A book of silences

Chapter two - The new Guy

 The next day the three friends met in Bee's studio space. This was a temporary room that had been constructed in the workshops by the technicians. It had been made by simply building an open topped particle-board box in the corner of the metal working area, complete with lockable door. As the boards were only a couple of meters tall, and the workshop had an eight-metre open, lattice-work warehouse roof, complete with skylights, this seemed a little redundant, but Bee loved the ability to seclude herself away from the rest of the college. Her work was mostly watercolours and strange, flimsy, multi-media hangings, so she'd roofed her space with heavy duty plastic to keep out dust. As to the noise of the workshops (including the weekly subterranean rumble of the bronze furnace), a set of noise cancelling earphones and an iPod cranked up to max kept interruptions to a minimum. In fact, so good was her sound reduction system that the only way Cat could summon her for coffee was to hammer on her door for at least five minutes or get Bev to give her a leg up so she could poke her head under the plastic and throw things at her friend.

"I like that," said B2, squinting at a wispy collection of transparent planes and lines hanging in the center of the space. She raised her hand to touch it and Bee quickly stopped her.

"Don't touch!" She moved between Bev and her sculpture. "Microfilm. Super thin balsa wood. Silk. Remember last time?"

Bev did, indeed, remember last time. Bursting into Bee's space she'd gone headfirst into a hanging sculpture whilst talking and ended with it stuck across her face (microfilm tended to adhere to warm surfaces). She'd inhaled some of the film and several small pieces of splinter-thin balsa wood and almost choked before the others pounded her back to get the wood up. She moved to the edge of the room and waited whilst Bee began the intricate steps needed to prepare 'proper' coffee.

 Her studio space was the envy of all of the students in the school. Not only was it full of light, due to the lack of a roof, but it had a coffee machine of such unsurpassed complication, chrome plating and important-looking gauges, that the studio technicians sometimes came in to watch Bee use it (and beg a coffee). It had a barista, Bee, Melbourne trained, and so knowledgeable, sophisticated and superior in manner that she would only ever make black coffee, served in white china demitasse cups, no milk, no sugar. She crushed any other requests with the disdainful raising of one eyebrow and a demeanour fit to freeze water.

Best of all, it had only one student, due to the school enrolling too many students one year and being forced to build a 'temporary' space. Enter bottom of the list Beatrice Zebrowski, who'd moved in and made the space her own, steadfastly refusing to give in to pressure to move into another crowded studio space. Support from her personal tutor ("a major and solitary talent"), and the fact that there really was no space meant that Bee was here for the foreseeable future.

"Still don't see why you won't let me move in with you," muttered B2.

There was silence, then Bee made her raised-eyebrow, freezing water expression, glanced at her friend's hands (covered in paint), her shoes (covered in mud) and her overalls (covered in something-or-other), then at her pristine space. After a few moments Cat opened her mouth to add her request, then stopped when Bee looked at her and laughed, not even needing the eyebrow. She handed out three exquisite coffees in the considered pause, and everyone stopped to enjoy their drink.

"Okay, okay, point taken, let's see what everyone's done," said Bev, pulling out her art folder and spreading a couple of brightly coloured acrylic sketches on the floor. Bee added a single finely detailed pencil sketch and Cat slid a couple of heavy charcoal workings of Golem.

"Nice sense of movement there," said Bev, touching a charcoal sketch with her toe. "When did you do these?"

"Last night," said Cat, a little vaguely.