Welcome to Gaia! ::

The apartment remained ever empty, and all voicemails sent out returned unanswered. An hour passed since the last one, and a loneliness haunted the man at the edge of his glass. It circled the brim voraciously, waiting for isaiah to touch his lips to another swig of whiskey.

Sixteen and nothing. That’s telling. Bony fingers chased the loneliness about the brim, the wet skin sounding a clarion call that pierced the silence of the condo. Finally he seized his phone from pocket and touched to his home electronics app, yielding a flood of remixed electronica that demanded far more focus than the emptiness of the ticking clock. The heel of his hand cushioned his chin marginally while he looked out toward the opposing false wall of books. All of them remained untouched behind the glass. What sort of pretense had he concocted here? Was he truly himself anymore?

Isaiah raised glass to lips and paused, momentarily, as he remembered how he used to chase such thoughts from mind. He knew, so unconscionably keenly, the way his mind spread apart in such an inexorable flood of rapture. He knew how the entire world shifted with a plunge, with a single pinprick that formed the origin to his absolute euphoria. He knew the hours of it, a time spent entirely separate from malign reality, chasing away the heady miasma of dolor in such a perfect music that he finally knew heaven in all its biblical descriptors.

Reminding him of such times drained his mouth dry, dilated his pupils, quickened his pulse. His hands shook in a yearning perception for powerful memories. Adrenaline spiked.

This was too dangerous.

The text app was opened with the touch of a nailed index finger. He searched the contacts list for a name, any name - Nadia, Lorne, Rob, it didn’t matter - and Colin came the first in the alphabetized list for those who might see beyond his singular desires. The name was touched, and a message written in a series of digit pirouettes across the glossy screen.



Colin rested on his couch working industriously on a show proposal for the Destiny City Theatre and also chatting with his sister via Facebook. When his phone beeped at him that a message had come he leaned to fetch it from his coffee table, barely keeping from knocking over a bottle of water and also dropping his laptop. “s**t—“ Electronics saved from meeting the floor in a most destructive manner, he focused back on his phone.

Huh, it’s from Andrew. With a bit of a smile he read the missive and began to type out a reply to send. Being drawn again sounded like a lot of fun…okay so technically Quentin hadn’t just drawn him. He’d used clay and a maquette that first time. But still! Colin had really enjoyed posing for the Q-man, so he believed doing so for another friend would be equally enjoyable! Complimentary drinks, too.



Anticipating a reply, he informed his sister he would be going out and would talk with her later before saving his progress on the proposal and then closing his laptop so he could put something besides Star Trek pajamas on. With his phone in his hand and whistling as he went into his bedroom to change into jeans and a t-shirt, Colin bounced about. This was quite exciting!

Isaiah sunk into his chair slowly, slouching so that he could pull his legs up to crest on the edge of the seat. The leather afforded as much movement to him for its properties, and his bare heels often stuck to the surface. He didn’t care. Closing his eyes. Isaiah attempted mindfulness practices to focus keenly on the dregs of whiskey still swirling his glass. A small sip, and he started parsing out the complex flavors that composed one of his favorite drinks. Slightly sweet, certainly peaty, and

his phone erupted into song with a text message. Startled, Isaiah nearly spilled his drink on himself before he snatched up the phone from the armrest on which it lay. Colin answered, at least - of all the voicemails sent, he was disappointed to discover that the lone text lacking sexual nature received an answer. No matter - the companionship would at least prove a better distraction than Three Ships and his own sordid memories. He opened the digital keyboard to add a response.





Since he would be taking a robe, he figured it would be best to bring one of his dance bags, just in case. Truthfully he felt [i]naked[/i] if he didn’t have one with him, largely due to the fact that almost every day of his life since grade school had involved him having one at his side. Colin tucked his phone and wallet into his pockets, grabbed a robe to stuff into the midnight blue duffle he preferred. It was roomy and well made, but he liked it more for all the patches and pins that had been added to it over the years (including a damn Starfleet Insignia pin).

Bag and keys in hand, the danseur headed out to his car and then over to the address Andrew had provided him. [i]Wow, he wasn’t kidding![/i] Colin could legitimately [i]feel[/i] the bass as he approached the apartment on the 14th floor with his bag. It was worse (or was that [i]better[/i]?) when standing before apartment 146. Would Andrew even [i]hear[/i] if he knocked? [i]Maybe I should just text him…[/i]

Phone fished out, he quickly typed a message.

