Welcome to Gaia! ::

He hadn't been expecting communique from any source today, and was started to hear his ringtone from near the wall in his bag while he was catching up on studio time. He took the Little Fugue's intrusion for a sign that he should take a water break, stood, and stretched with a series of spinal creaks and cracks. How long it had been since he'd first come in was a haze not worth pursuing.

I don't recognize this number. The little screen scrolling the recently missed call didn't magically change to a number he did recognize, so it was a fair bet he wasn't hallucinating. Listening to the message was confusing only for a second before he recalled the youth on the street with the small, furry cadaver. Got in contact after all. And used 'Alois' instead of 'Scholz' as identifier. Fair enough.

A brief check of the time told him he would be able to stop at his apartment to stuff the required materials and sheaf-tube of sketches and still be able to make it before the mentioned hour. The mystery of the 'problem' was an interesting one- no heat in the building? Unexpected key money? Near a crack house? No real use guessing except to entertain with further and further afield ridiculousness.

It took more effort to find the actual building than to get to the right neighborhood, even with the problematic weather making buses take an extra ten minutes either way from their posted schedules. No signs indeed. It sounded like someone needed to let their cat out, only getting louder as he progressed into the building while counting doors. 'Sirteen' was likely unlucky thirteen, which was just fine portent for such a project. But the effort was so far beyond caring for superstition, Quenton didn't entertain it longer than it took to knock on the door, "Alois?"

Quenton considered the fuzzball claiming the sandwich as he approached the workspace, entertained by lack of finesse the other youth had in dealing with a cat on its own terms. "Lunging for, pushing at, and throwing things at cats tends not to endear them, no. "

"He seems to enjoy your sandwich well enough. You would have been better off leaving a trail of turkey out the door. Cats are pleasant companions, if you know to deal with them on their terms. I expect he's your real landlord." The pronoun was technically used as gender neutral, and Quenton wasn't about to spend the current time to gender check the fluffy backside. "Have you come up with a name he likes?"

It was idle, but pleasant chatter. Quenton liked cats. He didn't presume this one was as domesticated as they could sometimes be, and therefore didn't reach to pet the creature. If it fancied attention, it would come over and make it known with its distinctive brand of vocalization no doubt. He busied his hands with unloading, unrolling and anchoring the sheaves of onionskin sketches along the counter.

He was sleeping rather soundly. Not enough at night? Still ill? Drugs are an equal prospect in this part of town. Pulling the raw materials- the assorted bubble-wrapped and labelled parcels containing grouped bones took a little longer, but they served as decent anchors for the drawing edges. When it was done, he took the cap from the folio-tube and inverted it, grabbed a water from his backpack and poured it as a dish to offer the cat. "There's some colored conte there in that pocket if you want to draw over anything right away. Take your time. There's maybe twenty overlays on any specific part of the design, but its vellum so the leaves will hold up to turning or curling. I worked full size for clarity and the extra space to write notes. "

"I don't expect Faust minds one way or another your wants of keeping. But he hasn't attacked you, so apparently you're worth having. " For a steady supply of sandwich turkey, why not.

The sculptor turned his attention likewise away from the fluffy body, even if he would rathered to gather Faust and see if it would ride on shoulder. Quenton was glad that the drawings were comprehensive enough that Alois noted the altered anatomy and made questions of it- the meat of the project was the process and choices of process, "The skeleton itself could be built into the new form. There's new vertebrae there for such a purpose, as well as other extras. The sinew is important, though the accuracy is more fluid and representation need not be hole. I thought it would have merit as a point of securing the whole to a person. The ropes of the marionette."

Unwrapping a rib, he made motion with fingers along it as he explained differing ideas, "It could be built up here with silicone casting to elongate the costal cartilage, or cut along at places, here and here and here to make segmentation and hardware interest. The effect of that I expect would be Giger-biomechanical. Really any and all of the original bones could be modeled upon for molds, and then used in the final cast or not. I would rather they were, but it understandable how fragile they are compared to resin. "

"There's going to need to be jointing anyway to open parts. some sort of clasping, like that part, " he motioned to a halved sternum with sliding tumblers and latch, "so other hinging is somewhat open. "

"Do you have preferences of actual or artifice? Have you worked with silicon and resin casting before? " He set the rib down on a corner of the drawings, wiping his fingers against each other with the residue of distaste more than any actual leavings on the bone. " Or metal. Resin I have worked with, not silicon. Of the metals, I've worked with brass and bronze, and limited silver and gold for custom jewelry. "

He wondered if basics of most crafts were considered 'bitchwork' by the other, but he didn't voice any concerns over the impression. "I don't value mobility for it. The dead aren't mobile except in cheap horror. This is a piece that turns the living to the dead,....... returns the dead to death. "

"So only the joint mobility is a concern. Silicon could be used for intermittent bonding to allow smooth insertion of living form into the casing."

