Archive World of Darkness: The Academy - The Sitting [Mature] [Complete]

[Frida Ricci]

Saturday, 8/23/09 - 10:15 a.m.

Fifteen minutes after ten on Saturday morning found Frida sitting patiently on a bench outside in the courtyard. She had her portable easel at her feet and her antique ivory case of oil paints and supplies resting on her lap. She had been waiting for twenty-five minutes, but she sat patiently and quietly, not fidgeting or sighing with impatience, as many might have at being held up.

She was dressed in a long, flowing gray skirt that hung in deep folds around her ankles - almost Victorian in cut. She also appeared to be wearing what must be her primary painting shirt - it was a button down white shirt - possibly a man's shirt, though not a terribly muscular one if it was, for it still clung modestly to her curves - tied at the waist, the top couple of buttons unbuttoned, and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. There were faint remnants of stains long ago bleached away, but with just a trace of color remaining, though not enough to appear vivid or to stand out. Her hair was pulled back today with elegant silver clips to hold the hair back from her eyes and away from her face. She wore a different pair of earrings today, delicate antique teardrop pearls that hung from pale earlobes and a matching ornate antique diamond, pearl, and silver necklace that showed where she had left the buttons undone on the shirt - probably for that reason. She appeared to be wearing some sort of old-fashioned boot, though only the toes peeked out under the skirt.

It struck Ravi then, seeing her sitting there against all the boldness of the color surrounding her, that Frida reminded him of an old photograph - faded, with the only traces of color subtle and indistinct. They lingered just enough to hint at what might have been, and you knew one day they'd be gone completely, leaving you trying to remember what they once were. She smiled softly when she saw him, and stood up as he approached, holding her old-fashioned artist's case.

"Good morning, Ravi. I hope you don't mind, I thought we could walk around until we found an appropriate spot. I haven't picked the perfect place yet, and I it must be because I shall have to recognize it when I see you there."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Ravi woke up grumpy that day. It wasn't that he'd had a restless night. He liked restless nights... as long as they were restless for the right reasons, usually involving staying up far too late with an attractive and passionate member of the opposite sex.

No, this wasn't that kind of sleeplessness. After all the craziness with Mari and Kurt, which itself seemed kind of dreamlike at the moment, he'd had another dream of being chased, only to wake up in the small hours of the morning tangled in his silken sheets, kicking and thrashing against the memory of being held down by a giant taloned paw. He'd not been able to get back to sleep until the first grey of dawn touched the sky outside his bedroom window.

When his alarm went off at eight he'd swatted it off his nightstand with a surly curse and drifted back off to sleep, only to wake up half an hour later with the vague nagging sensation that there was something he should be doing. He cradled his head in the crook of his elbow and thought about that for a few minutes. It was Saturday, so no classes... His horse hadn't arrived and probably wouldn't for another week, so that wasn't it... Ravi's drowsy eyes brightened at a cheering thought. Perhaps he had a date? Yes, that sounded right.

Now: A date with whom...? Hmmmm, the bed was warm and comfortable...

Realisation hit him at about a quarter to nine, waking him up fully and catapulting him out of bed with astonishing grace and, for those that knew him at all, even more astounding speed. Frida! Of course. The portrait! He swore softly under his breath for a few moments as he went to the bathroom and began to draw a bath.

He didn't dawdle over his ablutions that morning, being out of the bath and drying his long hair having only spent forty-five minutes or so in the water. Then there was the matter of wardrobe for the day. Something green, Frida had suggested, and Ravi agreed. Now, details... It was a warm day, with maybe just a small bite of the approaching autumn. Ravi elected to go with a tight black Armani tank-top and black jeans. He topped this off with a vibrant leaf-green shirt, leaving that hanging open as he went to poring over watches and jewelry. After a few minutes, he selected the gold Rolex with tiny emeralds arranged around the dial. This and his pinky ring were the only ornamentation he felt like wearing today. Stepping in front of the full-length mirror, he studied himself critically as he tied his hair back in it's usual neat pony tail.

"You'll do." he told his reflection with a roguish grin, before slipping his wallet into a pocket, a pair of Oakley shades over his eyes, and heading for the door. He had something to pick up from the cafeteria kitchens, where the lovely ladies had agreed to store it in the chiller there for him.

* * * * * *

So it was when he finally hove into view looking two-fifths rock star, three-fifths model, and entirely worth a second and, indeed, third look, Ravi was carrying a medium-sized coldbox in one hand, striding with his habitual straight-backed lope towards Frida. As she greeted him, he came up to stand beside her, pushing his shades up onto his head and evaluating her outfit (and the suggestion of curves beneath it) with a gallant sweep of his eyes that would have made a normal girl blush. Frida, on the other hand, was too busy evaluating him in turn with her artist's eye. She gave another soft, mysterious smile as she met his eyes.

"That sounds fine to me. Wonderful, in fact." he smiled as he replied, hefting the coldbox a little to draw her attention to it. "I decided to do my part by securing us a few little somethings for lunch." He bent down then and picked up her easel, shouldering it without much apparent effort and tilting his head at her, green-gold eyes shimmering softly in the morning sunlight. "Shall we, then?" he invited.

[Frida Ricci]

"Of course."

They made their way through the woodsy area surrounding the Academy for a little while in companionable silence. Frida was focused, glancing at the surrounding scenery, and every once in awhile back over at Ravi. She didn't seem to need him to pose, or position himself by any specific areas to see if she liked it or not. She seemed to be able to imagine it in her head, and a glance or two at him was enough for her to determine whether the location was worth considering or not.

After about fifteen minutes of wandering through the forest, with a bit of small talk thrown in, they reached an area where the trees surrounded a small rock formation, like a natural podium or a place used by predators to survey the nearby areas for prey. Frida stopped then, staring at the position thoughtfully before glancing back at Ravi. Her lips pursed slightly and her eyes narrowed as she gazed at him critically, then at the spot. Then, she nodded, and motioned towards a clear area near the rock formation.

