A New Perspective (Gilbert)

(Sketching you, as we talked about, yes?)

There are some artists that work in rushes and stops, taking pen or brush or charcoal to paper, hand to clay, what have you only when inspiration struck. There are others who work constantly, regularly, no matter the muse to make sure they never go stale. There are yet others, but most are a mix between these two, as a general rule. Feliciano, for his part, was the sort to work in fits and starts... constantly. Jumping from one idea to the next and then back again, he virtually always had some sort of project going, but at times would leave many of his others to fall to the wayside for long periods of time when a new idea took him. Normally this was all well and good, but at times it could lead to disaster.

And this was one of those times.

A full figure painting ready for critique and on her desk by eleven! How was he supposed to manage that? He hadn't even started, had just forgotten the assignment when hit by the urge to make a bird in flight, complete with feathers, and from there it had just continued and now... now he had nothing. Nothing and a project due in three hours.

Of course, the paint wouldn't be a problem. Ever since the incident during the storm with his pencil he'd been finicking around with colours and found himself quite capable on the small scale, provided he keep focused and not get too distracted lest he turn something that should be crimson mauve. No, the paint wouldn't be a problem because he could just do that the. The new-fashioned, crazy-lightning-storm way.

No, the problem was that he had no model. Normally he'd make his brother stand for him, but in this particular instance his brother was no where to be found.

What to do... what to do...

Oh!

A smile spread across his features as he realised his solution. One of the other tenants! Maybe that guy who moved in around the same time as him, on the... seventh floor? Yeah! Yeah, that'd work! Scrambling to grab up his supplies he ran up to the elevator - five flights of stairs was just too much! - and waited impatiently as it took him up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Let off on floor seven he came to the realisation that he had no idea which room was Gilbert's. Rather than worrying about this problem or trying to think through it, he instead started knocking on doors and calling his name. that'd work, right?

“It’s quiet,” Gilbert declared as he stopped typing, the click-clack of the keyboard keys disappearing when he did so. “Too quiet.” He would have laughed at the cliché he had just spouted, but he was far more concerned with, really, how quiet it was in his apartment. This usually wouldn’t bother him, but there were times when his quirks as a writer had to come up, and this was one of those times. As well done and prepared the words and scenes were in his head, there were cases when Gilbert can’t write a scene down without first experiencing it himself. It was ridiculous, especially with how he was a historical fiction writer, but it was a condition that had to be fulfilled. Fortunately, the required scenario was easy to reenact.

He was trying to write a ballroom scene. An intense tango between a dashing bruglione and his ex-wife as the man spoke of his secrets to her over the music. Therefore Gilbert needed to tango. He needed to get some tango music playing.

So after a minute of clicking and browsing, Gilbert stood and abandoned his laptop which now played an instrumental arrangement of Por una Cabeza. Classic tango music, check. He moved to the less cluttered part of the living area, waited for a starting beat, and danced. He imagined having the figure of a woman in his arms, all dolled-up and beautiful, and began to speak in harsh whispers about shady business deals and Communion and the familia and killing. He could hear crying in his mind, and he held the invisible woman closer. He looked into non-existent eyes and spoke more gently, now of a future with love and promises. A passionate kiss played out in his head, but in reality he just shut his eyes and continued dancing until the music stopped.

A satisfied grin on his face, he let himself fall on his couch, taking a moment to rest and catch his breath before getting back to work. It was perfect, he mused, running a hand through his slightly sweaty hair. The perfect scene for his more romance-inclined readers. And a very good build-up to the inevitable--

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging on his door.

He got up, annoyed at how his inspired spell was broken, and went to throw his door open. He was ready to snarl a “What the hell do you want, asshole?” at whoever was at his door, but that changed when he saw who was outside, now banging at the door across from Gilbert’s though calling Gilbert’s name.

“I'm right here. What the heck are you doing, Feliciano?” he asked, now more amused than irritated.

