The Festival
Who: Elle and open
Where: The festival
When: Afternoon
Most people probably didn't think much of the festival. The disappointing turnout of vendors and patrons didn't exactly inspire the spirit of the season as much as it should. Then, of course, there was the weather. The persistent drizzle that refused to completely die, sputtering from the dull sky. The rain wasn't a bother to her; it meant she could use her new umbrella. It was a bright red Pagoda with a black handle, a gift from her father. Such a pretty thing. It was almost a shame to get it wet, even though that was what it was meant for.
Pale faces with dark circles under their eyes picked at food and treats they'd purchased. A lot of them looked like they'd been up all night or just fallen out of bed and wandered into the streets. It was probably the case, she supposed. After all, it had been New Year's Eve. They had probably been to parties, drinking and dancing. Dressed up, laughing and singing. A kiss on the stroke of midnight. All sorts of lovely things. They had probably had a very good time indeed. She smiled when she caught anyone's eye, an acknowledgement of the merriment they were now suffering for, earning some odd looks and raised eyebrows.
One stall in particular caught her attention. Candy apples. She smiled to herself as she went over, delighted at the find. Pointing to them with her left hand, she held up one finger on her right. The vendor waited for her to ask, as most people did, then shook his head and extended his own hand out for payment. A lot of people did that too – didn't speak because they weren't spoken too. But it could be a hassle to use the notebook for simple requests and it usually invited as many stares as only gesturing. With a big smile as a thank you, she handed over the money and looked to see what else the event had to offer, nibbling on her candy apple.
.
It was never too difficult for Angelo to scrape together enough pieces for a stall at the festival, though he wasn't quite sure why he still bothered. His abstract pieces rarely caught any eyes in the city, even when he managed to get featured at a gallery show. Even when they did, it was only long enough for the viewer to ask him what they were supposed to be before moving on to a canvas they could understand.
Still, he was here every year, clad in a clean shirt and a tilted newsboy cap, seated in front of a small tent with three or four paintings set up on easels. Maybe it was just the hope that brought him out here; not for a sale, but just for someone to really wonder about the melange of shapes and colors instead of stating confusion or distaste. Or perhaps it was listlessness; he didn't like to be cooped up at home until night, the temptation to pack a ball of opium and drift away on a sea of serenity was too tempting.
In any case, he'd come out and set up, and thusfar the festival was the same as every year. Carefully biting from a funnel cake, Angelo set it aside and licked his fingers clean before reclaiming a bit from his disassembled trumpet he was cleaning to pass the time. Catching sight of Elle as she wandered past, he gave a lazy smile and a nod of greeting. "Knew I chose wrong," he drawled with a nod to his own food, "Yours comes on a nice, handy stick."
Turning her attention to the
Turning her attention to the man, she gave him a smile in return. Immediately she went into her sequinned handbag to get the notebook and a pen. The notebook itself was decorated with illustrations cut out from Vogue. Glamorous, well-coiffed women adorned the front and back cover along with parts of cosmetic and perfume adverts she had found particularly pretty.
She tucked the handle of the umbrella under one arm, angling it so she could still get some protection from the elements, though it made holding the pen and trying to write rather awkward. The chosen pen was filled with green ink. That seemed to be a pleasant, friendly sort of a colour.
Yes, it's very tasty. But I'm sure the cake is good too, she wrote and turned the book around for him to see. Then she quickly added, Hello, I'm Elle. Please don't mind the notebook, it's the best way for me to talk to you.
It was her standard greeting. As far as she was concerned, it encapsulated enough information in its brevity, allowing her to offer some sort of explanation without offering all sorts of sordid details up-front. It was never a good idea to do that.
.
It was an odd greeting, no denying it. Angelo wore a confused little smile as he read, gradually nodding in understanding and looking back up to Elle. "Angelo," he introduced in kind, nodding to the space within the tent, surrounded by his artwork, "An' feel free to step inside, give that 'brella a rest if you like."
She seemed like a proper sort from around the city at first glance, despite the oddity of the notes. Even if she wasn't interested in his works, at least the encounter was a curious one in its' own right. In his time in the foster system, Angelo had met another mute, which he assumed she was, so it wasn't a total shock. But it was a curiosity, and the look Elle had mixed with that aspect of her to foster some level of inspiration inside of Angelo. "Sorta figures that even the new year starts off grey an' damp, don't it?"
She smiled gratefully, both
She smiled gratefully, both at the invitation to get out of the rain and the acceptance of the book. It made her feel more at ease and less like a curio. She put down the umbrella and laid it on the ground, not wanting to let it get near any of the paintings. They most definitely didn't need any wet spots.
It means when the sun does shine, it'll be be more beautiful, she wrote. One day. One day there would be fabulous day. She was sure of it. Good things came to those who waited.
Looking over each of the paintings in turn, she stopped at one and moved in close to it. Her expression was a mixture of puzzlement and fascination. Very careful not to actually touch the work, she traced the contours of the shapes, lines of the forms. She wasn't sure if she really knew what they represented but it also didn't seem to matter. There was something innately more emotive about them than an obvious depiction of a person or pretty scenery. While they certainly could rouse the emotions, the abstract pieces seemed to connect with something more base.