"Set the easel and the coldbox down there, if you please - and go climb up on the rocks, if you would. I think it's appropriate, let's see if it will suit."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Setting down his burdens, Ravi wandered over to the rocky outcropping and picked his way up to the top of it, moving with easy balance and poise. That left him roughly between six and eight feet above the forest floor, where he turned and smiled down at Frida.

"How's this?" he called down as she extended the collapsible legs of her easel and set it up securely on the uneven ground. The young woman looked up at him and nodded. It seemed right, definitely. Ravi settled himself down on the edge if the outcrop, legs dangling over the side and hands either side of his hips gripping the edge. Green eyes curiously watched the deft, businesslike motions of Frida's hands as she readied her brushes, paints, and other strange things artists carried around to work their craft. Finally satisfied, Frida looked up at him. Ravi smiled back.

"How do you want me?" he asked her, the question itself innocuous, but coming from him it was loaded with all manner of innuendo, intentional or not.

[Frida Ricci]

She studied him intently for a few minutes, and then began to give him directions. First she had him stand, looking out into the forests, but.. it wasn't quite right. Too authoritarian. Then she had him sit on the ledge, but that didn't seem quite correct either, and her scowl told him so. She guided him half-heartedly into a couple more poses before sighing with mild annoyance.

As Frida tapped her paintbrush against the palm of her hand thoughtfully, pacing slightly, Ravi sighed a little impatiently. He had been hoping to get some time to speak to the mysterious young woman, to try and get through that fog of oddness that seemed to surround her. But from all appearances she was going to be like the last painter he'd sat for while she worked, moody and short-tempered. He had been sitting on the edge of the rock, and it's surface was warm from the sun beneath the palms of his hands. He slid down onto the surface and stretched out on his back, one knee bent to brace himself, gazing up at the sun filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead. He reached up and cushioned the back of his head from the rock by slipping his hand between his luxurious black hair and the hard surface. Then he turned and glanced at Frida, green eyes narrowed slightly against the sun, to see if she was still agitated.

At that moment she looked up and froze, the paintbrush making one final sound as it met the palm of her hand and remained there. She studied him for a long moment, and then slowly, the corners of her lips curved up into a content smile, and she nodded.

"Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Stay just like that, I'll start the sketch."

She reached into her box and pulled out a pencil. Then she stepped behind the easel, moving it enough to the side where she would be able to turn between it and him easily without straining her neck as she painted. As a result Ravi was able to see her quite clearly, though not really what she was painting. She turned the canvas horizontal on the easel, and then started to move the pencil lightly across it with the fluidity that bespoke of great familiarity and skill, occasionally glancing up at him with that same small smile, her frustration having seemed to dissipate completely at finding the appropriate position for him for the painting.

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Half-closed eyes shimmering enigmatically as they caught the sun, Ravi watched Frida at work. He didn't say anything, just observed with a similar intensity to the way she had regarded him that first day in the classroom. Every now and then his gaze would follow her hands at work, but mostly it rested on her face and eyes. Whatever he was thinking, it was a mystery sealed away behind facets of green-and-gold. The beautifully masculine lines of his face were in repose, as was the rest of his body as he reclined, all but dozing off save for those narrowed, watchful eyes.

This. Yes. This was him. The air between them was similar to that day she'd first sketched him, but whether because of the outdoors setting or the hazy gold of the sunlight that air took on newer, richer textures. Ravi seemed more present, more real out here, away from walls and furniture. It occured to Frida in her detached fashion that she could paint him nude this way, in this setting, and he would lose none of his unconscious arrogance, none of his poise. The insight came to her as she skimmed the pencil lightly over the canvas, ensuring that the feel of this scene would be perfectly preserved, creating the outline and shapes she would need.

Again, this was almost indecent. He was clothed, yet naked to her as though he wore not a stitch. The predatory look in his eye as he regarded her was lazily thoughtful, considering and mulling over that which he beheld. Frida had painted many people - beautiful and ugly, young and old, fat and healthy. But here in Ravi she had as a subject something Other, a indefinable quality that she couldn't put her finger on. In many ways he was as much an enigma to her as she was to him.

[Frida Ricci]

Frida finished the last touches of the sketch, and laid her pencil down in the case. Then she hooked her palette over her thumb and began lightly dabbing bits of paint onto it - greens and browns and blues to start, and then little dabs of some other colors in order to create the proper shades of shadows and other touches. She picked up a small blending tool and started to mix some of the colors together, and as she did she glanced up at him, her expression thoughtful.

"You know, this isn't what I pictured when I first saw you. At first glance you're very classical, you know. I imagined you posing differently. I thought perhaps I might ask to make a statue out of you.. I do sculpture too, of course. I even imagined dabbling in marble - it would have been my first real endeavor. But I thought you would make an exquisite first attempt. But after that first sketch.. in the classroom. I don't know. It was different. I'm not sure why."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Ravi listened, his eyes shifting from green to yellow then back again as the leaves overheard moved their shadows over his face. He did feel different out here today, which was strange. He liked the outdoors for the most part, though he detested dreary, cold and wet weather. It was safe to say he was NOT looking forward to the Colorado winter. And yet... and yet...

And yet, in these woods, he could imagine the snow lying thick and heavy, muffling the land beneath it's white cloak, everything clean and purified, the flakes crunching underfoot. He could imagine laying on this rock during an autumn rain, feeling the patter of cold drops on his face and listening to their soft hissing on the dead leaves all around him. A lazy smile touched his lips as he watched Frida.

"I feel different today. Maybe it's the company." he suggested with the merest hint of a throaty chuckle in his voice. "In any case, I would love to pose for any sculpture or medium you wish. I'm finding it quite..." he sighed sensuously, his eyes slowly blinking then refocusing on hers "...relaxing."

[Frida Ricci]

She dabbed her paintbrush in a couple of the colors on her palette, and swirled them together on the smooth surface, studying the colors intently. Then she glanced up at him, and her lips curved into a small, almost mischevious smile.

"Not such a dreadful experience this time?"

