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Oct. 9th, 2007 07:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellownedbkupTitle: a deal with the devil herself
Author: me
Prompt: oct 6 warmup on nanowrimo (the protagonist game)
the game: Frank, the painter. Who wants to be a great seducer. But is blocked my his mother. And ends up getting married. 4 mins, 5 mins, 6 mins, 7 mins, and 8 mins to close, respectively.
Frank was the sensitive type. The kind of guy that everyone assumes is gay and that women wish their own boyfriends would be more like. He would sit in the coffee shop on the corner, a large portfolio beside his feet, staring idly out the front windows at passers-by. Occasionally someone would come close beside him and ask after him, and he would raise rainbow-speckled fingers, rough with turpentine and paint, to frame the person's face.
"Yes, you'll do."
Painting was his passion. He craved laying down lines of light and shadow on a canvas to artfully describe the persons before him. Male or female, it rarely mattered. But, oh, it was not the glamorous life he'd imagined and seen played out in the movies. Women didn't throw themselves at his feet; men didn't hop in line to be painted by his masterful hands. He was anything but smooth.
He wondered what it would be like to be a great seducer, like Casanova. He wondered what it would mean to have endless hordes of people, lining up to have their nude figures brushed onto rough canvas, then brushed by fingers callused with holding that selfsame brush. He needed that, wanted that, craved that glory that came with it. He could taste it, if only he knew how.
But Mother. Mother didn't approve of Frank's chosen profession. Mother thought painting was for those 'disgusting homosexuals' he happened to take classes with. Crochety and cantankerous, the woman continued to meddle in his affairs, seeking new ways to make him feel guilty over his choices.
"Oh, don't mind me, Frank darling. I'll just wither away over here in my cold home, without a penny to my name or the comfort a steady job for my son would bring. Oh, if your father were here, I'm sure he'd think the same thing." Guilt trip after guilt trip, beating out both Catholics and Jews for the honor.
Mother wanted Frank to settle down and fulfill the All-American Family Dream: a wife, a son and a daughter, a little house in the country with a little white picket fence. Frank could be someone, she said. Frank could do something with his life. Frank could stop wasting all his time on useless pursuits with immoral people.
Frank watched his mother warily as the days progressed, listening with one ear on her sanctimonious sermons and the other towards escape. He searched harder and harder for another model, another someone to take his mind off his maternal issues.
He found Tracy. Tracy leaned up against him in the coffee shop and gladly accepted his offer to paint her. She wasn't beautiful, by any stretch of the imagination. Her nose was uptilted far too much. Her eyes were small and sharp. And when she smiled, Frank could see a hint of fang-like canines in her mouth.
He painted her in a wedding gown, draped across the iron bed in his studio.
"Do you think you could do something for me, Frank?"
He kept his eyes on his canvas, trying to catch the lighting just right. "Anything."
"Marry me, then."
Frank sputtered and coughed, his brush dropping to the floor. "Just like that?"
Tracy shifted on the bed, her chest pushing hard against the seams of the bodice. "I need to marry someone. You need some stability. I don't even care if you go out every night with someone else." She looked disdainfully at her nails. "I'll make sure you're well taken care of."
Frank sat down hard on the floor next to the bed, resting his head back on her belly. "Married?"
"In name only, Frankie baby," she smirked, patting his too-long hair lightly. "Just something to, oh, keep the wolves at bay. A stop gap, if you will."
Frank nodded slowly, his mind calculating up figures and drawing figures... "And we wouldn't be exclusive? I could see whoever I liked, whenever I liked?" She nodded at this. He breathed deep. "I..."
"Say yes, Frankie. A deal like this doesn't come along every day."
"Yes."
Author: me
Prompt: oct 6 warmup on nanowrimo (the protagonist game)
the game: Frank, the painter. Who wants to be a great seducer. But is blocked my his mother. And ends up getting married. 4 mins, 5 mins, 6 mins, 7 mins, and 8 mins to close, respectively.
Frank was the sensitive type. The kind of guy that everyone assumes is gay and that women wish their own boyfriends would be more like. He would sit in the coffee shop on the corner, a large portfolio beside his feet, staring idly out the front windows at passers-by. Occasionally someone would come close beside him and ask after him, and he would raise rainbow-speckled fingers, rough with turpentine and paint, to frame the person's face.
"Yes, you'll do."
Painting was his passion. He craved laying down lines of light and shadow on a canvas to artfully describe the persons before him. Male or female, it rarely mattered. But, oh, it was not the glamorous life he'd imagined and seen played out in the movies. Women didn't throw themselves at his feet; men didn't hop in line to be painted by his masterful hands. He was anything but smooth.
He wondered what it would be like to be a great seducer, like Casanova. He wondered what it would mean to have endless hordes of people, lining up to have their nude figures brushed onto rough canvas, then brushed by fingers callused with holding that selfsame brush. He needed that, wanted that, craved that glory that came with it. He could taste it, if only he knew how.
But Mother. Mother didn't approve of Frank's chosen profession. Mother thought painting was for those 'disgusting homosexuals' he happened to take classes with. Crochety and cantankerous, the woman continued to meddle in his affairs, seeking new ways to make him feel guilty over his choices.
"Oh, don't mind me, Frank darling. I'll just wither away over here in my cold home, without a penny to my name or the comfort a steady job for my son would bring. Oh, if your father were here, I'm sure he'd think the same thing." Guilt trip after guilt trip, beating out both Catholics and Jews for the honor.
Mother wanted Frank to settle down and fulfill the All-American Family Dream: a wife, a son and a daughter, a little house in the country with a little white picket fence. Frank could be someone, she said. Frank could do something with his life. Frank could stop wasting all his time on useless pursuits with immoral people.
Frank watched his mother warily as the days progressed, listening with one ear on her sanctimonious sermons and the other towards escape. He searched harder and harder for another model, another someone to take his mind off his maternal issues.
He found Tracy. Tracy leaned up against him in the coffee shop and gladly accepted his offer to paint her. She wasn't beautiful, by any stretch of the imagination. Her nose was uptilted far too much. Her eyes were small and sharp. And when she smiled, Frank could see a hint of fang-like canines in her mouth.
He painted her in a wedding gown, draped across the iron bed in his studio.
"Do you think you could do something for me, Frank?"
He kept his eyes on his canvas, trying to catch the lighting just right. "Anything."
"Marry me, then."
Frank sputtered and coughed, his brush dropping to the floor. "Just like that?"
Tracy shifted on the bed, her chest pushing hard against the seams of the bodice. "I need to marry someone. You need some stability. I don't even care if you go out every night with someone else." She looked disdainfully at her nails. "I'll make sure you're well taken care of."
Frank sat down hard on the floor next to the bed, resting his head back on her belly. "Married?"
"In name only, Frankie baby," she smirked, patting his too-long hair lightly. "Just something to, oh, keep the wolves at bay. A stop gap, if you will."
Frank nodded slowly, his mind calculating up figures and drawing figures... "And we wouldn't be exclusive? I could see whoever I liked, whenever I liked?" She nodded at this. He breathed deep. "I..."
"Say yes, Frankie. A deal like this doesn't come along every day."
"Yes."
