Pretty Thing (Henry.)

[Madison Bane]

Madison had brought his sketchbook to the bookstore. It wasn’t like anyone was really paying attention to some nerd in big glasses, browsing over a graphic novel he hadn’t bought. No, if anyone was looking, it was because he was taking up the whole of a giant table, his scribbles strewn across it, but he was focusing all of his attention on his laptop.

This story was going nowhere. It just wasn’t the same as writing with pencil and paper, and he was giving the machine a glare. His eyes scanned the screen and he put a closed fist to his mouth. Madison slammed his computer down in half in frustration, and then glanced over it to the graphic novels littering the table. They were meant to inspire his writing but... fuck it.

Like a drug addicting needing a fix, Madison flipped open his sketch book. The princess in his story came to life at his fingertips, the lines long and flowing as he started with the hair. The pencil on the paper was like taking a good long drag, and already his tension eased into a smile. He was born to draw, but all he wanted to do was write. Next to come to life were the eyes. They were also dark, like the hair... He was too focused on his work to notice that someone had been glancing at him, perhaps only looking because Madison looked and was acting like a crazy person.

[Henry Ballo]

Henry couldn’t draw. Henry didn’t have any idea how to draw or even how to start. But he would admit that he always admired people who could draw. Being able to put pen to paper and actually have a result that looked interesting and reasonable was certainly a good way to get into Henry’s good books.

He was in the comics section for a very simple reason: Estelle. He had promised to pick up some comics before he saw her next, and collected the list to pick up at the store. While he spent quite a bit of time in bookstores, he hadn’t spent that much time in the comics section, and this was, frankly, catching him off guard. He’d been staring at the shelves for a good ten minutes when a furious scratching came to his attention, and he lifted his head to stare at the skinny, dark-haired man who seemed to be—sketching? Sketching what, precisely? Out of curiosity and partially out of boredom, he approached him and stood over his shoulder briefly, and his brows climbed further at the quality of the drawing. He moved slightly closer, then dropped the books he’d gotten for himself on the floor. He swore colorfully in Tswana and bent to pick them up in a hurry.

“I apologize,” he said to the man who was sketching as he did his best to gather up the books. “I was just, ah, admiring your work. You are a very impressive artist, if I may.” This was awkward. More awkward than even he normally was. God...

[Madison Bane]

Madison was under the guise of not trying to impress anybody, but everyone knew that someone working out in public was bound to be noticed by someone sooner or later. Had had really not wanted anyone to notice him, he would’ve stayed in his dorm room. But the stink was unbearable, and the thought of actually cleaning his junk out of it was far more unbearable. At a standstill with himself, this seemed like the perfect solution.

Madison had noticed someone watching him only after some time, too absorbed in his own work to realize his space bubble was being encroached on. His sketching motions were a mad dash, and he was angry that he could create this, but not a story. He could make pictures and paintings move at will, so why could words also do the same? He had been blessed as an artist, not a writer, but everything was greener on the other side. Maybe with practice…

Hearing something drop, Madison paused in his work dramatically. The movement of looking down to see what had fallen had been slow and deliberate, almost unnecessary as his glasses fell down his nose to add to the effect. The comics were in his reach to retrieve but he didn’t move towards them. It wasn’t any of his business and he didn’t want to get involved, but he had already caught the attention of the tall guy picking up the comics.

“Thank you,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing, “it seems I can draw just about anything.” A moment later, his sketch was blinking up at the newcomer. Madison turned to look as well. There was a pleasant softness to the other man’s lips, but something dangerous in his eyes. Mark Mackenzie, secretly he was a vampire. “Spiderman is always a good choice, but My Little Pony?” Madison asked, wondering if this guy knew what he was doing. Comics weren’t complicated, but they were like everything else – delicate, and easily judged. Looking back at the sketch, Madison pushed his glasses back into place.

“I thought I was the only one who bought comics at school,” Madison said, as though they were old friends. He wasn’t trying to make friends, but a serious break was needed from the mess on the table.

[Henry Ballo]

((Hahaha I dropped off the face of the planet and I apologize.>>))

Modest, too, this one was. Had Henry been a bit younger and a bit more single, he would’ve reacted very differently to that particular comment. More single would’ve made the difference because he wouldn’t have been exposed to the calming influence of Estelle, who made him think twice at snapping at the man in spite of his behavior and his comments. He would keep calm about it. Besides, the other man really was quite good, even if Henry could recognize that he was posturing from a mile off. In truth, it wasn’t exactly hard. As one who did quite a bit of posturing himself, it was pretty easy to recognize. Plus, the man didn’t help him to pick up the comics. While Henry was impressed by his artistic talent, he was not amused by his personal behavior.

He gathered up all the pieces and rose to his feet, holding the comics securely in his hands and glancing down at the drawing. It appeared to be moving. Ah, a meta then. An interesting power, too. Huh. “It appears you can,” he agreed, leaning over to examine it. “Ah.” The comics, right. He’d forgotten about the mixture. He looked down at them, then back up. “They are for my girlfriend. She prefers this kind of…variety, I suppose you could say. I read a few of them as well, but she particularly wanted many of these.”

He was surprised when the man suddenly became almost—friendly? He hadn’t been expecting that. “You are not,” he said. “There are many who buy comics. Do you, ah, read any of these?” He lifted them. “Would you recommend another set?”