She began to dab paint on the canvas, but her eyes flickered back over to him and met his gaze, lingering there for a long moment as if watching for a response.

"You might regret that offer. I've heard one's arms can ache quite dreadfully after holding them up over your head for hours, or while standing there for aeons, pretending to throw a discus."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

"Hrmmm, yes. That sounds positively exhausting." Ravi said with a smile of his own. "Maybe we could find a more... sedentary pose. Perhaps reclining?" The smile turned wicked. "Or even intertwined with another? Though that would make motionlessness all but impossible."

Despite his facade of laziness, it was apparent that the young nobleman was in excellent shape, the lines of taut muscles visible under the cotton of his tank top. He was also a very good subject, content to lay still and not fidgeting beyond the occasional eyeblink or quirk of his lips as he spoke.

"I fear that you are right, however. There are limits to how long I can sit still, even for such an enigmatic artist as yourself. This idea, though... I like this. We can definitely do something like this again." He smiled, a warm and friendly curve of his lips. "Out of curiousity, will this be going in your portfolio? Or to some other end?"

[Frida Ricci]

Her paintbrush paused mid-dab, and she turned and looked at him again. She blinked a couple times, and then turned back to the painting, though this time he saw a fair blossoming of rose in the ivory of her cheeks. It stood out more than it would on most girls, because of the antique paleness of the rest of her appearance. It appeared that Frida was merely unused to casual flirtation then, and probably hadn't picked up on his more subtle attentions. The suggestion of the two of them intertwined together had been less than subtle, though - and had had the intended effect upon the attractive and intriguing young artist. He could tell he'd gotten to her that time, though she didn't say anything, allowing him to finish talking instead. Then she shrugged faintly, and switched paintbrushes. She dabbed the wide-tipped brush into the brownish-grey mixture on her palette and began to dab high and quickly on the canvas, forming the branches of trees over top of the primary layer of blue and grey she had laid down across the top for the sky.

"That depends on you, really. You are the subject after all. You didn't commission the piece, I offered to create it. If you want it, I'd be more than happy for you to have it. I create so much art, I try to keep only those pieces that have deep significance to me. The rest I create as gifts, or sell at auction. My smaller pieces usually gather four figures, but a large piece like this would probably be worth at least ten thousand."

She glanced at him again, and flashed him a playful little smirk - it made her seem almost normal, flirtatious even, and a far cry from the descriptions he'd discreetly gathered about her since making her acquaintance several days ago. She was supposed to be eerie and distant, creepy, troubled, goth, disturbed. He'd heard any number of unflattering descriptions of the young woman standing before him, and a few slightly less so but no more touchable - mostly that her skill was genius. Yet here she was, teasing him with his lack of knowledge about her reputation.

"Portfolios are for proving your skill, Mr. Fitzcoventry. I'm a bit beyond stage of my career."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

"Ravi, please." he mock-chided her with absent gentleness, even as he mentally kicked himself for the one oversight in his week's research. Someone had told him that she was in demand in professional gallery circles, which at the time he'd thought was very flattering that she wanted him to sit for her. He'd had every intention of sitting down in the library and searching Google for 'Frida Ricci', but then there had been a blonde senior two desks over, one thing had led to another, and he'd forgotten all about it. And so now he'd opened his handsome mouth and planted his foot squarely in it. "And I'm terribly sorry, Frida. I'm not sure where to put my face right now." he apologised, his tone sincere.

Despite his inner chagrin, his smile was threatening to break into a full fledged grin at the sight of the rosy red hue to Frida's near-translucent skin. She wasn't bloodless or eerie, disturbed or de-sexed. The proof was in the flirtatious smile she returned his way, her warmly amused tone, and most of all in the flush that still suffused her skin, which had a similar effect on Ravi as blood in the water might have on a shark: namely the desire to see more of it.

"In that case, if the finished work pleases you, I'd like you to have it. As a keepsake of this wonderful shared time together, and as a reminder that Ravi FitzCoventry does not necessarily know everything about the beautiful women he associates with." Again, the smile turned a little wicked. "No matter how much he might wish to uncover."

[Frida Ricci]

"Very well. I think such a reminder will be.. gratifying. Though my impression is that it might prove more useful for you in that regard."

He was getting enough of a sense of her communication skills that, delivered as dryly as it had been, he still recognized the comment as the jest she'd intended it as. So the artist had a sense of humor, too - he imagined he might be one of the few to discover such a delicious secret, and the idea thrilled him. Knowing any little thing about Frida felt like unlocking a box of secrets and pulling one out, so much of what he'd heard about her was rumors and speculation. Her dabs became strokes, as the brown swished down over the blue and began to turn into the trunk of a tree.

"But there's no need to apologize, I wouldn't expect anyone other than an art collector, or perhaps a fellow artist, to recognize me. I fear my factual statement came across as arrogant, and if so I apologize. I was not my intent to brag about my good fortune, or my abilities."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Quote:

"Very well. I think such a reminder will be.. gratifying. Though my impression is that it might prove more useful for you in that regard."

Ravi gave out a low, purring chuckle at that, full of good humour and content to laze in the late August sunshine as he watched Frida at work. As she continued to speak he listened attentively, eyes glinting as the wind stirring the leaves overhead caused patterns of sunlight and shadow to play over his features.

"My dear Frida, have no fears about seeming arrogant. Your statement of fact was taken in the spirit in which it was offered." he smiled again at her as he spoke softly. "If I was a professional, saleable artist at sixteen I would consider myself justifiably proud." His smile turned impish again.

"Besides, I like a little of what some call arrogance. It says 'confidence' to me. False modesty is just that: false. And humility is..." he waved a hand absently while he sought to grasp and deliver the concept he had in mind. "Humility is a disguise, a camouflage, and some people wear the disguise so much that the muting of their own colour and individuality becomes the truth, rather than the facade." He grinned a devil's grin at her.

"Personally, I'd rather die than be so boring."

[Frida Ricci]

"That's always been my feeling on the situation. After all, I would never claim any skill greater than what I possess. Father says that an arrogant attitude can affect my market value. It's a bit on the finicky side these days with the economy. Even art collectors are tightening their belts a bit lately."

