[ussbansheec] Art Lessons
- From: "Moria McEntire" <bansheec@xxxxxxx>
- To: <ussbansheec@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 9 Jul 2006 18:13:32 -0400
"Art Lessons."
Beatrice and Betsy Braddock, Laura Kinney, Jamul Moorning
There were two things that had made him agree to this. One, it was a way of
giving back. He'd been given a chance once, why not pass that on? Two, the
woman who'd approached Jamul about giving her niece private art lessons came
baring a Klingon's weight in funds. Standing outside the massive English
manor gates, Jamul whistled. Then he pressed the button on the intercom.
"Yes?" Came an elderly man's reply.
"Jamul Moorning for Lady Braddock." Jamul called into the box.
There was a long moment before the gates swung open.
"You will be on your best behaviour," Betsy said to the pouting 18 year old.
Sighing, she brushed at the girl's hair. "At least it's back to its normal
colour, BB."
"Big bloody whoop," Beatrice huffed, folding her arms and slumping into a
chair.
Laura stood off in the corner as normal shaking her head. Teenage angst took
on new meaning when the teen came with a title.
Jamul simply shook his head as he followed the butler. These people had a
butler, he sighed to himself. This was so far from New Zealand he felt as if
he were on a different planet.
"Mister Jamul Moorning." Hastings announced.
"There now, Beatrice, stand up and greet our visitor," Betsy said primly.
She flinched imperceptibly at the 'cover's nothing' dress she was wearing.
Admittedly Betsy herself rarely wore a lot but she most certainly did when
there was company. ~~I'm getting prudish in my old age, Laura~~ "Mr.
Moorning, welcome to our home."
Laura smirked. ~~If you call last evening prudish I can't wait to find out
what wild is.~~
Jamul nodded his head respectfully. "It's an honor to see you once again,
Lady Braddock." He took her hand and kissed it before turning to the girl.
She was stunning but the term brat seemed to radiate off her. He took her
hand as well. "Miss. Braddock."
"Miss?" Beatrice smirked. "Just call me BB, everyone else does."
He smiled warmly at her. "I was hedging my bets. I've never even been on the
same block as someone with a title."
"I don't have a title," she snorted. "How very peculiar to imagine I have a
title."
"Ahh my mistake." Jamul replied with a toothy grin.
"You have more teeth than is normal for someone of your age, did you know?"
she said, her head tilting.
~~My God, save me~~ Betsy bit back a groan as she said, "Just let us know
if you need anything, Mr. Moorning. We will be upstairs."
It wasn't until the woman had said we that Jamul saw the second woman
lurking. He must be loosing his edge, he nearly flinched. "Forgive me, Madam
I didn't.."
"You weren't meant to." Laura replied with a touch of a growl to her voice.
"And don't call me madam." She walked over to stand beside Elisabeth.
"Just pull the bell-pull and anything you need, even a cattle-prod," Betsy
glared significantly at Beatrice, "can be brought to you."
Jamul's brow went up. "I'll keep that in my, Lady Braddock."
~~Come love, your too stressed.~~ Laura took her love's arm and began to
lead her away.
"Behave," Betsy called before she was pulled from the room.
"God," Beatrice huffed, throwing herself back onto the sofa, revealing
quite a significant amount of leg, "anyone would think she's my mother."
"Isn't she?" Jamul asked as he dropped his pack on a near by chair. "Maybe
not by birth but she seems to care about you as if you were her own."
"She likes bossing people about," Beatrice retorted, seeing the man for the
first time. He was... exotic and actually really handsome for someone so
old. "You're cute, did you know?"
He laughed a deep rumbling laugh. "It's been mentioned, and most motherly
types are. They also tend to be dangerous when it comes to their little
girls, so why don't we get started?"
"With what? You're gonna teach me to paint an apple or a nude guy or
something?" Beatrice shrugged, reached behind her chair and tossed a
sketch-book at him. "I can do that already. Lesson over. Time to go home.
