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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 12:18:38 GMT -5
((Me too.))
*Philippe was silent, attempting to convince himself that her words were indeed, true.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 16:12:07 GMT -5
*Becca turned and dragged a small stool from one corner over to Philippe. Stepping onto it, she was tall enough to give him a soft peck on the cheek, as though a butterfly had brushed against him.*
"Thank you."
*She then jumped off the stool, swooped down to pick up her shawl from the floor and went towards the door.*
"As of tomorrow you're going to teach me everything you know about art," *she called back over her shoulder, her voice firm.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 27, 2008 5:12:57 GMT -5
*Philippe watched he go, a small smile forming on his lips. Unknowingly he moved his hand to his cheek and touched the place her lips had rested.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 27, 2008 6:16:45 GMT -5
*The next morning Becca returned to the north wing and paced about the room impatiently as she waited for Philippe, poking about at the brushes and paints and sticks of charcoal.*
((Gotta go to Mass soon. Back in the afternoon, I think?))
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Post by Philippe on Jan 27, 2008 6:38:00 GMT -5
((Ok))
*Philippe walked slowly towards the north wing. He entered the room to see the girl nosing through the considerable selection of supplies.*
"Leave them, you will not need them now."
*Philippe removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 27, 2008 7:58:06 GMT -5
*She frowned, looking puzzled and a feeling of dread came over her.*
"...this isn't going to be all art THEORY, is it? I want practical lessons. I want to get my hands dirty."
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Post by Philippe on Jan 27, 2008 8:28:55 GMT -5
*Philippe chuckled.*
"No, I fear my Art History is poor."
*He walked over to a draw and pulled out a sculpture of a girl on a horse. He placed it on a table in front of Rebecca.*
"To really be able to draw what you cannot see you must first be able to draw what you can see."
*He took a chair and placed it next to the table.*
"Sit down."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 27, 2008 8:45:42 GMT -5
*Becca sat with a rapid obedience that seemed contrary to her rebellious nature, but something in her seemed to almost yearn for some kind of guidance, and perhaps the right hands could mold her into a girl less flighty and scatterbrained. She had a keen mind eager to learn, but mentors had been scarce in the lonesome drift of the girls at her Italian boarding school.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 27, 2008 8:50:27 GMT -5
*Philippe smirked at the girls eagerness but swiftly rearranged his expression. He glanced over at the setting he had arranged, the white sculpture setting with the red tablecloth.*
"Now, just look closely at the sculpture, what colour is it?"
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 27, 2008 8:54:00 GMT -5
"White." *she said with rapid certainty.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 27, 2008 8:56:20 GMT -5
*Philippe sighed.*
"No."
*He walked over and stood behind her.*
"Look again."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 27, 2008 9:11:48 GMT -5
*Rebecca sat up straighter, frowning at the idea that she was wrong. The sculpture was white and the hair on the back of her neck stood up as the Comte moved nearer. She could feel the warmth of him being near and she shivered a little, not knowing why. She pursed her lips and glared at the statue.*
"...Cream. The colour of cream. Cream in...April--it's almost yellow."
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Post by Philippe on Jan 27, 2008 10:10:36 GMT -5
*Philippe released a breath.*
"Yes, and do you see the red from the cloth?."
*He moved away to the side.*
"Nothing is ever just one colour."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 27, 2008 10:11:33 GMT -5
*Her eyes did not flicker.*
"Blood. It's the colour of blood." *she said decidedly.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 27, 2008 10:13:09 GMT -5
*Silently Philippe walked over to the sideboard, picked up a pencil and paper and handed it to her.*
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