[code]SMS Andrew biggrin
I’m here. You weren’t kidding about the music, were you? Open up!

Colin hit send and then waited, smiling and even bouncing a bit to the bass line as he stood at ‘Andrew’s’ door.

[size=10][color=#91219e]Isaiah kept himself busy in looking over some old books on mixers and proper cocktails to pass the time. He would need the information, regardless - while his liquor cabinet needed no stocking, if Colin asked for an unusual drink, he’d need to learn how to mix the damnable thing to proper approximation. However, it demanded an exhaustive amount of active reminding to stay on topic in order to get through a handful of drinks. Each time, he caught himself drifting back toward better depressants given up for a far more muted emotional variation.

He only studied a handful of drinks before Colin’s text informed him of his arrival. Isaiah would not have noticed beyond the out-of-sync vibration pressing against his a**. The older man offered no return text of recognition - instead, he crossed the expanse of concrete floor to the door and cracked it open to reveal the blonde. He looked well, especially when out in the sun, but his youthfulness and sharp figure found no diminishing value in artificial light. On one hand, the artist in him found it quite aesthetic, but on the other, he caught himself thinking of all the marks he could leave behind on those broad shoulders.

“Colin,” he greeted with a smile, “you didn’t waste any time. Come in.” Speech proved difficult with the raging bassline of a Combichrist remix blaring out from the speakers, so a few taps to the phone lowered its volume to background noise. In standing back, at least, he found ample time to stare at the danseur’s assets.

Immediately to the left of the entrance stood display shelves that housed degrees (under the name of Isaiah Zähne) and a rather robust pen collection beneath. Scholarly books surrounded the degrees, as did a handful of picture frames with a few lying face-down against the glass. Beyond that, the condominium itself featured an expansive space broken up by bookshelves and furniture arrangements to elicit the feel of multiple rooms. A sitting area, a dining niche, and an entertainment area with a rather curious-looking leather couch formed the surrogate rooms, each housing at least one glass-face case of books. Along the left wall, the kitchen cut in as an alcove made to fit two persons comfortably while actively cooking.

Metal stairs led to the loft bedroom with its frosted glass panes beneath the guardrail, and beyond that a small hallway trailed to an upstairs bathroom.

Most of note was the ermine fur draped over the leather couch, as if specifically staged for modeling. A small chair sat beyond that with a metal easel angled to the side. Nothing sat atop its frame, and the side table offered no expected utensils for art projects just yet.

“Have a seat. Would you like a drink first? I still need to track down my charcoal holders. And gloves… Damned things got lost in the move.” Isaiah huffed, and drained his glass of Three Ships without complaint.[/size][/color]

Swaying and bouncing on the balls of his feet to the music coming through the wall and door, Colin tucked his phone into a side pocket on his duffle bag. It was doubtful that Andrew would reply when he could just come over and open the door to welcome him.

Which was precisely what happened.

Colin gave his friend a bright smile in return, “Nope!” He didn’t waste time; over the years he’d learned to be very efficient with his movements and actions…at least where things like getting ready and going somewhere was concerned. You couldn’t be a professional dancer and have wasteful movement, it just didn’t work that way.

He walked into Andrew’s home and was immediately drawn to the display shelves, eyes looking over the myriad offerings they held. It seemed his friend was very smart, like Quenton smart perhaps, which basically meant he was on a whole other level than Colin. Not to say he was an idiot, but he wasn’t [i]brilliant[/i] at anything but dance, really.

[i]Isaiah Zähne? The names don’t match, how odd. Maybe he has a roommate named Isaiah?[/i] But he said nothing, being distracted by both the music thrumming and also the rest of the condo. There was a leather couch with a fur draped on it, clearly he was to be posed there, but there were so many other things to look at. Things to help him learn more about his dark-haired friend with the bright eyes and steady gaze.

