victormakesart | (no subject)

(no subject)

"How're you feeling, sweetie?" Victor is talking to her phone. Not that she thinks her phone is a sweetie, but she's talking to a voice on her phone, and it is on speaker. She is in a field, sprawled on her stomach on an ugly mustard-colored blanket.

"Good! I finished a few logic puzzles, and spent some time playing with my sisters on the computer. Anya is hilarious when you play peekaboo. 'Thena had me read stories over and over." It's a young voice, male, exuberent, and Vic's smiling this big proud smile and sipping at her coffee through a straw.

"I'm glad," she says. "Guess what Friday's gonna be?"

"Is it my birthday?"

"Absolutely. You nervous?"

"No way! This is going to rock!"

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"I'd like that very much, sir," she says, offering him her elbow so that they can walk along properly, moving her cane (this one painted all over with fish... orange, and white, and with blue swirls all over) to her other hand.

He took her arm as was acceptable, not registering the anachronistic properties of the gesture. "Your walking stick is lovely," he said, gazing down at it. "A masterpiece of art. May I ask where you got it?" he asked with a smile.

"Thanks! Oh, gosh, it's not that great. I painted it myself. I figured, if I'm gonna need to walk with a cane, I might as well make 'em pretty." She walks pretty smoothly with it now. It functions like a third leg, and she doesn't lose her rhythm with it anymore the way that she did when she first started.

"Did you really? Amazing. May I look more closely?" Without waiting for an answer, he crouched down, not wanting to interrupt the flow of her walk. "You have excellent brushwork, my dear," he went on. "I agree that the practical can also be beautiful. You must love it."

"Oh, you flatter an old lady," she says, smiling at him, face pinkening along her cheeks. She is proud of her work, and she loves to create. "You sound like an artist, yourself."

He straightened and looked at her. "Oh, you've a few years on you yet," he said, patting her arm. "No, I don't have much talents in that direction, but I do admire it greatly. My friend Leonardo tried to teach me a bit at times, but I usually got distracted before too long."

"I love Leonardo," Victor says quietly, reverently, with so much oomph behind her words that she might be saying 'I love breathing' or 'I love my access to clean water.'

"He was brilliant," he said, smiling. "A bit argumentative at times, but that's genius for you." He occasionally thought of visiting him again, but obviously he wouldn't recognize him like this. Better to just move on.

"He's fabulous. I wanna be like him when I grow up. But... with a family, too." Of course, she's twenty-three, but she's oh so far from being an adult. She's still thinking in terms of adulthood being ages away.

He smiled encouragingly at her. "I'm absolutely certain that you'll achieve everything you wish to," he said. Humans were so creative. She'd be amazing. He patted her arm gently.

Doesn't she just flush, turning heated and pinkish and terribly shy. "Gosh, you're a really sweet fellow, aren't you?"

"Well, that depends on whom you ask," he said with a wry smile. He was admittedly not very nice to some people. However, those people generally brought it on themselves.

"I s'pose that just might be true of anyone," she says, wisely, and then she smiles, and then she winks. She's a classy gent.

He smiled back widely. She was a delightful young woman. "Well, Victor," he said, "this is your habitat. What do you suggest we explore first?"

"Oh, gosh, I dunno. I only really come here to play in the fields. I'm a city girl, grew up in Houston. And now I live in California, in a whole different 'verse." She doesn't mean that metaphorically, although California is a whole other universe than Texas.

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