perfectmatch | week two

Nico and Odile are taken to a painting class. The teacher is a sweet old man who has been painting for years and years and years. The other students vary in ages. Everything is rather quaint.

Highlights

There's no alcohol allowed in the class.
Some of the other students are pretty chatty.
But production will let Nico and Odile get a meal nearby after if they're hungry

[ Painting... Something Nico favors, and something she has never once done herself. The other students seem to either already be familiar with one another or are naturally friendly -- neither of which Odile particularly minds, but she seems more focused on staring at the various shades afforded to them and the supplies besides than making friends.

Brush, palette, some kind of... paint knife? For scooping and mixing the shades, she sees. The canvas feels nice against her fingertips, and the simple instruction of "paint your favorite scene" seems far harder than it is.

While others have begun, hers remains blank. ]

I presumed this was more of a solo activity than one done among fellows.

[ When there's a lull among whatever conversations Nico's been caught up in, the students with varying levels of concentration. Odile isn't... uncomfortable, but she does seem out of her element. ]

[ As gregarious as he is, Nico is also a gentleman. He’s here with a date, so he’s going to pay attention to her and not the other chatter happening around the room. (Though some of the students are definitely fawning over him.) ]

Have you never been in an art class before? It is always more fun with friends.

[ A smile, his eyes falling on her blank canvas. Nico’s portrait is already taking shape, massive mountains of red stone against a sprawling night sky. ]

Do you not know what to paint?

... Nor how to give it form.

[ Though she seems reluctant to admit so, staring at the darkless expanse of canvas. Her eyes turn to Nico's instead. ]

No, I have never been in an art class before. I sought more... concrete lessons, from books and the theoretical of our world. Creative endeavors are beyond my knowing.

[ Like, where does she even begin? With a pencil? Paint? What if her hand misguides a stroke? There is no certainty for her in this -- where skill comes into play, where experience leads, when she lacks in both. Whatever scene she may adore in mind will undoubtedly be marred once put to practice. ]

You are very much someone who thinks with their head. Perhaps this time, try to think with your heart.

[ He picks up a brush, offering it to her. ]

Do not paint anything in particular, like a scene or an item. Just paint what you feel. You have been so standoffish this whole time, I do not think anyone really knows thing one about you. I want to see what colors you like, what shapes your hands make with only your emotions to guide it.

[ ... Think with her heart. Odile takes the brush, staring quizzically at him for a moment after something in particular-- ]

Color is but a theory. There is no evidence to support its existence, save the old tome or two that makes mention various... words that historians assume to be connected to it.

Odile.

[ He reaches over to poke her in the middle of the forehead. ]

No thinking. Only doing.

[ Not unlike their first encounter, Odile feels far younger than she is -- but this time her lips press tight and she lets out an exhale, shaking her head.

No think, only doing. Something far easier said than done. She dips her brush into a shade that... is pleasing, to her, green to Nico. Odile observes the others and how they mix their own shades, tilting her head before looking back on her own canvas.

Siffrin was the creative one of them. Isabeau had proved the same. Boniface, a child, had not yet pruned imagination from their mind, and in Mirabelle's it flourished. Odile raises the brush, fingers gripping it tight, before drawing a line straight down the middle. She liked fairytales. She has always enjoyed their whimsy, how they found ways to say that which would often remain unspoken. In the same way, she did fancy other genres of fiction, and...

Thinking, thinking. A rueful twist of her lips, and she carefully paints the lines at inequal distances parallel to each other, pausing as she uncertainly makes a few slightly diagonal. Cleans her brush, as she has seen others do, and then... she needs a darker shade, staring at the paints before taking a deep blue. It marks surprisingly nice curves off each thick line, the sort that sprouts straight and then leans outwards as it grows. These she draws in a kind of stepping pattern, one on one side and then another a little ways above, so on and so forth, with the longest at the bottom and next to nothing at the top.

...

It looks just like a bunch of nothing, to her, image in mind far more lush. But Odile continues, cleaning her brush and then pausing above the green again. ]

... How... do you lighten this, exactly?

[ Nico is just delighted that she’s trying at all, and he watches her with open glee. She’s unsteady, unsure, but trying. Venturing forth out of her comfort zone.

The moment alone is beautiful to him. ]

It depends on the color you want. A bit of white will lighten the shade, or you could add some yellow or light blue to change the warmth. Try a bit, see what you like. There is plenty of paint.

[ Indeed she is. And she absolutely

is feeling a way about it, but Odile is hardly one to give up. Slow and unsteady she may be, the most she will ever do is set something aside and come back to it later; to quit, to give up, is not in her nature. It's what makes her aggravating to debate with. ]

As I said previous, I haven't a clue as to what you refer to...

[ Colors! Are! A! Theory! What is "yellow"!