She glanced at him briefly, her brush pausing in mid-stroke. Her head tilted curiously, and a little smile flickered across her lips. He was so attractive, so at ease and confident. He was the perfect subject, and the first person to pay any real attention to Frida who wasn't related to the art community in some way. It felt.. nice, to be talked to, and treated normally. She didn't feel quite so off, as if she were walking at a different beat than everyone around her. For once, she felt as if she were having the same conversation.. as if she they were walking in step. It was positively refreshing.

"I must confess to preferring your opinion on the matter, though. I've never understood why a person should have to be false about their own skills and abilities, one direction or another. Make yourself sound better than you are, and people will expect more out of you than you can deliver. That sets everyone up for disappointment. But understating your abilities is just selling one's self short.. don't you think?"

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

"Absolutely." Ravi agreed, still smiling. His stomach growled softly, but he ignored it as he focused on Frida. "Too many people have desires and dreams, but fear to grasp them because they might fail, or are fearful of what others will think. Or more accurately, what they believe others will think. How very dull."

He would have said more, but his stomach gave another, louder growl, this one clearly carrying across to the artist at her easel. Ravi grinned, a little abashed.

"Sorry about that. I think I'm going through a growth spurt: I'm eating like a horse lately."

[Frida Ricci]

"No problem."

She finished dabbing in the rough details of the trees in the background, then sat down her paintbrush with her palette on a nearby stump, and stepped back, wiping the oil paint she had gotten on her fingertips off with a damp cloth.

"Why don't we go ahead and break for lunch then, before I get started on the focal point of the painting? I think the early afternoon sun will be attractive anyway, and I wouldn't want you to go hungry just because of a painting."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Frida got her answer in the form of a dazzling, boyish grin as Ravi half slid, half rolled off the ledge he was posing on, twisting to land on his feet with unconscious grace. Dusting off his hands, he strode over to the coldbox and brought it back over to the the rocky outcrop. He offered Frida his hand, smiling warmly.

"May I assist you?" She regarded him with that soft quirky smile for a moment before taking his hand in hers. Moving slowly, Ravi helped her up the short set of 'steps' nature had provided in the form of various juts of stone. At the top he aided her in sitting, taking a seat beside her before setting the coldbox down.

"I hope this is alright." he said to her, sparing a glance to admire the way dappled sunlight played over her pale features. She seemed almost not-there, save for the warmth the rays gave her and the faint traces of red still tinting her cheeks, though whether that was from the short climb or his proximity, he couldn't tell: She was a mystery to him still. Aware that he was, if not staring, then at least gazing at her steadily, Ravi turned back to the hamper. First out of the top was a cloth for setting their food on, followed by some foil-wraped packages.

"Simple fare, I fear. Sandwiches of the roast chicken, smoked salmon and cream cheese, and good old roast beef and mustard varieties." He flashed Frida a razor smile. "And, of course, these." A covered bowl of strawberries joined the sandwiches on the cloth, and Ravi peered into the coldbox.

"Hmmm. To drink we have Coke, root beer, milk or orange juice. What grabs your fancy?" he looked back at her from the corner of his long-lashed eye.

[Frida Ricci]

"It's perfectly lovely, thank you. The smoked salmon and cream cheese sound divine. But I think I'll start with a root beer. I haven't had one in a long time."

He pulled out the glass bottle and twisted off the top with a flourish before handing it to her. As she reached for the bottle their fingertips brushed, and Ravi - devil that he was - let the touch linger for a long moment before pulling his hand away, eyes sparkling wickedly.

He turned to unwrapping their foodstuffs then, and Frida stole that moment to watch him this time, instead of the other way around. She found herself studying him in a manner far different than her normal, detached, observational way. Instead she studied herself as she studied him, trying to figure out what was different about him, what it was about him that made her feel flustered and out of step. There were his looks, certainly.. but many men had good looks, and Frida had drawn many of them without such feeling. Models, other artists - who had a tendency to be a good-looking lot anyway - aristocrats. Frida had grown up immersed by beauty, and saw beauty in everything around her. So while Ravi's good looks may have been stunning to many girls, to Frida they were merely.. fascinating, in the literal sense of the word.

Then there was the possibility that he seemed to be genuinely interested in paying attention to her. He didn't seem disturbed by her mannerisms, her reputation, or her almost supernatural focus on her artwork. He seemed to enjoy her company, and find the things she spoke of interesting. She was almost convinced that he was flirting with her, although she had so little experience with such that she couldn't be sure.

But it was halfway through this inner monologue that something finally dawned on Frida, a realization that was so startling it caused her to blink, her eyes widening slightly in surprise as she watched him peel back the plastic wrap covering the bowl of strawberries. It was the reason she was having this whole internal conversation at all, the reason that for once, her artistic, esoteric mind even cared why someone was the way they were instead of just caring how she could make it into art. And as usual, what Frida thought became what she said, for she'd never seen the need to filter her thoughts the way other people did.

"I do believe I'm attracted to you."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Ravi turned his head at Frida's startlingly forthright pronouncement, emerald eyes glancing at her face. She sounded quietly surprised, in her usual understated way, as though she had just found out something both interesting and unexpected, but not all that big a deal... Of course, this was Frida. The fact that any surprise whatsoever registered past her detached facade was in itself an indicator that chaos was running rampant and the end of the world was nigh. Or something like that. Ravi's lips curved in a gentle smile as he turned fully to face her. Frida looked a little startled at her own revelation, a faint rose tint suffusing her pale cheeks as she became more aware of his nearness. Despite that she was still studying him with her usual eerie intensity, her dark eyes not turning from their evaluation of his features.

Of course, context was everything, and Ravi could tell that it wasn't Frida the Artist appraising him.

"Do I detect a note of surprise?" he asked quietly, the soft chuckle in his voice echoed in the green-gold sparkle of his eyes. He helped himself to a root beer, taking a sip before turning his inquisitive gaze back on her. "Is that unusual for you, then? I ask because it seems that way." he stated less frivolously.