^{(( This is what happens when I write after ballroom dancing for gym. ))}

Felicinao let out a squeak at the sound, startled enough to sent one button into a soft shade of cyan as he spun around. But. Oh! Just Gilbert~ Perfect, exactly who he wanted to see! Stopping his loud rapping on the door, he flocked over to the other - really, he flocked. Feliciano had a way of carrying himself that was ridiculously like a collection of pigeons finding a woman with bread. He thrilled wtih excitement wherever he went, and the extra energy had a tendency to make him clumsy, just like an uncoordinated flock's bumps and turns. So while he was unmistakably puppyish in most of his other features, his movement was quite like a birds, albeit the one that flew into the clean window. So, too, was his eating, in that he often consumed twice his weight every day, but that was neither here nor there.

"Ah! Gilbert!" Feliciano greeted, voice high and happy. "I was looking for you!"

Oh, yes, just in case the banging on the door and shouting his name didn't clue him off to that one.

"You see, I really need your help! Like, really, really need it!" The Italian's face grew closed with concern, a frown pulling his features down and in. "I... I'm late for a project. And I need a model to draw. But- but I can't find Lovino and I don't know where he is - I guess that's part of not being able to find him but still - and he's always the one I draw for this but I can't right now because he's gone to work or something maybe, I don't know but I need it done by eleven today and I don't have anyone to draw and I thought that maybe you'd help me because you're an artist too! I mean, a different kind of artist because you use words not-" and here he had to stop for a gasping breath before plunging forward in his prattle, "-not paints or pencils or clay or plastic or anything else that, you know, I use or other people like me use but still you are one so you'd understand needing to get something done and also I don't know who else to go to and pleeeeaaaase help me?"

Gilbert could only blink in response. He never got used to how talkative and ramble-y Feliciano could get, but it was one of the reasons why Gilbert absolutely adored him. Though they don’t really see each other a lot, Gilbert had quickly developed a liking towards the man in the handful of meetings they’ve had. Feliciano was cheerful and bouncy and just very cute. What’s not to love?

“Okay, okay...” Gilbert finally began, though he was still trying to take in all that Feliciano had said. A model, eh? He frowned, sending a glance at his laptop and thinking of his own far from finished manuscript. His editor had already been nagging at him for the past few days to get at least five new chapters done and ready for editing, but that had been difficult to accomplish so far. It would be best for him to say no to Feliciano.

...But it was Feliciano. Cute, little Feliciano. Gilbert couldn’t possibly deny him. He wouldn’t. And, like Feliciano had mentioned, they were on the same boat, so Gilbert could understand what Feliciano was going through. It’s helping a fellow artist, he reasoned in his mind. Surely his editor would understand that. (And it’ll be easy for Gilbert to convince his editor to push the deadline further back.)

“Okay,” Gilbert repeated, sighing. “I’ll do it. But just because you’re the one asking!” He raised a hand to ruffle Feliciano’s hair affectionately. “Just promise me we’ll be done by the afternoon, ‘cause I also have a deadline to catch. And...” He gestured to the cyan door behind Feliciano. “You better change that back first.”

(Uhm. He changed a button not the door, but whatever, I'll say it was the door then.
Also. It ate my nice long post about babbling and shit so have a shorter, crappier version)

Feliciano felt himself swell with a mixture of relief and happiness as his request was granted, and smiled wide enough to push up his cheeks to guide his eyes to closed over the action, a light hum of 've~' falling from his lips as he did so. But as soon as the other mentioned the door he looked over at it and frowned, noting how cyan laced through with the thicker browns of the wood. Oh dear.

"Whoops? Si, I think I should fix that. Uhm. One second, okay?" He set down his pad and pencils and moved up to the door, chewing the inside of his cheek in concentration. The bigger and more irregularly shaped an object was, the harder it was to colour, unless he was startled into doing it, and the door was certainly big. The mixture of colours didn't help either, and it took him a good fourty-five seconds to clean it up and put it back to rights. When he was done he had picked up a light pant from the energy drain that took, though it was more of a mental strain, instead of a physical one.

Still, with that done, he turned to grin at Gilbert again, picking up his supplies and moving to slip into the other's rooms, figuring that the allowance to steal his likeness onto the page was enough permission to go into his living spaces uninvited, at least just this once.