Quenton followed the others shift to the lean and counter, curious where this was going. He watched Alois' hands. "A body is a body. It is the living attach sentimentality to it. As a commodity, bones and parts have a long, somewhat sordid history. I've already bought this one, I find no distaste in it done lawfully. Its yours, if you tell me what you want it for."

"Not just someone. I will. "
Quenton shifted his weight and moved to trace finger pads over the sketched leaves, "The measurements marked here, here and here...estimates of body size, they actually correspond to my own."

" I remember a piece of performance art, though the name and exact memorial subject are lost to my recall at the moment. An artist laid in state like a corpse for an evening, shrouded...life entombed...maybe it was a memorial for McQueen, " He shook his head slowly, focus drifting from the surrounding to the idea. "I've been researching behavioral modification. Conditioning. The instinctual response to the sick, dying and death often referred to as the Pathogen Response. It will take time, and creativity, being one person removes all the tools one could want or need to expedite the process, but I will do what I can to remove this from myself. "

"There is much a mind can know. But knowing philosophy or ideals, believing them, wanting them...it does not transfer to the body. We are some of the few creatures on this planet that can modify our behaviour down to even instincts. All these bodies...we walk around in...they're all dying the moment we're born. More so after our growth plates are finished. Our developmental, bodily peaks from eighteen to mid twenties when we're driven to base reproduction and try to call it anything but.

This body is dead already. But it refuses to believe that, and it gets in the way. Rampant survival want in the way of more beneficial development."

Quenton startled, coming back to the present from fire-touched gaze at the sketching down the spinal column. Deutsche...Used in the pejorative...conceited? priggish. A snob. Rich? Alexandre. It must be one in the same? How many rich 'boy's named Alexandre could there be in Destiny City?

"Alexandre Evans?" He turned his gaze to the goth. "If it is the same. I know he's well adjusted to his money, but I can't say he'd ever been anything but polite. Deferential, even, in my lectures on arts. Maybe it was because we were dating. Roommate, you said? "

‘The truth’, as though there were ever lie or omission. The purpose of the project is hardly a necessity to the carrying out of the creation of the piece. He may just be baiting. Or just a cat himself like that black beast that likes to know others personal details while keeping his own in silent, secret peace. “And what did you expect?”

What did this one even see and evaluate, looking at and listening to others? ‘a*****e’, ‘flake’, ‘nerd’ or the more recently acquired ‘doll’ were the usual estimations of his person, all applicable enough considering impressions were entirely in the eye of the beholder. What was learned to one was simple and elementary to another. But it was something to know where one stood in the eyes of another. Quenton’s gaze moved from the cigarette to Alois’ mouth as the other came near. Then to the decorations hidden in the cartilage of his ear by the black feathers of hair. “Fear is a teacher, but I will not have it as a master. “

“ ‘Fulfill thy needs upon earth, after the command of thy heart,
Until there come for thee that day of mourning’. “ He hated the mantra, and knew it well enough from the Intef hieroglyphs and their translation that Stroud had carved in a reclaimed beam amid others on the dais of her bed. <******** Hedon….ugh. Even in cursing, is blessing. “ I will let neither heart nor c**k bear rein on me either. “

“An albatross. The last statistic I knew was an average of once every seven seconds for men our age category. On average? For what good? Why propose I fuel foolish, abeyant coals that demand in the small count of time in your presence I should have thought three times already how your studs would feel between my teeth, or on the breath of a name remember lips against my own? What use have you, so stolid before at jest alone, that it be not again, for positives to the pleasures of distraction?”

Paradox already, he smokes does he not? What is that but a distraction? Minor philosophical opiate for nerves, for hunger, for confidence. Quenton scowled, and pulled the glasses down from his face to fold them and set them away. The latter words came after his mouth smoothed again- waters of will washing fire from eyes and voice to leave them cooled again. “Lovers is too familiar a term. We broke off months and months ago.”

"You make my point for me, that invitations given or withheld, it is no matter compared to the human instinct unbridled. I wouldn't choose to fantasize about anyone."

Self-deprecation was boring, stilted as any such attestations ever were, and as much a show of a willingness to lie as anything else- if Alois knew Descartes, there was the hope he was equally versed in the predecessor passages and other parts of the Nicomachean Ethics. He did not offer arguments to eironia, which often did as much harm as anything else. Usually compliments or protests to such resulted in the party-wished-comfort distrusting the offerer. We see in others what we want of ourselves. Do I want his trust? Curious, I don't know. I could throw that all back in my own face- here is some depth of passion of his own underneath that chiseled black. An artist of his own sort shown true. I do want the thoughts, words, ideas...don't stop.

He listened to the other closely, pinpoint interest in the details unveiled like delectable choux pastries. "Solipsist?"

The scarred part of his mouth twitched, curling enigmatically before settling into a lukewarm regard. "Your expectation is off the mark, again. I do not crucify for debate alone. In fact, I welcome it. You've offered more in an hour of worth than I think I've had in a month of Mondays. "