“Uh, sure. A drink would be great to start.” The blond settled onto the leather couch and set his bag down by his feet, opening it to pull out his robe while Andrew - [i]Isaiah?[/i] - was getting him a drink. Or hunting his charcoal holders and gloves. “Something [i]always[/i] gets lost in a move, I’m pretty sure of it. The last time I moved I ended up spending two weeks looking for a pair of toe shoes.” He could commiserate on moving troubles, absolutely.
[size=10][color=#91219e]”Well, I for one need to be a certain level of drunk for decent art…” Luckily, having one drink aready meant that he only required one watered-down cocktail to finish the job. Tomato juice with a splash of vodka sufficed quite well; it demanded little time to make, and soon he was off with his cylindrical glass to sift out his charcoals from an art supplies box.

The box sat directly beneath a series of charcoal drawings mounted on the wall, each with the insignia of ‘Zähne’ in the corner or near the figure when no ground was present. Isaiah paid little heed to such things for the moment; a measure more rooting around and he discovered his carved wooden box of supplies beneath a set of small canvases he had purchased for other art inspirations. Afterward, locating a canvas for use demanded a fraction of the time - he already had the majority of them sitting upstairs in the bathroom hallway, which meant a quick trip up the stairs and back for the intended marking surface.

He sat the 16x20 canvas atop the easel and promptly arranged a set of tortillons, most heavily used, then donned a pair of gloves before he inserted vine charcoal into its holder. He spared a glance at Colin but once before he started toward the kitchen once more for a cocktail.

“Usually I’m pretty organized - I had to pack and move a lot of the merchandise from my old store, after all.” He paused to search his cupboards for a proper drink. [i]And what would you like, Colin? You’re so energetic. Something fruity, maybe? I’m a bit afraid of giving him some grenadine, but let’s see what happens.[/i] Luckily Isaiah was enough of a drunk to have chilled glasses in the freezer, so mixing a standard tequila sunrise only asked a few minutes of his time. “But once you’re done moving thousands of square feet of merchandise around, you give up on anything that involves your own personal items. Or maybe you just do that when you hate yourself. Haven’t figured that part out yet,” he added dryly.

The drink was carried by the rim, as was habit, and Isaiah lowered the glass into Colin’s reach over the couch. “How do you feel about posing naked, Colin?”[/size][/color]

The blond could only chuckle at his friend’s commentary; artists could be so [i]interesting[/i] in what rituals they had for working, in their requirements. So Andrew liked to be a ‘certain level of drunk’ - Colin accepted this wholeheartedly and added the knowledge to his slowly growing pool of facts and factoids related to his friend.

Colin looked around at the apartment’s trappings, including the mounted artwork where Andrew was searching for his supplies. He grew puzzled, wondering why the signatures [i]seemed[/i] to belong to the roommate, even though they were charcoal works and his friend’s words and actions made it seem as though charcoals were his medium of choice. [i]Maybe they’re both artists and that’s why they’re living together? Yeah, that’s probably it.[/i]

“I can understand that, I wouldn’t have any energy for my own things after packing and moving so much for work.”

When Andrew brought him the drink, he reached up with both hands for it so he wouldn’t accidentally drop it. The blond took a sip and made a delighted sound, smiling brightly again, “This is fantastic, thank you.”

That last question didn’t diminish the smile, but did at a quirked brow, “Hmm? Oh, I’m fine with posing nude. I’ve done it before, it’s not a problem.”

“But won’t your roommate mind? I mean, if he comes home and finds me naked on the couch?”

[size=10][color=#91219e]”I don’t have my tequila shipped from Mexico for nothing,” he added offhandedly, with an easy smile. Isaiah parted from the side of the couch to head toward his small artist’s station and retire his own drink to the end table. “If you want more, just ask. I look like a liquor distributor for all the s**t I have in my cabinets.” [i]Call it thinning out the herd. I should get it under control. Maybe tonight’s the last night.

… Nah.[/i]

He half-turned to regard Colin over the shoulder of his mesh jacket, one which clung loosely to the cloth and leather fastened tank top beneath. His elation to hear that Colin harbored no objections against posing naked showed plainly in his eyes. “Excellent. We’ll start with that, then, and add clothes later. I like to warm up with a few gesture drawings, so feel free to treat the couch like a gymnastics mat and pose how you like. And don’t worry about the couch itself - it’ll be fine.” Which he hoped Colin understood as ‘this couch has seen some s**t’. And if had, if Isaiah’s escapades were to be considered. “If you could hold your poses for about a minute each, that should be good enough. Then we’ll go to longer ones, and you’ll probably hold a different pose for a half hour, hour at a stretch. I can tape off for breaks of course. Sound alright?” It felt pretty standard to Isaiah’s practices, and with some luck, he might discover that he still had the knack for impressive charcoals.

