Curse of the Ninth - ian hecox & anthony padilla

Chapter Two: Portraits

"Is your father okay with this?" Anthony asked while stepping out of the carriage entering the building he was just at yesterday.

"Yeah he's more than okay with it," Ian giggled through his sentence. He helped Anthony step down and out of the carriage.

Ian wore only his lace collared dress shirt (which was a soft white dress shirt that extracted him from the rest of his surroundings) and his button up trousers that were mustard brown. It occurred to Anthony that Ian had a liking to only a brown color palette in his outfit of choice, maybe signifying his fathers importance to the artistry community, or Ian really loved wearing the color brown every chance he got. Anthony wasn't complaining on either situation, it suited Ian splendidly as he separated himself from the other upper class individuals in the outskirts of Wales.

Anthony felt overdressed as he came in with his usual blue coat and undone dress shirt, but Ian reassured him that he was well okay. Ian wanted to use him as a model for his new painting, so having him dressed the way he usually did was a bonus.

Ian directed him to the massive palace he lived in. Anthony noticed how his soft brunette hair bounced with every step he took, the glow in his eyes every time he spoke about his unconventional interests with the human body like his father would, and of course him glowing under the daytime. Every woman in Wales he talked too, Ian would outshined them. His aura was unmatched to say the least.

It wasn't easy to get used to the great fortune of the Hecox. Reminded how exquisite they've grown every time a domestic would open the delegate carven doors to give pathway. Anthony was influential, but his fortune didn't grow to this size. Seeing the handmade sculptures and paintings Andrew did hung on every wall made him tense, like his work will never be enough for this lifestyle. Windows made of mosaic glass, so every sunray would hit and the ground was painted with color.

Ian had the breathtaking view of it all. A reminder of Andrew's faith sealed while Ian prances around the palace, not understanding how easy his life is compared to the others in Wales. While some have to fight for scraps of food left on the streets, Ian was ignorant to all of it. Able to ask the chef to cook what he desired, but of course Andrew would raise him to never abuse that type of power he held on his palm. Ian was a man who happened to be born in riches, even when that riches came into being so isolated from everyone.

Maybe its a good idea for him to be so distant from the real world. Ian wouldn't be able to live in such a demanding, gloomy, and turmoil environment. He had so much color on him, it would wash away when he stepped into the core of Wales. He had his parents who would die for him in a heartbeat, willing to give up their possessions to have him advance farther in his life. Anthony knew this for sure, on how many times Andrew would ramble about his dead daughter, and Ian being the sun to Andrew's grey nights.

"I'd give Ian the world, he's such a great kid who's so talented. I hope he's not forgotten in this part of town," Anthony remembered Andrew taking a big whiff of his raspberry wine.

Even if Andrew was long gone, he knew what he said to Anthony that night was more than true. It was a part of him he spilled on the table as Anthony listened to the lyrics of Andrew's ballads of Ian.

Anthony started to understand Andrew himself. Ian was so unforgettable.

He only met him yesterday at his party, but his innocence was a refreshment from the grimes of Wales. Smelling roses and lavender instead of waste peasants threw on the side of their houses. While Anthony stepped on grass underneath his feet, he was more than grateful he wasn't stepping on rubbish flown onto the pavement of bricks.

Anthony barely paid attention where he was going until Ian snapped his fingers right between Anthony's eyes. He was sitting on a stool in Ian's bedroom.