ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Drawing the Present

Vignette - Drawing the Present
Sad little trees
Dramatis Personae Sean
In Absentia	2014-02-12 (Part of perfectus TP.)
Location <NYC> - Room 605 - One Sixty-Seven - Upper West Side
Morning was a bleary time in the world of Sean, and only the automatic timer on the espresso machine made it more tolerable as the caffeinated substance issued forth into little espresso cups.. The aroma woke him up from a pile of blankets and pillows piled in his work area, though it took a few minutes of struggling with the blankets to extract himself, at least until he only had the top comforter draped around him like a mobile sleeping bag to keep warm despite only wearing boxers. The end of it dragged on the plush carpet with a slight wiffing noise, at least until it hit the tile floor of the kitchen area where it could slide easier. Grumbling about cold floors and bare feet, he poured the two espressos that had been pressure blasted out into their little cups into his big black mug, and poured in enough sugar to turn the mix to sludge. “Oh caffeine. I love you so much.” Sipping his sludge, he shuffled back towards his work area, which was cleared of the usual easel and canvas, or clay spinning pot. He hardly ever got out his drawing desk, but for this work it would be necessary. He had made good progress on the drawing thus far, the colors on his fingertips and hand showing the effort he’s been putting in at least. Beside the mostly finished work, his two tier box of colored pencils was showing wear and tear that he hadn't figured he’d go through this fast. Half of the colors were used down to nubs, and he grumbled a bit as he fumbled around for where he had left his phone. Kicking covers away, he picked up a pillow and found the lifeproof case’d phone and made a face at the state of the battery. “Feh, stupid phone. Stupid battery.” (Sean --> Angela) : I ned moor clr pencils. (Angela --> Sean) : It’s 7 in the morning. (Angela --> Sean) : You told me I had the week off so you could work on some secret project. (Sean --> Angela) : Pls? v. import (Angela --> Sean) : Type like an adult (Sean --> Angela) : Annnnggggg. Please? I need more color pencils. Lots of them. Faber-Castell. Very Important. Life or Death. (Angela --> Sean) : You said that about the doughnut with sprinkles. (Sean --> Angela) : Life or Death!!!!!!! (Angela --> Sean) : Adding more exclamation points doesn't make it more important. Fine, I’ll have an order of them sent to you ASAP. (Angela --> Sean) : Can I go back to bed? Remember, the vacation you told me I Had to go on? (Sean --> Angela) : U r the bestest. (Angela --> Sean) : Adult. Now go away. I’m turning off the phone. (Angela --> Sean) : Don’t forget to eat. The food deliveries are on schedule like usual. Don’t burn down your place when you cook poptarts. Metal doesn’t go into the microwave. (Sean --> Angela) : I knowwwwww. You are the best. Stumbling over and finding a plug for the phone, he put it on the charger, and grabbed the remote for the sound system. Pushing the play button on it, figuring that whatever would come on would be fine, he shuffled back over towards the work table as loud bouncy electronic music came through the room, though not enough to reverberate anything, or annoy the neighbors. Taking a long swig of sludge, he looked to the image presented before him, and taking up the color pencils he sought to finish it, figuring he could worry about putting on pants later. The picture was already coming together, and the details were profound. A young green skinned mutant seems to be the subject of the image, and he is huddled on an old dingy mattress. The blankets on it matching the state of dinginess, but not matching in any color schema. The young man was wearing an old grey Army sweatshirt, though from the look of it it was many sizes too large, not helped by the fact that the mutant was already very gaunt by the details of his face. One of his arms appears to be sagging strangely though, something noticeable inspite of the baggy clothing. He sits propped up against soot-grey cinder block, a with a burger in front of him that he has barely touched any of. From the looks of the room this perhaps has been his meal of choice, as there are many leftover fast-food wrappers on the floor, crumpled and tossed. From the looks of the wrappers though, it seems that Burger King, has been the source of most of this food, as there is a kids' meal crown and and Ice Age Scrat toy discarded nearby. Sighing to himself, Sean continues his drawing, and from the looks of it, he does not seem too happy with what it is he’s seeing appear on the page. As his hand moves almost of its own accord between the color pencil box and the sheet of paper, more details start to appear on the page. Bandages lay wadded up in the corner of the room, covered in filth but more disconcertingly, blood. The colors he fills in on it at least seem to indicate that the blood is older, and the bandages stained from it. The lighting of the room becomes better explained though; the shadows of the room weren't quite right for the single uncovered light source of the ceiling. As the dirty wall becomes more filled in, there appears a window, just a sliver of one near the top of the wall. It was far too small to fit through for most, but details start to appear behind the pane of the glass. It isn’t much, but trees can be seen, though there aren't many, and by their deadened and dark state it was obviously winter outside that glass. Yet, there is something more. It is almost out of focus of the frame, but round brick columns seem to be hinted at. Looking a tad bleary eyed, Sean looked up from the finished drawing with a yawn. He hadn't realized his cup of coffee was empty, and looking at the time he saw it was already four pm. “Ughhhh, where’d the day go.” Glancing at the drawing again to make sure it Felt done, he nodded to himself, Knowing it so. Shuffling away from the picture, he headed to the front door, opening it to find a plastic bag full of, by now cold, Chinese food. “Bless you Angela. Best assistant ever.” With bag in hand, he flopped on the couch to shove food into his face, a little clumsy on shoveling rice via chopsticks. “Those columns looked familiar. Meh, It’ll come to me. I'll have to remember to email Jackson,” he said as he fell back asleep on the sofa, Chinese food forgotten on the cushion beside him.