[Frida Ricci]

She nodded slightly, then took a small sip of the cool beverage before setting it down. She picked up a cracker and spread some of the cream cheese on it before laying smoked salmon on top and nibbling slightly to test the flavor. She nodded in approval, and then glanced back over at him and seeming to realize finally that he was waiting for more than just an affirmative answer to his question.

"Yes.. I'm sorry. I suppose it is. It's not your looks, I don't think." The startled look on his face at that particular comment caused Frida to hesitate, and after briefly evaluating in her mind how that had probably been interpreted, she spoke again, trying to correct her error. "Not that there's anything wrong with your appearance - it's quite nice, you know? You're very handsome. That's why I wanted to draw you. You're very regal-looking. But, so are lots of men.. handsome, that is. Regal-looking too, I suppose, although I haven't met as many of them. It's a particular kind of handsome. But that's the point, I suppose. I'm an artist, I've observed hundreds of people. Many of them weren't beautiful or handsome, but many of them were. So it can't be just your appearance that I find attractive. You're very charming, too - but I've met other charming men. I suppose perhaps it's because.. well, because you don't seem to be bothered. By me, I mean. Many people are, you know - I'm not sure why. I suppose I'm very different, and that makes them uncomfortable. But perhaps I'm attracted to you because you're not so easily frightened. That sounds rather.. pathetic, actually. I suppose."

For the first time then, he saw her hesitate, and glanced down at the ground beneath them instead of at him. He had the distinct impression that this was a woman who generally cared little for the opinions and thoughts of others. Surely she had been called enough names or whispered about behind enough backs to be immune to what others thought of her - which meant that her embarrassment at such a realization came from her own mind and opinions.

Am I really so ostracized that just meeting someone who wasn't afraid of me at first sight was enough for me to be attracted to them?

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

"Pathetic? I don't think so." Ravi smiled at Frida as he took a chicken sandwich for himself. As she peered up from the ground at him, he took a big bite, chewed a few times and swallowed. "Mmf... Sorry. As I was saying: I don't find that pathetic. It is simple to discern why."

"You see things aesthetically, are drawn to aesthetic subjects. There's is little aesthetically appealing to you about fear." He shrugged, pondering his words as he glanced off into the woods. "Fear can be many things: meaningful, necessary, even helpful. But it is not attractive unless one is a predator." He seemed to be talking to both her and himself for a moment, his gaze a trifle unfocused as he mulled over the subject. With a blink, he focused his gorgeous green eyes on her face again, smiling.

"You don't strike me as predator or prey, but an observer. Most people fall into the other two categories, and the instinct of prey is to treat anyone who is not likewise prey as a predator. That is why they are frightened of you." Smiling a little, Ravi reached out and brushed a straggling strand of Frida's brown hair back behind her ear with his fingertips, then grinned at her playfully. "And also why I am not. Therefore I am, naturally, irresistible to you."

[Frida Ricci]

"Naturally."

She considered that for a moment as they gazed at each other, and then a small smile flickered across her lips - not a curve at the corner of her mouth, or a smirk, or a hint of a smile - but a genuine one this time, and an attractive one as well if you looked past the little smudge of blue paint on her cheek that he'd exposed with the movement of her hair. In a way it was part of her charm - now that he thought about it he wasn't quite sure if he could picture her without some little reminder like that of the craft she spent most of her hours focusing on.

"I suppose you've a point. It is a bit predator-like, to watch people all the time like I do, isn't it? I never really thought of it that way before."

And yet even as she said it she didn't look away, but continued to gaze up into the gold-flecked emerald of his eyes. He could see a part of her studying them, a touch of the normal Frida, gazing at their color and the arrangement of the flecks within them. He wouldn't be surprised, perhaps, to see his eyes in one of her paintings, the way she studied them - but to say that artistic curiosity was the only emotion in the typically single-minded girl's expression would have been misleading. Indeed, the faint charge that filled the air between the two Dalton students at the moment was anything but observational.

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Ravi's lips were still curved in that tempting half-grin as he gazed back into Frida's dark eyes, their deep brown warmed by the sunlight as she tilted her face up towards his slightly. He felt a delicious surge of energy stream into him from their shared gaze. The dark-skinned young man leaned in a little, searching her expression for any sign of hesitance.

For her part, Frida mirrored his movement almost unconsciously while the detached, observant part of her mind took note of the instinctual nature of that motion. She found her heart beating a little faster and realised that it was him - or her perception of him - that was causing a certain shallowness of breath. She wasn't stupid, and knew abstractly what this behaviour and these feelings were. But it is one thing to have knowledge and quite another to achieve understanding, to feel one's own pulse quicken, to feel a faint tremor in one's own breath, and to feel the skin of one's own face heat from within.

It was... interesting. And exciting. She leaned a little closer-

And his lips brushed against hers, the kiss soft as a feather at first, then a little firmer as Ravi brought one hand up and gently stroked Frida's paint-smudged cheek. His touch was warm even to her flushed skin, and the girl murmured wordlessly as she half-closed her eyes and savored the new and unusual sensations until his lips broke contact.

Ravi leaned back a little, his face still hovering closely as he smiled faintly at her, curious as to this enigmatic young woman's reaction.

[Frida Ricci]

Frida gazed up at him wordlessly for a long moment, and - in a move that was all woman, and not even the least bit odd or unusual - her tongue flickered over her lips to moisten them. Then she leaned forward again and kissed him in return this time, instead of merely allowing herself to be kissed.

In the parlor room of Frida's parent's home, there was a grand fireplace. On either side there were no windows, but a pair of paintings. They were of two trees that Frida had seen once during a drive through Germany. She had requested that they pull over and stop so she could look at them, and she'd spent almost an hour circling them, taking in every detail her perfect memory could absorb. She'd spent the next seven months on the matching paintings, and it was so real, so vivid, that it looked like you were looking out a window at them - except in an almost otherworldly sense, as if the frames surrounded windows cut precisely to the measurements of the trees. You could see the detail of every leaf, the rugged texture of every piece of bark.

