ALAN - An Alan Rickman fanfic

Prologue

I cannot tell you how EXCITED I am to be posting this! Thank you sooo much to everyone who has followed and voted on my previous Alan fics and motivated me to keep on writing them. This fic is a collaboration of ideas from myself and @sephine87 and written by me. 

JUST A WARNING - This story will contain very mature, sexual content and is rated a strong M

Enjoy and let us know your thoughts!

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My limp, exhausted body sways involuntarily with the the rickety clatter of the New York subway, my eyes falling closed for the tenth time. By my side rests my A2 portfolio - a chore to carry around at the best of times, but I'm used to it. Must keep my eyes open. This is New York, and if you've ever been on a subway here, you'll be familiar with the types of characters one can encounter and will definitely want to avoid at all costs. Last year I was mugged in Brooklyn - a walking advertisement for pickpockets. Boy did I learn the hard way. I've learnt when to keep my head down and block out lewd comments from men who seem to think I can't manage the load I carry around with me, and so they press themselves upon me wanting to give me much more than a hand. No thank you.

I reach my stop and lug my portfolio from the subway. By the looks on people's faces sometimes, you'd think I was driving a small car on the side walk. New Yorkers will tell you how it is unlike Londoners who will apologise even if you're the one who accidentally rams into them.

New York is like London on steroids - towering skyscrapers, fast crowd, fast pace, fast food - hectic. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but all with good balance. I've gotten used to the constant traffic and sounds of police sirens outside my window. It's all part of the ambience of living in one of the busiest cities in the world. The serenity of my one bedroom apartment is the yin to my yang, my art space - home to my many materials and one too many plants. Of course, it wouldn't be truly my space without the burning incense, that which I have en entire draw full.

Three paintings in progress that stand on wooden easels are subjected to my scrutiny the moment I get home. Being my own worst critic and a perfectionist when it comes to my art, I make a mental note of minor adjustments needing to be made before before I open my laptop. I'm sure you're familiar with that built up feeling of dread when checking ones bank account? That's right -dire. My funds are running low and I swore I wouldn't touch the rest of my inheritance money.

Just recently I started a job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on 5th Ave working at the front desk. I was reluctant to take on a job as well as being fully committed to my studies, but without a job, in a few months I'll be struggling to pay rent. Right now, I'm feeling anxious about juggling my priorities, but in a place like New York, if you don't keep on swimming you'll be sure to sink to the murky depths. In my case, returning to London where my parents will have the pleasure of saying, "We told you it wouldn't work out."

Here I am, 22 years old in my second year with the New York Academy of Art and I beg to differ. I will make it work.

....................

"Ava, how do you feel about filling in for Helen today? She's phoned in sick and there's no one else to cover the 4pm gallery tour on the 'Women At Work' exhibit."

An exhibition showcasing the changes in working society from women of the Victorian era to modern day.

"Urr, I- sure."

"Star! Absolute star," he points as he dashes off to do whatever it is he does here - talks on the phone for the majority it seems.

I take a peek at the exhibition guide knowing in four hours I'm going to be wearing a red lanyard that proclaims my apparent art expertise. Let's just hope I remember everything!