"Grazie, Gilbert! I knew I can count on you!" He thanked, stopping to lean up and kiss the other's cheek once in thanks before moving the rest of the way in. Feliciano had just always been a very tactile person, and so such an innocent gesture of thanks and appreciation was not, to his mind, strange in any way. Continuing into the room, he added an absent minded reassurance that, "Don't worry! I'll be gone before the afternoon, I have to get this in by eleven! I completely forgot I had to do it! Haha, I guess I just got carried away working on other things, si? That happens sometimes. I get so excited by other ideas and inspirations that I completely forget about some of the things I need to do! Some people say it's a real problem, but I do my best work when I'm all over the place. How can you make something if you're not inspired, si? And how can you ignore inspiration when it calls?"

Rather then wait for an answer, he shrugged, flipping open his pad to a blank page and looking to Gilbert expectantly. "Could you get into a pose? Uhm. One that you can hold but one that's interesting, too? Because I want a really good portrait, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable while I do it..."

^{(( *facepalm* What the actual fuck. I'm incredibly sorry for that. That's the last time I try to write while super sleepy. ))}

Gilbert liked watching Feliciano use his power. While it seemed useless for the most part, it sure was fun to look at. He could think of a lot of pranks which would work well with it, though he knew Feliciano would never agree to assist. It was a shame, but hey, at least Gilbert could watch him change and revert the colour of his neighbour’s door. Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn’t have asked Feliciano to undo the change. He’s sure his neighbour’s reaction would be nothing short of hilarious. Feliciano had finished fixing it up though, so oh well.

“Anything for you, Feli-kins!” A silly grin spreading through his face at the kiss--boy, does he have a crush--Gilbert let Feliciano make his way into his apartment. He was glad Feliciano planned on working there instead of at his own space. The ballroom scene was still fresh and perfect in Gilbert’s head, and he didn’t want to risk forgetting a single detail by stepping out of his workplace. “You can help yourself to some juice or anything, if you wanna.”

He deliberately avoided responding to Feliciano’s ramble on inspiration. It was difficult to give simple answers to the inquiries, for ever since Gilbert became a professional writer, the concept of ‘inspiration’ had gotten mostly thrown out of the window, or maybe it had just gotten easier to control. He now had to write because he knew he wouldn’t be able to support himself otherwise. There were still times when he’d get a brilliant idea out of the blue and just have to work on it, but he had also learned to enjoy writing something that was planned, drawn-out, and needed a ton of research. Deadlines still sucked though.

Realizing he had drifted off, he started trying to think of a good pose. “Can’t you just direct me?” he asked, though he had already walked towards his bed and was now settling himself down on it. About a month after Gilbert had moved in, he had asked for his apartment to be modified so that all areas except for the bathroom would be in one big room instead of four smaller rooms. It had cost a lot of his earnings from his first and second books, but it was worth it. His place looked damn cool.

He considered doing a silly pose like bunny ears or a constipated version of ‘The Thinker’, though decided against it since while he figured Feliciano would probably agree with it, his professor may not be quite as amused. So he opted for a more serious pose. He turned so that he was lying on his side, facing Feliciano, and let one arm dangle over his side and onto his stomach, while the other rested outstretched towards Feliciano, palm facing up and lower arm slightly raised as if Gilbert was playfully beckoning the artist to join him on the bed. Simple, interesting, and easy enough to hold.

“This good enough?” he asked, crossing one leg over the other in a sort of finishing touch.

(A crush? Oh, Feli will have to be even more tactile with him. Hugs ALL THE TIME.)

Were it not for the fact that Feliciano spent hours every week sketching nudes in studio in his figure drawing class, he might have been slightly perturbed or embarrassed by the somewhat suggestive pose. More likely, it would have gone straight over his head and he wouldn't have gotten it at all. Which was, of course, exactly what happened. Feliciano might have been a classic romantic, but he rarely noticed anything that might have the potential to be lewd or suggestive in anyway, even laying oneself down on a bed, half beckoning someone over. Clearly he was not familiar with the ever famous "draw me like one of your French girls" scene from Titanic.

Completely nonplussed by the other's position, he found a chair to drag over and settled himself into it, shifting for a few moments before finding the right position. Once there, he relaxed back with his pad. This would have been so much better with an easel to hold the paper to, but it was heavy and he'd rather not lug it around more then he had to, and he really preferred to have Gilbert in his natural environment. After all, life drawings would always be so much more... well... reflective of life if the people in them were at home in their surroundings. He was just under the belief that it was more natural, and he'd rather have people how they would be normally then in any contrived position or placement. And since he'd had to make Gilbert pose, the place would definitely have to be here. So no easel. He could deal.