It was with this kind of patience and attention to detail that Frida kissed. She seemed utterly unconcerned with the time, or their surroundings. Instead, her lips moved against his with slow, patient movements, her only acquiesence to practicality being the gentle resting of her hand against his shoulder to steady herself. It turned Ravi's mind, though mostly absorbed as it was by the kiss itself, to other matters she might focus such methodical patience to. The mere thought was enough to inflame the young nobleman's ardour.

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

He communicated that ardour through touch and kiss, his lips moving more firmly against hers as his left hand slid down and around her waist until his sleekly-muscled arm was almost fully encircling her. The fingertips of his other hand trailed down her exposed forearm before following the line of her arm over the shirt up to the shoulder. With relative ease he pulled Frida gently closer so that their bodies were touching more than not. Her patient exploration of what Ravi was pretty sure was her first kiss was tantalising, and it took every ounce of fibre in the libidinous young man's backbone to not simply 'go for the gusto' as his first lover (a somewhat dissolute friend of his second cousin he'd met at his relative's estate some three years ago, who had been a good teacher for an eager and apt pupil) would have said.

So he held back his primal urges and gently cupped Frida's cheek in his hand as he deepened the kiss, his mouth opening against hers. Allowing a touch of the urgency he felt to come through, he lightly nibbled on her lower lip with his sharp white teeth before darting the tip of his tongue playfully over the offended area. Frida's raised hand slid almost of it's own accord to more fully encircle his shoulders as her other hand came up to rest against his clothed chest as though she were steadying herself against him. With leaf-dappled sunlight playing around and over the two of them, Ravi kissed her with the expertise of considerable practice, the passion of his young hormones, and the overall lingering air of the connoisseur who had all day to savor the experience.

[Frida Ricci]

They kissed for a long time, the experienced playboy and the curious artist, engaged in a dance of playful nips and moist lips and gently teasing tongues, until he could feel Frida's willowy form trembling in his arms and both their heads were spinning from the pleasure of it. When he finally broke away to look down at her again, to take in the beauty of softly swollen lips and chocolate-brown eyes, she whimpered softly in protest. He could feel her sway closer to him instinctively, the crisp cotton of her shirt pressing against the green silk of his own and the smooth velvet of her gray skirt moving under his fingertips at her waist.

They gazed at each other for another moment, both of them drawing in the breaths they'd forgotten about and struggling to keep them even. Suddenly, Frida's eyes flickered over Ravi's sunlight-dappled face, and then briefly above them at the canopy of leaves protecting their small clearing. Her voice was different when she spoke, the normal upper-class crispness of her accent a bit softer and more approachable than usual.

"We'll lose the light if we don't get back to work soon."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Ravi's gaze followed hers upwards and around, then back to her face. "I suppose you're right." he agreed with a small smile, eyeing her reddened lips and darkened eyes with a mixture of satisfaction and hunger. His stomach *gloinked* from a hunger of a different sort and Ravi sighed, rolling his eyes before looking down in the rough direction of his errant digestive system. This close to Frida, the line of his gaze also happily chanced to pass over the pale, rose-tinted skin of her throat and decollete under the 'painter's shirt' she wore. He met her eyes again, a grin tugging at his mouth as he plucked a strawberry from the bowl and held it up before her mouth. "Let's at least finish a quick lunch first."

Frida smiled again - that rare, luminous, unfiltered smile - and bit into the proffered morsel, the movement of her lips unconsciously sensual to Ravi's eyes as he watched them. Strawberry finished, they shared another swift kiss and turned to the business of eating as fast as was practical.

Ten minutes later the leftovers were stored back in the coldbox for later, Ravi had resumed his previous pose on the rock, and Frida was hard at work, practiced hand and eye intent on capturing the lines of his face and body as well as the sheen of light in his eyes as he looked at her.

[Frida Ricci]

Frida worked intently, but between the extensive detailing of the surrounding landscape, and the extreme focus she put towards the subject of the painting himself, it was fairly late in the afternoon by the time she was finished. Fortunately for them both, the pose Frida had chosen for Ravi made for a comfortable position, and he found the warmth of the sun filtering overhead and radiating from the rock beneath him was very conducive to napping, much to his surprise. Frida didn't bother to wake him, she'd already painted his enigmatic gaze and the turn of his head - the rest she could paint just as easily with him asleep.

Finally though, she capped her paints and gathered her brushes together, wrapping them in a piece of linen to protect the inside of her case from the paint coating their brushed ends. She had plenty of cleaning to do when she got back, but for now, she wasn't worried about that so much. Instead, she stepped back to admire her own handy work for a moment. Ravi peered back at her from the painting, stretched out on the rock and gazing off to the side in the direction of the painter. His green-gold gaze was narrowed just slightly against the sunlight, and his dark hair spread luxuriously around his head and threaded through the fingers of the hand that served to pillow his head from the hard rock beneath it. The other hand rested idly on his stomach, and the sunlight filtered over him, like a large, graceful cat at rest. The woodsy scene matched the image perfectly, and Frida smiled, her lips curving in satisfaction at the image it presented, content that it captured him fully as he had requested.

Then, she gently stepped near him, silently climbing onto the rock and sitting down. She placed a hand gently on his chest to wake him.

"Ravi? We're all done."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Iridiscent eyes blinked lazily open, the young man smiling lazily up at her before sitting up and stretching. As he did he gave a terrific yawn, white teeth and pink tongue visible for a long moment before he finished his stretch.

"Sorry about napping. Been having the Devil's own job sleeping lately." he apologised with another smile. Frida smiled back, her eyes studying his face, the way he smiled at her, the way his eyes studied her in turn. Ravi reached up and toyed with a few stray locks of her brown hair as he glanced over at the easel. "How's it look?"

"It's drying right now." she answered softly, acutely aware of his touch and how it stirred faintly similar sensations in her that their lunchtime make-out session had. There was a draw about him that was less-than rational, she realised: a sensation both exhilarating and disturbing.