Finally the lithe man took a seat and watched Colin intently, hoping he wouldn’t take much notice in it while undressing. Or, hopefully, thinking little of it. In truth, Isaiah couldn’t afford to stare too hard, lest his interest in the figure as an artist become coupled with the interest shown as a natural male of prime breeding age. His pants weren’t terribly tight, but they were tight enough to show such secrets.

Colin’s question drew him out of his thoughts. “Hmm?” He asked as he sat up. “I don’t have a r-... [i]s**t[/i],” he cussed harshly, and a curled hand froze over his mouth temporarily. “Well, that’s a pisser.”[/size][/color]

The information given with regard to Andrew’s liquor cabinet was received with a nod and a smile; Colin didn’t drink often himself, but he had no problems with people that [i]did[/i], nor did he think there was anything [i]wrong[/i] enjoying spirits. “Impressive. You must really know your liquor.” Taking another sip from the glass given to him, the danseur watched Andrew over the rim.

His friend seemed quite pleased with his positive response about posing in the nude, which gave his smile a bit of a knowing edge to it. [i]Artists…always prefer a nude model. Can’t say I blame them, it’s easier to see the lines and planes of the body without clothes.[/i]

“Sure, whatever you want.” The blond set his drink down carefully and rose from the couch to start stripping out of his clothes and folding them carefully as each piece was removed. He didn’t disrobe in a flirty sort of way, it was more as though he just didn’t think about how he might look to another person; after so long dressing and undressing backstage for shows, Colin simply found nudity as natural as clothing and behaved like it. His companion could look and study his body all he wanted, Colin wasn’t shy.

“Oh, should I move my bag and clothes away from the couch?”

Thirty minutes at a time was very similar to what he’d done with Quenton, only [i]this[/i] time he would know better than to chose such a difficult to hold position…and of course, he wasn’t going to be [i]standing[/i], either.

Perhaps he would have said something more about posing, but as he stood there facing his friend, Colin caught Andrew stumbling over having a roommate with a hard to read look on his face. [i]No roommate? And he seems unhappy to have said that…[/i] Crossing his arms over his chest and standing straight with one of his best ‘serious business’ faces on, Colin narrowed his eyes at Andrew.

Or was it Isaiah?

“So…would I be right thinking you’re not actually an Andrew, and you didn’t really want me to know that?” Despite the stance and face he was making, there was very little tension in his shoulders and the blond didn’t [i]really[/i] look angry. Just curious and [i]waiting[/i].

[size=10][color=#91219e]Isaiah did not look up to watch when Colin started undressing; nudity gained a different consideration as an artist, when he concerned himself more with turning his critical eye to the form. While Colin prepared for modeling, Isaiah attempted a few exercises to loosen his hand and return to the rhythm of art. The page soon filled with short designs and slight animations that suggested a considerable grip on volume, tone and light values.

Even Colin’s question concerning the bag did not raise his attention. “Don’t worry about moving the bag. The couch can pose there for half an eternity; one bag sitting in front of it for a while isn’t going to ruin my practice here.”

The only time he drew eyes from the sheet was to look toward Colin in his last questions, when he adopted an assertive pose and a reasonable question given Isaiah’s recent behavior. Given his care in the matter, he didn’t expect ‘roommate’ to trip him up. “In a word, yes. And it sounds shitty of me to say that, but…” He retired his charcoal holder momentarily. “Giving out false names was an artifact of how my life used to be. It had its place as a very potent self-protection pool back then, but even after that chapter of my life closed, I continued the practice here. It made sense at the time, I thought, since you warned me to keep identity a secret. It would be easy to blame it entirely on that. But, I do carry personal blame in the matter.