"That looks perfect," he answered, nodding appreciatively as he tipped the pad to the side to get a wider angle for the piece. "As long as it's comfortable. You have to be comfortable otherwise it won't look right."

Still, he had already started. Not much chance for him to move now. Especially since Feliciano had decided that he liked the position. Now he wanted to sketch the full thing out so he hoped Gilbert was comfortable, because if he had to shift and the whole thing was thrown off he'd be incredibly disappointed. Already he had the rough framework of the German's form laid out and was starting to shape him together. With the new focus of work his conversational tendencies faded back and a serious, concentrating expression came over his features.

While he might be silly and ridiculous every other moment of the day, when he actually set down to work a calm intentness fell over him. Concentrating as he never did in the rest of his daily life, the Italian shifted from a bubbly, over-exuberant and wiggly almost-man into a calm, concentrated, very focused artist. While his face didn't completely shut down, it mellowed, the excited lines and constant shift settling into a softer form as he bit lightly into his lower lip, fully intent on the paper and the man laid out before it.

^{(( I'm sorry this took so long! *kowtows* And Gil would very much enjoy that, so feel free to do so, Feli XD ))}

Gilbert let out a satisfied hum. “It’s not the most relaxing position, but it’s alright.” So long as he got to remain there, in his non-metaphorical ‘zone’ per se, heck, any pose would be fine. “Now work your magic, Feli!”

And that he did. At least, as far as Gilbert could observe.

It was fascinating. Put art tools in his hands and an idea in his head, and Feliciano somehow transformed. Gilbert couldn’t perfectly describe the change, but a good word for how the other now appeared before him would probably be ‘impassioned’. It was different from how he usually was. This was a serious kind of passion; Gilbert could tell as he watched the artist work from a whole new point of view. It didn’t exactly show on Feliciano’s face, but Gilbert could feel how intent Feliciano was, and it got him entranced. It also calmed him down, making it easier to relax and keep his position.

Skill-wise, Gilbert wasn’t sure if Feliciano could be as good as the artists Gilbert had read about in his reference books, though he knew Feliciano had the perfect work ethic for the profession. Albeit a bit flighty, the young man was determined and brimming with inspiration.

Gilbert wondered if this was how he looked to anyone who watched him write, though the thought was immediately dismissed. Despite how much he enjoyed getting attention, Gilbert would never willingly let anyone be witness to his ‘writing process’.

At this, the sort-of spell--which he seemed to have gotten into while watching Feliciano--was broken, and Gilbert was now all too aware of everything else. It wasn’t overtly stated, but he had basically been told to stay still for a long while. Probably an hour or two. And crap, usually that would have been easy to do (he had spent some days just daydreaming and lying in bed, after all), if not for the fact that he was now so very conscious of his position. Also, he was really starting to get bored.

Scheiße. His hand just twitched. He tried to will himself to keep from wanting to move and just roll off the bed by mumbling to himself--story dialogue ideas, random thoughts, or whatever. What Gilbert didn’t realize was that instead of mumbling, he was speaking in chirps and birdsong, and that there were a small group of pigeons who heard and were already perched on the sill of a nearby open window.

Lips twitching at the corners, a small frown formed over the young Italian's faces. His model was shifting. Lips were moving, his hand had shifted. Spoiled by the practised stillness of the models in class, Feliciano wasn't so used to inexperienced models that might shift and reform themselves without thought - who might not even realise their movement.

"Gi-" he started, a light whine in the first half-syllable before he cut himself off at the bird song slipping from the other's lips. Hunh. Fascinated, he paused, listening a bit longer to the change... but he still needed those lips still at least until he had them done! Pretty and interesting as it was, it wasn't going to help him get anything done, nor would it help him to remind the German man that he needed to keep still at least until he'd gotten most of it done, before a stretch break.

"...you're tweeting." He eventually settled on, the comment light on his lips, more wonder then scolding. "Like a bird. You're talking like a bird. Chirping and whistling - it's pretty! But. Strange. And really distracting..." he paused, stretching out his sketching hand and looking around the room a moment. "...I think you're distracting them, too..." he jerked his head towards the window to further his point. "Do... do you need a break? To move around and stretch out? If you can get back into exactly the same position I don't want you to get all stiff..."