But light for lightening, that is something she can understand, though... changing the "warmth" of a shade seems odd besides. Odile resolves to test, trial and error, until she finds a shade she likes.

... Slowly, but surely, her thoughts, her heart, comes into view. A green-sticked forest, bamboo in its most childish form, with jutting, triangle shoots painted messily atop the layer before it in dark purples at first, brownish orange later. The lightness she'd made streaks across the bamboo from off-center, sourced from a heavy, yellow circle that's going to take ages to dry. Much of the lines are clean if thick, owing to a more practiced hand than one might assume of someone who'd never painted before. That's because-- ]

In Ka Bue, we are taught calligraphy. This bears little difference... save for the thickness of paint, where ink is far thinner. A clean line indicated a clean conscious, or so they would say.

[ Girl he didn’t think you meant literally help. WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT IS YELLOW!! ]

It seems you have that in spades.

[ A clean conscience, that is. Her lines are quite crisp, but the painting overall is lovely. He’s long abandoned his own canvas in favor of watching her fill hers.

But to backtrack– ]

Do you truly not know colors? What shade are my eyes?

Dark, but not lightless. Your hair is bright.

[ Not unlike the sun, nearly sparkling. Her eyes linger before they return to his. ]

I meant what I said: color is but a theory, or at least a concept that no longer exists in the world as I know it. There are books which refer to them, which is how they know they exist, but I could not tell you which of these are "green", "blue", or... What is it. "Purple".

[ All foreign words to her. Yes, literally, she does not know her colors. Everyone is greyscale to her. Welcome. ]

I had no idea...

[ How does he even begin to describe colors to someone who has never seen them? ]

My eyes are red. Think of heat, and anger. My hair is blond, or yellow, I suppose. Like sunshine.

[ WHAT IF THEY GET HER SOME OF THOSE COLORBLINDNESS CORRECTING GLASSES??? ]

[ Convince her to use her wish to be able to see color and I'll have two chars from ISAT who did this. ]

... If I may take a closer look, Nicodème, at your eyes. I would also like you to describe me.

[ That first impression pic I used? That. Thanks. I chose color for a reason babey. ]

I shall do my level best…

[ He shimmies his chair a little closer to her. If the other students have started wondering what the heck is going on here, he pretty deftly ignores them. ]

Your hair is brown, like freshly tilled soil, the smell of the earth. Your eyes are a light green, like new buds in spring. Grass that is freshly cut.

Does this help?

[ Thankfully, Odile has never given others the time of day if she did not care for it, so the other students are certainly ignored. His eyes... like heat, and anger. Blood and the pain that comes with it. Such poor ways to describe a man like Nico, she thinks, gaze keen as she takes in the color. Would that this be romantic with any other pair.

Still, the way he describes her... ]

I never imagined myself so pastoral. But you do bring a picture to life, Nicodème, and I can very well imagine the sensation of the "colors" you speak.

[ Odile leans back after a moment more, touching her hair. Like tilled soil. Her eyes, not unlike the fresh buds of spring. Her next words are quieter, almost amused. ]

How young you describe me. I don't know many who could manage. [ A beat, and then she huffs. ] Do you have a favorite? Of these "colors".

[ Odile pretty firmly friend-zoned herself, unfortunately, but with that misunderstanding out of the way, he has some to like her as a friend. An obtuse sort of friend who he can tease if he likes. ]

Odile, please. You are not even that old. Stop acting like a grandma. It is surely a turn-off!

[ Like right now. He’s teasing her right now. ]

I suppose I am partial to red. It is rather striking, and it brings out my eyes.

[ How unfortunate for her. ]

Wei Wuxian says the same.

[ About age. She isn't aiming for the romantic, so it's fine. Simply someone companionable. If love is there, whatever its form, fine, but it doesn't need to be.

Odile gestures to a dark green, huffing softly. ]

Whatever-- this shade is called, I tend to favor. It reminds me of summer.

Wei Wuxian is correct. If nothing else, I think you would connect better with everyone else if you were not acting like everyone's old auntie. You are among peers.

[ He wants to see everyone here succeed, whether they find love or not. He just wants everyone to be happy, and it seems to him that Odile could use some more friends. ]

That is dark green, like a dense forest canopy. It is very summery.

Thank you. [ For the color name. ] And while I am aware that I am, it is only the older one becomes -- beyond a normal lifespan -- that it matters less, and becomes easier to "befriend" those of younger years.

[ Isn't it odd? To call someone that could be her child if she had one a friend? It is a purely Odile issue, though...

... There are people who would have that label, yes, if she had the mind to put it. Nico included. ]

But even if I did, I still wouldn't join their silly games.

[ Not said in a demeaning or dismissive way, mind, just. Well. Lil reindeer games. Her hand returns to brush and she seems a little more at ease, practicing with mixing colors and seeing what they turn into. ]

week two | dates

nico and odile

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