“I should not have lied to you, or your friends.” He took up his charcoal holder afterward and measured the weight of it by feel in his hand. “And carrying the lie wasn’t the best choice, but I thought it was the least damaging given my options. There was no way to say that anyone I met would remain in my life longer than that day, or that any stranger I share my story with might decided that they should really sell my information to the Negaverse or something. But, again, those are still excuses. That line of thinking is outmoded.

“So to start over... As you might’ve guessed, my real name is Isaiah Zähne.” [i]Mostly real. The last name was a legal change, though, and if he decides to get particular with me, I have at least that.[/i][/size][/color]

Isaiah’s frank honestly was something that Colin could respect, his reasoning behind providing a false identity sound, and he wasn’t trying to lie and cover things up now that the blond had called him out on it.

Colin dropped back onto the couch, spreading his arms across the back and crossing an ankle over his knee. “Well, thanks for being open about it now. I appreciate that…and it’s not like you had a bad idea.” His smile returned in full force, fingers tapping against the couch in unconscious four counts. “I’m pleased to meet the real you, Isaiah. Thanks for telling me.”

He was a very accepting person and found no fault in what he’d been told, no reason for him to be upset or angry or even to think on it further than knowing that Andrew was actually Isaiah - and that his friend, regardless of which name he wanted to operate under - was quite talented.

What he [i]might[/i] think on while he was holding poses was the sort of lifestyle that his friend had been party to that would require fake names on a normal basis. He really did have some amazing and fantastical friends in his life!

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone without your permission.” The blond leaned forward to pick his drink up again, body folding into something a bit more natural for him as he resettled on the couch with one leg tucked up. For someone with as big a personality as Colin often seemed to have, he could take up very little space when he wanted, or when he felt that he should come off as harmless. “It’s not my place to out you.”

[i]Nadia will be surprised when she finds out. If he tells her. Or does she already know? What about Lorne? Auguste?[/i]

“Though, I really do recommend telling Nadia if she doesn’t already know.” It was just a suggestion, really.

[size=10][color=#91219e]Isaiah resumed sketching, his hand sweeping across the page in quiet hisses while his gaze found his model. Colin held a natural beauty in the way his body looked sculpted, and often reminded Isaiah of the Adonis from ancient grecian times. Truly he had the hair for it, and while his complexion looked somewhat milkier from undoubtedly rigorous hours of recital combined with night patrols, the form of his body compensated nicely. Against the dark couch, the pose elicited a careful contrast that necessitated finalizing the figure before building the couch about him. Isaiah considered this as he worked.

Colin’s gratefulness earned a smile that was in part withdrawn. He found himself slightly disappointed that Colin refused to exacerbate the issue - that he accepted Isaiah’s faults for what they were and simply continued to embrace him as a human being. It unnerved him in a manner that he could not articulate, and yet he enjoyed it just the same. Such a dichotomy only raised further confusion.

Milk and black leather.

“Thank you,” he responded as he glanced down toward the page. Much of his gesture drawings retained the same natural dramatics that he trained out of with ages of rigorous art background. “And thanks for not…” He paused to gesticulate wildly. His eye screwed up as his cheek raised into a perplexed sneer while he fought for words. “Exploding the whole thing. I imagine there are many people who consider that a betrayal.” Either Colin didn’t think of it in the same terms, or he considered Isaiah a distant friend where such ‘treacheries’ weren’t provided with much weight. He liked to think that Colin was simply beyond such pettiness, given his prior dealings with the blonde. Colin never made a show about much of anything to Isaiah’s memory - despite being a part of theatrics.

A curious subject, certainly.

Isaiah measured out another long swig of his drink. It burned gracefully and settled in his stomach with a spicy warmth that soothed. “I’ll tell Nadia when I see her next.” He hadn’t encountered the girl many times, but the world of Destiny City’s powered life felt significantly smaller than he initially imagined. He was certain that both Nadia and her friends may turn up again in his life - especially since he now possessed a means of correspondence. If he so wanted to see her again, a cell phone text or a knight’s missive would suffice.

Minutes passed in silence with Isaiah patiently sketching out what he could of Colin’s various posing, though he paused occasionally, ostensibly to admire the form of his model. By the time he finished one of his full minute sketches and Colin shifted positions, Isaiah could not help but remark from his easy path to tipsiness. “You have the most gorgeous legs I’ve ever drawn.” And he hoped, in the rendering methods used and soft lighting applied, that any viewer might feel that same compulsion to reach out and squeeze the warm marble that was his thigh. “That’s not to say the rest of you isn’t attractive, but… those [i]legs[/i].” He grunted his approval.