Byee! Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
Picking up the sketchbook, Jamul looked it over and nodded. "You have
natural talent, but your skill is lacking and your technique is sloppy.
Where's the passion? The emotion? The expression?" He tossed the sketches
back at her. "Where's the best light in this museum this time of day?"
"Right here if you want it," she shrugged. Opening her hands outwards, a
glowing light appeared between them, giving them such light that illuminated
like the midday sun. "I can soften it if you like."
Again his brows went up, but he didn't let it side track him. "Can you draw
while holding that thing?"
"Don't have to, silly," she snorted, throwing the light upwards. "This
one'll last about two hours then just fizzle away."
"Good." Jamul had seen a lot of things in his life but that was a first.
"Get up." He told her as he pulled a box from his bag and then a new
sketchbook.
Sighing dramatically, she slumped to her feet. "Now what?"
He walked over to her and took her hands. He looked them over, examining his
fingers. He then went back to his box and pulled out a charcoal pencil. He
handed it and the sketchbook to her. "Skill and technique are worthless if
there isn't something behind it. Close your eyes."
Bloody hell, she thought, he smells really good. Her eyes flickered shut, a
slight smirk on her face. "Can't very well draw with my eyes closed."
"It's not just about drawing." He told her, his voice becoming soft and low.
"Stop thinking, stop sniping, stop playing, feel."
"Feel what?" she sighed. She felt... nothing. It was all just as empty as
it had been since she'd turned sixteen. "There's nothing here. No passion,
no drive, just cold emptiness."
He smirked. "That's what I use to think." He moved closer to her. "If you
didn't feel you wouldn't get frustrated with your aunt, you wouldn't put up
airs and play your games. If you didn't feel you wouldn't try to get people
to react. Now pull that out, use that to form an image."
One line drew out on the paper but the moment it formed it felt false to her
and she shook her head. "It's all a front," she whispered, opening her
eyes. "A mask to pretend I know how to feel something."
"Or a wall to hide behind to keep from feeling." The dark man with the
bright smile replied.
"Why should I want to feel?" she asked softly. "What is there to feel
except loss?"
Jamul looked deeply into the girl's eyes. "Because even that lets you know
you're alive."
"Maybe I don't want to be," she breathed as she stepped just a little closer
to him. "Everyone leaves, only Betsy and Laura stick around but that's more
out of loyalty to family than love. Maybe I don't want to feel or burden
any more."
"If your don't think those two women love you, you are a dumb blonde." He
told her as he looked at her. He didn't move, he let her move closer, there
was timber there, deep inside her, all it merely needed was a spark.
"My Mummy was a dumb blond," she whispered, actually moving to brush
herself against him. "I'm just following in her footsteps."
He smiled down at her. "Most dumb blondes are smarter then they act."
"How smart is this?" she asked, amusement twinkling her eyes as she reached
onto her tiptoes and kissed him softly.
Jamul kissed her back, his hand coming up to cup her neck. When he pulled
away from her, he smiled. "Draw."
"No," she whispered, stepping back and letting her eyes flicker closed
again. Lifting her fingers, tendrils of light span out of them, twisting
and writhing, forming an image. "You draw, I'll sculpt."
He watched the wisps of light and smiled.
The image drew itself out, three faces emerged: one her mother, one Betsy
and one Laura. "I think...." she breathed, "I can make it solid. I don't
know, I've never tried."
"Then try." He told her as he looked over each image. They were, as far as
he could tell, detailed and realistic with a touch of a child's polished
view of the ones she loves.
Beatrice made a face, her tongue sticking out just slightly as she focused
her gift on the light display. "Auntie Betsy's going to just love me," she
snorted as she added more bulk to it then reached out both hands and plucked
it from the air. "Where are we going to put the bloody thing?"
Jamul took the sculpture into his hands and looked it over. He couldn't say
what it was made of, it was light, sturdy, smooth, and appeared almost to be
made of marble. "This holds expression."
"It's still cold," she whispered sadly as she brushed it. "Empty and
hollow."