"So we have a little time before heading back, hmm?" he said with a teasing, playful smile.

[Frida Ricci]

"I suppose we do, yes."

She wondered briefly if she should explain to him that oil paintings took days to dry enough to be able to touch them, months before you could feel confident that you wouldn't disturb the paint with any pressure greater than a light brush, and years before a connoisseur would consider it "officially" dry. But a moment or two of deliberation brought her to the conclusion that she could share this information with him on the way back if he was interested, and that actual concern over drying time was probably the last on his list of reasons for asking.

So she smiled back instead, the corners of her lips lifting in what she thought was a mirror of his playfulness as she tried to ignore the faint butterflies that his smile created in her stomach. This was new to Frida, this desire to shirk more practical matters in favor of spending time idling in the sun with a handsome boy. She wasn't quite sure what to make of her own reaction - though somewhere deep inside she suspected her mother would be thrilled to no end at hearing about her daughter's current situation. She was, after all, the one who had told her that her work lacked "depth" on occasion, and suggested Frida try to get to know her schoolmates more and spend a little more time "living life" - despite her daughter's protests that when she tried, people didn't seem to be interested.

But no, despite needing to carry the painting back while it was still daylight, having homework she needed to finish, and some landscape pieces she should keep working on, Frida found herself wanting to dally instead, here in the woods with Ravi FitzCoventry. She found her fingertips playing idly at the buttons on his over-shirt where her hand had rested to wake him, and she tilted her head to the side as she looked down at him.

"Do you want to see it?"

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

Ravi did, as it turned out, want to see the painting. Holding his hand, Frida led the young aristcrat off his rocky perch and over to the easel. As he stepped around to view her work fully, Frida found herself watching his face.

He gazed at it for a long time, studying himself as seen through the medium of her brush and pigment. Raptly, he almost reached out towards it as though to feel the sunlight painting his dark skin golden, but a faint pressure from Frida's hand on his chest halted him. Gorgeous eyes wide, Ravi drank in the portrait. It was so different from the stuffy sittings he'd had to do before. It was not just the fact that he looked relaxed, composed and in his element. It was the memory associated with that image: memories of warm sun and pleasant company, of food and the delights of Frida's first kisses.

He looked from the painting to Frida standing beside him, her slender hand still gently resting on his chest and showing little inclination to move. He smiled before leaning down to her, kissing her there and then as his hands slipped around her waist and drew her closer to him.

"I love it." he breathed, his deep voice almost purring as his lips brushed against hers while he spoke. "It's the best portrait I've ever had done."

[Frida Ricci]

"Good..." she murmured in return, and he felt her other arm slip up and around his neck, delicate fingertips threading through the base of his ponytail as she kissed him in return. Her lips moved against his eagerly this time, and he could tell that the passion he'd stirred in her earlier in the afternoon had simmered as she'd painted instead of dissipating with her concentration. It was, perhaps, part of what infused the painting with his essence, though he knew that part of it was just Frida's gift with a brush.

Her lips parted against his softly then, and he was about to take the invitation to explore her kisses deeper when she pulled back, just enough to move the hand that had been resting on his chest up and press a pale finger softly against his lips. She gazed up at him, and her voice was serious and insistent.

"You should keep it then. After all, I painted it for you."

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

"But-" he started to protest, but her finger tapped his lips admonishingly. Not one to be easily overwhelmed, Ravi narrowed his eyes in an attempt to look stern (which was somewhat ruined by the smile trying to break loose around the corners of his mouth) and started again.

"You-" Another tap, Frida's eyes serious despite her smile. Ravi looked at the portrait, then back at her before giving up and smiling in gracious defeat. "Thank you. I already have a good idea of where to hang it." He tilted his head and grinned as his arms got more comfortable around her slender waist. "It's a wonderful gift. But it puts me at a disadvantage: I can't think of anything nice to do for you." The glint in his eyes suggested that, if that statement were true at all, then he at least had some ideas.

[Frida Ricci]

She actually laughed then - her laugh was unexpected, silvery and whimsical - and gave him a look that told him she knew otherwise. Her other arm wrapped around his neck as well, and she tilted her head and gazed up at him, amusement glimmering in her dark gaze.

"Now I know that's a falsehood. You've been bred a gentleman, I'm sure you know lots of ways to properly express your gratitude."

"Well.. perhaps. But I can't promise all of them are gentlemanly."

"I suppose that's to be expected as well."

He leaned down with a wicked grin, and this time instead of kissing her his lips brushed over her skin, and gently along her cheekbone. She drew in a soft breath, and he could feel her lashes begin to flutter shut against his skin. Then suddenly, he felt her go stiff in his arms, and she drew in a sharp little breath of surprise. He pulled back, concern written on his face, and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the expression of fright that had flickered over Frida's pale features. But even as he saw the expression, it changed - becoming one of confusion instead of fear, and she relaxed back into his arms.

"Frida? What is it?"

"It's.. nothing. I thought I saw something. But there's nothing there now. Perhaps a bird." She glanced back up at him, and smiled again, her expression smooth and relaxed. "Truly, Ravi.. I must have imagined it. Now.. where were we..?"

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

"Expressing gratitude, in ways both befitting and unbefitting of a gentleman." Ravi said with deadpan seriousness before leaning down once more to trail his lips along the line of her jaw. Frida closed her eyes, arms tightening around his neck and her fingers tangling gently in the glossy blackness of his ponytail as she emitted soft sighs of contented pleasure. If this had been what her mother talked about when using phrases like 'living life', then maybe she was onto something. It was different, urgent. Frida was not a terribly carnal person: meals were a necessity that she sometimes forgot when absorbed in her work, for instance. The various pleasures of the flesh hitherto had been faint and abstract against the backdrop of her art.

Ravi changed that, somehow. Every time his lips touched her skin, Frida experienced flashes of warm pleasure that emanated, not from the point of contact as one might expect, but seemed instead to coil outwards from her spine into her lower abdomen. She let out a low gasp as his lips found a spot just under her ear, kissing lightly before the tip of his tongue lightly flickered over it.