“Are you ready to pose for longer?”[/size][/color]

Following their agreed upon plan of action, Colin stretched and posed and moved, giving Isaiah plenty to work with for his warm-up. The sound of charcoal scratching across paper was kind of hypnotic, and while he didn’t want to be a bad model and stare, the glimpses he caught of his friend at work were quite pleasing.

He - like so many others that were focused on their craft - had the look of concentration and immersion.

“No thanks needed,” The blond’s smile spread across his face like the sun rising, teeth flashing in the light. “Maybe others would, but I don’t. You were protecting yourself, that’s all. Can’t fault you there.”

“Besides, it’s…” He gestured vaguely, picking his drink up again and taking a long swallow that was likely prompted by seeing Isaiah do it. “You’re my friend. That hasn’t changed…so why bother worrying about it?” Colin wasn’t a big drinker, so even just what he’d had already was starting to make things warm and fuzzy around the edges. [i]Really, why worry about it? Got bigger problems than a fake name. Nothing’s really changed - he’s still Scholomance. Still my friend and teammate.[/i]

Colin nodded and pushed his scarred hand up through his hair, pulling the curls away from his face. Isaiah was saying he’d tell Nadia and he was looking at him with what he assumed was an artist’s appraising eye.

“Oh? Thank you.” Isaiah’s praise put more color into Colin’s cheeks than the liquor did. “It’s the ballet that does it.” He lifted one leg and pointed his toes properly, watching the flex and shape of muscle and bone that was so familiar he barely gave it a thought anymore. But Isaiah clearly approved, was [i]looking[/i] - really looking - and he preened a bit.

“Hmm? Sure. Thirty minutes, right? Did you - do you want something specific, or should I just keep going?”

[size=10][color=#91219e]”Hold it, right there, with your hand over your eye.” Isaiah pulled the drawing board from his canvas and closed some distance toward Colin before he knelt on the white plush rug beneath his feet. While hard on the knees, it offered him a similar vantage point, and he could draw the evidently deliberate B engraved in Colin’s palm. “If you could turn your hand with palm facing toward me…” He dropped off from pursuing the statement, instead settling for a whirling motion with his charcoal holder.

While it proved incredibly cumbersome to prop his drawing board against his belt and sketch at an angle, he put up with it for the sake of a five minute pose. He might return to it later, Colin’s permission granted, and form a more coherent piece of it. As a study, he anticipated no worth of it - Colin could keep the drawing if he so wanted. It wouldn’t matter to Isaiah beyond exercising his marginally rusty skill.

The point of the foot earned a shadow trace with the charcoal holder as Isaiah followed the line of his leg, broken only by the knee. Truly the blonde was right; ballet offered him nothing but boons in regards to his body.

“Your hand,” Isaiah started, eyes mostly on Colin, “did that come from being a part of the war? I don’t think you’re the type to carve something into your hand just because it sounded like a fine idea at the time, and the whole scarification affair encompasses mostly abstract designs last I checked.” And Isaiah could think of no further reason to incur such an injury, especially one of that magnitude. Even self-destructive teeenage play seldom advanced that far. It did, however, offer its own aesthetic as a revolting shape against an otherwise idyllic appearance.

He waited a beat for the answer, and his mind started to wander toward the use of a danseur’s grace and flexibility. Perhaps Colin’s lovers enjoyed the boon of a profusion of positions - if he had any. Colin never mentioned any boyfriend, or girlfriend, or inclination toward either sex; and Isaiah found it difficult to solicit information about it without giving away his terribly clear intentions. Perhaps it was easier to just be brutally honest about it.

“This is going to sound terribly awkward, and I might be a bit drunk right now, but I would blow you in half a heartbeat if I could. No strings attached, of course.” His gaze never stopped swapping between model and page.[/size][/color]

Used to responding and reacting to commands thanks to his many hours working with various Ballet Masters and Mistresses, Colin froze when Isaiah told him to. He was curious what about that particular pose had drawn the artist’s eye but didn’t ask because there were further ‘requests’ from his friend to adjust his position, which he did.

