( open ) everything else was just remembering.

[wising]

It isn't a feeling Sarah is used to anymore.

Boredom.

It has been a long, long time since she's been able to stand still, and she finds, more often than not, she does not know what to do with this stillness. Being on the ship means having an imposed vacation from her real life and her real problems, and while she can't say she's entirely against that - it also feels like hiding. Pretending. Waiting can be more excruciating than having no time at all, and Sarah would know. For the first eighteen years of her life, she thought she wouldn't have the time to wait.

Now she has it to spare, and she is reacquainting herself with pleasures she's forgotten; watching old school movies while indulging in chocolates and staying up late into the night to watch the stars. These pleasures are age-worn in her memory, like a picture that is fading. She also finds, like most people do, some things are like riding a bike. A sketchpad and charcoal pencils have been located, and the rest becomes simple.

There is a bar by the pool and there is a fallen angel by the bar. She holds the sketchpad in one hand and the charcoal pencil in the other, like she is remembering.

She will offer to draw a face portrait to anyone who is interested, like she did the first day she ever arrived to Chicago.

There's a symmetry to that.


( ooc: prose or spam, i will match you! )

Comments

[wising]

"Thanks. I'm a little bit rusty," she says easily, glancing up at him with a curious smile. "You draw?"

In her experience, those that are looking to start earnest conversation when she is sketching are either art enthusiasts or artists themselves. Which means it's someone that Sarah wants to meet.

[undermyfeet]

"I dabble." Which is really more what it is. He's not an artist, not in the way that she is. He can see the hints of artistry lurking under the edges. "My dad taught me to draw when I was a kid."

[wising]

"Yeah?" Sarah glances up at him, a tiny smile on her face. No one ever really taught Sarah to love art. She discovered fingerpainting by accident, and she never let it go. "Was he an artist, too?"

[undermyfeet]

" ... Sort of." A lot of people in their particular community would probably consider him one, but not in the way that Sarah means. "He mostly did a lot of ... reproductions?"

Aka Forgeries. For those paying attention.

[wising]

Sarah smirks. She's reading between the lines there.

"You're going to have to show me your stuff sometime. Have you seen the art room? It's got all the supplies you could possibly imagine. I think I remember how to get there."

It's a 50/50 chance.

[undermyfeet]

He bobs his head in agreement a bit because yeah. He's been there once or twice. "I haven't really had much to draw though. Aside from trolling people on the journals because I could."

He then shifts his weight to fish his journal out, before flipping through the pages to find the time he and Angel sketched out a fruit stand off. "I did the pear and gremlins. And the pie. Not the plate, though, that was the other guy."