concrete. It had a lobby with old elevators, and over-all felt like it had probably been a hotel at some point in the early 1900s during the hey day of art deco and department stores. Sure enough there was a security guard at a desk where visitors had to sign in and present their id before being allowed to process to the elevator bank. Quenton's floor was the 12th, midway up, and below the 14th floor since those were the days when not labeling the 13th floor thirteen somehow made it not unlucky. The hall to it was clean, well kept, but showed the wear of at least a hundred years of hard service- like an old train station or post office. In fact, there were mail slots like chutes that still worked from the halls down the height of the building to a lobby mail box with its own pickup time.

Quenton paused outside the door, offering a smile and raising his eyebrows exaggerated before turning the key and opening the door- "Ready?"


The old hotel rooms had probably been halved during renovations, given the size, to make micro-apartments. The very tall windows of the far end light the small room nicely though. The walls were a dark, charcoal grey, showcasing nice lithographs or prints of famous sculpture or sketches. There was an overcrowded bookshelf, the short three-shelve kind, that had two rows of piled books stacked in front of it of overflow. The kitchenette was unexciting. There were two small, plush chairs with worn but clean looking fluffy throws facing the window. The small single bed against the wall was also nested with blankets and pillows that looked clean, but worn enough that they were probably soft to the touch and had lost any true colour but mute half grey. The three tied-planter with its hearty, well-tended plants in front of the windows was indeed a shock of colour in the light of the day compared to the comfortable, soft-cotton room. The room smelled cool, like water, and a small fountain revealed itself burbling on a very small section of counter space that could have gone to tins or utensils or some such had Quenton been the kind of person to prioritize cooking and eating at all. Which he didn't much. The tiny fountain was much more important.

"Please feel welcome, " Quenton let the door be wide and led in.

Resident Life calls them 'safety inspections', I believe, to dispel nervousness or suspicion. It covers more than just safety, though, involving professional inspection twice years guaranteed, to prevent liabilities and legal troubles on school owned property. Parents paying tuition like the long arm of the law to do their duty for them as well, with their little darling out of their own nest but still taking up thirty thousand dollars of investment a year. It's their business, I guess. There are regulations relating to fire code- what extension cords you're allowed, specifications on in-dorm appliances, no open flames like candles or incense, health risks like trash, collected stashes of empty food or beverage containers that attract vermin, and so forth. They also tend to be looking to prevent drug accumulation or use on school property. "

"Its all well and fine, really. I chose not to deal with it. I can monitor myself for breaking laws and keeping safe, and I don't like the idea of a University enforcing that responsibility rather than life fostering it. So...apartment instead of dorm." Was he talking a lot? Yes, yes he was still talking a lot.

Alex at least didn't seem absolutely horrified. One win was the fact that he was willing to sit down. Quenton had been to places that were so dirty or unkempt that he hadn't been willing to do so himself, and had come to the realization that it was a minor sign of acceptance and relative comfort in an area to be willing to do so- a sign of being willing to relax, rather than remain standing away as though prepared for flight or fight. "Can I get you some tea? Water? I keep a tea chest with different kinds. There's Sumatran Assam, Indian Ceylon, and a malted, creamed, light Earl Grey called 'St. Paul's Cathedral. ' There's also limes, lemons and honey if you'd rather citrus infused water- gingered lemonade, limeade or some such."
Quenton rummaged the kitchenette, regardless of reply, to pull out a zested, honeyed lemonade from the tiny fridge. With the heat outside it seemed a nice cool down- his own bottle of water died on the way to the apartment. At least the place was cool, the building had central air with thermostats in every room. "When I'm not working on art, or classes about art, I'm usually practicing languages or music- I'm getting a minor in performance for medieval recorder. I also play the Shawm, which is like saying you speak Swahili for as many people have heard of it. Some poetry studies. I like to get out, too, to find small museums or activities to experience in the community. "

"I make jewelry. " He brought over beverage and took the second seat as he motioned to a small tool box in the corner topped with black velvet display-holders that were glittering in the dim, "Wire-wrapping, stone-cutting or polishing, mold pouring, bead rolling ...pretty much if there's a technique I've tried it. I'm not good at them all yet, but that just takes practice, practice and more practice. If you like, we could wile away cooling off with that-? I could make you a pendant, you could ask me any more questions you have...we could wait out the heat of the day and then I can walk you back to your car once it isn't so dreadful out?"

"What kind of stones do you like? I have some small boulder opals, sodalite, some lapis...all blues and greys. I do have a piece of Larimar that would go nicely with what you've got on today. Stones, metal and clay all- the beauty each of fire coveted, but only truth?- they reflect the fire already present in the wearer. "

"I would be honored if something I made...could grace here, " he motioned with light fingers, not touching, over the hollow of Alexandre's clavicles.

"It's the ancestor to the Oboe, and just as piercing in small paces, or I'd offer to play for you. Maybe another time, " On the affirmative to the small activity, and his hand being caught, Quenton’s eye’s widened briefly before mellowing.

“I beg to differ. My fingers tingle.”