When questioned about the mark scarring his palm, the danseur frowned a bit and took his glass in hand again, looking at the jagged Birknan Schörl and her disgusting flatlion pet had left in his skin after taking a sizable swallow. Colin still had horrible nightmares of what the General had done, but at least the wound itself had healed and no longer hurt or bled.

“Yes. I got caught by a General called Schörl and she did this to me.” He shook his head and looked over at Isaiah, mouth drawn into a tight line, “I was an idiot and I got hurt. But as you can see it healed nicely…I’m sure she would be very pleased if she knew.”

At least he’d survived that encounter, he just didn’t like thinking about why he had. [i]She won’t get to me again, I don’t care how strong she might be.[/i] Colin’s rumination over the things that had happened at the General’s hands was shattered by his friend’s voice and a proposition that didn’t quite compute initially.

“What was that?” No way, Isaiah hadn’t just offered to suck him off, had he? It had to be his imagination, but then again…he was pretty sure he’d heard it. Only looking at his friend really didn’t help him parse it any, the man was working diligently, sketching with sure strokes across his paper and glancing back and forth.

“Er, ah. Thank you? But…I don’t know if that’s—“ He wet his lips, eyes darting from Isaiah to the paper to the coffee table; he seemed to be considering the offer. [i]No strings attached, of course. Like that’s usual. But maybe it is, for him. And we’re all awfully affectionate…[/i]

““Half a heartbeat, huh?” With a chuckle Colin smiled at his friend, “You’re pretty honest, aren’t you Isaiah?”

[size=10][color=#91219e]”How kind of her.” Isaiah considered that Colin might cover it later, or rebreak the scar, or tattoo over it where possible. It sounded a likely option for anyone that expressed as much disgust for it as he did. Additionally, he wondered if he himself would react the same way - or if Scholomance would display that scar proudly as a fact of survival and taunt the captor. He couldn’t know, not unless placed in a similar position.

But knowledge of the source of the scar urged a more serious turn to the conversation. Isaiah remained silent for some time, continuing to sketch despite knowing the origins of the scar, and considered how best to respond. He didn’t want to diminish the impact that it might’ve made on Colin, but he wanted to discourage obscuring it. “If I were a general… I think I’d be pleased to see my victim affected by it.” It didn’t sound like a terribly cheery thought. Likewise he wondered if he just painted himself as some kind of a sociopath - first the fake name, then the wanton sexual advances, and now extrapolations on how he might act toward a potential torture victim. His social skills must’ve left him with Sidney.

Isaiah finished the last few minutes of the sketch and turned to a fresh paper for the next pose. He paused, though, choosing instead to look to Colin and his form. He shook his head, smiled, and returned to his work. “Bashfulness suits you.”

He laid down value in stark portions before blending into the finer nuances of lighting to the piece while Colin faithfully held a pose. The piece no longer held contour lines in an effort toward more realism. “Funny that you should call me honest after I’d given you a fake name. But I suppose owning up to it counts for something, doesn’t it?

“You’re too helpful, Colin. I should pay you back.” [i]And I want to pay you back in a way that we can both enjoy. Is it trading sex for favors? Perhaps, with the way I’m presenting it. But… it doesn’t have to be. He could take this home when I’m done with it. Walk away and leave me to look but not touch. He is, in that sense, much like a sculpture.

It’s too bad, though. Artists and models have a certain history that’s worth upholding.[/size][/color]
Kind wasn’t the word, but Isaiah’s tone made it plain he didn’t [i]actually[/i] consider the scarification a ‘kind’ act. Colin wanted to close his hand over the mark Schörl had left in his flesh, but he didn’t want to disturb an artist at work, so he remained still and posed as he’d been asked.

The artist’s blunt observation brought a short, rough laugh from Colin, “I’d imagine so. People that make it that far in the Negaverse seem to lose a great deal of their humanity in the process.”

Whether or not Isaiah’s social skills had gone to the way side, he hadn’t seemed to bother Colin with word or action. The blond may have tensed a bit reflecting on his scarification, but that wasn’t his [i]friend’s[/i] fault at all. More a function of the trauma and distress caused by recalling, even in brief, what he’d endured at the General’s hands than anything the dark-haired artist could have done.