Did you paint all of these? she wrote, still studying the piece as she waved the book in Angelo's direction.
.
"That it does, that it does," Angelo had answered in regard to her first statement, the confusion bleeding out of his smile as real satisfaction took its' place. So he wasn't the only one who dreamed of a sunny day? That was a wonderful fact, all by itself.
Ignoring the festival-goers as they'd largely ignored him, Angelo was casual as he watched Elle within the space of his tent, biting back the natural question about her lack of speech for the moment. He was curious about her study of the artwork now, breath catching slightly each time she stopped at one canvas or another.
"Yeah," he finally answered once he'd seen the question written out, moving over to stand by her side. The piece in question was whorls of blue edged in gray, as if the gray was being forced out, and the two colors flowed around conflicting hunks of black and red abstractly. "I've been doin' a lot with blue lately, kinda... gettin' clear skies on my own, I guess," Angelo explained, feeling a touch foolish with the scrutiny.
I like it, she wrote and
I like it, she wrote and punctuated the words with a genuine beam to make it clear that it wasn't just lip service. The more she thought about the colours, their arrangement, the more she was attracted to it. Getting rid of the grey. She could understand that. No one really liked grey, after all. But sometimes grey wasn't that easy to remove. And sometimes it saw red. Her brow furrowed without her realising and as she brought herself out of her thoughts, she made sure to replace it with an expression of appreciation.
Do they have a meaning? She had been told once that art was not there to be questioned and merely enjoyed but she couldn't help it. After a few moments consideration, she wrote, Blue and yellow would be pretty for a clear sky. Maybe swirling? Or a sunburst. A slight blush crept into her cheeks and she added, But I don't know very much about art. She didn't want to seem rude, making suggestions like that.
.
Reading over the page presented to him, Angelo reached out to tick his fingers over the statements, settling on the last words first. "Truth be tol', I don't know much either," he confessed with a slight drawl, grinning self-consciously at Elle, "I jus'... jus' paint, I guess." Sometimes he studied other peoples' work, trying to glean their brushstrokes, but mostly Angelo just chased his buzz and let the paint flow.
As for a meaning? That was trickier, and he glanced sidelong at Elle as a hand extended to gesture at the canvas. "Thing is, they do? But it's diff'rent for you an' for me. Like, whatever you see in there is what it is, nobody can say you're wrong. That's what I want people to see, anyway. An' what I see?"
Angelo didn't finish the statement right away, turning to look out of the tent and across the park, into Eidolon City itself. "S'us, you know? Knowin' there's a blue sky under storm clouds, lookin' up at stone towers every day. Hell, summertime in this city? Heat beats off the pavement so hard you can see it rolling red, or maybe it's anger." He blinked then, realizing he was waxing poetically enough that he should've had the band behind him, and looked back at Elle with a sheepish smile. "An' that sorta ramble's why I don' sell very much," Angelo confessed, shoulders shrugging.
Head tilted slightly to one
Head tilted slightly to one side, she listened. It made sense. Whether he realised it or not, he explained himself well. In her opinion, at least. She didn't mind the rambling at all. Quite the opposite – it was welcomed. Not only was it an intriguing topic but it was just hearing the sound of a new voice.
I don't mind. It's interesting, she wrote and smiled a warm little smile. Listening to him detail the thought behind the work was like having a secret shared and the mystery of the shapes partially unravelled. Though she neglected to offer her own interpretation of what they meant, for now. I like knowing that someone else thinks about the sun coming out. Sometimes I think that if more people thought about it and really wanted it, it might happen. Maybe she could ask her father to buy the painting. She could put it in her window and have a constant view of a summer's day. It didn't matter that it would be false.
How much would it sell for? she queried, mind already thinking of how it would look in her apartment.
.
That last line was a surprise to Angelo, and he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding the fact. The world beyond the tent was tuned out as he considered Elle's request with a thoughtful purse to his lips. Established artists could command hundreds, even thousands of dollars for their works. People like him? Well, a sale was a sale, and a good one if you covered basic material costs.
"Fifty bucks?" Angelo eventually tried, thinking it sounded absurdly high, but remembering that bartering was supposed to start with high bids too. "I mean, we can hash it out, you know? I normally settle for less, 'cept you seem like you actually like it, 'stead of jus' wantin' a curiosity."
She had no idea if that was
She had no idea if that was a fair price or not, and she had never haggled for anything before. It didn't seem that high, considering art was generally considered to be a pricey affair. Though that was probably only when it came to the very well known and sought after names. She considered the time that must had gone into the piece, the care. It seemed almost wrong to try and stiff him out of money. Though when it came down to it, all that mattered was whether or not she liked it and whether or not she would be able to acquire the funds somehow.
She gave a nod and wrote, I do like it, very much, so it's a deal. I don't have that much on me right now but I can give you a deposit so you can hold it for me? I promise that I'll be quick in getting you the rest.
Big, brown eyes looked up at him hopefully, pen poised and ready to write more words of persuasion if needs be.