Commissioned [completed]

Chapter 5 - Blocking in

"You okay, caro Pittore?" He was watching you set up, leaned on the desk to the side, "You seem tired. You up all night partying without me, huh?"

It had been a couple days since your first session, and for some reason, sleep eludes those on a hit list. Contrary to what the detective might have said, finding the wounded asshole in the ghoul mask was not easy. You'd heard nothing about the case. You'd grown increasingly glad you had decided to keep the blade that was then sitting in your backpack feet away. The town was beginning to creep you out. It had the atmosphere of a Lovecraft novel, signs, symbols—Jesus chrimany! there were so many fucking churches for such a small town. Made you wonder if you should be drinking the tap water.

"Mm, yeah, late night working on commissions and an uncomfortable motel room bed."

"Oh, so I'm not your only one?" He piqued a brow.

"Oh no, the others I do through the phone. Sit, Papa," you smirked, stretched out your fingers, and gingerly patted your shoulder.

"You know there is a remedy to your uncomfortable motel bed. It's called 'mine'." He grinned and took his time to sit and arrange himself for you.

"Wow, we are starting out early today," you mused, grabbing your brush.

"Hey, you uh, caught me off guard last time, you could say. And today, I am on top of my game."

"Oh? Is that so?" You looked around the scene, feeling his eyes on you as you worked, "I'm blocking today; you don't have to be super still again, just colours. It's kinda like a camera beginning to focus, going to be fuzzy for a while."

"I have an answer for my question last time."

"Oh, and which question would that be?" You begin mixing at your pallet, and the stretch of oil paint begins to rekindle.

"Why you began painting."

You cocked your head with intrigue.

"You fell in love with someone so beautiful you wanted to capture them eternally."

"Oh, Papa, I didn't take you for a romantic~" you chuckled.

"Do I not? Passion is an original fucking sin, old as time. To love something more than god, heh?" He shook a finger and clicked his tongue.

"Tell me about this love, woman, man, or other? Paint me a picture, Papa," you smirked, testing his open-mindedness, but realised your hand was beginning to shake. They had been doing that since the attempt. Your left hand was being useless in all ways, too. You tried to loosen your shoulder, only to feel the pain of seven stitches.

"Hmmm, she was a... gymnast, flexible."

"You know I made her use it," you chirped along as you worked through your world coming loose.

He made a growl of agreement. "She was going to be an athlete, and though you originally fell in love with her, you then realised you fell more in love with painting her. So when you got into the most prestigious university in your home country, and she was to be in the Olympics, you tried long distance until you both inevitably let go. And that is the story of your long lost Lenoir."

You realised your hands had stopped shaking to listen to him. You huffed a soft laugh, "I still dream of her, my Lenoir. I wonder if she even thinks of me these days."

"It would be very fucking hard to forget you, caro Pittore," He growled.

"Yikes, Papa, you'll have me blushing," you laughed off easily, brushing away his compliment, "And you? Any heartbreak in your midsts?"