The pinking of his cheeks and slight shyness, however, [i]were[/i] Isaiah’s fault. Entirely. ‘[i]Bashfulness suits you.[/i]’ It was an unusual feeling for Colin, who was quite accustomed to being admired for his face and form as a ballet danseur.

“Thank you? I think.” Flustered further, the blush across his cheeks spread down his face, seeping down his neck like spilled ink. “I’m not- well, most people wouldn’t have cause to call me bashful.

“It counts. And you were honest as you felt safe being.” Certainly smarter in some ways than Colin himself tended to be - a false identity with newly met comrades wasn’t a bad idea at all…just one that he was unlikely to implement. It just wasn’t in the blond’s nature, really.

[i]Too helpful? I’m just sitting for you, it’s nothing terrible. Besides, we’re friends - what are friends for?[/i] Further reflection had the danseur noting to himself that with the close-to-the-vest way Isaiah operated, perhaps his being willing to come and pose [i]was[/i] a big deal. In which case, the offer to pay him back was entirely understandable. The manner in which he’d offered recompense was a bit odd, but…well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had offered - or [i]asked[/i] - to get physical with him.

“Well, ” Colin reached for his drink and sipped to give his hands something to do, to try and alleviate the dryness in his mouth, and also because the warmth that spread through his limbs was pleasant. “I mean, you really don’t have to pay me back or anything. I didn’t come over expecting compensation over what you’d offered before, that’s all.”

Boy, he was mucking this up, wasn’t he? Where had his usual charm and poise gone off to? Probably the same place socks went when the laundry ate them.

“Having said that, I accept. But not as payment.” Earth green eyes peered over his almost empty glass, he was trying to put a serious face on, but it was difficult to [i]not[/i] smile. “As just something we want to do, yes.”

[size=10][color=#91219e]Isaiah added a few dutiful strokes of charcoal to the area he worked over before he turned the canvas about and showed his model the progress. Colin’s likeness was readily apparent on the page - rendered in minimal strokes, the boy’s youth and personality shined through the posture depicted in the piece, and an ephemeral sense hung about the subject with the minimized use of darker marks. But perhaps the most marked portion of the piece was the singular augmentation provided by the artist, whereupon the boy’s hand fostered no garish ‘B’, but instead a sigil of saturn. “What say you?” Isaiah asked as his gaze poked up mischievously from behind the top edge of the canvas. He studied Colin quizzically.

He chuckled gently. “I know I don’t have to pay you back. I don’t even have to offer it. You came over without demanding anything in return.” The pinkish hue looked terribly appealing on Colin, and for once Isaiah wished he started the piece with water soluble colored pencil, for all he could say of his wet medium work. “It’s fairly universal now that, if you wanted to avoid doing something terrible, let’s say… The best course of action is to distract yourself from it. Some might find that distraction by snapping a rubber band, or going shopping with friends - but for me, it’s a matter of drawing a subject. Illustrating someone. Bringing something to life. Sure, I could’ve picked a jar, or drawn the last terrible idea I had for dinner, but nothing stands quite as much of a challenge as drawing another [i]person[/i] - especially one you know. All those ingrained ideas about how they look, you know.”

Isaiah lowered the canvas a little further in his grasp and rested his chin upon the top of the piece. “Sorry to say, but I didn’t much like the ‘B’. Methone told me once that there’s a group, or a sort of team, that you lot were trying to form. Something about being related to Saturn, and how that forges a deeper bond between people. I didn’t follow her at the time, and I still might not get the gist of it, but I thought it might belong better on that hand than some shitty handiwork that a General felt obliged to carve. It’s sort of quaint, isn’t it?” Isaiah spared a glance down at the piece, frowned slightly, then moved to set the canvas atop its stand.

[i]It’s strange. Usually I prefer my models for how they are on canvas - beautiful, still, and most importantly, silent. Perhaps I’ve made an exception of you, Colin.[/i]

“My hand could use a break. Starts to cramp after a while.” He shook out his right as if to enunciate his point, then started toward his posed model. “How about a little of that not-payment?” He asked as hands came to light between Colin’s knees.[/size][/color]

[quote="Syrie"]posting this up now![/quote]