Day One: 4/5/18
Era: The Rainbow Children
Only the purest of all Vanilla scents is allowed to roam her studio. The bathtub in the center of her establishment took up the space that a double decker couch is imagined to occupy. She took it upon herself to place it there with the intentions of the abstraction of its placement striking some form of internal motivation within her mind. You could call it her muse, if only it actually brought her some single form of inspiration.
Her name is Mel.
Mel, a woman so beautiful that the sweat leaking from her pores gives her a glittery glisten affect rather than a drench. She could only thank God, himself, that she had chose to not wear a wig on this particular day. Her natural bangs were enough of a pest. So much of a pest that she allows her frustrations to get the best of her when she takes an x-acto knife and stabs it directly into the center of a clay heap directly in front of her.
Wiping her bangs from her vision, she removes the knife from her media and takes a deep breath. "Try it again, Melanie." Her sighs increase in size, her frustration does the exact same. She thought she'd find her own words motivating but in all actuality, all she was doing was angering herself more than before. Eventually, as expected, she lost it all. "Fuck!" A somber mumble of inaudible sounds follows her profane outburst.
There are three knocks on the door. Melanie rises but before she has the ability to go for it, the person enters. He is a slender man, pouty lips, very light eyes. Adjusting his cufflinks as approaches her, he pays zero mind to the look upon Mel's face. She's nearly flabbergasted at the idea of him entering upon his own request and yet, she is not surprised at all. Her eyes follow him as he walks before her without uttering a single word. It is not until he stands directly before Mel, and her pile of clay, that he has any to say to her.
"Are you available to do some work?"
Mel let's out a faint laugh. "Well, you are already here so... Sure, I guess I am available to do some work, Mister."
Mel has never referred to him by a particular name. She's been creating art for his beautiful home for five years, five long years. Mister had showed up at one of her art shows one day. She was fresh out of art school and just getting to really put her brush to paper. It was obvious he had money when he entered. At the time, he had a pixie cut that was much shorter than the way his longer hair fits him now. He wore a large turtle neck and well-fitting dress pants to leave his slender figure hidden, over time she learned why but it'll never be important.
Mister did not ask Mel her name, he told her what her name was. He walked right up to her, grabbed her hand to shake it, looked her directly in the pupils and said, Melanie. As if the pleasure were all his. His voice caught her way off guard, over time she'd grown so used to it that she now enjoys the soothing tenor tone he carries. When Melanie asked his name, he simply replied, 'Names aren't worth remembering. When someone carries light, you remember their soul.' From that day forward, Mel's always called him Mister and, on comical occasions, Mister Mister.
They kept in touch and he is probably her biggest supporter, Mister swears by it. In a remote way, Mister can be referred to as her patron... or maybe they'd both prefer to call him her favorite client. He's the reason she ended up so successful, in her eyes.
"What can I do for you, Mister?"
His eyes smile as a plain expression rests on his face. He walks over to her desk and takes a seat, crossing his legs. Only Mister has the right to do such things. Originally, it made her uncomfortable and she'd ask him to stop. He'd continue, anyway, in the most respectfully disrespectful way possible. She eventually came to understand that he means no harm, he just does whatever he wants.
