 |
| Details |
| Author: | Mishell |
| Summary: | Larawen's portrait of Sidhanei takes shape, in more ways than one. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: To Paint a Picture
(Portrait of Sidhanei by Vee)
Larawen Rivenbark surveyed the progress of her canvas, which was for now only a monochromatic structure waiting for the subject to return so she could add detail and color. The room was, if anything, tidier, but she herself looked a bit disheveled, a few violet strands of hair escaping from her ponytail and two dark smudges on her nose and cheekbone from where she had absently scratched her face with a painted fingertip.
Sidhanei rapped her knuckles on the wooden door and tried the handle. "Larawen? Are you here? It is I."
Larawen gave a slight start at the sound, then smoothed her hair with a hand, unknowingly adding a slight streak of dark paint along her temple. She moved to answer the door, and bowed respectfully to her visitor. “Welcome,” she said. “I assume you are ready to resume our work?” She stepped back to allow the older woman entrance.
Sidhanei nodded, looking quite amused at the smudge of paint on the other's temple. "Naturally." Her eyes took in the getting-familiar sight of the studio as she entered. She put her bag down and pulled the Chess set from it's holding. Working her way around some of the artistic obstacles, she lingered over back to her spot in front of the canvas and regally sat down. Piece by piece, the scene was set back up.
Larawen moved back behind the canvas, but for the moment she didn’t return her gaze to it, watching Sidhanei set up the chess set instead. She watched for a moment in silence, and then said simply, “My mother fought in the War of the Ancients.”
Sidhanei's amber eyes flickered politely upwards to meet Larawen's gaze. She wore an overly warm and friendly expression. "Is that so? She must have been very brave." Her gaze made a swift but thorough patrol around the studio, before coming back to rest on Larawen. "And you must be very proud."
Larawen shrugged and turned to her workstation, beginning to squeeze paint out of tubes and mix them with her palette knife. “My mother and I don’t speak,” she said, her words clipped and dispassionate. “Not since I joined the Sentinels. She interpreted the war as a lesson that we should never trust anyone in power, not ever. Which is ridiculous.” Even on this judgment there was no heat or rancor in her voice, just a dry finality.
"Is it?" Sidhanei mused, "Power, real power, doesn't come to those who were born strongest, luckiest, the smartest, or were the kindest. It comes to those who will do anything to achieve it." She leaned forward ever so slightly, "Who would sacrifice everything, and everyone, on the altar to have it."
Sid looked down at the custom pieces on the board, "That can only take one so far though. The player controlling the pieces is in a position to do so because they have convinced the pieces to bear the ongoing sacrifices for them. Your mother's saying is to never trust such a bargain."
“You assume my mother has wisdom to impart, rather than personal wounds she passes off as such,” Larawen said flatly without looking up from her palette.
Colors mixed to her satisfaction, the painter at last turned back to the canvas, getting to work in earnest. Her eyes turned back to Sidhanei with an intent focus, but once again there was a lack of intimacy in the gaze, as though she were mentally reducing Sidhanei’s existence to light and shadow, shape and color. It was quite some time before she spoke again.
“Somehow I suspect you were the one sacrificing pieces,” she said, “and not being sacrificed.”
Sidhanei's lip quirked, "What manner of accusation is that? No one wants to be the sacrifice, my dear." Her head leaned slightly to one side, "Not if there is another way."
“I disagree,” Larawen said succinctly, her face an impassive mask. “If a sacrifice were necessary, I would rather be the one sacrificed than the one living with the memory of sacrificing others.” Her gaze was on her canvas now, flicking only briefly back toward Sidhanei now and then as she worked.
Sid's face was as unreadable as stone and just as cold. "No wonder your mother worries."
Larawen scoffed once, eyes still on the canvas. “Yes, she’s constantly preoccupied with my safety. That’s why she only speaks to me when we accidentally run into one another in the street.”
A low laugh, more of a faint cackle, came from Sid. She clearly was somewhat amused by the struck nerve. The old woman gave a shake of her head—as much as she could while maintaining the pose. "Oh, to be so fortunate, to have even that much." The words weren't draped in mockery but carried a tone of genuine sincerity about them.
Larawen’s gaze flicked toward her subject, her expression softening briefly. “I understand,” she said quietly, “that I am fortunate to have living family. My brother Celaven, at least, makes an effort to honor that bond.” She gestured toward the childish painting on her wall, the one eyesore amidst the displays of skill. “I still think of him at the age when he painted that, but he is grown now. He still makes an effort, stays in touch with both of us. I suppose neither my mother nor I is much for conversation.”
"Celaven," Sid mused, "I believe I have run across him before. Once or twice." She smiled warmly and her amber eyes came to rest on the artist. Thoughts tumbled around behind those eyes as she studied Larawen. "Never met your mother." The way she was analyzing Larawen's features—like a hunter scanning the crowd with a wanted poster in hand—she might be able to keep that sentiment true. "So I will take your word on that one."
“I am told I resemble my brother,” Larawen said, eyes back on her work. She painted for quite a while in rapt, focused silence before adding, as though she had not paused at all, “We both resemble our father, I am told. Our father is a druid; he does not keep in touch.” Her attention faltered from her work for just a moment as something seemed to occur to her. Mild surprise flickered across her face. “I find I cannot recall his name. I did know it, at one point. I suppose I only remember details that remain relevant to my life.”
"Despite the popular notion, sometimes," Sidhanei mused stoically, "It is for the best that a parent is not around."
“I agree,” said Larawen crisply, and then returned to working in silence.
Enough time passed that it seemed she might have given up on conversation entirely, as she turned her full attention to the work in progress, only glancing at Sidhanei occasionally for reference. Just when the silence had begun to feel slightly oppressive, she made a small beckoning gesture.
“Would you like to see the work in progress? It is taking shape. With your permission I will finish it, and perhaps look for an interested collector. It has been some time since I finished a piece.”
Sid walked over, behind the canvas to observe the progress made. "Of course. This is phenomenal work. You could rival the court painters of my day. And all done without the arcane pigments no less." She glanced over with clear admiration, "Alas, I do not know how many will be eager to have a portrait of me. Mayhap Dalaran, for history's sake?"
Sidhanei gave the artist a respectful smile, "And on that note, I would not show this to your mother."