"Only because your to scared to allow it to be any other way." He took the
sculpture and placed it on one of the large oak tables.
"Scared?" she asked, trying to huff and still feeling cold and a little
drained. "That's just... stupid. I'm not scared of those people. Why
would I be?"
He smirked as he pushed her gently into the chair she'd been slumped in. "I
didn't say you were scared of the people, your scared of the emotions they
inflict."
Grabbing onto his hands, she tugged at him to make him stay closer. "I
don't feel warm emotions," she told him frankly. "My gift is cold,
heartless light. The light of truth."
"Light is neither cold nor heartless." Jamul told her as he held onto her
hands. "It's life."
"Only when it's warm." His hands were rough slightly and it intrigued her.
"Only the sun gives life, my light is a mockery of that," she whispered as
she kissed the back of his hands one at a time.
He crouched down so he was no longer towering over her. "Can you not see and
feel the light your aunts beam with over you? The warmth you felt in those
fleeting moments of casting their images? Why those three people? Those
faces? Those arms?"
The shake of her head left her short blond hair dancing. She took one of
his hands and touched it to her heart. "Frozen," she told him honestly.
"From the second I knew she wasn't coming back ever, ever again."
"Then spring is long over due." He replied softly.
"Start the thaw," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss him again, deeper
this time.
Jamul kissed her even more passionately then before as he captured her face
in his hands.
Something melted a little inside her as she parted her legs so he could
crouch closer if he wanted. Her fingers curled around his collar, pulling
him closer still. "Don't stop," she asked, "please?"
He captured her lips once more in answer. His hands moving to tangle in her
hair as he pressed against her. Something about this girl stirred him in
ways he hadn't felt since his red-haired muse.
It was easy for her to curl her legs around him, easier still to start
slowly removing his shirt. He was so... gorgeous, she couldn't quite
believe it. She moved one of his hands to her back to where the clasp for
her dress was, unsure if he'd use it.
The clasp was easy enough to work and he very slowly began to peel the dress
away from his pale, silk, skin. His kissed moved down her body, following a
trail left by his hands.
Letting out a deep sigh, she stroked her fingers through his hair. So this
was what it was like, she mused, enjoying the sensations far too much. And
Mary Spalding had said it was crap and yucky. Boy was she missing
something, Beatrice thought. She grinned as she slipped his shirt from his
shoulders, dancing her fingers over his chest and arms.
He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up with great ease and carried
her to the sofa near the huge fireplace. He laid her down gently before once
again memorizing every inch of her with his hands, lips, and tongue.
"Am I so weightless to you?" she asked teasingly, arching her hips closer
to him and quivering just a little under his touch. Please don't stop, she
prayed. Then she said another prayer that Laura was keeping her Aunt Betsy
occupied so they wouldn't get discovered.
Taking her hands Jamul placed them on his pointed ears. "A little added help
thanks to my grandmother."
"Oh," she blinked then a really happy, silly smile grew as she played with
the tips of his ears very lightly. "Mary Spalding says it helps with
stamina too. Don't suppose she'd be right, would she?"
He laughed that deep rumbling laugh again. "Such innocents and light." He
kissed her again, deeply, passionately.
She was powerless to resist him, melting totally into the kiss. The more he
touched, the more she needed him to touch her, so she started to tug at his
belt too, her eyes flickering to stare into his, the question in her eyes as
to whether she was doing it right.
Reaching down he helped her remove his remaining clothes and then hovered
above her. "All you need say is stop."
Her head shook quickly as her heart dancing hard in her chest. "I don't
want you to." Gulping back the barrage of questions, she closed her eyes,
shook her head again and smiled slightly. "Please?"
He was gentle with her, kissing her, touching her, taking great care in not
hurting her needlessly. She was beautiful.
Her hips lifted instinctively to touch his and she flicked her eyes down to
appreciate his nudity. "Want you," she purred.
Jamul held her as he gave her what she wanted, what she needed, a spark, the
spring.
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