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[.-. Story .-.]

So could I play the guy?

Tyrall stared at the clock next to his bed he'd been awake most of the night and his alarm, that was supposed to keep him from sleeping too late, was about to go off. three, two , one.. the alarm clock blared to life beeping insessantly. He pulled his arms out from under the sating covers and slammed the off button alittle bit harder than nessecary. He rolled out of bed catching himslef before he sprawled on the floor and walked to te bathroom trying not to notice the blank canvass sitting by bis window. A canvass that had been blank for far too long in his opinion. He went through the normal routine and after getting all dresed and ready he came back out of the large master bathroom of his grand house and Frederick (his butler) came in and set a tray down on his messy table just infront of his king size bed. "Morning sir." He said drally, Tyrall gave a small tired " Morning.." in return and sat down to eat although nothign in front of him was the least bit apatizing... he knew he was hungry but he didn't want to eat..! Tyrall compensated by staring long at the canvass by the window his posture drooping heavily the longer he stared. He was ripped out of his thrall by a small clearing of the throat by his butler and good friend "Sir, if i may be so bold, perhaps what you need is a bit of fresh air. A change of habbit as if were. You shoudl get out of this dreary old house and find some insipration." Tyrall looked over at Frederick, first doubting then wondering, perhaps that was all he needed a bit of change.. perhapse a change of subject...

Tyrall walked out in the brisk air looking around trying to find something that 'inspires' him. In truth it had been so long since he felt the buzz of creativity and artisitc nessecity that he'd more than forgotten what it felt like and what he could create with it. Tyrall looked around thinking over what Frederic had said, 'a change of habit' well i normally paint still lifes, supposedly its what i'm famous for 'making the lifeless come alive' or some crap like that. Tyrall looked down from the cold, towering skyscrapers and toward the colorful, noisy streets. He caught sight of an ordinary kid in front of him fouteen or fifteen, a brilliant green mow-hawk and the oddest collection of jewlery and fish nets. perhaps.. a change of subject.. he thougth as he looked around, yes, thats it! All the great masters of history painted people, no not just people, women. Tyrall looked around and saw an overwieght woman make her way out of a coffee shop and another pass him by in a grey suit. He looked around and then down to the sketch book in the crook of his arm, well i can't just ask someone on the street to 'hold that pose for a moment will you?' He kept walking trying to find a subject he liked until he came to darker side of town and just as he was thinking he should be leaving he looked up to see the entrance to a club. Thinking it would be safer inside then out at this point he came to the bouncer and taking two fifties out of his pocket he shook the big man's hand and said with a wry smile "I'm afraid i don't have a reservation is it possible to squeeze me in..?"

Tyrall stepped into the darker club and followed the second man in only then noticing what kind of club this was... a stripper club! He just about left right then but they were already at his front row seat. its art. its art. he told himself as he sat down in the chair more than completely on edge! All the same he took the sketch book out from under his arm and the 2H pencil from his pocket as he nervously waited for the show to begin. The lights dimmed further as the stage lit up even more and he began insessantly tapping the butt of his pencil on the empty page infront of him. i really shouldn't be here... he thought but just then a voice came over inroducing the first dancer..

Tyrall waited as the names were called, false names of course and he watched the girls move, in all honesty they sucked. It was obvious they were trying to hard and your couldn't even call them pole dancers because anything that had to do with dance had nothing to do with whatever they were doing. Then the main attraction came out and his opinion turnned right around. He stopped tapping his pencil and looked at her half covered face as she looked at him! It was short lived however because she was still a professional and her dance continued. Tyrall watched her every move sketching lines madly on paper after paper as she moved like fluid bending and twising in ways he'd not thought possible. His pencil moved as he caught the edge of her waist and hips as she twisted, he didn't want to look down at his paper afraid he might miss part of her movement. As the loud song was finishing he pressed the last lines into the sweep of her long dark hair and watched as the dancers walked off the stage. It was then that he looked down at the paper smiling slightly at the masterpeice of pencil, so i do have inspiration..

Tyrall waited hopeing to see her again but only the bad dancers came out again. He looked around quickly then he stopped himself, you've been successful, you got back into your groove. now's the time to leave this place and never come back. he immediatly got up and walekd quickly out of the club to the cooler out doors. He took a deep breath and looked both ways before pulling the sketch book out form under his arm again and flipping through the various pages he'd taken up all of them finished and the most brilliant work he'd created in a while. he stopped at one page and looked at the face he'd drawn, aparantly his hand had caught somethign his mind hadn't. She looked sad.. He stared at the face of pencil as he stood on the side walk a few steps out of the club wondering how in hell he'd drawn it and not even noticed..and then just how genuine it looked..