"Something tells me that you are entirely too practiced at expressing your gratitude, Mr FitzCoventry." she murmured once she was able to draw breath again, her eyes half-opening so as to better see the smile she could feel against her neck.

"Merely very grateful, I assure you." he replied with a scoundrel's grin before kissing her lips in a languorous, sensual manner, his tongue once more slyly toying against hers as she opened her mouth against his.

[Frida Ricci]

Her eyelashes fluttered shut and she shivered slightly, despite the warm August air. She was a thoughtful sort of girl, and it was in her nature to try and focus on what she was experiencing. After all, this was the "living" that her mother and Mr. Bracks told her she should be doing more of. They said it would help influence her artwork and inspire her. And surely she had to pay attention to the living in order to be inspired by it, right?

But it was awfully hard to focus, with her body pressed close to his and their tongues intertwined together. He could feel the moment when she stopped thinking about kissing him back and just did it instead, when instinct and desire took over and left her more rational mind in the background. She tugged the fastener idly out of his hair with her fingertips, freeing the luxuriously silky black locks from the ponytail and running her fingers through them slowly. Her other hand meandered, across his upper chest and over his shoulder, fingertips slipping under the emerald green overshirt and running lightly across finely-woven cotton and deep golden skin.

Once he'd tasted enough of her mouth - at least for the moment - he pulled away and began moving his lips over her skin again, featherlight brushes that trailed over the gentle pink flush of her cheeks and the pale ivory of her jaw. She seemed to approve, for she tilted her head back automatically, and he could hear the low murmur of pleasure that came from deep in her throat - a sounds that was, like always, music to his ears. Perhaps more so than usual this time, coming from the typically-reserved young artist he held in his arms. He knew they were noises no one else had ever heard. The thought made him flush with pleasure and stirred some primal instinct in him he wasn't quite accustomed to, but that seemed very in-sync with the untamed man Frida had captured in the painting.

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

His murmur of impassioned appreciation was almost a purr as one of Frida's hands roamed through the length of his black hair and the other explored his torso inside the shirt. Ravi's greater experience of physical desire meant that he was usually able to exert greater self-control at times like these... not that he usually bothered, to be fair. Whatever he did, from sports to driving to eating to bathing or womanising, his philosophy was much the same: Why deny oneself the pleasure and excitement that loaned colour to an otherwise banal life? When he did practice restraint, it was always with the sole intention of heightening the eventual experience. Why else should one hold back?

His sense of restraint was a little shaky right now, however. The date with Mari last night had stirred all manner of unusual emotional turmoil in the young hedonist. Coupled with the disturbing dreams and the increasing sense even whilst waking that there was something wrong with him; or the world for all he knew, and Ravi was feeling things a little more keenly than usual. The soft feminine scent of Frida's warm skin under his lips, the sensation of her young body against his - these seemed heightened somehow, triggering instincts that were deeper and more savage than he'd experienced before. His heart quickened under Frida's hand and his breathing became deeper and harsher.

His lips continued to kiss and nibble along her jaw then down the side of her pale neck, his teeth grazing the skin there now in tandem with his kisses. Questing hands tugged Frida's shirt out of the waistband of the trailing skirt and slipped under the edge, their warm touches running possessively over the skin of her lower back and hip as Ravi, through a fog of hormones and primal want, tried to decide whether to relocate the two of them. Right now, it didn't seem that important. The woods were private enough. And besides, it was a nice afternoon and they had everything they needed... right... here...

[Frida Ricci]

She was surprised at the depth of pleasure he seemed to be able to elicit with such simple actions.. the heat she felt at the touch of his fingertips against her skin and the unexpected jolt of pain from his teeth that somehow felt pleasurable too. He could hear a slight raggedness to her breath, a shaky quality that mirrored his own quickened pulse and harsh breathing.

But surely this wasn't the way it worked - shouldn't there be some sort of reciprocation, some effort on her part to make him feel as lovely as he was making her feel? Because of her inexperience, it never dawned on Frida that the nails she was running through his hair or the fingertips brushing innocently across his chest were just as arousing in their own way. What she had to go off of was what he was doing to her.. and of course, a touch of instinct, repressed as it might be.

So as his kisses moved across her neck, her lips trailed to his jaw and begin to brush lightly over his skin. Because of the angle she found herself unable to move down his neck without pulling away from his own.. and it felt so intoxicating that she wasn't quite ready for that yet. So she moved her mouth up his jawline instead, until her lips brushed lightly against his earlobe. She hesitated for a moment then, just a touch unsure of herself. But then he felt the soft, naive flicker of her tongue on his earlobe before she caught the soft skin between her lips, nipping lightly the way he had at her neck.

[Ravi FitzCoventry]

He drew in a sharp breath as Frida's intuitive, exploratory nipping at his ear sent hot, pleasant sparks of sensation down his spine. Coupled with the feeling of her willowy form starting to unconsciously move against him, provided impetus for the already-whimsical youth to give caution and restraint yet another kick towards the door. His hands grew bolder still - one moving down under the waistband of her skirt and the other moving upwards, unerringly seeking the fastening of the young woman's bra.

The artist was awash in sensation herself, gasping out loud as Ravi's kisses ventured down to her collarbone and the hollow at the base of her throat. She clung to the sleek head and arched against him, eyes half-closing as she regarded the green canopy of the forest overhead tinged by the golden sun. His hands were warmer still as he explored her body, one hand cupping her posterior and pulling her hips closer still to his. At the same moment, fingers that had had far too much practice flicked open the rear fastening of her bra before teasing small designs over the skin previously covered by the strap.

He pulled back from his gentle ravishment of Frida's tender throat, and his eyes were glittering emerald fires as she looked back at him, a faint smile curving his lips as he met her gaze and studied the flush of desire under her milky skin. For a long moment Ravi's gaze devoured the sight as hungrily as his lips had sampled her flesh, then he pressed his lips to hers once more.